Prologue.
The roof above my head screamed with noise as the rain pelted down onto it's surface. Outside my window, lightning flashed and the thunder roared into the usually quiet night sky. Storms terrified me, and tonight was no exception. I was curled up on my sofa with my favourite possession. A blanket. My Mother had knitted it for me when I was hardly a form of life. I was still in her womb and it was early days of her pregnancy but Charlie had told me she knew she would have a beautiful baby girl. I always had this image in my head. It was of her sitting in the rocking chair that till this day, still remained in my room. Her hand affectionately stroking her stomach as her veins filled with excitement for the future. She would hum a tune from the seventies as her small, feminine, fragile hands held a wool and needle creating the one thing that was comforting me right now. Twenty four years later.
Casper nudged at my arm and I lifted him onto my stomach where he curled up and softly purred. I stared at the phone sitting in front of me. I had been thinking about it for a while and it just wouldn't escape my mind. I hadn't heard his voice in months, but I was too afraid to call. I was too afraid that if I called, just like last time. No one would answer. I was even more scared that someone would answer and tell me that he was dead. This thought in my mind was driving me crazy, it was what kept fear in my blood and what stopped me from picking up the phone and just dialling. Casper meowed and I sighed. I imagined he was giving me emotional support but the truth was he was probably just hungry. I pretended it was the former to make myself feel better. I let out a huge breath of air and decided it was now or never.
I pressed the numbers and waited for the ringing tone. The first ring, my hands and knee's shook. The second ring, I couldn't breathe. The third ring, I thought I was going to have a panic attack. The fourth ring...
"Hello?" A cheerful voice of a woman answered.
"Um, hi. I might have the wrong number... Uh, I'm looking for Charlie Swan?"
"Isabella?" She asked, curiously.
"Bella." I corrected.
"It's Sue Clearwater. Such a pleasure to hear your voice. Charlie is.. Uh... He's..." She drifted off mid-sentence awkwardly but she didn't have to finish, I knew what she was going to say.
"He's worse, isn't he?"
"Yes love, I'm afraid so." She said, sadly.
"I wrote..."
"He doesn't read his letters any more."
"I called."
"Doesn't answer the phone either."
"Who is looking after him?"
"I am."
"Does anyone visit?"
"I do."
"So he's all alone, other than you?"
"Pretty much."
I hung up after a fond goodbye and pondered over the conversation for a minute or two. My heart reaching out to my father who was so far away from me. The minute or two turned into half an hour and I boiled a cup of coffee and sipped it as I curled into my blanket and stared at the storm outside. It matched the one going on inside my head. I couldn't go back, could I? I had spent the last eight years trying to force Forks into the subconscious part of my mind, the part of the mind that Sigmund Freud had gone and on about. But I loved my father and he needed me. And a part of me needed him as well. I think that that overcame the pain that Forks brought me. Casper nuzzled my stomach and meowed. I sighed and patted his soft head. I was decided. I knew what I had to do.
"Well, Casper. Looks like we're going home."