Anagram

By Ankle_Deep

Disclaimer: None of these concepts or characters that you may recognise belong to me. They all belong to Stephanie Meyer, so that's just too bad for everyone else.

Chapter One: Introductions

When I woke up, everything was as bright and clear as early morning, even though all I could see was dark. At least, it should have been dark, but I could see as clearly as though the deep, wet hole that I was lying in was floodlit. Better even than that, because I could notice tones and colours that I had never known existed, and every bent blade of grass and squashed, sodden flower stood out in its own particular frame, in detail so perfect I could look at them forever. I looked all around myself in wonder – exactly, I was wondering how on earth something like this could happen to me. It was all so surreal, no sound penetrated the smooth, grassy hollow I lay in, as though being below ground level cut out the surrounding noises and created a hollow roaring in my ears.

I tried to reach back into my foggy memories, willing them to engulf me and give me some much-needed answers.

I could vaguely remember feeling something, in a murky memory, of pain. Searing, burning pain, like being on fire, but worse because I could not scream, could not douse myself or put out the flames that burned me. Worse because it was like I was drowning in the fire, unable to breathe, knowing I should be dead but still feeling the pain. Worse because I thought something as powerful as that could never stop. It went on for a while, this burning agony, for longer than I could bear – in the end I was hoping for death, death would have been the best alternative, I had thought, through the flames. What could be worse than the pain? I had lost all track of time when my heart thrummed a wild beat against the fire, then finally stopped.

That was when I opened my eyes, and found myself in a pool of some sort, and I could see everything. I marvelled again at my new sight, looking for what seemed like the first time, as though I had never really seen before.

But the mystery was still not solved. What had happened to me? Why was I lying here in this sodden ditch, feeling strong and powerful and yet still unable to get up? Why could I see and hear and smell the land around me like I never had, hear every whisper in the air, taste the very dust that flew in eddies as I breathed? Did I even need to breathe? I felt no momentary relief from the action; it was just as though I was breathing because I felt it necessary.

All of these questions buzzed around my brain like giant stinging bees, which seemed to have much more room to fly than before. Before . . . there held the answers I sought. I tried to reach back into the cloudy memories again, and this time I could recollect more than when I had last tried, even though I was sure that there was something more solid behind the fog, stopping me from reaching further. I sat up as I struggled to haul the past from my mind.

It was hard going, and at this time I became aware of a stinging, burning pain at the back of my throat, almost as though I was thirsting for something. I tried drinking the water in the pool – with difficulty, as I had to angle my head under the invisible binds just to reach it – but even though the water was fresh and clear it was no use. It was like drinking salt water mixed with mud - it did nothing for my new thirst, and tasted horrible. Eventually I saw the answers, but the effort caused the bonds that held my body and mind to pull me to the ground again.

I could remember more now, more of whom I was. Was? Am? It was hard to tell. How could I be myself when I didn't even know what my name was? So I started there. I tried to remember someone calling my name, my mother perhaps? Yes, now that I thought of it, I could hear a high, tremulous female voice calling someone. Was it me? I longed to respond to her. Anna, Anna, sweetie I love you . . . she called, her voice getting fainter now. As it faded slowly away, I felt something deep in my heart chip off the whole, and I knew that it was my mother calling me, and that I would never see her again.

I then heard a crash, and the memory took a different turn, this time supplying pictures, but this seemed to be no recollection of mine. I heard the ripping of metal and shattering glass as I saw a scene that was quite different to the hollow pool I lay in.

I saw a car careering away off a dark winding road then crashing and rolling back down onto someone who had just fallen out of the passenger seat, a girl with smoky coloured skin and hair that gleamed in the moonlight.

She looked young, fifteen at the most, with a face wracked with pain and a strange distance in her eyes, as though she was seeing something other than what was around her, but still feeling the crushing metal on her stomach and back, still feeling the fear and the panic that was so evident in the faces of her family, but never quite there, even in her hour of death. I heard people screaming, and all was dark.

There was something strangely familiar about that face that I couldn't quite place . . . but that was insignificant compared to the revelation that came with these thoughts as the vision ended.

What I had just seen was quite unexpected. Who was I kidding, it was more than unexpected, I had never experience that in my entire life! I doubted if anyone had. Those visions, the voices, they couldn't possibly be memories, for if they were, I could see no one to relate the images to. If it indeed was me witnessing this crash, then I would have a sense of being in the memory, wouldn't I? I would see my hands reaching out or at least my hair flowing over my shoulder or something. It almost looked as if I was a bird, looking down on the scene, part of the happenings yet unable to be found. Was I looking into the past? It seemed an impossible thought, but then again what was happening to me could not be possible, and yet it was happening, so who was I to talk?

This barrier of memory was really quite confusing. I knew who I was, and I could see myself in the reflection of the water in the pool next to me. I just didn't know my past, and with every glance into the pool I noticed something new about myself. Everything was new.

I looked down again to see my hand resting against a sliver of twisted metal and nearly jumped in surprise, if I could underneath my invisible binds. Was it my touching the metal that had caused the vision? Could it be that I could be seeing the past connected to that object? I had heard a word for that before ... what was it? Retrovision: seeing things from the past.

It was astounding to think that I, in some way could be special, be different from the others. All my like I had felt average, even though my friends, my parents and my teachers had told me otherwise, and all my test results were marked prodigious by all who saw them, I still felt as though there was still more to be done, still more I had to achieve to feel really satisfied with myself. The past was coming back to me in fits and starts now, and I was just getting to know myself again when suddenly, in a burst of understanding, I remembered what I looked like, once upon a time.

I was tall, I remembered that first. I was tall and slender, with smoky dark skin that seemed to be a compromise between paleness and the real chocolaty olive tones that lay underneath. My hair was not a pride to me, though all else fondled it I thought nothing of its light milk chocolate colour and subtle waves that reminded me of dead tree's bark and everyone else of the rich warm earth. I was (am?) young ... but seemed to be wiser than my years, and I did well in school without really having to try.

This new information was a shock to me, remembering my identity as I was, for now I just felt like a stranger in my own body. My restricted view of myself in the water next to me was a ghostly white, with strong, high cheekbones, but I could only see the side of my face from the reflection. Was I coordinated in my other life? I am now. Could I see as well, or smell as well? I think not, and yet I couldn't be sure, it was as though when I tried to remember I was smothered in a thick fog that obscured my vision.

Could I get another peek into the past like I had with that poor girl's car crash? Maybe, if I could get close enough to touch another shard of metal. My mind was already reeling from the possibilities of my new vision, and, bound to the ground as I was, almost excited to see what I could do with the raw strength that I felt building in my arms. With a barely audible gasp, I remembered more of what I was like: I hadn't been truly excited in a long time.

I lay there for a while, wondering of the possibilities of my new abilities, my mind stretching farther than my bound body could ever go in its current state, and yet it felt as though my mind was bound as well. Whenever I tried to think of my past further than myself, it felt as though a brick wall stood between me and recognition, protruding from the mist. I let out a huff of frustration at my bindings and immediately I saw that there was a person where there had not been one before.

He had appeared as suddenly as though he had always been there, and I was just seeing him for the first time, and yet ... he seemed unnatural, as though he never belonged to the landscape on which he stood, and he was shimmering slightly in the moonlight.

Once the shock subsided I started to look at him really, and as soon as I gazed upon his face, I saw that he was beautiful, inhumanly so. He looked pale as alabaster, with inky black shoulder length hair that sagged into his eyes in careless squalor.

He could only be fifteen, and he had a distinctly muscular build, the contours of which were taller even than me, which was something at least. He looked American, as though he had grown up on a farm, even though he was wearing a muddied navy blue suit which was spattered with what looked alarmingly – and enticingly – like dried blood. I sniffed the heady scent silently, enjoying the flavour in my nostrils but not quite knowing why.

But it was his eyes that were the most unusual thing about him. They were a deep, endless black that looked as though it could go on forever. I just couldn't stop staring at his eyes, which drew me in like I was on the end of a fishing line.

As I stared, my new mind kept tabs on his amused half smile, his animalistic stance and the secret orange light that glowed in his eyes as he looked at me. I wondered what I must have done for him to look at me like this, and I saw the power in his hands and limbs and I knew that there was no chance of escape.

He looked wary of me, as though I might disappear at any moment, or was dead, and I looked at him, not quite knowing what to expect but trying not to let the fear show in my face. What was happening?

I felt that somehow this man knew what, or who I was, and yet those frustrating binds held me fast to the ground and prevented me from speaking. I tried anyway, though, and managed to exhale a low rush of air through my mouth, to show the man that I was still breathing. Sort of.

That seemed to confirm whatever he was thinking, and he came further towards me now, interest showing clearly on his face. I knew that this could go either way at that moment. I knew that he would either harm me, or he would speak to me, and the careful restriction in his eyes gave nothing away. I waited, watching to see what would happen next.

"Hello? Are you awake? Why yes, you are, I can hear your breath. Welcome, my dear."

His voice was the most beautiful, tenor melody I had ever heard. It was both strong and lilting, with cadences that seemed to belong to a time older than he could possibly be. Seemingly knowing that I could neither move nor speak back to him, he waited politely for me to heave myself, with a great effort, off the ground and onto my elbows.

Then I began to ponder what he meant by 'welcome'. Did he know where, and what I was, and whether I was alive? Or was this heaven after all, with the beautiful Saint Peter come to take me to my family? I, too, waited for him to realise that I knew nothing, and could not answer.

"My dear? Oh! Of course, but I forgot I had bound you before the change, how forgetful of me, sorry. I just didn't know whether you would run out on me as soon as you awoke, I just wanted to be sure that you were alive, is all. Do forgive me, I shall allow you to get up."

And in an instant I was released and it felt so good after my strong, invisible binds that I swear I was floating away on cloud, far, far away from all the confusion that this man's words presented.

But that only lasted a second. Once the euphoria that freedom presented died down, it was replaced by all of the memories that I had previously existed without, rushing in like water through the floodgates. It was dizzying mentally, and I reeled from all the new information, the emotions, the realisation of who I really was as it all came flooding back.

The sheer weight of the amount of memories weighed down on me like the proverbial ton of bricks, and it was all I could do not to collapse again, even with my newfound strength. I saw it all, it was all there, but there was no way I was going to try and access that information, not until I had sorted out what was going on in the present first.

So I held back my identity for a few more precious moments, just until this mysterious black-eyed man could explain what had happened to me first, and I could deal with it. Then I realised that to find out the information I needed, I would have to speak, when I could not remember having spoken before. I was sure I had in the now repressed memories, but I had no wish to open the mental floodgates properly yet.

And yet, I still had to let this strange man know that I could speak, but I had never spoken before, and really didn't want to now. I was all different, not me, of that I was sure, so what would I sound like? There was no way that I was going to open my floodgates of memories, if I did than I would be overwhelmed for days or more as my life flashed before my eyes. But I had no choice.

"E-excuse me Sir, but I'm not sure I know your name."

My voice was beautiful, fresh and clear, like clear ringing bells even as I stuttered. He sound wasn't high, exactly, not in a girlish way but more clear and clarified and it carried around the sound-containing hollow, echoing back to me as I listened in rapture to this new sound. Part of my mind wondered why I was so amused by my own voice while another gauged his reaction. He looked halfway between confusion and amusement, as though he knew something I didn't.

"Why, its Beckett, my dear but just Beckett mind you, I don't think I remember my last name."

This confused me even more, but I kept my mouth shut, almost scared to hear my own voice again, and even though it was so new it was so unlike his deep, melodic words that I wanted to cry, an emotion in this circumstance that was previously unknown.

"Are you ok?"

His words brought more unknown emotions to me, much like the memories that sat like dogs, barking at my door. He looked concerned about me, he wanted me to be ok and for some reason that set my brain in whirl. Even though I had just met him, he was the singularly most beautiful person I had ever seen, and I wanted him to speak again. But I had to answer.

"I'm a little confused ... why am I here? Why couldn't I remember anything when I woke up? Why was I bound to the ground and now I'm not? What – "

"Ok, ok, I understand that this must be confusing, what with you having no memory of ... what happened."

At first his voice was laughing when he cut me off, but it had a serious edge to it, again as though there was something that he needed to tell me. I waited for him to say more.

"Well, I'd better tell you then ... but it won't be a short story, I warn you."

"I have a while, don't I?" I asked, cocking my head and pausing.

This made him laugh quite a lot, much to my confusion, and when I asked he just shook his head.

"All in due course, my dear, you'll find out in a second if you care to wait and seeing as you have a while – " He chuckled again, "I'd better tell you. But first, I've told you my name, but what's yours?"

He waited for my answer, but as far as I was concerned, he would get none, as I wanted to have no recollection of anything like that. I knew the real answer lay in my mind, but I was too afraid to look that I just shook my head.

"Are you sure?" He asked his voice full of curiosity and concern. "You can't remember at all?"

I can't lie to him, I realised, as I tried to speak, not because I couldn't say the words but it just felt wrong to. I couldn't bear the way he might look at me if I ever lied to him. I wanted him to want me, I ... just wanted to be more than just the girl he found by the road. I couldn't explain it, but it was true.

I liked him. I really, really liked him. I didn't know why, but I knew that much was true. It was that, and only that which made me lift my head, and utter the words that I had known for all of my life, and could only just remember. He needed to know. I needed him to know.

"My name ... is Anna."