Rain soaked the atmosphere – but that wasn't a shock.

I'd become so used to the coldness and the wetness; no longer did the noisy patter of rain keep me up at night and no longer did the crisp air numb my pale skin. Habitually, a fierce storm would roll by or a slight drizzle would blanket the ground in mist but rarely was there a day with no precipitation – and it would take a miracle for the sun to show its face in this verdant forest.

But this much was expected from the rainy town of Forks, Washington.

I hadn't lived here forever, though. My life had begun in the moderate city of Gaithersburg in the quaint little state of Maryland. My family often exceeded the borderline, however, traveling to our amiable weekend house in Bethany Beach, Delaware. The farthest west I'd ever been was California; the farthest south I'd ever been was Florida; the farthest north I'd been was Maine; and the farthest east was the coast of Ocean City, Maryland.

I was utterly confined within the East Coast up until the age of 18 – the age where I was legally free to go.

My parents begged me to stay close to them for college, Maryland University being their preference. Nonetheless, I dreamed of bigger and better places, as every prospering young adult does.

So off to Provo, Utah I went – "What are you, Mormon?" my father had protested – eventually graduating in the year 2017, with a bachelor's degree in literature. I adored the hobby of fictional writing – so much that it ultimately became my profession.

Immediately after college, I was invited to New York City by my two best friends from grade school, Taylor Smith and Ashley Madison. They had rushed to the Big Apple together the day after their high school graduations, going to college in Manhattan and eventually buying a penthouse on the pier.

For them it was a dream – for me it was a nightmare.

I'd never been much of city girl, and that was frighteningly apparent. Merely a week after I'd moved in with them, Taylor pointed out that I was having a miserable time and that I should move to somewhere rural before my negativity became infectious.

As much as I would miss my friends, I knew they were right. So, deciding that I had wasted enough of my time in North America, I dashed off to London, my ideal lifestyle being born.

Ask anyone: I was an implausible anglophile. Life under Big Ben was perfect, my house was an adorable little colonial, and I was even gaining an impeccable British accent.

If I could've, I would've stayed in England until the day I died.

However, one fateful morning, on the eve of my second year in Britain, I received a phone call from another one of my best grade school friends, Lilli Samuel, begging me to return to Maryland. Her job had unfortunately slipped through her fingers, and her unemployment forced her to give up on rent.

I grew selfish, making up excuses on "how I had developed some rare disease ergo I couldn't leave Europe" or "perhaps she could move to the UK and live with me." Sorry to say, she shot down each of my pleas, accusing that "I could get a vaccination" and "she couldn't afford plane tickets".

When my plane back to the U.S. finally landed, I scowled, wondering how, after all my attempts of elusion, this country kept hauling me back.

Of course, I regretted my reluctance; I knew I should've been a better friend and packed my bags without a single indecision. So, as if to repent, I remained living with Lilli for another two years, my anticipation of returning to England fading with every Pledge of Allegiance and Fourth of July holiday.

Nevertheless, my money and Lilli's combined still wasn't enough to pay the bills. Cordially, our grade school buddy, Karolina Rivera, stepped through the front door, contributing her share of the cash.

Somewhere within that time period of our dainty little life on rent, I published one of my novels, If it Kills Me. In fact, I had written the book towards the end of my eighth grade year; after a little tweaking, it was released on June 13th – my 27th birthday.

Literally days after it was publicized, I was offered a deal that I couldn't decline: .5 million dollars for every book I wrote.

I took the deal in a heartbeat, paying off our rent for the rest of eternity.

However, history began to repeat itself, and I became utterly bored with Maryland again. So, being the miraculous Twilight fan that I was, I moved to the Pacific Northwest, upper Washington State, taking Lilli along with me.

Karolina, however, was unable to stand the depressing weather so she moved to sunny San Diego, dropping in from time to time. Despite her mad dash to sunlight, she told us that, if we ever see any sign of Carlisle Cullen – handsome doctor and sparkly vampire of the Twilight Saga – we were to call her straight away.

Lilli and I teasingly accepted her condition, knowing that if Dr. Cullen ever did cross our path that we would most likely pounce at him first.

After about a month of living peacefully and happily in Forks, Lilli was offered a spectacular deal also. She'd always been an aspiring anime artist, perhaps being one of the best manga artists I'd ever seen, and had been offered a irrefutable contract with Shonen Jump. She was allowed to work from the comfort of our home, sending her drawings to Tokyo whenever she felt the need or when she had epiphanies.

There was one glitch to this contract, though.

The first ten months of her employment, she was required to stay in Japan in order to keep an eye on all of her anime publications. She reluctantly left me and Forks, journeying across the Pacific Ocean, eventually to return in several months time.

Accordingly, we have come full circle.

Here I am, living in the solitude of Forks, making half a million dollars whenever I please. Although, it wasn't like the money was pooling in; I had always been immensely lethargic – so to finish a single page in a week was an unbelievable accomplishment.

This life of mine was good. Of course, I got lonely now and then, but that's what cellphones were invented for. I remained connected with my family in Maryland, my college acquaintances from Provo, Taylor and Ashley in New York, my brief comradeship with some Brits across the Atlantic, Karolina in California, and finally Lilli in Japan.

The day when everything changed, though, began utterly normal.

I woke to the jarring sound of my alarm clock, startling me to consciousness. My eyes flickered open, traveling to the window near my bedside. A white, eerie fog pressed up against the glass, confining me to my quarters. This seclusion did not depress me, though; every Forks morning began this way.

Rubbing my eyes excessively, I lifted one foot out of bed and then the other sleepily. The dark mahogany wood floors were cold, but, once again, this was something I'd grown used to.

My finger slammed down on my alarm aggressively, the annoying buzzes ceasing. Rain pounded on the roof piercingly, waking me up against my will. I shuffled groggily out into the hallway and into the bathroom. I was an unfortunate sight for sore eyes – my hair stuck to my face, significant bags loomed underneath my eyelids, and my pallid complexion seemed an even more ghostly white than usual.

Upon moving to the rainiest town in the continental US, my complexion had grown pale, often making me seem translucent. I actually hated the colorless aura I presented – I unnaturally stuck out against the dark, monotonous background the woodlands provided.

After a quick shower, I was able to get dressed, brush my teeth and eat breakfast all in a maximum of ten minutes. I was proud of my sluggish self; that had to be a new record for me.

One foot was halfway out the front door when the phone rang shrilly throughout the house. Checking my watch, I knew I had to make it quick or else I'd be late for work.

"Hello?" I breathed out in a rushed tone when I reached the receiver.

"Hey," a familiar voice greeted. "I'm glad I caught you before you left for work. Almost thought I'd missed you."

"Oh, hey, Lilli," I grinned, glad to hear her voice. "Guess what? Only two more months till you'll be back! I can't wait."

"Me neither!" She said. "Japan is fun, but I miss you bunches."

Her lightheartedness brightened this dreary day. "So how is it in Japan?"

"Oh, my God," she exclaimed. "So great, but I think I've eaten too much sushi – I'm scared my stomach might explode."

I sighed heavily. "Try to stay in one piece, would you?"

"So how is it in Forks?" She asked. "Anything climatic?"

"Same old, same old," I waved my hand carelessly. "You know, it rains, it gets dark, and then it rains again. Nothing new."

"I could've guessed that," She paused for a moment. "Well, I gotta go have dinner. It's almost eight o'clock."

"I gotta go to my morning shift," I nodded. "It's almost seven."

"See you in a bit, Scarlett. Only two months to go!"

"Bye," I simpered. I'd known Lilli since the age of five and I loved her like a sister, so missing her terribly was practically inevitable.

"I'll talk to you later," She promised before hanging up.

After placing the telephone back in its dock, I made my way outside into the downpour. By the time I reached my 1953 Chevrolet pickup truck, I was entirely drenched.

I threw my bag into the cab of the car and hopped in, the vehicle loudly roaring to life as soon as I put my key in the ignition.

The roads were slick, most likely from an ice storm that possibly passed through last night, but I was able to manage without killing myself or anyone else. One of the perks to having an old senior citizen for a car was that, if I were ever in an accident, this monster would destroy whatever collided with it; damage to this thing would probably be some rusted red paint getting chipped off. Otherwise, my truck was a fiend on the road, strong enough to protect the weakling that maneuvered it.

Upon arriving at Forks Hospital, I was surprised to find two cop cars haphazardly parked out front. Their engines were ticking rhythmically, indicating that they'd been parked there only moments ago.

I zipped up my coat and grabbed my knapsack, ignoring them completely as I bee-lined my way to the front door, dodging the bullet-like raindrops.

"Hi, Scarlett!" the front desk receptionist, Krista, greeted me as I entered.

Her dark olive skin was illuminated by the florescent lights overhead, making her look ominously beautiful. She had to be about 35 now; Krista was already settled in the nearby town of Port Angeles – probably about an hour away from here – but her life presided in Forks, without a doubt. She worked here, at the hospital, seven days a week for about fifteen hours a day; her husband worked at the diner down the street, the only place where he was able to showcase his culinary capabilities; and her two children, Gemma and Asher, went to Forks High School not far from here.

She'd become a great colleague over the months – her company was much appreciated in Lilli's absence.

"Hey, Krista," I acknowledged her, heading for the elevator.

"Is Lilli back yet?" She wondered, flipping through some files that were sprawled out in front of her.

"No," I sighed. "But she should be back in about two months or so."

"We should have a little party for her," Krista decided.

I exhaled. If there was one thing Krista was good at, it was social gatherings. "Oh, Dr. Cooper got a promotion? We should have a party!" and "Oh, your dog died? We should have a burial ceremony" and "Oh, it's your birthday? I'll call everyone I know!" It was sweet of her, of course, but I was somehow always dragged into these things.

If there was one thing I was good at, it was embarrassing myself. And parties were the perfect place to trip down some stairs, or accidently spill soda all over our building's head surgeon, or … well, you get the idea.

"Um, I bet she would love that," I nodded, agreeing reluctantly.

Krista shook her head, laughing, "We don't have to have a party if you don't want to. Besides, last time was pretty funny."

The last celebration Krista prepared was an utter disaster. One of the doctor's at the hospital got a better paying offer in Michigan and Krista decided that a going away party was to be arranged for her. I'd been asked to light the candles on the cake – for a normal person this would be a simple request, but not for me. If the doctor's husband had not been a firefighter, I bet I would've been a murderer, killing off twenty people, two dogs, and an exquisitely made cake.

But I'd always been one to kill a party – that just happened to be the first time 'killing a party' was taken literally on my part.

"Thanks for reminding me," I simpered.

I stepped onto the elevator, ordering it to take me to the highest floor of the hospital. As the doors skidded closed, Krista was still giggling at the recollection of an enormous cake on fire.

When the bell chimed, signaling I'd reached the 2nd floor, the door slid open.

And standing there at the front were four cops, all in full fledged armor, leaning against the front desk. I was trying my best to slip by them discretely, but one grabbed my arm and shook his head.

"May I talk to you for a minute, miss?" he asked.

I became instantly nervous. "Sure. Did I do something wrong?"

"No," He clarified, clearly amused by the fact that I would consider such a thing. I was instantly relieved. "I just have a couple of questions for you, that's all."

I shrugged. "Alright."

"Have you been in the woods recently?" He inquired randomly.

"Um, no," I placed my bag on the front desk counter, watching the cop as he messily scribbled down my answer onto a notepad. "May I ask why you're wondering, officer?"

"There have been some animal attacks recently," He responded gruffly. "But we'll only see it as a threat when casualties start occurring."

I winced at the sound of death.

"So, if you please, ma'am," he cautioned. "We're warning everyone to stay out of the forests … just for safety precautions."

"Sure thing," I agreed, turning to sit at my desk.

The cop loosened up then, becoming less formal. "I'm Nathaniel Redborn. I live down on the Quileute Reservation in La Push. You know where that is?"

I examined this Nathaniel Redborn a little closer, noting for the first time how strikingly attractive he was. His russet colored skin was a huge contrast to the dull, white emergency room. His eyes were a profound shade of chocolate – it was incredibly easy to get lost in them. I assumed he was about my age, if not a little bit younger.

"Yeah," I answered, shaking the hand he'd extended out to me. "I go down there from time to time. It's a good place to think. But I don't think I've ever seen you out there."

"I was born there," He explained. Some of the other cops eyed him suspiciously, as if to reprimand the new guy for releasing so much personal information; I don't think he noticed them, though. "At the age of eighteen, I left, kinda bored with the place."

I smiled understandingly.

"I came back a couple weeks ago, wanting to start fresh," he admitted. "So I got a job as an officer up here in Forks."

"Hmm," I nodded, waving to head surgeon, Dr. Cooper, as he walked by.

"You're Scarlett, right? A lot of the guys down on the Rez talk about you," He grinned widely, leaning against the counter suavely.

"Really?" I tried acting uninterested, but I was honestly intrigued. They talk about me? What do they say? Who exactly is talking about me?

"You're quite the theme," He chuckled. "So, are you a doctor?"

"No, I just work here at the front desk," I corrected. Then I added confidently, "Actually, I'm an author. I just work at the hospital for some extra cash, you know?"

"An author?" He laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Now that I look at you," He appraised. "You do seem like the bookworm type."

"Well," I bragged. "This bookworm is making half a million just by typing up a hundred thousand words and calling it a novel."

His eyes widened. "Impressive."

I grinned with poise, indefinitely proud of myself.

"So what kind of stuff do you write about?" He asked curiously, tracing the outline of the linoleum countertop.

"What do you mean?" I glimpsed at him, detecting a joking disposition.

"Like what genre do you focus on?" He questioned. "Thriller, fantasy horror?"

"Uh …" I paused to think it over. If It Kills Me had been labeled as a …

"Romance?" He plugged in for me.

"Uh, yeah," I decided, rambling on unnecessarily. "Romance, I guess. Some people have said I can write a mean suspense novel, though. So, I suppose, it's like a … ro-spence."

He laughed unreservedly. Then critiqued, "But romances are so mushy and suspense is so exciting. How do you combine the two?"

"Easy," I replied. "A bunch of authors do it."

"But how do you combine the two?" he questioned, adjusting the badge pinned to his chest.

"It's simple really," I responded. "Two people fall madly in love and then something tragic happens. Like one dies or …"

"That's awful," He frowned. "That would be classified as a horror."

My eyebrow rose. "And what is your reasoning for such an assessment?"

He shrugged. "I've been in love before … and she died in a car accident. It was a really tough time for me."

"Oh," My face fell. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to be," he looked away from me. "That was awhile ago. Believe me, I'm over it."

I sat down at my desk, instantly feeling guilty for forcing him to reminisce in this topic – it was obviously difficult for him; I could tell just by looking at his face.

"Have you ever been in love?" He asked, that lighthearted mockery returning to his expression.

"I've had some boyfriends here and there," I told him. "One even proposed to me, but I'm just not ready for such a colossal commitment yet. Ergo, I just haven't come across the right guy."

He nodded, glancing over at the other policemen. One eyed him, signaling that it was time to go.

Nathaniel grinned, "Well, I'll see you later, okay? It was great meeting you."

"See you later," I smiled as he waved one last time before following the other cops down the stairwell.

I discarded his attempts at affection. I hadn't dated in the longest time. I broke up with my last boyfriend almost a year ago, right before I'd moved to Forks.

I found dating redundant.

Living with Lilli made it difficult anyways; privacy was rare and I've yet to meet a guy who won't mind if my best friend lived with us. Consequently, you would think that with Lilli gone for a whole ten months, I would try to get a boyfriend as soon as possible. There were always acceptable alternatives, though – I could get a dog …

Or I could wallow.

Like I said before, living alone wasn't a problem for me. The quiet could allow me to type away, raking in the money like leaves off the trees in autumn. But sometimes, one could feel so lonely that the world seemed utterly empty, as if you were the only on left on the planet and no one was there to spend your isolation with you – but this lonesomeness had become routine, my basic way of survival. I never rejected company, though. I could see the mailman and get inanely overexcited.

"Scarlett," someone's voice broke through my reverie.

I looked up to see Dr. Cooper approaching me. His expression was lilting, most likely whiplash after long hours of working. He'd always been tall and debonair, ultimately good-looking – with his dark hair gelled to a point and a faultless complexion, not to mention an impeccable sense of humor; it wouldn't be astonishing if one found themselves trying to impress him. However, it felt as though I'd known Dr. Cooper forever; we'd grown a tight knit amity over the course of my few months here.

"Hey, Coop," I greeted, looking up at him as he placed a document on the counter.

His mouth curved up into a tired grin. "Do you even know my first name?"

"I can't recall," I rolled my eyes theatrically, making him laugh.

As quickly as his smile had appeared, it vanished into a broken idiom. "We lost another one. Fritz is dealing with the body."

I bit my lip. "Was it Mrs. Walker? She was looking a little frail."

"Worse," He shook his head, as if he didn't want to believe what he was saying. "It was a teenager fooling around on First Beach, down on that reserve in La Push Ocean Park."

"What happened?" I questioned.

In turn, he twisted the paper around and pushed it towards me.

I read the first line and then glimpsed up at him. "Animal attack?"

"Yep," He nodded. "Did you see the police here a couple minutes ago?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "They were saying that if casualties started to take affect, they'd have to start taking action."

Coop seemed distant in thought, not responding.

"Do they know about this?" I gestured towards the paper.

"I was able to talk to one of them about it," He answered. "But they got an urgent call and had to leave immediately. At least they know about it and will be able to take care of it."

"What kind of animal, do you suppose?" I wondered.

"I'm a doctor," He frowned. "Not a zoologist."

I glanced down at the paper again. "Where do you want me to file this?"

He took a moment before answering. "Put that under Reference. I might want to look back on it."

I followed his instructions, filing it away in the cabinet under my desk.

"Hey, you think you could go back there and turn off the heart monitor?" he asked. "I have to go make a quick phone call."

It was moments like these where I hated my job. "Sure."

And without another word, Coop flipped out his cellphone and headed for the stairwell.

My feet seemed stuck to the ground, not wanting to move; my brain iced over at the thought of seeing a lifeless body, lying there helplessly. The fact that it was a teenager made it ten times worse; when you're young, and your life is so violently striped away from you, death seems even more unforgiving.

I walked hesitantly down the hall, turning into the fifth door on the left.

All the lights were off, so it was hard to see anything. The blinds were closed, separating the corpse from the rest of the living.

Reaching up and flicking on the light, I saw the outline of a body lying in the hospital bed. The whole carcass was covered by a thin white sheet, making it look like a badly dressed ghost. A constant beep hummed from the heart monitor – it sounded deafening, but I knew that it was just me becoming lightheaded.

I headed over to the monitor, watching the straight emerald line continually cross the screen. Unable to watch that symbol of fatality any longer, I placed my finger on the side, flipping the knob to the right.

The beeping died away eventually leaving me alone in the stillness.

My shift ended around 7:00 PM that night.

As I headed for the elevator, I had to admit I was pleased to be rid of the hospital at least until tomorrow.

So my normal day continued as I exited the front door of the infirmary – after waving farewell to Krista. The rain had continued to pour fatally down from the heavens, practically drowning me as I sprinted to my truck. Once in the safe, dry cabin of my pickup, I exhaled.

I'd survived yet another day in this sodden wasteland.

By the time I reached my driveway around 7:05, I was starving and raring for dinner. I had never been a creative or exceptional chef, not even your average cook, for that matter. All my homemade meals imploded into mush, so I had to survive basically on my microwave – a device I was overly grateful for.

As I unwrapped my microwavable Campbell's chicken noodle soup from the night before and placed it on the counter, I turned to my iPod dock, flipping on the power button. The empty house was instantly filled with a soothing background: Clair de Lune by Debussy. I wasn't a total freak about it, but I enjoyed my fair share of classical music as much as if not more than the next person. I even played amateur piano in my childhood through teenage years – but after moving out of my parent's house, the only instrument I had taken with me was my guitar; which currently sat, collecting dust, in the corner of the utility closet upstairs. Perhaps if I bought a piano I would be able to get back into it, but there was never enough time in the day – I was too busy doing nothing.

I hummed along as the piece drifted into major key and then back to minor again. As the song sifted to a gentle close, the phone shrieked, startling me out of my skin. I'd expected it to be Lilli, since she typically called more than once a day – just so it was impossible for her to miss anything vital.

"Hello?" I muttered into the phone distractedly, my finger gliding over the volume dial to turn down the next song on my iPod.

"Scarlett?" A voice replied, a tint of relief in their tone.

"Who is this?" I wondered, licking the remains of the broth from my fingers before jabbing the numbers on the microwave with my thumb.

"It's Nathaniel," said a voice. "We met today at the hospital."

"Oh, I remember," I clarified, leaning against the countertop. "How'd you get my number?"

"Oh," he grew noticeably apprehensive. "I went through your records and found your number. I hope that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," I shook my head, sarcasm boiling in my throat.

"So," he stumbled over his words nervously. "I was wondering—I know that this is really sudden considering we just met today—but maybe you'd like to come down to the Rez tomorrow. We could go surfing."

I didn't respond.

After a long while he asked, "You still there?"

"Uh, yeah," I blinked, bringing myself out that random haze. "I don't surf."

"There's always the chance to learn," He accepted.

I bent over, staring at my empty calendar. "Hmm, Friday is pretty booked. I don't know if I …"

"Please?" He interrupted.

"Okay, Nathaniel, look," I sighed. "I don't want to get into a relationship, if that's what you're expecting. Sorry."

He exhaled. "I'm not expecting that. I just want to be friends."

"Well," I looked out the window at the downpour. "I guess, I could come down. I haven't been out of the house for awhile, and I'm sure that's unhealthy."

Nathaniel laughed. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes," I nodded, popping open the microwave door after the first beep.

"Great!" He exclaimed. "See you tomorrow … let's say, one o'clock?"

"Cool," I pulled out my soup, placing it on the concrete countertop. "I'll see you then."

"Later," He said, obviously pleased, before hanging up.

I picked up a spoon, not letting any of my emotions overtake me on this beautifully wet evening in Forks. Dipping my spoon into my soup and stirring it consistently, I headed into the living room, turned on the DVD player, and planted myself onto the couch.

I thoroughly watched the third Twilight installment, Eclipse. By the time it ended, around 10:30, I was dead tired; I shuffled back into the kitchen, threw my bowl carelessly into the sink and I was up the stairs in no time.

Falling asleep wasn't difficult, despite the pounding rain overhead. I drifted into a comatose slumber instantaneously.

And then I dreamt.

It was a strange dream that was for sure – but a dream nonetheless. I had a dream … that I was awake. I was lying restlessly in my bed, amongst the darkness of my bedroom, unable to remain comfortable or still. Finally, I rolled over onto my side, forcing my eyes shut. At first, I believed that this was no dream at all; I believed that it was completely real.

Unexpectedly, however, I felt an arm wrap around my waist gently, rubbing my thigh sweetly. The bed lowered, indicating that someone had lain down beside me. I could feel their breath in my ear and their grasp around me. I longed to turn and see who this stranger was, but they soothed me until the darkness crept over me and I drifted to sleep.