Disclaimer: Again, I don't own Twilight or its parts, only Poppy and Ian.

And um, sorry the chapters are so short; the next few are all about this length, as well. Whatevs. They'll get longer eventually. Probably.

Since I had bought my tickets so last minute, there had been no first class available. I wasn't used to these tiny seats in coach. I wriggled around trying to get comfortable in my aisle seat as the plane gracelessly met with the Port Angeles tarmac. The stewardess was telling us not to unbuckle our seatbelts until we had reached a full and complete stop, be careful when opening the overhead compartments, articles inside may have shifted during flight.

I wasn't listening.

I was reliving parts of the conversation my mother had had before we said goodbye at the airport.

"When will you be back?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I suppose it depends upon what I find when I get there."

As I got off the tiny plane, I realized that I had no idea what I was going to do. I wouldn't need to support myself, fortunately; thank God for old New York families and old New York bank accounts.

It was only just after six o'clock in the afternoon, but with the time difference between New York and Washington, it felt to me like nine. I had taken a seven-hour flight directly from JFK to Seattle, and then another hour flight from there to Port Angeles.

"What are you going to do in Forks?"

"I don't know. I'm going to look for Ian."

"Honey, I know you don't want to hear this, but if they haven't found him yet…"

I rented a little dark green '98 Saab from the airport and asked the man behind the counter if he knew of any hotels in Forks. He said he knew a few and gave me precise directions to one of them. I thanked him and went on my way.

As I left the airport, the sky darkened from the somehow golden blue of late afternoon to the blue-purple-pink-orange of sunset. As the sun got lower in the sky, I began to notice how chilly it was getting. I turned the heat on in the car, marveling at how it could be this cool in the middle of August.

It took almost an hour on the highway to get to the town limits. As I neared the town itself, I began to realize how exactly opposite of my city this little place was. In August, New York was loud, hot, dirty and colorful.

Forks was eerily quiet, cool, green, and yes, dirty, but dirty in a completely different way. Where New York was dirty from pollution and sludge and rats, Forks was dirty purely from, well, dirt. Dirty from Nature. The town, empty-looking and blue-green-brown, appeared sad.

"If they haven't found him yet…"

Or perhaps it was just my mood.

I noticed the exit I was supposed to take to get to the highway and moments later I stopped the car at a small and brown motel just off the highway; I could still see the few cars rushing by through the relatively thin layer of trees. There were so many trees here. I was accustomed to the scarce rarity of green, and yet I could barely see much else here between the far-spaced and small buildings.

After checking in and retrieving my bags from the car, I found my room. Number seventeen. I opened the door and turned on the lights. By this time it was completely dark outside. The motel room was standard, cheap and sparse. It was clean, thankfully. I recognized that I had been expecting worse without even realizing it, and the fact that it was not so was immensely relieving.

As soon as I sat down on my bed I realized the extent to which I was exhausted. It was quite an extent. I quickly changed into my pajamas and fell into bed without even brushing my teeth. I was sleeping like I'd been awake for a week within moments of lying down.

"If they haven't found him yet…"