Katherine:

"Enjoy your stay madam"

The overly-friendly bellboy's false smile stayed with me as I shut the
door in his face, my rudeness tempered somewhat by the fat tip that
bulged in his breast-pocket. Large enough to give me some privacy, I
hoped.

The room I'd booked was large, immaculately kept, and most of all,
beige. Surprisingly like the Cullens' manor, or at least, what I'd
seen of it, I thought with a wry smile. Flopping down onto the bed I
reached for the remote and turned on the plasma TV that occupied one
of the bedroom walls. Channel after channel scrolled past my eyes;
music, dance, drama, news, game show, real life, more music, more
news… the headlines caught my eye and with a start, I flicked
backwards again. But after a few moments even that bored me.

Switching off the TV with a sigh, I lay back and stared at the
ceiling, not really seeing the cream plaster swirled in artful curves.
The accents on the TV came to my mind- so different from the smooth
fluidity of the American anchors I had grown used to, and a stark
contrast to one voice in particular I realised with a start-
Amaryllis'. Thinking about her troubled me somewhat as the guilt of my
sudden flight from the Cullens began to ooze into my conscience. I
wondered how she was faring, how the others had reacted to news of my
departure and swore quietly that if anything had happened to her I
would avenge every slight tenfold. Mentally, as my imagination served
me images of just what her fate could have been, pressure began to
build and the lampshade at my bedside began to tremble alarmingly.
Quickly, I forced my mind to other issues and it wandered back to why
I was here. My not-so-long-ago past.

Why was I here? I pondered. At the time, it had made a lot of sense
but now I was so close, I wasn't so sure. For comfort? Visiting the
place of your death seemed a rather morbid replacement cuddle blanket
or teddy bear – closure seemed a more appropriate sentiment. Closure
on what had been a most troubling first year of eternity.

Closing my eyes, I turned my thoughts back to that evening. My
memories were dim, hazy as though a veil had been drawn over my view
of the past and I was left trying to see through the fog, but I could
still remember.

It had been warm, the cluster of bodies in the carriage stifling. I
hadn't expected an evening train to London to be so tightly packed,
but then again a year locked up in a padded cell had left me rather
out of touch, I'd mused. We'd emerged from the station onto the busy
streets, the crowds outside swirling as people moved out and about. I
could remember my apprehension, my panic at being so close to other
people, but then she'd put her hand on my arm and I'd been okay. Her,
my doctor, the light in my somewhat dark existence, the one who seemed
to genuinely care how I was doing instead of just routinely showing up
to administer the pills am to pm. It had been her who arranged for me
to get out of that place, arguing that a trip to the theatre was what
I deserved for my "good behaviour".

We'd left ourselves plenty of time that night – in case I'd freaked,
or worse, but I'd been fine – though I could still recall my childish
irritation at the repeated way she'd asked me how I was doing, concern
evident in her grey eyes. I remember their faces, spinning like twin
pools of light through the crowd towards us. They'd asked for
directions, the conversation that followed ending in an invitation for
drinks before our show. She'd turned to me, checking if I'd wanted to
go, and to try and please her I'd given the answer I thought most
normal teenagers would and leapt at the chance to visit a swish London
bar.

My memory skipped a little; passing over the walk we'd taken through
the streets to the point where they'd led us to an alleyway.

We'd been following that too-good-to-be-true couple like lambs to a
slaughter, naïve and willing. Then the man, the gorgeously blond male,
had turned off the street to lead us down a dark alleyway. I remember
pausing at the entrance, suddenly afraid, but in front of me she'd
followed them in and so I'd taken those fateful steps after her. The
brick walls of the buildings either side towered over us, blocking out
the last of the evening sunshine, and absurdly I could still remember
the bins overflowing with rubbish and the wet newspaper that had lain
in the gutter as we'd walked further into the gloom.

Then they'd stopped. I remembered the smile on his face, so beautiful,
and the woman with flowing golden hair at his side. I could still see
in my mind the way her sculpted brows had furrowed as she'd looked to
us, and how I'd turned to my doctor confused, as the woman had taken a
step to the side to slam her ivory elbow into an old window. The
brittle glass had shattered in an instant, falling in a silver shower
onto the grimy pavement. I remember seeing that man, his smile
brighter as his eyes, so black in his face, lighted with some unknown
fire.

And then nothing except darkness. Heavy, oppressive darkness in my
mind. Panic, as I found myself unable to open my eyes to see, part my
lips to scream out loud, budge my limbs, call for help from my doctor.
All I could feel was my hands, moving on their own according, reaching
and then gripping. Pressure on my elbows, soft as a feather touch.
Then the wet, the seeping damp that trickled down my wrists and my
palms and the tips of my fingers, the soft drip of blood falling onto
concrete paving.

With a start my eyes snapped open, tearing myself from my morbid
memories. Had I a heart beat it would have been racing. That was why I
was here, why I had returned. With a start, I leapt from the bed,
grabbing my room key as I headed for the door. It was now or never – I
was going back to that alley even if it killed me.