Disclaimer: Twilight is owned by Stephenie Meyer. I am only borrowing a few of her characthers. The remainder of the story is my own. No reproduction is permitted without my written consent.

Author's Note

I posted Lost Soul Chapter 1 just minutes before Mrs. The King posted the final chapter of Gynazole. I know what everyone was reading that night, so I will just have to try again with Chapter 2. This one contains alot of background information, but it does help get the plot going in the right direction.

Chapter 2 A New Beginning

I woke up the next morning feeling exhausted. The stress of moving had finally caught up with me. I had gone to bed right after my walk, but sleep was elusive. When I did finally drift off my usual nightmares weren t far behind.

Last night s dream was the worst I d had in a long time. It started out with me in my kitchen baking cookies. I used to love to bake. It kept my hands busy, freeing my mind to ponder whatever problem was bothering me at the moment.

In the dream, I was just about to start placing cookies on the baking sheet when Jake burst into the room waving some papers in my face.

Bella! What the hell is this? he screamed at me.

Jake, listen! I tried to reason with him but he wasn t in a mood to talk. He rarely was.

No. I don t want to hear your excuses. You are just determined to fuck up everything you touch. I won t let you destroy our marriage! He had found the divorce papers. That had been my greatest fear in the month leading up to that day. I was terrified of the rage that awaited me when I finally got up the nerve to ask for a divorce. I had planned to be somewhere far away when he finally found out.

Jake had never laid a finger on me. Even so, marrying him was the worst mistake of my life. We started dating when I was a junior in high school. He was my first and only boyfriend. I had always been shy and quiet, so when he started paying attention to me I was thrilled. Jake was big, and strong, and handsome. He could have had any girl he wanted, but he chose me.

In the early days he was sweet and attentive. He brought me flowers for our first date, chocolates on Valentine s Day, and a heart shaped necklace on my birthday. I was happy to follow him around and let him control both of our lives. It didn t really seem like giving up control at the time, but they say hindsight is twenty-twenty.

He gradually inserted himself in place of every other important person in my life. He moped when I spent time with my friends, making me feel guilty. Or else, he would make nasty comments about them, always trying to replace my opinion of them with his own. The problem was that I was so over the moon for him that I just let it happen. It was effortless. By the time we had been together a year I only saw my friends in class, and even there they barely spoke to me. But that was okay. I had Jake.

He d had a violent temper for as long as I had known him, but in the early days it was always directed at others in the school. If some guy looked at me the wrong way, Jake threatened him. If someone bumped into him he had them pinned up against the locker by the throat. A few of friends thought I was crazy to be with him, but I always defended his actions saying that they didn t know the real Jake.

My father, Charlie, couldn t see him for what he was. Charlie and Jake s dad, Billy, have been best friends forever. Jake could do no wrong in his eyes. I swear, when we started dating those two started planning the rest of our lives for us.

The only person in my family who never quite trusted him was my step-brother, Jasper. My parents had gotten divorced when I was a baby. My mom left town as soon as the papers were signed, and nobody had heard from her since. Jasper s mom, Sue, married my dad when I was fourteen. Sue always kept her distance, never feeling quite up to the task of parenting a teenage girl.

Having Jasper in the family made up for any lack of affection between Sue and me. He was the big brother I never had. He liked to kid around with me, but looked out for me at school. When he went off to college I missed him terribly. That was the year I met Jake.

Jasper knew we were dating, but when he came home for summer break he was surprised to find just how consumed I was by Jake. He was the only one who managed to pry me away from him for any length of time. Of course, Jake was insanely jealous, but Jasper was the one person he couldn t pound to a pulp and get away with it. He settled for quiet fuming. Jasper sensed that things weren t quite right with our relationship. He tried to talk to me about it, but I wouldn t listen to him.

A week after our graduation I found out that I was pregnant. That was when it all started to change for the worst. I was young and scared, but I thought he would be there for me. For the first time I saw his temper lash out at me.

When I suspected that I was pregnant, I went to him immediately. He had solved any other problem that I had. I didn t know what I should do without him. I was stunned when instead of surprise, joy, or even fear, I saw the familiar mask of anger take over his face.

He called me a slut and accused me of intentionally getting pregnant just so that I could ruin his life. Then he stormed out of the house leaving me sobbing and scared on the couch.

A month earlier, Jake had pressured me to have sex with him on our prom night. I wasn t ready, but he assured me it would be fine. He was supposed to use a condom so that I wouldn t get pregnant, but when the time came, it wouldn t go on right. He threw it to the side and told me not to worry, that nothing would happen. I looked into his eyes and trusted him as I had on everything else.

It was painful, at least for me. Jake seemed to enjoy it immensely. By the time he finished, tears were streaming down my face. He laughed at my reaction, but kissed my tears away. He said that s what the first time is supposed to be for a girl, and that it would be better next time.

We did it a few more time after that. The pain went away, but I never understood why some of the girls at school were so crazy about it. Jake always used a condom after that first time, but once was all it took.

When Jake ran out on me I didn t know what to do. I curled up in a ball on the couch and cried. I was just about to call Jasper and tell him everything when Jake returned to find me still sobbing on the couch in my living room. He apologized, saying that I had just caught him off guard. Then he looked into my eyes and said, Isabella Swan, will you marry me? Instantly, all my fears and sorrows were wiped away. Jake wanted to marry me. He would take care of me and make everything okay. I didn t even think before accepting.

But the door to his anger had been opened, just a crack. There was no going back. From that point on, the smallest thing could bring it out. Any time I disagreed with him or defied him it was written on his face.

We were married two weeks later. It was just the two of us in a simple ceremony with the Justice of the Peace. We had to drive about an hour to the city hall in Albington. There was no way the daughter of the Chief of Police could get married without his knowledge in our little town.

Our families weren t exactly thrilled when they found out what we had done, but they accepted it quickly enough. Jake was a charmer. He had everyone, including me, convinced that our love couldn t be contained. Jasper was the only one who didn t seem thrilled about it. He offered his congratulations like everyone else, but it seemed like he was always holding something back. Whenever he thought I wasn t looking, his face had a serious expression that I couldn t figure out.

Jake landed a job as an auto mechanic right out of high school. It didn t pay much, but it was enough to get a tiny one room apartment. I got a part time job bagging groceries at the store down the road. Our little bubble of happiness felt so good, but it was fragile.

About a month after we were married I woke up with cramps. They scared me, and I didn t know what to do. I took some ibuprofen which seemed to help. Feeling a bit better, I went to work. That was a mistake. I had only been there for about 15 minutes when another cramp hit. My manager pulled me into her car and ran me to the hospital.

I remember sitting in a bed later that afternoon in a room surrounded by my family. Jake sat in the corner with his face in his hands. I couldn t look at him. I felt so guilty that I had lost my baby, and I just knew that he blamed me too.

Jasper and my dad stayed with me for a little while, but after a few hours, my dad decided that Jake and I needed some time alone. I wanted to plead with them not to leave me alone with him, but I knew it would only delay the inevitable.

After that day Jake never bothered to hide his anger from me. It never came out when our families were around, but when we were alone he placed the blame for every failure or problem in his life squarely on my shoulders.

It was almost impossible to deal with both the loss of my baby, and the misery that my marriage had become. I became depressed and withdrew even further.

Finally, my father insisted that I should go to college as planned at the end of the summer. Since he was paying the bill, Jake could hardly say no. I enrolled in the Elementary Education program at the local community college at the start of the fall term.

College was eye-opening. It was everything high school was not. Since Jake wasn t there I was able to make some friends and even speak to a guy without worrying about it causing him, or myself for that matter, bodily harm. I still didn t see anyone else outside of school, and never gave out my phone number. I couldn t risk Jake finding out that I spent time with anyone besides him.

Then one day, I found a little card that had been left in the women s restroom. It read, Nobody deserves to be abused! On the back side was a list of the signs of domestic abuse and a number to call for help.

I cried the first time I read it. I had never considered Jake to be abusive before because he never actually hit me. To my surprise many of the signs of abuse weren t physical. I must have carried that card with me for three months before I worked up the nerve to call the number.

The phone was answered by a counselor at a local women s shelter. I somehow managed to tell my story to this stranger. When she said she could help me it was like a huge weight had been lifted from my soul.

She arranged for me to go to counseling on domestic abuse. Over time I realized that I needed to get out of my marriage before Jake crossed the line from verbal to physical abuse. The shelter connected me with a lawyer who wrote up the divorce papers for me.

I had been in the process of making the final arrangements and was just a few days away from filing the papers when Jake burst into the room waving them in my face.

The noise of a car outside my window woke me up before the Jake in my nightmare could resume his nightly tirade, but my heart was already racing in anticipation and fear.

I took several deep breaths to calm myself. When I finally caught my breath, I took a look at the clock. It was already ten after five. Jasper! I yelled.

Jasper was working on his PhD in Sustainabilty at RIT. He needed to get on the road by 5:00 AM to have any chance of getting to his class on time. I jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs, but my effort was wasted. The couch was empty with the blanket folded neatly on the back. I found a note waiting for me on the kitchen table.

Bella,
I didn t want to wake you up to say goodbye. Take care of yourself, and get out of the house once in a while. Meet some people! Don t forget to call your dad. I ll see you in a few weeks. Love,

Jasper.

P.S. Sorry for making fun of your house. It really is a great place. I hope you re happy here.

Jasper always knew how to make me smile. He had been my step-brother for eight years, but he took care of me as if he had known me since the day I was born.

There was no point going back to sleep now. The dreams would just come again. I had hoped that I could leave them behind with a fresh start, but I guess it takes more than a new house to make a new life.

I dug through my kitchen boxes until I found my coffee maker and a fresh bag of coffee. Once the pot was brewing, I went back upstairs to take a shower. I had a lot of work to get done to make this house livable, but I was excited. Today was the day I started my new life.

I spent the morning cleaning the house literally from top to bottom. By about eleven I was starting to get hungry. That s when I realized that the kitchen would have been a better place to start. I wasn t about to cook anything more complex that cereal in that dirty kitchen, so I decided to drive into town for lunch.

As I turned onto Main Street the gray skies started to rain. I didn t have an umbrella, so I pulled on my jacket with the hood up and got out of the truck. The street was lined on both sides with little shops, typical of a small town. I passed a pharmacy, a hardware store with a dusty display in the front window, and a florist showing off silk flower arrangements, as well as a few empty windows with dusty for rent signs leaning against the glass. The grey day just made them look even more depressing. I was about to turn and cross the street to the diner when I stopped short.

Sandwiched between the florist and an empty store front was a small window and door with a used books sign. The chipped grey door frame looked like it hadn't seen a fresh coat of paint in at least ten years, and the windows were so dirty that you could barely see inside. I would have thought it was out of business except for a bright flowery flag flying next to the door reading 'Open'. I tried the handle, and to my surprise it turned. The store was dimly lit, but had a bright fluorescent light shining from a back room.

"Hello?" I called. I was met with silence followed by a crash and the sound of tumbling objects from the back room.

"Shit!" a woman's voice cried out.

I ran to the back to see what had happened. There on the floor was a mousy little woman lying under a ladder and a pile of books.

"Oh my God! Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine I think," she said in a bit of a daze.

"I hope I didn't startle you! Here, let me help you up," I said reaching to pull the ladder off of her. This was a first for me. I was usually the klutzy injured one on the ground.

"No, no I just thought I was alone. I read a ghost story before going to bed last night and it's making me jumpy.

She carefully emerged from the pile of books and stood up to dust herself off. "Nothing broken," she said. "Oh, where are my manners. I'm Betty. Welcome to my bookstore. It isn't much, but I'm working on it. I've only been open for a week."

"Bella," I replied, tentatively taking the hand she offered me. I just moved into town yesterday.

"Oh really. How nice. We don't get many new people here in town. Where do you live?" She started stacking books in a haphazard pile on the floor.

"I'm in the little white house out on Skyler road. The one next to the little cemetery." I said as I knelt down to help her pick up the books.

"Oh, you mean the McCarty house. That's a nice place. I'm glad to see someone back there again."

"I think it's perfect for me, it needs some work, though. I've been cleaning all morning, but I have a few projects that are a bit too big for me. I think I'll need to hire a handyman."

"You should give Anthony Cullen a call. He lives just up around the corner from you. He does maintenance work for the town, but he also does odd jobs now and then."

"Thanks, I ll think about that," I said. "So tell me where did you get all these books?" As I was stacking, I noticed that the books in the back room weren't your typical used book store fare. They were mostly older classics. Very few were published after 1930. They seemed to be in excellent condition. Some looked like they had never been read, while others, like the copy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice that I held in my hand, had clearly been read cover to cover many times. As I looked around the room, I saw that there were boxes and boxes filled with books in similar condition. "I bought the store a month ago from its previous owner. He had enough of it and decided to move south with his daughter. The books out front, all came from with it. The ones here in these boxes are the real prize though. I bought these at an estate sale last winter. The descendant of one of the old-money families from town had just died, and his heirs didn't have a use for them. They were scheduled to be auctioned off as part of the sale, but on the day of the auction we had a freak snow storm." She picked up the last of the books off the floor and returned it to the shelf. "They should have attracted book buyers from miles around, but I was the only one willing to brave the snow. I was really lucky to get them."

"They are quite a collection. Do you mind if I take a look at them?" I said, picking one off the table reverently. I couldn't resist old books. I loved the feel of the covers, and the thin delicate pages. They were like a window to a world long gone.

"Please help yourself," she said waving to the boxes stacked throughout the room. "I'll be moving them out front as I get them catalogued." The bell at the front door rang, making her jump again. "Shit! she cried again, I'm going to have to get rid of that damn bell before it gives me a heart attack. I'll be right back." She scrambled over a box and out to the front room.

I couldn't help but laugh at the strange woman as I turned to take in the boxes of books. There were so many that I didn't know where to begin.

A brown corner sticking out of one of the books caught my attention. I lifted it up and pulled out an old black and white photograph. The edges were worn, but the sepia shades were still clear. It was a picture of a soldier, dressed smartly in his uniform. The photograph showed only his head and shoulders but you could tell by his posture that he was tall and thin. His face was handsome with a strong chin and piercing eyes, but it still had the youthful look of a boy who hadn't completely reached manhood yet. I don't know why, but the look on that face made me think that this was someone who could look inside of me into my very soul. I turned the photograph over, but there was no name on it. The owner clearly knew him, and therefore didn't need to write a name. It was frustrating. There had to be some clue as to who he was.

I turned to the book. It had no title on the cover or the binding, so I began flipping through. The book looked like a hand written journal filled with dated entries that ended abruptly in 1918. I turned back to the first page and read:

"Diary of Rosalie Masen"

Masen. Where had I heard that name? I looked back at the picture and then it clicked. Edward Masen was the soldier buried near my house. Was I looking at photograph of him? My heart pounded with excitement! I had to have this diary. I had thought that I was content with his story being a mystery to me, but now, I had to find out what had happened to him. Why was he buried alone out there in that cemetery at such a young age? The rational part of my brain told me it was ridiculous to get all excited over someone who had been dead for almost one hundred years, but for some reason I couldn't stand not knowing.

Best sellers! Betty muttered behind me, making me jump. Can t they see this is a used book store? Her eyes caught sight of the book I turned over in my hands and she smiled. Found something you like, dear?

Yes. I ll take this one. It looks like an old diary written by a young girl almost a hundred years ago. I can t help but wonder what she would have considered important enough to write down.

Betty took the book from me, and flipped quickly through a few pages. Then, you can have it. It s not likely to fetch much on e-bay. Consider it a welcoming gift

Here you go, she said as she placed the book into a bag for me. Come back next week. I should have these boxes sorted by then.

I ll do that. Thanks again!

I left the shop and hurried across the street in the rain, leaping over a puddle on the other side. I couldn t wait any longer to open my book, but I somehow it seemed too personal to be reading there in the diner. Instead, I ordered a sandwich to go, and waited, tapping my foot impatiently as it was made. I dropped a few bills on the counter for the waitress, and was out the door before she could thank me.

Home again, I pulled the diary out of the bag and set it on the counter, torturing myself with the suspense while I made myself a cup of tea. Maybe I was afraid of disappointment. After all, from the brief glimpse I had at the store, this looked like the diary of a teenage girl. It might be full of trivial worries, and selfish wishes that would interest no one but the writer herself.

But there was the picture. I opened the back flap where I had left it and pulled it out. He had to be someone important to her or she would not have kept it. His was the story I longed to read in these pages.

I drank my tea and ate my sandwich while I stared at the picture.

His face held so many mysteries. It wasn t happy or sad, but determined, as if he knew a difficult job lay ahead of him, but he had to do it. He was so handsome, with his chiseled jaw and piercing eyes. I wanted so much to see him smile. Ultimately the picture held no answers. It only raised more questions. I opened the diary and began reading.

April. 17 1916

Dear Diary,
My name is Rosalie Masen, but everyone calls me Rose. Today is my sixteenth birthday, and my dear brother Edward was so kind as to give me this journal as a present. He said that I was to use it to record all my experiences, as well as my heart's deepest longings and desires, so that is what I intend to do.

I'll begin by telling you about my family. We have five members in our family, Father, Mother, my brothers James, and Edward, and myself. My father, Edward Masen Sr. is the owner of the Masen Furniture Factory and is a very distinguished member of the community. My mother, Elizabeth Masen is the kindest person I know. She leads several of the local charity committees that feed and clothe the poor children in town. I have two older brothers, James and Edward. James is twenty years old. He works with Father at the factory as a Foreman, and is studying to take over some day. It is a very important job. I don't see him much, except at meals when he and Father discuss the day's work. Edward is not quite seventeen years old. He still attends school at the Academy in Evanston during the week, but comes home with us on the weekends.

James and Edward look almost like twins at first glance. They are both tall and strong with handsome features and Mother's auburn hair. The most visible difference is in their eyes. James and I both have Father's plain brown eyes, but the Lord smiled on Edward, giving him our Mother's beautiful green eyes. They aren't a pale green-brown like others who are said to have green eyes. Edward's eyes are a beautiful glistening emerald color.

Edward's eyes are so unique that some people, especially older women, lose their train of thought when they look at him. I like to tease him, telling him that he could have his pick because no woman could resist his gaze. He always tells me not to worry. He has no intention of captivating a woman with his gift until he finds the one with the kindness of our mother and the beauty and spirit of his sister. I know that if he does find her I shall be terribly jealous. I love Edward dearly, and could not stand to see him bestow his affections on another.

I am the youngest member of the family. I have long blond hair and brown eyes, and hope someday soon to be the beauty of the family. Edward would scold me for that comment, telling me that such immodesty is unbecoming, but I mustn't write ill of him. It was so thoughtful of him to give me this journal. I promised him that I would write in it every day. I intend to follow through, but I must be finishing for now. I still have to dress for my party this afternoon.

Rosalie Masen

I closed the diary and looked again at the soldier's picture. This had to be my Edward.

I spent that afternoon and part of the evening reading the diary. I saw quickly that Rose did not manage to write an entry each day, but she wrote regularly enough that I was able to get a pretty good idea of what life was like for a privileged teenage girl in 1916. It got very tedious at times. She spent pages describing a new dress and shoes that she bought to wear at Christmas. She complained when she was too young to stay up late for one of her mother's dinner parties. She spent pages more discussing her best friend Jane and their school antics. She expressed her secret relief when Edward took no notice of Jane's schoolgirl crush on him. Rosalie Masen was every bit as shallow and self absorbed as any modern teenager.

The main thing that kept me reading was the occasional mention of Edward. These little gems were scattered randomly throughout the entries, but I learned much from them as I read. He played the piano. Rose had lost patience with it after a few lessons, but in her eyes, he had developed into the most skilled musician she had heard. Edward clearly loved his sister. He brought her gifts when he came home from school, comforted her when she had an argument with her friend, and defended her when the boys picked on her in the street.

The reading went slowly. Her cursive script could be difficult to decipher at times. After about an hour of it, I decided to pull out my laptop and type up a transcript as I went, in case I wanted to re-read it later. This slowed me down even further, so that by evening I had only made it as far as May of 1917 before I had to stop and rest my eyes.

Lying in bed I was exhausted, but couldn t seem to fall asleep. My mind kept replaying the contents of the diary and what I had learned about Rose and Edward. When I finally did drift off to sleep, I dreamed of the soldier in the picture. Just like the picture, his features and his uniform were all in sepia tones of brown and gray, all except for his piercing green eyes.

EPOV

The flare of consciousness burst forth again, stronger than it had in years. But this time, instead of fading it grew stronger, as if I had been refreshed by my long rest. I felt immediately confused. Unlike the other times, there was no one here in front of me, no face drawing me from my sleep, but I could feel a presence off in the distance beckoning me. Its pull was so irresistible that I found myself drifting off from the resting place I hadn t left in almost 100 years.

It drew me to a house, inside, as if the walls and floors had a form but no substance. I vaguely realized that it was I that had only an ethereal form. I was merely a lost soul searching for my true home.

I drifted on to an upstairs room where I found an angel lying on a bed curled up under the covers. Her body hummed, its life force radiating into the space around her. It was this force that had pulled me to her, and I basked in its glow.

But why had she called me forth? I had never known her in life. What connection did we share, that she held such power over me?

I found no answers there, so instead I stopped questioning and just reveled in the moment. I took in every detail of her face, her creamy skin, and her long brown hair. I used every bit of effort my ethereal form could muster to impress that likeness on my mind. She was now the center of my existence.

I watched silently over my sleeping angel as she rested peacefully through the night until dawn broke over the horizon and she started to stir.

Author's Note:

I want to thank everyone who read and reviewed chapter one, particularly Spikey! You guys make all the hours of writing worth the effort.

I also need to thank my husband, The Black Pen, for being my Beta for chapter 2. It was painful for him but he did a great job. If anyone out there would like to take over as my Beta and put him out of his misery please send me a PM. I do reasonably well with grammar and punctuation but something always gets through. I also need someone who can tell me if the story makes sense or not.

I'll be back with Chapter 3 in about two weeks. Please leave a review!