A/N: Ok, sorry to everyone who read my first two chapters, I know I took awhile to update. Just been a little bit busy lately, but I told myself that if I didn't update soon I never would. In conjunction with that, if you guys want me to update sooner, reviews help me remember I'm not just writing this fic for myself anymore.

Oh, and all my thanks to Not That Girl, ilubga, craziexmaddy, TheTeenageAmnesiac, forgotten twilight, and Gabriel Wolfe for telling me to continue. You guys are the best.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of its fantabulous characters, but hey, neither do you unless you are Stephenie Meyer, in which case, I LOVE YOU!!

Chapter 3

Previously: She took a step closer.

"Hello."

I didn't respond. I couldn't seem to find a handle on my functions anymore and simply continued to stare forward in my immobility.

I could, on the other hand, hear the silent distress in her mind by my lack of sheer presence and the blankness of my face, though her face also showed no signs of anything related to the panic that was seeping through her.

She was utterly terrified that something was wrong with me; I believed I kept on catching her repeating "too late", but the words were so soft and indistinct, I couldn't be sure if that was what she was really pondering. I only knew it was a repeating phrase, like her own small mantra that not even a mind reader could elucidate.

There was something else, though. I wasn't fully receiving what that something was, as she refused to commit to any of the jumbled happenings in her head. I was getting some fragments of it though, like when Alice was especially excited, but vehemently refused for her plans to be anything other than a surprise.

I was puzzled at the lack of sensation at the name. I normally felt an extreme sense of loss and yearning when ever I thought of any of them, but I was so engaged with the mystery of this youth, I was momentarily distracted from my misery.

Most of her recollections were still images, a frantic collage of what appeared to be random phantasmagoria, some I recognized from this room; some from what I assumed was the rest of this house or another in similar conditions.

There was one ragged man in particular, as present in her thoughts as he was vague. He didn't have any semblance of certain facial hair, but he didn't look to have shaved in a long period of time and had hard, metallic black eyes that seemed to glint with undaunted menace.

She couldn't perfectly picture the face; he was fuzzy, like an old photograph left out in the elements to age, but there was certainly a definite amount of pure … danger about his character

I was slightly taken aback by the silence of her thoughts during this period; I only saw and felt what she was remembering, but all of her senses seemed stunted.She recalled him with an overpowering malice and hatred, mingled with fear, but there was nothing concrete about any other part of it.

She, refusing to engage in her own thoughts any longer, pushed them hurriedly aside, and so decided to focus more on me.

She gently cocked her head to her right, and whispered, "Me llamo Analida. My name is Analida. ¿Puedes decir a mí el tuyo nombre? Can you tell me your name?"

I quickly considered my position and the now dubbed girl, murmuring the name, "Logan."

It seemed to fit well enough; I couldn't come up with a more correlative name with my present state of mind then one meaning hollow.

"Logan," she said it slowly, careful to annunciate each word precisely. I didn't completely understand the relief I saw on her face while doing this because her mind was still scrambled and jumpy. I assumed it had something to do with my finally responding to her, giving a small reaction to her quiet pressing.

Yet, there it was again, my instincts warning me I was oblivious to something very saturnine and bereaving in her being. She almost seemed cautious of her own delicate existence; weary of pushing herself over her limits some how.

Though her posture held no fear and to any other she seemed especially self-assured while engaging a random someone who just happened to posses stunning stealth and sneak into her home, she appeared to become more and more fragile every second I looked at her. Like she was abruptly going to shatter into inumeral pieces, but refused to display any of her pain until the combustion occurred.

She cautiously took one more step closer to where I was and guardedly, but firmly, folded her legs in front of her and sat, shoulders relaxed and back tense, a few feet from where I slumped in the corner. She never once let me free from the nearly gravitational force of her eyes that only seemed to focus on me because she couldn't bear the sight of the rest of the decaying background.

She gave me a small, reassuring smile and I just barely caught her lower lip tremble infinitesimally.

"So Logan," she began "why don't you tell me your story and I'll tell you mine."

A/n: What do you think you guys? Any good? I was kind of planning for the next chapter to be a repeat of this one only from my new character Analida's POV because I'm becoming more and more interested in her. I'm not sure if that's a good idea, though. It could be its own one shot or just one chapter in here or nothing at all if you like. So, I was thinking, since I can't read minds, you could tell me what you think in a review. Pwease. gives puppy dog eyes