Author's Note: Thank you to those who reviewed. Era Lupus, I laughed out loud when I read your review. Holy Hera? I might have to use that from now on. I'm glad you like the story so far. Part of the reason I started this story was because Kristen Stewart was Sophie. I think she's a great actress and I thought it would be fun if they made a sequel and fleshed her out. She didn't get much credit for her initial role in Jumper, so I thought I'd write something to do with the character she played. Thanks a lot for reviewing! Everyone, here's chapter two! Hope you all like it!

Chapter Two
Now rather than Never

It takes me almost six hours to get to Cape Cod. I have no idea where I'm going, the sun is barely up, and I can't shake the nervous adrenaline that is surging through my body. But, as I navigate the quiet highways, staring ahead, barely seeing what's in front of me, I have time to calm down and think. The sound of my mom's GPS guides me when I lose my way, and I don't have to do much concentrating on my driving. Instead, I'm able to focus on my night, sorting out the future, and breathing. I have time to offer myself every possibility. Aliens. Spiritual phenomenon. Insanity. Hole in the space-time continuum. But nothing seems concrete. So, jumpers. Those who.... jump? What does that even mean? Is jumping simply disappearing into thin air? If so, then where are they right now? I can't figure it out, and my head starts to hurt once I've entered Connecticut. I don't know if it's from a ruined night of sleep, stress, insanity, or the result of my brain working overtime, but I allow my mind to go completely blank, and that seems to help.

Somewhere in Rhode Island, I start shaking. I feel lightheaded, and my stomach feels as if it's swirling acids and scrap metal like a washing machine. When I can visibly see my knuckles whitening against the steering wheel- my muscles tensing, trying to stay still- I exit the highway and pull into a diner. Maybe I need some coffee or something.

The place is nearly empty, save for a few truckers and some rowdy teenagers. I ask for a seat at the bar and lift myself up onto one of the stools, feeling as if my whole body is about to collapse.

"What can I get for you, sweetie?" a short woman with a dyed-red perm and orange-red lipstick asks from behind the bar.

Swallowing, I say, "Coffee, please- Black." My voice comes out hoarse and thick, making me wince. As an afterthought, I add, "And a bagel too, please."

She nods, glancing back at me as she pours some steaming coffee into a mug. When she places it before me, she stares for a minute.

I don't meet her eyes, afraid she'll start asking me questions or telling me stories. Instead, I focus my attention on the teenagers sitting across the diner, loud and obnoxious. From what I can gather from here, they've woken up 'hella early' so they can go to the beach and be there in time to get good seats at an outdoor concert. Listening to them depresses me, so I take a gulp of my coffee. It burns my tired throat, and I wince.

"So, where are you from, hun?" the woman asks, cutting my bagel behind the counter.

This is what I wanted to avoid.

"Pennsylvania," I lie.

She nods, handing me a bagel, cut in half. With a smile she says, "You don't look like you want to be awake right now."

"That's 'cause I don't," I say, allowing myself to laugh a little.

She just stares at me. Maybe the stress and anxiety is coming off of me in waves- like radiation. Maybe she can feel it. She definitely knows I'm not okay.

"I'm going to visit my dad in Massachusetts," I lie again. I've never met my dad- I don't know what he looks like, who he is, why he's not a part of my life, or what his last name is. I took my mom's last name. I have no connection to a man I'm claiming to be visiting. "My mom's going to Italy with her friends, so I'm staying with Dad for a few weeks."

I'm surprised at how easily the lies are rolling off my tongue.

The woman- name-tagged Deana- smiles, "Sounds like fun."

I shrug, "Yeah."

Please, just- Leave me alone for a few minutes.

As if noticing I want to be ignored, she says, "All right, dear, you just yell if you need anything."

I nod, but she's already turning away. At the end of the bar, she starts chatting with a guy who's watching the TV hanging from the ceiling. They laugh and joke, and I try to ignore them. I take another gulp of the coffee, ready for the burn this time. Letting out a breath, I begin to rip a piece of my bagel off. Really, this seems as appealing as eating cardboard. Deana has left a little dish of packaged butter, cream cheese, and jelly. I highly doubt any of those will make it anymore appealing. I force myself to eat the bit I've ripped off, chewing like I'm working through tree bark. Swallowing everything down after I've partially chewed it- with the aid of the coffee- seems to work, and I manage to eat three quarters of the thing.

Thankfully, I've stopped shaking, and my stomach doesn't seem so turbulent anymore. Also, my mind- though still weary from shock and nervous agitation- is surprisingly neutral- albeit, a little nervous- especially given the circumstances.

Because of this calm, I have time to think about what I'm doing- really think about it.

I'm only eighteen, can I really handle all that I'm trying to take on? I've never lived on my own, my mother's always been there for me. I go to church every Sunday and I've always gotten good grades. I'm going to Columbia in the fall to study sociology and anthropology. Not once have I ever done anything disobedient or.... Interesting. I'm not athletic or savvy when it comes to strategy and physical endurance. Can I save my mom from whoever these guys are- even if I can get information from David Rice? Am I capable of something like this? I mean, I could get back in the car and turn around right now. By this time tomorrow, I could be in Tatiana's living room, watching cartoons with her kid, eating macaroni and cheese, safe.

"Are you ready for the check?"

I nod absently to the woman behind the counter, staring at the laminated formica counter blindly.

The sound of my mother's scream reverberates in the corners of my mind. These people- they have her, and no one else knows this but me. I'll respect her wish of keeping this from the police, but I can't just hide out in Tatiana's house, waiting for something to happen. Even if Tatiana got help, I- I have to be a part of this. I saw my mom's fear- I witnessed them struggling to get her- I have to be a part of saving her- if that means solely, than so be it.

I dig out some of the money I had stuck in my wallet at my house, and pay the check, giving the waitress a tip as well, before leaving.

Now, to finish the leg of the trip and get to David Rice.

When I reach Provincetown, it's nearly ten in the morning. The sun is up and the sky is a bright, bright blue. Cape Cod is filled with brunchers and beach-goers, boaters and tourists. In town, I ask a local to point me toward Beachfront, and I end up driving down a road that is adjacent to the beach. Obviously.

One ninety-eight is at the end of the road. It's small and gray, with a tiny garden, and wind-chimes hanging along the eaves by the front door. I park in the street, grab the folder titled 'David,' and my phone, and get out. The walk up to the door takes me all of two minutes, and by the time I'm reaching for the bell, I realize that I can't turn back now.

The sound of the door bell resounds in the house and I wait, my heart thumping strangely in my throat.

"I got it!" I hear a male voice yelling, and I contemplate turning tail and running for a split second.

Before I can escape though, the door's opening, and behind another screen door, stands David Rice. I remember him still- even though I haven't seen him since December. His sandy brown hair is the same, his eyes curious and safe. From what I can see, he's wearing a plain white t-shirt, and he looks as if he has no idea who I am.

He gives me a little smile, saying, "Can I help you?"

Weren't those my exact words to him, months ago?

I don't know what else to say, so I say, "I'm Sophie."

"Okay," he says, waiting for the punchline.

Taking a deep breath, I work up my nerve and hold the folder up for him to see, "You're a jumper."

His eyes narrow, and his brow furrows, "Do I know-"

"I'm Mary's daughter," I say sternly, watching as the realization slides into place on his face. "She was kidnapped by jumpers and I want some answers."

For a moment he just stares at me, shocked. Then, a whole array of emotions pass over his face. He's scared, angry, relieved, and then scared again- nervous. He stares at my face intently, as if taking in my whole appearance. Can he feel the waves of anxiety too- like the lady at the diner? I hold my ground regardless, staring into his eyes with a confidence and determination that I didn't know I possessed. I know he recognizes me, but I can't place the emotions flickering behind his eyes now- Regret? I just can't tell, so I wait.

"Sophie, is it?" he asks. I nod once. "You better come inside."

He opens the screen door and I know it's now or never.

I take a step forward, entering the house. I guess it's now, rather than never.