Disclaimer: Twilight, its plots and characters, belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just wish I owned Jacob. Like a lot of us fanpeople.

Summary: They were lurking in the dark, all these years, wanting you to believe they were legends. They waited. The waiting's over; times to get on stage and see the world you've missed out on. JacobxOC. Rated T for intense swearing & mild religious content.

My first OC-centric Twilight fanfiction. I tend to have a very scribbly and incomprehensible style, so read at your own risks. Also, my stories are always very... explicit. When it comes to language, anyways. So I should warn anyone and everyone who's going to read this; I make my character swear a lot. I'll try my best to keep Jacob in character, but I can't guarantee anything decent. But Skye's going to swear. Lots.

Chapter Two : Suspicious

January 3rd 1999

« Quite frankly, Ophelia, I have no idea. Most of the stories that are passed down from generation to generation are submitted to changes, as time goes by. You know that, right? It's a question of honor, of thrill and enthrallment. If you don't captivate the listeners, it's not worth it. Your story, your tales, they have to be... what word do you always use? Epic, is it? Yes, it has to be epic. [...] No, dear no! The Wendigo stories? Most of the information in them are purely made-up things, to scare children just like you. Things that will keep you eating your vegetables and doing your homework every day! No, the Wendigo was actually a docile creature, from what my father told me when I was a your age. [...] Oh, don't worry about the Wendigo this time around, Ophie. Since the evil siren-men went away, they haven't been seen at all. It's funny, isn't it? How the Wendigo just seemed to disappear from the surface of the planet just when the siren-men vanished... »

-Conversation held between Dr. Krauffman(58 yrs old) and his young pupil, Ophelia(7 yrs old)-

Monday morning came, and I deeply resented the day. All through first period, I was stressed to a point where I didn't even listen to my English teacher. And I always listened to my English teacher. Hell, her class was the only one I paid any attention whatsoever in. Second period was worse: I fell asleep. Third period was decent, because my hunger took my mind off my stress. Lunch was nice. My friends made me laugh. Throughout the entire day, though, I made my best effort to keep quiet about the appointment after school. The last thing I wanted was to be asked a thousand questions. Questions I knew I wouldn't have any answers to.

Obviously, I had to have Tanya in my last class, which just happened to be Economy, which Matt was also in. And for some reason, she always eyed me whenever I was stressed. It was always a little creepy, actually, the way she always seemed to just know. But she never bothered when I was depressed or overly happy--just when I was angsting like a preteen. She came over to the desk in front of mine. I was against the wall to my left, in the back of the class, and Matt was to my right. It wasn't like he was about to move away for Tanya, of all people.

I wasn't too sure if she was glaring at me or just staring. It's always been too easy to confuse the two when it came to Tanya.

"Spill it." Oh, yes, she had such a wonderful way to go about heartfelt discussions. The stare/glare made it so much easier.

"Spill what?" I asked airily, trying to pay attention to the rest of the class. The teacher was once more recorrecting last week's exams and had left us in teams to work in our books. I saw Matt turning his head to look at me. Goody, now I had two people on my back.

"You're stressed. You're doing that thing with your hair again and it's pissing me off."

I stared at her blankly for a few seconds. I was doing what now? I had to think for a bit before I could decipher what Tanya was telling me: she hated it when I constantly tugged at my hair. Either combing through it or twisting it, she hated it. I cracked open my book, feigning work. At least the teacher wouldn't accuse us of being 'silly gossiping teenagers' again. Recently, I'd felt the urge to slug him in the face every time he made that comment.

"I called an agency last night," I said, and I just barely heard Matt's chair sliding nearer over the cacophony in the class.

"What agency?" he asked, clearly stealing the words right out of Tanya's mouth. The latter predictably threw him a smoldering glare.

"It's a place in Montreal. They study…" I swept the class with a quick roaming glance, then lowered my voice so no one would hear. "...they study myths and legends. Ghosts and shit," I muttered, flicking through the pages and pretending to write something down as the teacher looked our way.

"Say what now?" Matt whispered harshly, narrowing his eyes and staring at me very intently. "Myths? Ghosts?" I thought I saw a flicker of color in his eyes. I dismissed it, guessing it must have been something in my eye. I was prone to hallucinating lights and colors all over the place.

"M&G, right?" Tanya asked. The genuine curiosity in her voice disturbed me. For a split second, there was no animosity at all.

I nodded. "How did you know?"

"I called them too."

***

Last period flew by too fast. Tanya and I didn't mention M&G for the rest of it despite Matt's constant whining and probing. Three o'clock came, then four. I waited at home, trying to ready myself, trying to find something decent to wear. I wasn't too sure yet what look I wanted to go for, either the 'I'm serious' or the 'I'm in serious shit' (I like this sentence and I'm still trying to get it how I want it to read…). I settled for something that sent an 'I'm so normal that I scream abnormality' vibe. I caught the 4:15 bus, figuring that I had more than enough time, in forty-five minutes, to make it to M&G.

I was so, so wrong.

I reached the doors at half past five. The shop front--well, if you can call it a shop front--was pretty simplistic. The window was covered, from the inside, with a thick black curtain. A white decal had been stuck to the window. It was a circular design, abstract to those who didn't know what they were looking at. I could see the wolves: two at the top, howling at opposite sides of each other. They made up the ears of a larger wolf, only a head. I started at it for a very long time, convinced I'd seen it somewhere before, but unable to pinpoint exactly where.

The sounds of bells mesmerized me for a second. The pristine, clear sound of a bell threw me into a split-second trance. A hand waved in front of me. I shook myself out of my reverie and stared at the hand's owner. I imagined I must've been disfiguring him: he started laughing a deep, hearty laughter.

"You must be Skye. We've been waiting for you." I recognized the voice I'd heard on the phone.

The man was tall, beaming. A little old, probably in his late forties, early fifties. He looked like someone I knew before. A man that used to work with my father at the local faunic reservation. Donald, or something like that. Long white beard and matching hair. Where hair was still present on his head, the strands were a pretty decent length. Sort of Santa-ish without the morbid obesity.

"Uh, I'm really sorry I'm late. The bus got stuck in traffic and I…" I stumbled over my words. My heart was thrumming in my chest like hummingbird wings. It should've been obvious by then to any passer-by that I wasn't quite at ease in public places.

"It's fine. I said around five, didn't I? Five thirty, that's still around five as far as I'm concerned."

I smiled and followed him inside the shop. I was surprised by how light everything was. From the outside, you'd be sure that the inside was dark and stuffy. Instead, the air was crisp and mirrors on the ceiling caught the light from above the curtains. It was really impressive.

What struck me most was the smell.

At first it was horrible. It was like some thick, disgustingly sweet perfume permeated the air around me and was trying to suffocate me. Seconds later though, an odd incense-like smell wafted through, and I found my heart was slowly going back to beating at a regular pace. I looked around for the first time. The walls were scarcely covered in shelves, commemorative plaques and books were strewn, some open, some closed, on the counter to my left and the floor around it. One of the pages of an open book caught my eye. The book was open about halfway through, revealing the start of a new chapter entitled "WENDIGO & AL". I was a little taken back but quickly discarded the discovery. It was just a coincidence.

The man, who turned out to be exactly who I thought he was--Donald Steinbeck--led me to the back door. I thought I was being taken outside, but the door opened on a set of descending stairs. The basement was cooler than the first floor, and the gross, sweet smell once again assaulted my nose. Like before, the scent quickly went away, replaced by a woodsy smell that soothed, calmed me even more.

I still felt anxious. Something was wrong: my legs felt like they would have to run for it in a second, but he rest of me felt completely at ease…

"So, I understand you've got a problem?" Donald asked from my right. He pulled out a wooden chair, inviting me to sit at a round table. A few people were already there, whispering. They stopped as soon as they saw me enter the room.

"Y-yeah. Problem…" I echoed in a hushed tone, sitting down at the table. The woman in front of me had long, curly black hair. She seemed as old as Donald, give or take five years. The corners of her eyes were creased from ancient laughter; even as she stared nonchalantly, her mouth seemed to naturally pull upward into a makeshift grin. The man to her left was much younger, probably in his mid-twenties. He looked like a warped version of my brother. He was skinnier and clearly worked out a lot more, and his blue eyes didn't at all match with his pitch-black hair. Something told me he and the woman were blood relatives; I went out on a limb and guessed she was his mother.

"This is Caitlin and Ross. Caitlin's a specialist in paranormal activities, spirits and things like that. She can come in contact with pretty much anything dead or alive. Ross is a hunter. Hunts pretty much everything. He's our number one guy when it comes to exorcisms." Donald's tone reminded me of a grandfather introducing his children to an old time friend. I felt a little out of place, not quite uneasy.

"Donald's the boss of this place," Ross said. His voice rang in my ears, felt familiar like so many other things did recently. "He's usually the one to break a bone every time we're out on a call," Ross snickered, and I couldn't help but crack a smile. I heard something from Caitlin, but I didn't pay much attention to her. I was unable to imagine her smile, let alone laugh. And so I assumed she was trying to scoff to scold her son—presumed son, at least.

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta take the blows. Ain't that right, Skye?"

I narrowed my eyes but kept smiling. Someone had to take the blows… I was puzzled as to why I felt so attacked by his remark.

"Well, anyways. I think you'd better go on talkin' about this problem of yours. I'm curious," Donald continued, taking the last chair and sitting to my left. I nodded, took a deep breath.

"I think I have a stalker." Caitlin raised a delicate eyebrow. "Not…not a normal one, I, uh…" I stuttered, a little unnerved about all the eyes on me. "I think I… well it's stupid."

"Most people think what we do is stupid," Caitlin spoke for the first time. Something in her voice set me off. It sounded like she was offended or annoyed with me.

"I think I'm being stalked by the Wendigo," I blurted, obstinately looking down at my lap where I was wringing my hands. "I mean, I don't really know. But…"

"There's a story behind this isn't there?" Donald asked. I knew he was serious. I was being taken seriously. Thank God.

Heaving a sigh of what I wanted to believe was relief, I started recounting the events of that night almost a month ago. There were a lot of things I couldn't remember, because of the fright and because I tried my best to forget everything. Caitlin was obviously not happy about this, but I could see the glances Ross was throwing at her. Donald never took his eyes off me. If anything, I'd say he was completely engrossed in what I was saying.

"I just figured I'd need help," I groaned, supporting my head in my hands. "I mean, I don't want to kill… whatever it is. I just want it to go away. And I want to do it myself. Because it looks like I'm the only person it'd listen to. The night I first saw it, when I said I'd hunt it down, I'm sure it howled again because of that."

"It's too dangerous!" Caitlin snapped, glaring at me with more intensity than even Tanya could muster. I shuddered. I didn't like this woman one bit.

"Caitlin's right, though, Skye." Donald answered, apparently lost in though. "Hunting ghosts is dangerous enough. They can attack us without us knowing what they are. It's a lot different with werewolves. They've got natural fighting instincts that we can't even dream of beating," he said, scratching his beard.

"We could always hire her part-time," Ross suggested. "We could teach her the basics. Take her on a call or two, just to observe. If she can handle that, maybe we can take a chance and go a little further."

I liked Ross. Ross was good to me, unlike like his bitchy mother. That is, if my guess was right and she actually was his mother. I thought about asking, but kept quite. Not the right time just yet.

"That's insane! She's more likely to get killed getting here than get out of a call with her sanity!" Caitlin exploded, slamming her hands on the table.

Again, the rage and loathing inside me boiled, with no apparent reason. Sure, I knew the anger had its place, the loathing was just a bit... much.

"I'm already insane if I believe werewolves exist," I growled. "I don't think I can suffer any more than I am at the moment. I want that fucking thing out of my life. And if you're not willing to help me, I'll just go meet some creep in a dark alley or something and get it done the black market way." I stomped away from the table, vaguely aware of the chair falling in my wake.

I was a little disgusted with myself. I'd never acted like that. Not even around Tanya. Much LESS around Tanya. That woman was just pushing the edges…edges that should be much further. I frowned. I stopped and let my hand linger on the door's cool glass. I looked down at the book I'd seen before on the Wendigo. No one was around. I picked it up and left.

***

The rest of the offered me no consolation. The minute I got home, my mother bombarded me with so many questions, I didn't even have the time to answer one before ten others had been asked. Eventually I lost my patience; as much as I loved my mother, I couldn't stand her when she was in a frenzy like that. After clearing the hallway, I headed straight to my room and slammed the door. As per usual, I shoved the window open, jumped in the lilac tree and clambered on the roof.

It had been around seven when I got home. The traffic on the Mercier bridge was hell, and even though the town buses had those privileged lanes, the ride home somehow wasn't any faster. The sun was just barely beginning to set, at the sky to the east was starting to darken. There weren't any stars yet, but the moon was as bright and present as it always was. Just as fascinating and esoteric as I'd always found it.

The dog next door started howling, but that wasn't too much of a surprise. Ambulance sirens had gone on barely a second before, and whenever that happened, you were sure to have at least one dog howling at it. What surprised me, actually, was the fact that a much deeper howl came to me, from much further away. I groaned, not enjoying the sounds at all. But at least, I figured I should be at least a little happy. Whatever had been stalking me had gotten the message and was staying a safe distance away. How long things were going to stay that way though...

Well, I didn't want to take a guess too soon.

I heard my mother pounding on my bedroom door, screaming some insane remark or another. I didn't pay much attention to what she screamed, lately. I slowly, quietly tottered to the edge of the roof, back the way I came, and hurried down the lilac tree. It was only a matter of time before mother dear decided that she had to tear the door off its hinges.

There were always several bikes by the lilac tree, pressed against its side. In the summer, at night especially, it was always a pain try to stay on the little stepping stone path to the backyard gate, considering the bikes usually took up half the space. I found myself cursing a little too loudly, or running into the huge metal frames, causing too much noise to stay outside. Because, yes, I enjoyed the occasional venture in the backyard at night, while it rained, and while everyone was asleep.

I snatched a bike and strode quickly to the gate, shoved it open and ran the length of the driveway before hoping on the bike and zooming away, veering to the left. I heard my mother yell something, but by the time she would realize I had 'run away', I'd already be long gone. I knew she wouldn't bother running after me, not unless I wasn't home the next morning.

I relished the freedom of the old Quebec roads, the half-demolished asphalt and the cracked sidewalks. I went slowly, though, because I hadn't rode a bike in such a long time and my legs got tired easily. I used to ride every day, sometimes to go somewhere, mostly just to get out of the house. But something happened, and sadly, my emotional state wrecked my physical state. I was just getting home one day after a particularly scarring heartbreak, and all of a sudden, poof! My legs couldn't move anymore. I was scared to death: I even called my mom at work nearly crying because I knew something had to be wrong with me.

That aside, half an hour later, I got to the other side of the small town and felt much better. Worn out, tired, out of breath, a little anxious even, but better nonetheless. It was funny, actually: I felt like the answers I hadn't gotten earlier that evening were going to come to me there. Which was absurd. Then again, the concept of live werewolves was absurd, too.

There was a duplex, where I used to live. The backyard itself was huge, but the forest was even better. There was only a flimsy chicken coop-like fence separating the actual yard from the forest. My brother and I would always wander off on sunny days, with my father, and we'd always bring back snakes or injured birds, sometimes even lizards. I knew that forest was a good place to cool down after my day. I wasn't sure why I absolutely had to come across town to calm down, but it felt nice to get some decent exercise.

I steered left, again, into a boulevard perpendicular to the main road. Duplexes lined the street, forest behind the ones on the left and more houses behind the one on the right. To the left, once again, was a little cul-de-sac. I went there, knowing that there was a small gravel lot destined for the cars of the rare hikers that came by. I ditched my bike there, jumping off, not bothering to kick up the stand. It fell in a clatter of jingling metal, the wheels still spinning furiously. I giggled and ran in the forest, as fast as I could, despite the fact that I was relatively sure that my legs were going to turn to Jello three seconds in.

I walked around for a long time, mostly heading north, towards the steep descent in the land I knew would be there. I was desperate to find a tangible reminder of the winter I'd spent there with my family, running down the snowy hill with my brother and late dog.

Just when I reached the top of the hill, I realized that, not only had I left my phone behind, but I had forgotten to bring a watch. As I spun around myself, I forgot all about the silly hill I'd spent twenty minutes finding and started to worry. I couldn't see the houses at all any more. How far could I possibly have gone in just twenty minutes? As I spun, again and again, I froze and literally screamed at myself. I was such and idiot, turning around like that all the time! If I didn't know where I'd gone from before, I was even more lost than I ever could have hoped to be.

Taking a deep breath, I looked down at the hill. I was staring ahead, watching the steep descent, and remembered that, to my right, should be the way to my old home. I figured that as soon as I got to the backyard there, assuming there weren't any dogs, locks, barbed wires or electrical currents running through the fence, I would be able to make it through the duplex's backyard and make it back to my bike in no time.

I stared up, trying to see the sky. It was considerably darker, and most of the stars were already shining brightly. I groaned loudly. I knew my mother was already worrying herself to hell and back again, because I knew it had to be well past eight thirty. I had spent way too much time away from home, and that time wasn't about to get any shorter. Slowly, I turned to my right and started walking towards what I could only hope to be my way home.

Thanks for reading this chapter!

Special thanks to Alenya11 for the huge publicity stunt. In return, I feel I should mention that her fanfiction, Travel to Fate, is VERY good, and much worth the wait between the chapters. (Which actually isn't that long, if you compare it to, say, me?)

Also, many thanks to Mustang901, Gryffindor Gurl2 and CWash09 for adding this story to their favorites. Knowing people like Retrospect--in any way, shape or form!--is always very appreciated. (Though a review would be nice next time. ;) But thank you.)

Later taters! ;D