Gah, I am SO SORRY for the long, unbearable wait I put you all through. But, finaly, chapter three is here! Rejoice!

Of course, I would like to thank my fabulous beta's who make my desperate ramblings actually seem like a plausible story: Gemini93, Twilight, and Eternity's Charm/Twilight's Charm.

Disclaimer: Hah, me? Own Twilight? You mean, like, besides the copy I got at Borders? Damn, I wish.

Some things change, some things stay the same.

I awoke early Wednesday morning.

Lying there on my bed, I thought for hours about what I would say to Sarah when I saw her next Saturday.

What does one say to someone who has lost a loved one? Worse yet, a loved one who left nothing but their memory and a trail of blood behind?

The affection I had seen between Sarah and Tony went beyond "love at first sight", sunk deeper than "true love", brought them closer than two who were "meant to be". They were soul mates. They were more in love than Romeo and Juliet, and now all that Sarah had left of her beloved Tony was a trail of dried, caking blood.

What could I possibly say to comfort her?

I, whose only experience with love had been with she who was mourning, had been called on to comfort her. However, I was as un-experienced as the next person, when it came to comfort and closeness.

No, there was nothing I could say to my grieving friend. I would just simply be there. Merely a shoulder to cry on. That was all I could be, and for Sarah's sake, be it, I would.

I slowly lifted myself off the bed, reluctant to face the day ahead.

Today, I had social skills; a subject taught to me by my melancholy mother. This meant that, all day, I would be interrupted and corrected if my words slurred, abruptly shoved back if I slouched when I walked, my back tied straight if I slumped in my chair, and tediously lectured if I objected in any way.

Isn't life grand?

I padded over to the water basin and washed my face. Forcing a comb through my tangled hair, I debated on what I would wear that day.

I decided on a simple white blouse and a long, navy blue skirt. Putting this on and lacing up my boots, I turned to the mirror to examine my appearance,

Whoever discovered the properties of how to make a mirror, was a genius. It is a beautiful, honest thing; one's image. It shows nigh but the truth, even if the viewer will not accept it.

I looked in the mirror and realized; no, accepted that I was beautiful. I had seen this very same image every morning of my life that I could remember. It had always showed me the truth, but I chose not to accept it. It showed me that I was actually appealing and unique, but I had chosen to believe Mary's words of hate, which over time had led me to believe I was ugly. The mirror showed me that I had the potential to be a strong individual, but I had followed the voices of everyone who influenced my life, and believed myself to be stupid. It showed me that I was me; that I could chose my own life, and be happy.

If I could be happy, why should I not choose to? Why should I allow myself to be miserable, when happiness was an option? Why should I continue to degrade myself by allowing the situation at hand to continue, when I had the power to change things? Even if whatever else awaited me in the world were not total bliss, in any situation would be better than here, in the situation I was in.

I decided then, that I would leave. I would pack the few things that were dear to me, and go.

But, where would I go to, were I to run away? I could not think of a place anywhere near here that would take in an adolescent, wealthy looking woman without asking questions and spreading rumors. Besides, of course, the brothels, which was not even a thought that crossed my mind. I was not that desperate.

Perhaps I could go live with Sarah, and provide her with the help that she needed. I would not be much fun to have around, but at least she would have some familiar company, and that may provide her a slight comfort.

I would live out this week like nothing was amiss, then make my escape. The morning I left for Sarah's house, would be the last morning I saw this wretched place.

There was a knock at the door.

"Mademoiselle?" the butler queried, "Are you decent?"

"Yes," I called; I had never been more decent in my entire life. "Do come in!"

"A letter for you, miss, from your cousin, Sarah."

I hesitated. "Yes, I believe I received it last night. Surely the doorman must have told you?" I smiled, kindly. "I am sorry for the confusion."

"Yes, Miss Catherine, I am aware"

I waited for him to leave.

"This is a different one," He stated matter-of-factly, "It came in just this morning."

I paused. So soon after she had just sent one the previous night?

I carefully took the letter from his hands, as if it were made of glass. Curtly nodding at him to leave, I placed the letter on my bureau and sat at the foot of my bed.

Why on earth would she send a letter immediately after sending one the very night before? It was exceedingly uncommon. What could she possibly have to say that could not wait until the weekend, or could not even wait for the next day's mail courier? What could be so important that she would do something as strange as sending as send two letters, one after the other?

I stood up. I hope it is not bad. I walked forward. What more could possibly happen? I picked up the letter. She is going through so much right now. I walked back. I still do not know what to say to her. I sat down. Maybe they found Tony. My heart leapt in my chest. The bitterness I had felt for him earlier for taking my Sarah away had dissolved when I had seen the pain that she was in. She needed him. And if they found him...Maybe they found Tony.

I stopped. Maybe they found Tony. The thought repeated itself in my head. What if they had found Tony? Would he be dead, his body all bloody and mangled? Would he be merely wounded, perhaps from gunpowder exploding? Hid did have a gun on his person when he had gone missing. Would he be inches from death, with mysterious claw marks and animal bites covering him? Would he be missing limbs, bleeding freely, bruised, battered, and weak from a heroic battle he had with terrible and dangerous enemy?

What on earth had happened to Tony, anyway?

Being attacked by an animal was the most likely. And, although Tony was probably a natural-born fighter, considering his size, he was a peaceful man, so winning a heroic battle with the evil foe was unlikely. He could have accidentally cut himself, while skinning the fox he had hunted. But he would not lose the amount of blood that he did if something as simple as that had happened. Perhaps the branch of tree, reaching high toward the sky, had fallen, wounding him. Maybe he had tripped and hit his head on a rock, the impact causing him to lose his memory.

No, I was letting my imagination get away with me. Thinking the way I was, presently, the sky could have fallen and oh-so-inconveniently landed on him. Or perhaps he was killed by an oncoming wave of pinecones and acorns, being thrown by the evil squirrel minions of Lord Whisker-Face.

Then again, I had not even read the letter yet. Perhaps it did not speak of Tony at all. If luck would have it, maybe Sarah had come to terms with the truth and moved on, finding a better, stronger love.

Rather unlikely. It had only been less than half a day since she had sent the first letter, announcing Tony's disappearance.

Finally, my curiosity got the better of me. Eagerly, I tore the envelope open.

Catherine, the letter began,

My heart has been ripped in two. I was in love with a man who would deny the world for me. He would travel to the ends of the earth and back, if just to make me smile. He would give his life to me, for the sake of our love.

It would seem, instead, that he has given his life for me. He has paid the ultimate price for our love, but in turn, he has destroyed us both.

I now have nothing. Not the pleasure of knowing he will be home soon, nor the hope that I'll meet someone else.

Even if that were possible, I would not allow it. I loved Tony, more than anything. No amount of force of any type could ever change that. Now, he is gone.

Gone from me, gone from his life, gone from the world.

I am in desperate need of comfort. I can't possibly put in words the amount of relief the touch of your skin, the warmth of another human being would prove to me. I need you. I need your friendship, your voice, your heart.

If I do not have it soon, I shall be forced to relieve myself from this suffering; by any means necessary.

I am dying, Catherine. Dying to a disease that no medicine can heal. I need you now.

Heartbrokenly yours,

Sarah

'Heartbrokenly'?

It was obvious that Tony's death was having a far worse affect on her than I had first thought, last night.

She thought that she was dying. According to the letter, she believed that she was dying to a disease. Of course, I knew she did not mean this literally, but in the state she was in, she might belive it.

The letter had a slight touch of hysteria about it.

Was my serious, ever leading Sarah coming undone? She had said that," I shall be forced to relieve myself of this suffering; by any means necessary." Was this a threat that she would kill herself, if I did not immediately rush to her side? She made no attempt to say otherwise.

Evidently, she wanted me to feel guilty. About what, though, was beyond my reasoning. Perhaps she thought that I was to blame for the death of her husband. Perhaps she thought that it was my fault that she was now alone. Perhaps she believed that it was my fault that I was now the only person she had left.

She knew my schedule, and she knew my fathers harsh view on those who asked for leniency. There was no way, in all that lived and breathed, that he would let me visit my cousin, or anyone for that matter, on a week day. She also knew that he was not kind with those who disregarded his rules. Had she forgotten, in her desperate misery?

She was heartbroken, that was all. I was letting my imagination get away with me, yet again. This would pass. Time would heal her. Of course, I would send her a letter that night explaining my situation. Explaining that, yes, I would come to comfort her. I would explain that Mary had gone to far with her emotional abuse this time. I would ask Sarah if I could remain with her, perhaps permanently. I would relay to her that, if I left now, my father would not want a stain like my sudden disappearance on his reputation. He would immediately send out searches and the like until I was found, not allowing any detail go below his radar. Sara's house would be the first place he would search. I would tell her, this was why I could not leave until the weekend. I would then, once at her house, flee with her.

But, for this plan to work, I would have to live out the end of this week as though all was well; put on a mask not too dissimilar from my mother's. I would endure the rest of my lessons, then my torture would be over.

There was a knock at my bedroom door.

"Mademoiselle?" It was the butler again. "Miss, I'm sorry to intrude again. May I come in?"

"Of course." I said, folding Sarah's letter and stowing it away beneath my pillow.

The butler opened the door, and stiffly entered the room. Then, my sixth-sense kicked in.

He was anxious, nervous about something. But the nervousness had a lukewarm sense about it. Anxious about family, perhaps? No, it was simpler than that, more blunt. Ah, his eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion; loneliness. He simply wanted to see his family again. But, nevertheless, he remained faithful to his job and walked about like a scarecrow, as though he had a brace keeping his back straight.

"Miss," he stated dully, cutting short my thoughts, "your mother wishes to see you now. She would like to start your lessons."

"Yes, thank you." I replied.

OoOoO

We started the day with posture, poise, and walking.

My mother first had me walk in a straight line she had marked with a strip of ribbon on the ground.

"A lady's gait says a lot about her person." Her person? What would my mother know, she had no personality. "You must show those around your stature, that you are of high positioning." Power, what else? That was all that anyone thought of nowadays. "You must stand tall, and walk straight. Hold your hands in front of you, folded at your torso."

Propriety. Frankly, I thought it was a laugh. A beggar could fool the world by simply wearing fine clothing and walking straight.

Then, I thought about how I had determined what the butler was feeling. It was as if I had branched my consciousness out, and touched his mind. Read his thoughts, in a way. I wondered if I could do the same with my mother.

Relaxing myself into the position she had showed me, I concentrated.

She was surprisingly easy to read.

She wished that she had conceived a son. She hated being bothered with the foolishness of propriety and the like, and would have much rather had a boy who would not need training such as this. Well, at least we agreed on one thing. She would never state the pointlessness of these lessons out loud though, lest she concur the wrath of my father.

I had lost it. Her thoughts slipped and squirmed out of the grasp of my consciousness.

"Catherine! Where your mind has wandered is beyond me, but I would prefer that you pay attention to me when I am speaking. It is not polite to stare stupidly at the space behind a persons head, when that person has requested your attention." Her voice was sharp, annoyed. Mostly at the fact that she had to do this at all though, not at me.

"Sorry, ma'am." I tried, unconvincingly, to amend.

The day continued on much like this; my mother trying to correct in my ways of communicating, walking, speaking, and appearance. Then, when I thought she was content, I would branch my consciousness out to hers again, in an attempt to read her thoughts. She would correct me for dazing, then we would begin again.

It was a tediously boring and tiring day, and I welcomed the evening.

I was at my the desk in my room, preparing to write my letter to Sarah.

I heard steady, yet well-balanced footsteps coming up the stairs; which could only mean that it was the butler. I tidied my desk, no need to look sloppy, and stood, smoothing out my skirt as I did so.

Before he had a chance to knock, I called out, "Come in."

He opened the door and entered.

Suddenly, his irritation and sympathy washed over me. Without even thinking, I branched out.

He was very hot, but the heat came from just beneath his skin; irritation. Also, there was a slight tinge of stress, tenseness; irritation at a woman, but not one he knew very well. Then gentle warmth; sympathy, directed at me.

"Miss, another letter from Sarah," he stated, putting the slightest amount of stress on another.

I sighed, "Thank you, just put it on the bureau, if you please." I said, nonchalantly accepting his sympathy. "That will be all."

"Of course, Miss," he said, submissively," good even'."

He placed it on my bureau, and left.

I did not even bother to stop and think about what more Sarah could possibly have to say. Resignedly, I took the letter off the dresser.

Trying not to give myself time to think about what more could have happened to Sarah, I sat down at the foot of my bed and slipped my finger beneath the crease of the envelope.

Sliding my finger firmly between the paper, I turned it slightly upward at the end, expecting to meet the edge of the paper. Then, the edge curved down and sliced the tip of my finger, drawing blood. My mother would not be happy about this. To avoid a mess, I sucked the wound. I stood up and removed my handkerchief from my dresser, covering the cut with it.

I sat down again, and removed the letter from the wretched envelope.

I believe that Tony is alive. I saw him in the backyard for a mere second, before he disappeared. It could have been his angel, but I knew in my heart that it was him. I blinked and he was gone. Friends of ours, and neighbors have been going missing from this area a lot recently. I think Antonio's disappearance is somehow connected with the others. I am not sure what is going on, but my gut tells me something is amiss. I shall discover it, and unearth why my Tony is hiding from me.

Sarah

The letter was written is untidy, sloppy script, as though she had written it as the mail courier waited at the door.

I would have been relieved at this, but I could not find it in my heart to be. The Sarah who wrote this letter, reminded me so much of the old Sarah, before she met Antonio. But, I knew she was not herself, and she could not have possibly recovered from her recent hysteria, from only earlier today.

Regardless, she seemed content enough to solve her mystery. I did not intend to disturb that peace.

Tomorrow was Thursday, which usually meant dancing and horseback-riding, but my tutor in both had recently died of old age. So, until my father found a new tutor, I had Thursday off. Actually, this was the last Thursday I had off, considering that I would leave, or better, escape on Saturday.

Quite honestly, I intended to lock my door and sleep through the whole of the next day, which was exactly what I did.

OoOoO

I am falling. Falling through the air, the blackness, the emptiness. It swirls around me like leaves in the autumn, like particles in a lake when the water is disturbed; the darkness swirls around my plummeting body.

No, I am not falling, there is nothing to fall from; nothing to fall to; nothing to fall through. I am drifting.

Drifting through another time, another place, though not to dissimilar from my own. I see flashes of what goes on around me; a couple pleasantly riding horses next to a lake, a mother scolding her child as he strays to near to the snake slithering toward them, a young man screaming as an invisible force tortures his mind...This lasts a mere moment before I am pulled through to another dream...

The pain leaves the man, in the form of a dark, billowing cloud of black, and turns to stare at me. It grins, then pulls itself forward, engulfing me.

I awoke completely covered with a cold, sticky sweat. The nothingness reminded me of my life, how the decisions I made and the things I did seemed pointless. They affected no-one but myself, a saddening thought, as I am but a depressed seventeen year-old girl.

The second dream reminded me of my sixth-sense; Of how I noticed the insignificant details of the things that proved even more insignificant to others.

My thoughts wandered beyond myself, and became foggy, unclear, as I drifted back into a heavy slumber.

I am walking down a tunnel, far beneath the ground. It is wet, warm and smells of death and decay. As I continue my slow tread, a dim light begins to appear at the end of the tunnel. I quicken my pace, eager to escape the dank, tomb-like passage. It flickers brighter as I get closer, as if the brightness is somehow connected to my presence. I get closer, and finally, I came to the end. I step out toward the light, and it is warm. It swells outward, as if in effort to reach out to me. It grows until I thought it might burst, then it does. It explodes, spilling out it's warmth and brightness all around me, until it fills the space we stand in. It covers me with comfort, joy, pleasure, and all the good things of this earth that I have never experienced before.

A sliver of darkness creeps into my dream, twisting and turning it's way through the light. But, the light recoils and retreats wherever the tendril swirls, as if to avoid it. The swirl gets bigger, swells like the light once did, only it is dark. The darkness branches out, much like my ability to feel the environment around me, and becomes huge. The warmth contracts into itself, trying to escape the chill of the blackness. No, go away... I say to the tendrils of darkness, We don't want you here. The darkness turns to me, reaches out to me. I feel it caress my soul, then it flows through me. The darkness sucks up my warmth, as if through a tube. The lights dim, until it is barely a whisper, barely able to withstand the dark. It barely lives, barely moves. Then I blink, and it is gone.

I am falling again, through the darkness, the cold, the evil. I let myself go into it. I know there it no escaping, I can only wait. Only wait for it to release me.

I feel myself waking. I feel the conscious world try to pull me through.

The world goes bright, as if I am on the sun itself. The light is back. Not the same light, but one much like it; there to comfort me, surround me.

All is white.

OoOoO

I woke up to the sound of heavy pounding, angry pounding, on my door.

"Catherine!" I heard my fathers muffled voice come through, "Catherine, what on earth?!"

He was yelling. This must have been important if my father was willing to find it within himself to raise his voice.

"Catherine, I have been calling you for ages! Bloody hell, woman, get up!"

It was unlike my father to curse, as it proved that he actually contained emotion. And he had called me "woman." The way he had said it made me feel as if he wished to disown me, like the way he would speak to a stranger he passed by on the street as she trod on his foot.

Curious, I tried to branch out.

Thud, thud, thud!

My father's incessant pounding crippled my ability to concentrate. Still a bit groggy, I answered, "Do give me a moment, for Lord's sake."

The pounding stopped. No doubt I would get a lecture for using such a disrespectful tone with him.

"Blast! Do hurry up! When you are decent, do come down to the library. Your mother is already there, as I have called a family meeting."

A family meeting? Why my father could not just tell me whatever it was now, and leave me in peace, was beyond my understanding.

"Yes, sir."

He had cursed, twice! Evidently, there was something dreadfully important about, as it had caused my father to act so angry. But of course, he was the head of this house. He could do whatever pleased him most at any given time.

I threw on the clothes I had worn the day before as quick as I could manage. As I struggled with the strings of the corset, I realized my mother would not be pleased to see me adorned is clothes I had been wearing yesterday. Nonetheless, I did not slow. I could bare any punishment she had for me, as I would be leaving soon.

After I was fully clothed, I rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping at the bottom. Rather unceremoniously, I threw the door at the bottom of the steps open, and rushed inside. Whatever my father was on about, I would prefer to have it over and done with as soon as possible so I could get on with sleeping, with dreaming.

"Catherine, you remind me of an elephant, the way you came down and made your entrance. I could hear you stomping at the top of the staircase from all the way down here!" My mother chided.

"Sorry," I muttered, sitting down.

My mother stiffened at my abruptness, but said no more.

My father looked up from the leather chair he was sitting in, letting emotion fill his voice.

" I have decided to leave," he stated frankly, "I am sick of this family, and I am sick of this life. I intend to go purchase a house elsewhere, as far away from here as possible. And I am taking Mary with me."

It was unladylike, what I did next, but this did not deter me. "Good," I said, "You and that dog of a woman can go and leave me in peace. I hope you enjoy fucking her brains out of her head every night, as you two flounce about in the bedroom, leaving dents in the wall as you go along."

I swear I saw my mother smirk, regardless of the unforgiveable slang I had used.

My father stood, raised the back of his hand, and struck me hard across the face.

Letting out a gasp as I fell to the floor, I inhaled again to continue, unpertured. "I am sure you are aware that she makes no effort to hide your affair. Hell, she even brags about to the servants. We all know, and frankly, it is naive, pathetic, and shallow of you to believe that she would want to settle down with an old bastard like yourself. But then again, now that I say it aloud; How fitting! The disgusting slut and the shallow bastard, off to live happily ever after together!" My father raised his hand again. "You can strike me all you want, Papa, but it does not change the facts. In fact, you can beat me to a bloody pulp, but you shall remain the heartless, hideous, toad that you are. My mother does not love you, I do not love you, and Mary screws plenty of other men besides yourself. I am sure there is probably a different one for every day of the week! No-one cares for you, and it is unlikely that anyone could ever lower themselves that far, even if they tried." I gasped for air, as I finished my speech.

"Mary has recently abandoned her other positions with her other pupils. She has no other works besides you, now." My father replied calmly. "And she is pregnant, with my child."

My mother, who until now had been staring forward at the wall, shifted in her chair. She would have no means of finance if my father were to leave.

What Mary had said earlier this week made sense now. She had said, "We shall see," in response to me reminding her of her worthlessness in my fathers eyes. She was pregnant, worse yet, with my half-sister. I shuddered at the thought.

My father breathed in to say something else, but at that moment, the butler knocked at the door. What was it with him and knocking? It was rather beginning to irk me. Could he not just ever open the door when he wished to tell us something? I supposed not.

"Enter," I heard my fathers voice call.

I picked my self up and straightened my skirt.

"Sir, and Madams, I have some rather terrible news. I am sure you are all aware of the recent disappearances in the area about a few miles north of here?" The butler asked, with a meaningful glance at me.

My father nodded, "Go on."

"Well," stated the butler, as if to brace himself for the news he was about to relay, "Sarah, the Mademoiselle's cousin, has joined the disappeared." I froze. "Along with Mary, whom I believe is your art instructor?"

It was my fathers turn to act surprised. "Mary is missing?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"Yes, Sir, and Sarah."

I turned to stare at my father. Part of me was feeling triumphant at this moment, because his plan to leave with Mart had been destroyed. The other part of me wished to throw itself in front a moving carriage, because my Sarah had also gone missing. Without thinking, I crumpled to the ground and began to sob.

Seeing this, my mother dismissed the butler. "That will be all, thank you."

He turned, obediently, and left.

"Dear me, what a shame for all of us!" My mother said, rather uncharacteristically, and eerily cheerful. "It would seem that you shall have to cancel your plans, my Dear." Why was she acting like a drunkard who had just been given another glassful of his favorite brand of whiskey? "I say this is most unfortunate. But, seeing as we would not want to lose face, I think it would be best if we forget everything that has been said tonight, in this room."

My Sarah was missing, my escape was crushed.

"I think to cele- I mean mourn," she stammered, "we shall have to take a shopping trip to the plaza tomorrow, my dear Cat. Just you and I."

My life was ruined. My life was ruined, and my mother was acting as though she was high on opium. I did not want to go shopping, surely she could understand that? I was hurting terribly, and all I wanted to do was disappear, disintegrate into the air, like Tony, Mary, and Sarah.

I also wanted to smack my mother. She had no right to act as happy as she was, even if she did loathe her own family.

"We shall have a grand time, us two. But, to insure that we have the energy needed, we should go to bed now. Good night, my love." She said, pecking me on the cheek.

She was acting unladylike, happy, and as if she actually had any feeling for me. The world had truly been turned upside down.

"You are never to speak of this night to anyone, do you understand?" My father said, sternly.

If anyone were to find out that my father had planned to away with my art instructor, that would be the end of it. His reputation, and his money. I nodded, glumly.

He straightened, and left the room.

My Sarah was dead, missing. The last I had heard from her were words written on a page, of mystery and the unknown, that screamed lunacy.

My Sarah was gone, my plan to leave this life was crushed, AND I had to go shopping with my mother tomorrow.

Fate is bothersome.

Well, waddya think? I was very pleased with how this chapter turned out. And no worries; we will, without a doubt, see our first vampire in chapter four.

I'm gonna be mean and say, "No updates until at least 20 reviews." So, r&r!

-Mar