Standard disclaimers apply.

The only empirically certain fact is that you exist;everything else is a matter of perception.

Rather than test the truck's capability, I commuted to Port Angeles the next day. It was nice to take a bus and see mountains instead of skyscrapers. The roads were mosaics of yellow, gold and brown.

Brown is warm.

I stopped walking to listen, but there was nothing else. Yes, I did like brown I suppose, especially when I contemplated the prospect of living here permanently. Everything was too dark, too green. And a bit isolated. At least Port Angeles had a Wal-Mart.

Who would have asked me about my favourite color?

Faced with the prospect of wandering in a strange town, I asked for directions from a trusty deputy. Attorney Gaunt's office was located in the fancier area of the business district- good thing I was presentable enough in a long skirt and blue cardigan. My sneakers, however, still drew glances of disdain from the secretary.

Finally I was ushered in the oak paneled inner room. It resembled a library with its shelves and shelves of leather bound books. It smelled of mint, polish and hair pomade. The man himself was seated behind an antique desk.

"Good afternoon Miss Swan, and once again, my condolences."

"Thanks for seeing me at short notice." It was really short, actually. I thought of calling him a few times after I woke up, and when he did answer, he replied that I could see him in three hours.

"No problem dear, no problem at all." Waving a big, meaty hand, he smiled kindly, which set his jowls quivering. He put on a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses and peered at a sheaf of papers in front of him.

I could see why Charlie would pick him. His down-to-earth manner was reassuring and inviting, not like the other lawyers with their legalese jargon and slim briefcases.

"Charles Swan has left you, along with his property in Forks, a sizable amount of assets. You don't have to worry because the state still recognizes your old name. You still have identification, don't you?"

I assured him that I did. That was Charlie's condition when I informed them of my decision, which he no doubt consulted with the legal department. He didn't like it but he understood my reasons. But then again...

"Sorry. How sizable is it exactly?" I was perplexed.

"This is due to the insurance premium, which covered the circumstances of his death, plus the benefits accrued during the years of government services and his life savings. Around five hundred thousand, give or take."

Indeed. After signing a few more papers, I left with a manila envelope containing documents and bank drafts in case I decided to avail of the funds (that's exactly how he put it). I stuffed this in my backpack, making the secretary grimace.

What a guy, Charlie. His idea of dressing up was a good pair of jeans and a checkered shirt. I've often wondered how they were able to afford my apartment. He even included a stipend for Renee, which would have been enough to drive her to hysterics once more.

After the bank, I took a stroll and tried to imagine myself walking these streets two years ago. I kept my head down, uneasily aware of the eyes that glanced my way. Did I have a smudge on face, a showing bra strap? A quick peek at a store window said I was still decent. In readiness for these circumstances, though not these extreme, I took out a hardbound book and held it in my right hand. It can be a surprisingly handy weapon for self-defense: just smack the edge over the attacker's windpipe or slam his face with it. I made sure to stay within the streets with the most people.

A lot of boutiques had dresses on sale in anticipation of the usual fall dances.

I like this one; it makes my boobs look bigger.

I laughed in spite of myself. Now who was that? I probably tagged along for the dress buying, something I've always done, even in New York. Then I realized that I must've been here long enough for Prom. Not that I would've enjoyed it. I was probably miserable with the prospect of an entire night of dancing. That sobered me up pretty fast.

Prom is an important rite of passage.

If I could just remember at least the voice, that would've gone a long way. At first I was nervous as to how being here would affect me- now every moment feels like walking on a mine field.

I was in a mild state of catatonia after waking up.

I kept looking in the mirrors, seeing my face. I try to bring together the broken puzzle pieces.

This face. This nose. This small chin. This ghostly pale complexion. These thin hands. This is me.

"I am Isabella Swan."

I am Isabella.

I am Bella.

I am.

But why does my reflection look unconvinced?

There really seemed to be a lot of people here today.

My feet had led me to the town square, where the Fall Festival is in full swing.

There were rides, peddlers and stalls of everything from the local produce to the handcrafted jewelry. I walked around and sampled a few goodies, like homemade cupcakes. This made me miss cooking a bit. Lately I've been in the kitchen less and less.

There was a stall that sold an excellent cup of coffee from the owner's organic coffee bean farm. I bought a small bag and cup of latte to go as I browsed some more. Renee would have loved the iron wrought candle holders. Charlie would, of course, have gravitated to the bait and tackle shops, or the gunsmiths. I looked through the second-hand books and found an excellent copy of Shakespeare's sonnets.

Then, inevitably, there were the New Age shops.

Mood rings, crystals, good luck charms to attract fortune... given the march of technology, people still need a bit of the supernatural. I bought a dreamcatcher to put in my apartment. God knows I need this.

"Care to have a peek at your future, young lady?"

The gypsy (either a real one or a good costume) smiled at me when she caught my eye. She beckoned to the tent behind her, where a smiling old lady sat behind a table with requisite crystal ball.

"Sorry I don't-"

"Please, it won't take long." She hazarded a gentle hand on my upper arm, peering in my eyes."You look like... you're looking for something. Perhaps we can help you find it."

"Everyone here is looking for something."

"But yours is much more complex, correct?"

As marketing strategies go, it was quite convincing. Or maybe I could never really bear creating a scene. Nevertheless, I was entering the tent and being asked to sit on a chair piled high with cushions.

The old lady said her name was Madame Tracy.

"What would you like me to use? Tarot cards? The crystal ball?"

I shrugged. "I don't know much about these things."

Madame Tracy narrowed her eyes for a few seconds. Then she asked for my right hand.

"You're not from around here, aren't you?" She chuckled at my raised brows.

"We've been coming to the festivals here for quite some time. People can easily identify a new face."

"I was born here, but my parents divorced."

She was stroking my palm with her jewelled fingers. As we talked, her face gradually became more and more relaxed.

"You lost someone."

"Yes, my dad. He died the day before yesterday."

"I'm sorry, but not that just that." She was frowning. "How unusual! It is a bit difficult to look through your aura."

Wow. Even my aura is complicated.

"You will have to make decisions. Extremely important ones. The answers are not that far, but you have to experience pain."

How sad. I was expecting a little more, but I know most of it already. I probably still looked battered, inside and out. I thanked her and placed some cash in the box beside her.

"Wait!" she suddenly shouted as I stood up. "Please, please... be careful. I wish I could say more."

Again, something I've heard before. But why was she so alarmed? I thanked Madame Tracy again and smiled at her assistant when I got out.

That's when I saw it.

Coats and scarves were a fashion staple in this area, and I've spotted a few peddlers in costume. But there, at the edge of the milling crowd, stood a slight figure wearing a scarlet robe. It had alabaster-white skin and was so still, it didn't even appear to breathe. The rest of the face was in shadow, but even at the distance I could sense its gaze.

On me?

"Bella?"

I turned to the sound of my name. He was another impossibly tall Quileute, and he looked older than Seth. His short hair was unevenly cut, as if it was hacked off. Despite the weather, he was wearing a sleeveless shirt and sandals. He was carrying a bag of groceries on one arm.

I've found her, Charlie.

"Bella? Are you okay?" He asked again, coming closer.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I-" That's all I've been saying, apparently.

"It's okay. I'm Sam."

"Yes, Sam. Billy was upset that you sent Seth to drive him home."

"Yes." He smiled. "Are you going somewhere else?"

I looked back, but the hooded figure was gone. When I faced him, he was looking at the same spot with undisguised hostility. Something flashed in his eyes.

"Sam?"

He blinked, and his face smoothed out. "That was nothing. Would you like me to drive you? Do you have your truck?"

"No, I took the bus."

He nodded and asked me to follow him. We walked for a few yards to the parking lot near the county market.

What made him angry? Something cautioned me about asking outright.

His ride was a more solid version of my truck. Opening the door for me, he waited until I was seated before going to the driver's side. The groceries were deposited in the backseat.

The rain had started falling again.

"What were you doing there anyway?"

"Visiting Dad's lawyer. I wanted to look around a bit."

"Nothing much to see, though."

"I don't know about that." I was thinking of the gypsies and my apparent stalker.

"It'll all come back in time, you know. You don't have to rush it."

That was unexpected. It was the first time anyone from here talked about my "condition."

"Thanks." I ran my hands through my hair. "I was hoping it'll be like the movies, you know, the moment I got back."

Sam had an air of authority about him, making him look more mature than he was. Charlie always said they were his friends, and I felt safe with him.

"Things are not always what they seem," he reminded me.

He pointed out the turn for the reservation and I made a note of it. I also noted that he made no mention whatsoever about what we saw at the fair.

...they were descendants from the enemy clan.

"Jacob is out. I haven't heard from him."

"Sam? Could you tell me about Jacob?"

He frowned, but he didn't evade the question.

"Jake was in an accident a couple of years ago. He felt pretty guilty, I guess, so he asked permission to travel and clear his mind."

The time was interesting. "Was that after I left?"

"Something like that," he hedged. "Yours on the other hand...it devastated Charlie. We all thought you were dead."

In a manner of speaking. But he wasn't entirely uncooperative.

"Can I ask you something more?"

"Sure." He looked like I was about to ask him to eat fire.

"When I lived here- I got lost. Were you the one who found me?"

"You remember that?"

"A bit," I bluffed. "Not all of it though."

"I was part of the rescue team, yes."

A rescue team?

"Was that when I fell?"

"No. It was before."

I thought about asking more, but decided against it. Sam looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. By now we have reached the house. I thanked him once more and waved goodbye as he drove away.

That night I sat in the tub, contemplating the scar battlefield that was my body. Most of them had faded, but some still stood out like warning flags. There was the shadow of a bruise on my calf as I fell in the gap between the train and the platform during my first month in college. I remember the casts I wore on both legs and the cold grip of the metal braces that forced me up. There were stitches on my back, and on one shoulder. Another slim line ran down my right inner arm.

Fragile little human.

The half moon scar was the most unusual-it felt colder than the rest of my body. On closer inspection, it looked like... a bite mark? Of what? It wasn't big enough for a bear, small for a dog and too wide for a cat.

A fragile human. Of that there is no doubt. Madame Tracy said I have to experience pain to find my answers.

Will it be worth it?

The quality of light fooled me again when I got out of the bath; it was only a few minutes past five. I took out a platter of lasagna and heated it in the microwave.

You talk, I'll eat.

I was staring at the head of the dinner table. I must've had at least a few visitors, right?

My journal, January 2006.

Hi, I'm Bella.

I love pasta.

I like coffee.

I prefer staying in rather than going to the mall.

I hate math. And physical education.

I don't like going places, especially far ones.

The television was on for background noise. I brooded, picking at the food. I wasn't hungry, but I have to have something.

I was a danger magnet, but not to such fatal extent.

Lost. Bitten. Fell.

Extreme words, even for someone of my disposition.

I remember the months after. I was obsessed with knowing me, my "old" personality. Imagine a void so deep that I can't fathom the bottom; this is what I see everytime I close my eyes.'

Going up my room once more, I looked at bottom of my bags. Inside was the slim folder of a few sketches I chose to bring with me. Most of them were about my new life, a few scenarios and a self-portrait. A few still managed to mystify even me, especially those I made after restless nights.

A young man standing half in shadow; naked from the waste up. Another one of the same man, these time his back to me. The collar of his coat was turned up. The last one was a close-up, of him with his hands over his face, save for an eye peeping between the beautiful fingers. His face was frustratingly empty, save for the hints of a nose and mouth. The hair was tousled, and one could almost feel its silky texture.

Was he a product of my frustration?

Is this real?

Am I real?

Am I Bella, or Marie dreaming of Bella?

What scares me is that there is nobody I could ask.