Disclaimer: Is love a fancy or a feeling? No, it is immortal as immaculate truth— For example, no matter how much I care about this story, I'll never own Twilight. My castle is firmly planted in Smeyer's sandbox, folks.

Chapter Thirteen: Hypothermia & Hyperthermia

The Early Ones

A Historical Memoir

It was the worst day of my life. I never would have thought that I would eventually have the strength to speak of it. I wouldn't have been able to break out of my silence, if not for my husband. I kept it from even him for the longest time. Now that I am older and know the significance, it brings me pride where before I could only feel shame.

"So what was the first Burning Day like, Kate?"

The first Burning Day was the longest by far, and in many ways. When the two of us were together, I remember how we used to talk— we thought that it would never end. To this day, even though I managed to escape unscathed, I've never been able to find out how it ended for her. It still terrifies me to think about; I wish I knew, more than anything else. Even though I know it's impossible, I feel like I owe her that much— to find the rest of her story and share it with the world. Even if she hadn't been the heroine I've learned her to be, she was my only friend in a long spell of darkness. She's been my inspiration to try to give back— at least, in some small measure— what I've received. For now, what I recall is going to have to be enough.

However, I'm getting ahead of myself. Before meeting her, I met him. I had been stopping in a town near Seattle in order to dig around a few shops— just for small things; there were a few advertising posters I wanted to collect for my portfolio. In and out, it shouldn't have taken above a few hours, and I'd still have time to make it to a concert later that evening. As it was, I was only due to remain in Seattle for another week before moving on, down to California.

He spotted me as I was leaving the last small music shop of my outing. I thought at the time— though without realising how justified my suspicion was— that he must have known I would be there. While he had his own talents, there was little excuse for my not perceiving immediately what he really was. The only explanation I can think of was my youth, and my blissful inability to pay attention to anything more than an inch beyond my nose, or quieter than the lowest tones of a blues singer.

When some amount of sense wormed its way into my thoughts, I reacted with innocent surprise. I asked him what he was doing there. There was only supposed to be a small family around this area; was he of them? He bluntly answered, no, he was not— and then he was a blur of motion. I had tried to defend myself; I was terrified— but he was far too quick, and I was rendered unconscious.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up alone in a dingy room, coated neck-to-back in my own blood. As I'm sure you can imagine, I was incredibly nettled. I was in my favourite dress for the show, after all, and he had absolutely ruined it. I was too distressed by this inconsequential detail to give a great deal of thought to other, more pressing matters... such as, for example, that I must have been dragged through the woods for my dress to reach such a state to begin with. My mind was firing so strangely. Even though I truly did fully comprehend what had happened to me, it seemed like the work-space in my brain had re-formatted itself; like a postal system, or a computer. I had so many layers to think in. Odd how I should use the advantages of my mental state to be upset over clothing. Odd, yes, and maybe stupid— but it gave way for leverage in my focus, and I could keep the small stream of rising panic at bay. I recognised that, and with gratitude.

With my mind's bearings fully under my control, I examined the other parts of this new life, of this new me. I felt at the time, and still do, that it was the greatest fortune for me to be able to be alone during such a period. It's a once in a lifetime thing, you know. The very thought of sharing it with him would have been an insult to my sensibilities.

Above all else, it took the longest to get used to my new eyes. I had expected everything to look too sharp, to the point of being overly detailed, cluttered, and claustrophobic. I couldn't have been more wrong. It was like watching a fast-paced event in slow-motion; every detail lovingly constructed before me in fluid resonance, colours brightly flaring their true name to me, where I'd not have otherwise noticed them. Mould became a symphony of organic strings; peeling wallpaper shone in an organised cacophony of luminescence, skimming upward and outward through a slight film of layered dust and particles. On the paper itself, the original faded pattern still glanced back soft waves woven in the shattered light— which itself was pristine in its form. I could unravel each wave of colour.

Coupled with that moment of stunned realisation, I became terribly aware that I was unable to cry.

Beyond that, I slowly became used to the scents— each mote belaying its own story— and grew used to the new fluid feeling of my own movements— every motion like water sliding off a balsam leaf. Overall, my familiarisation was likely completed in a record fleeting time. Even enclosed in the layered sheets of my mind, I grew nervous and distracted— feelings that began to layer in of themselves. I knew he may return at any time, and I knew what I was going to have to do.

Keeping alert and allowing my senses to guide me— anxiety notwithstanding, the new levels of mind-space were sufficient to keep me from becoming environmentally side-tracked— I started going about the house, searching. I knew that he was up to no good, beyond his inexcusable display of actions toward me. Without a shadow of a doubt, at least, it would be something illegal— and probably terribly dangerous. Though young, I had a good heart, and I had always considered myself a good citisen. No matter what it may have cost me down the line, I promised myself that I'd find out exactly what he was planning, and why.

Unfortunately, I succeeded.

Bella

October 4th, 05:40 AM

Jacob folded his phone shut with a snap. "He's on his way." There was an unsteady twitch in his facial muscles; I imagined a grinding like tectonic plates— he was either going to scream or laugh. The smog of unease spread to the other boys; each took their turn of wincing, shrugging off their chills, or hanging their heads. I wondered what it would be like, to be in a pack like them. Is this like waiting for your boss to show up angry at a meeting, or is this like waiting for a parent to come home to a trashed house after a party? Though I wouldn't know the feeling either way, I definitely felt like a "friend who was just kind of nearby when this happened and really should be leaving now, thank you". That's not really true though, is it? Whatever he's going to be upset about, some of it is going to be about me. My stomach churned.

"Well, at least something good's happening today," said Quil, kicking absently at a few fallen autumn leaves. To my surprise, the boys all showed their agreement; a few firm nods here; there a cheeky applaud and stretch; everyone all grins and teeth.

"Yeah," Jake agreed. A small laugh finally burbled out with a sigh. "If anyone can untangle this, it's Sam. Glad I don't have to do it."

"Me too," Embry let out a guffaw, "when you get into a knot, you rip through it with a knife."

"I wouldn't have been complaining, if he had. Something to be said for efficiency. Ugh, Sam's gonna be a nightmare."

At this point, I couldn't help but interject. "Do you think..." I cleared my throat self-consciously as they all turned to look at me. "I mean, am I going to be in trouble? Is there something I need to do?"

"What, you've been worried?" Paul rolled his eyes. "Chill. You didn't do anything wrong, that was all Jake's fault."

"Hey!"

Embry offered a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, don't worry so much Bella. Worst to worst, Sam'll just make you go home."

"Nah, you mean Seth and Leah's place," Jared said with a grin. "Of course, I guess you can worry about Seth being worried. Have yourselves a party."

"No, a party's definitely not a good idea," Embry snorted, before throwing me a more solemn and appraising look. "Really though. I mean, you look pretty wiped out. Didja sleep at all?"

"Yeah Jake, why didn't you take her home? Not very gentlemanly of you, keeping her up all night like this!"

"'Where is your boy tonight, I hope he is a gentleman!'"

A handful of laughs and groans.

"Oh my Gawsh, Quil, shut up!" A handful of fluttering slaps, a playful shove onto the ground.

"Y'all got no taste. Bella! Sweet lady, come on!" He jumped up and took my hand. "Let's dance away from these dogs!"

He was quickly pulled away by a couple of the guys. "Sorry, forgot I had an appointment!"

A brawl ensued, increasing in volume and ferocity in equal measure with the more lighthearted they became.

"Exhausting," I said quietly to the fray. "You're all exhausting." And then I cracked up laughing, because I really was overtired, everything was completely terrible, and this felt like the most fun I'd had in ages.

Seth

He was aware, at least, that he'd been in a half-lucid state for a while now, though he had no way of telling exactly how long it had been. Light and darkness were swimming shapes, and he sometimes had trouble realising when his eyes were open. Smells he wouldn't normally have noticed drifted and twined about the room; the way they seemed to shove and clamour to invade his nostrils made them like solid objects. It was smothering; it turned his stomach even more.

It had come over him in his sleep, but wouldn't quite let him stay there. He turned over again, unable to get comfortable. Finally, there was a small break; a strange shudder rolled down his back, disconcerting, but bringing him into focus. His protesting eyes were still gummed over and screwing shut against the light streaming from the kitchen, and he could feel his hair sticking to his forehead in a feverish sweat.

"Bella?" he tried to call, but his voice came out in a croak. This fever was bad news. Real bad. Worse than any other illness he'd ever had— but that wasn't what was gripping at him. There was a thick feeling dragging at his lungs. Though it had been bad enough before, this change made things even worse. Now, each gulp of air was like trying to breathe in a haze of chemicals— everything tasted and smelled wrong.

Sam

He urged his legs to move faster, and they readily obeyed; tendons stretching easily beyond his usual comfort level, muscles firing madly with new purpose. It was like his body could tell, on the most fundamental level, that he needed each and every cell in his body fighting for its life. There was something wrong tonight, he could feel it. Something beyond the chilling knowledge that Leah— one of his pack members, someone he was meant to keep safe— had been stolen away. (There was only one creature on earth that could manage such a thing, and whatever else happened, he would have their blood for this— whether the Cold Ones had any or not.)

The situation with Leah was bad enough, but he didn't know how the Cullens could be responsible for this. It felt to him like a strange, vibrating flatness in the air, in what little sense he could make of it. He had noticed the change not very long after he left the house. It was almost like a smell hanging in the air, but it definitely wasn't something that could come from a fire.

As soon as that feeling set in, his body had reacted. It was like a shock of adrenaline had been shot into his system— beyond what was already there. Every muscle in his body screamed for movement, seeming to hype themselves into overdrive. It was almost as though the wolf in him had actually understood.

He only wished he knew what it was. It was exhilarating. It was the worst feeling in the world. It was like a second hand counting down heartbeats, with his blood racing to meet the end.

Bella

Just as suddenly as their brawl had worked itself into a fever-pitch, the boys halted in their movements like stone statues. Without noticing, I held my breath— the sudden lack of motion from them was as disturbing as hearing a cry abruptly cutting off.

One of the boys finally began to speak, "What was that?"

"What do you-" mean, I tried to say, before I felt it. A feeling like the entire earth locking into place, the air churning sickly, the smell of ozone filling up my lungs and—

"Bella!"

— being set on fire. Like a piece of earth tearing itself away from the planet, shuddering and ripping down to my bones. The pain of it was so sharp; sparks of light flashed before my eyes.

I think I may have collapsed.

Leah

October 4th, 05:50 AM

Even while the earth swam in my vision, it took surprisingly little focus to keep myself steady. Whatever that... wave of stuff was, my body must have conditioned itself to it, after all those long months of exposure. Just as she had thought it would. I had to give her credit, after all— she really did know what she was talking about.

On more than one point, as it turned out. I stared at the dilapidated house in front of me, my disbelief melting into resignation. The floorboards of the deck were rotting down into the gravel, parched English ivy and crabgrass climbing up into the busted front door. The rooftop looked like it had caved in years ago. As the ringing faded from my ears, I could hear a steady drip, drip, drip— the remnants of rainwater splashing into what, I knew, must have been the sitting room.

I'll be damned. That dirty, lying hypocrite. I shook my head to myself, swallowing thickly. So that means it really wasn't stable all the while. If that's the case... Will she be okay? There wasn't any way I could find out. She just had to be safe. There wasn't anything else I could do for her now. I had to keep pushing forward.

Almost there. Watch out, James.

A/N: Those lyrics belong to Fall Out Boy, from the song "Grand Theft Autumn". Sorry, this fic is taking place in 2005— and that was just too good to pass up.