"Could you pace any louder?" The voice makes me jump. I gasp and turn to find Rosalie hanging onto my window sill, somehow able to climb up to and open it with me being none the wiser. She climbs into my room with a supernatural grace and fluidity that's mesmerizing.
"Are you going to quit gaping at me so I can tell you what's going on, or were you planning on looking like a goldfish for the rest of the night?" She crosses her arms over her chest. I close my mouth and take a seat on my bed, wrapping the comforter around myself. I gesture to the chair behind her, but Rosalie barely spares it a glance and continues to stand.
"Emmett's told you how you smell to him, right?" She starts. I nod. "Well, Bella smells that way to Edward. Of course, you have the same scent around other vampires, but it just isn't as strong. Like perfume. It smells the same to everyone, but one scent is more alluring to you than another. Carlisle told you all of this, right?
"What happened last night is a few nomads—how most of our kind live, were passing through the area while we were playing baseball. Don't ask, I'm sure Emmett would be more than happy to tell you about it later, or rather demonstrate. Gives him a chance to show off. Anyway, Bella was with us, watching us play. These nomads… who were not vegetarians to say the least showed up. Alice saw them passing through, a few days later, but they changed course once they heard our game. One of them, a tracker—a vampire that specializes in, in this instance, predicting his prey's moves smelled Bella." Rosalie's nose wrinkles a bit.
"Edward's protectiveness caught his eye and now he's after Bella. Edward claims Bella doesn't smell the same to the tracker as she does to him, but that she was up there in terms of potency. Edward also said the tracker is persistent and has never lost his prey before. His mate has been in Forks, sniffing around. Edward sent Bella with Alice and Jasper to Arizona, and Esme and I stayed here taking shifts to protect Charlie." I raise my hand, like I'm in a classroom.
"What?" She snaps.
"Where are Carlisle, Edward, and Emmett?"
"Trying to chase down the tracker. This is why I always say we shouldn't get involved with humans. If any of them get hurt it'll be Bella's fault… and I don't know what I'll do. The only thing I want is to protect my family, and all you humans cause is trouble. Especially Bella." Rosalie finally takes a seat and looks up at me. "I'm not going to tell you to stay away from Em. I'm the reason he's like this, it'd be hypocritical of me to demand that you let him go when I couldn't do that myself. But if you choose to be with a vampire—one as old as we are, who have no connections to their human life, you only see the glamorized version. The facades we've crafted over decades. It's going to get into your head that it's worth it to become one of us so that you can stay with Emmett forever. But you don't know everything you're giving up."
Her tone turns bitter towards the end and the wheels in my head begin to churn, putting her words and actions together.
I'm baffled. "You don't like me because you think I want to be a vampire? Or is it because you think I'm trying to steal your best friend from you?"
"Both, I guess. Mainly the former. I'd like to see you actually try the latter." She lets out a brief chuckle before sighing. "But I can't stop him. It was much easier when he just killed you before." She mutters the last bit and I let out a startled laugh.
"I hadn't even thought about it, Rosalie. I sure as hell won't be doing it next week or anything like that." I pause. "Has Emmett… mentioned that?"
"Turning you? No. Not verbally. Edward's heard him thinking about it, and he told me. He thinks that of any of us, I'm the only one who could possibly talk some sense into Emmett. Edward and I hate what we are the most. But every one of us had our choices stripped from us. Carlisle turned me after I was assaulted in the worst way possible by the man I was supposed to marry and his friends. Edward was dying of the Spanish flu. Alice doesn't remember anything from her human life. Esme tried to commit suicide. I…I'm the reason Emmett's stuck like this. It's a painful process, and doing it to keep someone with you is selfish and, truth be told, inconsiderate." I gulp.
"If it's any consolation," I say once I find my voice. "I wasn't planning on becoming a vampire, at least not anytime soon. I didn't even think it was on the table. I can't leave my family. But if what Carlisle says is correct, I'm an old soul. I'll just keep coming back. And isn't it worse to have to die many painful deaths over and over, many times at the hands of the person you're meant to be with? I don't remember my past lives, Rosalie, but I do remember my deaths."
Rosalie looks like she's starting to hear me out, but she doesn't seem convinced. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that this should be your choice. Don't let anyone pressure you into thinking that you need to become one of us, that it's worth it. You don't see it now, but when you have nothing but time to think on your hands, you will. Don't make any decisions now. You're still young." And with that Rosalie ducks out of my window, soundlessly landing in a crouch in the grass below.
I'm awakened from my slumber by the brrrrrzzt brrrrrzzt of my phone ringing. I answer, thinking it's Emmett.
"Emmett?" I whisper into the phone. My momentary relief is cut short by the deep, huffing breaths. The familiar icy tingle of fear trickles down my spine, a meandering river of terror. I hang up as fast as I can, fumbling to end the call. I sit up, tears welling up in my eyes. I know that I should just tell my parents, but the deep-seated guilt I have over uprooting our life refuses to let me until I have concrete proof. I wrap my arms around my legs after I tuck them under my chin.
It takes me hours to calm myself enough to sleep. Every time I manage to relax one muscle, another one becomes strained from stress, resulting in a repetitive cycle that keeps me awake.
I drag myself out of bed, get myself ready, and throw on the closest pieces of clothing I have. I stumble down the stairs, grabbing my usual PopTart and take a seat at the table.
"Good morning, sweetie." My mom says. This isn't good. She only calls me by nicknames this early in the morning when she's about to be the bearer of bad news.
"What is it?" I sigh. She takes a seat next to me and puts her hand on my arm.
"Well, you know your dad is chasing down a lead in Oregon," She starts. I nod. "Will has a field trip tomorrow. It's an overnight trip, and he needs a chaperone. I mean, you remember The Incident."
Memories of food dye, swimming pools, and a very traumatized third grade teacher flood my mind. As much as I want to beg my mom not to go, that I think the stalker is back and up to his old tricks and I don't feel safe, I feel like I can't. Will finally gets to be a normal kid after the past year, where his sister was scared of her shadow and his parents' eyes were always accompanied by dark circles. I just nod and force a smile.
"That's fine. I'll be okay. Where is it?"
"It's at a museum in Seattle. They also want to go site seeing, the Space Needle, you know." She shrugs. "Are you sure it's okay? I can stay if you need me."
Every cell is screaming at me to tell her, tell her now. But I can't.
"Yeah, it's one night. I'll try not to throw a kegger." My mom rolls her eyes and lightly slaps my arm teasingly. I get up, grab my bag, and head back to school, hoping beyond all hope that Emmett will be back today.
I'm disappointed, but not surprised when the Cullens still aren't back in school. Mrs. Goff reminds us that our presentations are due next week. I hope this all blows over by then. I feel like I'm in Groundhog Day, today feeling the exact same as yesterday. I get into my car and check my phone before heading to pick up Will. No messages. I'm about to back out when Angela knocks on my window.
"Hey, you dropped this earlier," she hands me a notebook. "I was going to give it to you before, but you were kinda zoned out and didn't hear me."
"Oh, yeah, thanks." I try to muster up enthusiasm, but I can't quite manage it. Angela notices.
"Are you okay? You haven't seemed like it the past few days." Her eyes are wide with concern.
"I'm fine, Angela. Just a lot going on in my personal life. I'm also really worried about Bella. Thanks for worrying about me, though."
"I'm worried, too. If you need or want to talk about it, you have my number." I thank her and drive off.
The next day is more of the same. Dreary skies, frigid weather, repetitive. The only difference is that I'm lonelier and the house is quieter. I drop my keys on the counter and reread the note my mom left.
Will and I are off! Will check in with you later. Here's $20 to order a pizza—go wild. But not literally. No parties.
Love,
Mom
I pocket the twenty dollars and head upstairs to work on homework. I'm neck deep into reading about the green light and lavishness of Gatsby's world when I hear a knock on the door. Like any teenager with semi-decent survival skills, I ignore it. The raps on the door get louder, but still I ignore it.
The light fades from the sky, and with it, my motivation to work on homework. I head into the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water does little to diffuse the tension that's taken up a permanent residence in my neck and shoulders. I'm just beginning to wash the cherry shampoo out of my hair when I hear it. A crash from downstairs.
I freeze, hands in my hair. My brain has so many thoughts swirling around it's hard to focus on any one in particular. I strain my ears listening, and slowly begin scrunching my hair to get the last suds out. Hearing nothing, I pick up the bottle of conditioner and begin working it into my hair. I pause again. Nothing. The logical half of my brain is just thinking that something that was precariously placed fell off of a counter; the emotional part of my brain ringing every alarm bell, urging me to listen and get out. I deliberate for a minute.
"If this is how it ends, I'm sure as hell not about to go out with conditioner in my hair." I mutter, washing my hair again.
Rather than turning off the water, I leave it running. If there is someone in the house, they'd be able to tell that I got out of the shower. I quickly throw on my pajamas. A floor board creaks downstairs. I go to grab my phone from the counter when I let out a curse, remembering that I left it charging in my room. I slowly open the bathroom door, looking around.
Survival instincts be damned. I think to myself after seeing no one there, creeping to the top of the stairs and silently making my way down step by step. I silently thank God that I thought to throw on socks. I make it down to the last few steps. At the penultimate one, I crouch down and peek around the corner.
Nothing.
I peek my head out a little bit further. Then I see it. A flash of all black. I turn and run up the stairs, panic making me sloppy. I think quickly, trying to be logical. If the stalker has been watching me, and by extension, the house, then he'll know we leave our doors open. I slam my door closed, hoping it will work as a distraction, before dashing into Will's room, skidding across the hardwood floor, and quietly opening his closet and praying it doesn't squeak. Whatever deities are out there are apparently looking down on me, as the door closes smoothly. I tuck myself behind some coats, trying not to jostle them so the hangers won't squeak in protest on the metal bar. I start covering myself in some of Will's clothes, not caring if they haven't been washed or not.
The thumping on the stairs starts softly, crescendoing in time with my heart as the person comes up the stairs. My heart pounds, my breath coming in puffy gasps. My head feels hot, like it's burning from the inside. I can't see my hands, but I know they're shaking.
"Raquel!" The reedy, high pitched voice draws my name out, the cadence that of children playing hide and seek. "Don't you want to play?"
The syllables are dragged out, almost cartoonish in how long they are. I hear him open my door. I begin to think, knowing I don't have much time to make a decision. Should I run for it? There's no other way—he knows I'm here, he won't just give up. I'm about to start uncovering myself when another idea occurs to me: Will's window doesn't have a screen. I can climb out and either jump down—potentially injuring myself, or climb up to the very top—maybe I can flag someone down? I just have to hope that he doesn't find me first, that he doesn't look too hard in Will's room.
"I came all this way," his voice is too close for comfort. I stop breathing. "Just for you! And you don't have the decency to come say 'Hi'?" I push myself even further into the corner. I can see him, pale blue eyes that look slightly off. I know those eyes.
"You left Virginia before we could become friends. Isn't that rude? I had to find out where you were from your grandma? Or, what is it you call her?" He pauses for a moment. Can't he continue his evil monologue somewhere else? A chill runs down my spine. Unless he already knows I'm here. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping against all hope that this is a really bad nightmare. "Gramma? Maw Maw? No, Grammy? Yes! That's it."
Silence. I open my eyes. He's staring right at the closet. He comes closer.
No no no no no no no no. each word is a step. He opens the door. The door creaks. Maybe he'll take that as a sign that I couldn't be in here, he'd have heard me open the door. I don't even breathe. I can feel his lecherous gaze sweeping around the confined space, landing on me for a second. My heart's pounding is deafening. He turns to leave. I hear his footsteps fade, his monologue continuing. I hear him in the bathroom, turning off the shower. Somehow, that's almost creepier than when he looked in the closet. I slowly uncover myself, before getting into a crouch and shrugging into one of Will's jackets. I wait, holding my breath. After counting to ten, I take a deep breath before quietly opening the door, just enough so I can squeeze out. I take off, the window the light at the end of the tunnel. I leap onto Will's bed and lean over the headboard to successfully unlock the window. I begin to slide it up, the freedom of the outside air fresh and tart on my tongue when an arm snakes around my waist, the other hand covering my mouth. I bite down as hard as I can, my stalker swearing and letting go for a precious second. I claw at the window in desperation, attempting to free myself of the vice-like grip on my hips. I grip the sill, kicking him as hard as I can before throwing myself forward. I manage to get the upper part of my body out when he pulls on me again, more forceful.
"Somebody help!" I shout. "HELP!"
Just like before, no one comes. My hands refuse to let go of the sill despite his tugging. Half of the pressure eases up, and I begin rapidly kicking him as hard as I can, but besides a grunt, he ignores me, reaching above me. I realize what he's doing too late, and he slams the window down on my fingers, causing me to yelp in pain and reflexively let go. Unfortunately for him, I do not plan on going easily, grabbing onto the headboard.
"Come. On!" He groans out, but with my hands in pain, he's able to get a solid grip on me, pulling me off.
"Let go of me you rotten creep!" I begin flailing around, managing to clock him with a fist. He shoves me forward, even though I keep fighting. The socks I used for stealth before betray me know, he can easily slide me across the floor. I can feel my energy, sparked by adrenaline, beginning to wan. At the top of the stairs I think of a risky plan. He tries to force me down, but I hook one of my legs around his, pulling him towards me, down the stairs. I turn so that he'll land underneath me, breaking my fall. I land, a sickening crack reverberates throughout the house. I'm not sure if it's from his skull or my arm, which now has pain shooting up along every inch. I get up, pushing away from him, where he's lying motionless at the base of the stairs, and doing a half hobble-half run to the door. I seem to have sprained my ankle from my stunt.
Once outside, I freeze, wasting precious time. I don't have my keys, but I can't go back in. I begin to move again, seeking safety.
What if I killed him? The thought pulls me up short again. I'm about to run again when he grabs my injured arm, having managed to catch up to me silently. I let out a blood-curdling scream and try to pull away, gritting my teeth against the pain. He squeezes tighter, the pain making my vision go gray. He begins to pull me towards his car-a nondescript, everyday minivan.
Great. I'm going to be taken out by a guy who drives a suburban mom-car. He relaxes, able to see I'm drained of most of my fight. He slides open the back door and attempts to put me in when I'm reminded of why I'm fighting. I stick my legs out, bracing myself of the car door and push back with everything I have, ignoring the protest from my bad ankle. He moves back, forcing me to drop my legs before slamming my head into the car door.
"Why" slam. "Can't" slam. "You" slam "Just" slam. "Cooperate?" slam.
My nose is bloodied, I can feel the blood seeping down my face. I'm dizzy and can't see straight.
Well, Quel. You did your best. At least you'll come back again, right? The thought crosses my mind, soothing in a morbid way, before the fight drains out of my body, and my world fades to a blissful, painless black.