A/N: Wow, thank you for the great responses on the last chapter! I'm really glad you guys enjoyed it :) here's the next one~ as always, please ignore any typos!

Indiana.

When you wake up tomorrow, it'll be a different world. You'll see.

It's my seventeenth birthday.

The first thing I notice when I wake up is how raw and sore my throat is. I remember throwing up blood again last night, and Mom pretended to call an ambulance before slipping me more sleeping medication. It wasn't a lot of blood. I think my throat is just so raw from all of the stomach acid coming up that sometimes it bleeds.

At least, that's what I've gathered from hospital shows.

It's bright blood, not dark blood, which is a good sign, but Mom doesn't know left from right anymore. She should just put a pillow over my face and get it over with.

I haven't seen Malcolm in three days. I don't like admitting it, but I feel safer around him than I do around my mother. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Transference is the term, I think.

He said he would save me and I've clung to that, regardless of how it comes about.

The second thing I notice is that something about the air isn't right – it's warm and damp, but it's the middle of fall in the Upper East Side.

Usually it's so cold I can't feel my toes, but they're toasty warm right now.

I check the clock on the nightstand and it reads 9:04 PM, which means I've been asleep almost twenty-four hours.

Maybe that's why my head feels the clearest it's felt in months.

I move to scratch the side of my neck, and that's when I feel the tugging at the back of my hand.

My stomach twists.

Mom didn't set this IV up for me, I know that for a fact.

The third thing I notice, and I don't know how I missed it before, is that my bedroom door is wide open. It's usually shut tight. Mom doesn't like to hear me any more than she likes to see me.

I look down the hallway at her bedroom.

Her doors are shut.

The house is dark apart from the dull hallway light.

I use all the strength I have to push myself into a seated position. It's the most I've moved on my own in weeks. Have I only been out for twenty-four hours, or has it been longer?

I stall for a long time before gradually moving my legs over the edge of the bed. I'm surprised at how easy it is after struggling for months.

I have to have been out for longer.

My legs are a little wobbly, but I manage to walk on my own. I can feel the blood trickling down my hand from where I pulled the needle out, but it's in the back of my mind.

As I reach the doorway, I pause and take a deep breath.

I think this is it.

The house is too quiet, and I'm pretty sure I know what I'll find if I walk down the hallway and go into her room.

Blood rushes through my ears like ocean waves. I haven't heard the ocean in so long, but it sounds just like it. Somewhere in the middle of it, I can hear the blood dripping from my hand onto the floor.

I wonder if Malcolm is nearby. If he can hear it.

He hears everything.

By the time I make it down the hallway, my entire body is shaking. From exhaustion, from fear, from the sudden shiver running down my spine – I don't know. My fingers tremble as I reach for the expensive French handles of her bedroom doors. They feel like ice and are heavier than usual. Maybe because I don't want to open them. I just want to disappear. Teleport somewhere else. I don't want to have to do any of this.

I finally open the doors and the smell hits me first – sweet and coppery, like licking a penny.

With a shaky hand, I flip the light switch and there she is, just lying there on her bed.

I've never seen her so quiet and still before.

If I were a normal person, maybe I would scream and run. Call the police or call 911. But everyone reacts differently after experiencing trauma. Some people lock down. Some people suffer from PTSD. Some people overcompensate in other areas of their lives. Some people just feel empty.

Like me.

She doesn't even look real. The scene laid out in front of me looks like horror movie CGI.

I walk to the edge of her bed for a closer look and stare down at her. Honestly, I just want to make sure she's not breathing, but I don't know how she could be with that chunk of her throat missing.

An uneasy feeling makes goosebumps raise on my arms.

I think he's behind me – Malcolm, I mean. My instincts can always feel him. Prey senses.

I'm not afraid of him, but I don't want to go with him anymore.

Going with him means this chance at freedom is permanently gone. But he held up his end of the bargain, and I'll be expected to hold up mine. He freed me from her, so I have to go with him. He didn't have to kill her, though. He could've taken me at any time. She wouldn't have done anything – wouldn't have even looked for me.

I should probably feel sad it ended like this, but I don't.

What's wrong with me that I don't feel sad looking at my own dead mother?

"Aw,you're thinking about this night, too?"

My stomach heaves. I don't throw up, but I almost do.

I remind myself not to talk to him. If I do, he'll manipulate me into letting something slip.

"I know you miss me, Indiana."

Swallowing thickly, I reach out and pull my mother's eyelids down over her lifeless, blue eyes.

"The more time that passes, the guiltier you feel about this. Why is that?" Malcolm asks me, taking a seat at the foot of her bed.

Probably because I've grown a conscious – even for the woman who was slowly killing me.

I decide not to look him in the eyes.

"You were just a child. Her own flesh and blood, and she hated you. More than anything."

I turn away from him. Turn away from her. The body of my younger self is suddenly gone and replaced by the older, current me – a dead giveaway to Malcolm that I'm aware and listening to him.

"I can forgive you, you know. I will forgive you. But you have to come back to me. That was the deal, Indiana."

I walk past him and back into the hallway, towards the stairs. I only know one surefire way to snap myself out of a dream.

"Indiana," Malcolm sings.

Stopping at the top of the staircase, I take a deep breath, reminding myself that this is just a dream. It won't hurt.

It won't hurt.

My foot hovers over the first step.

Before I can chicken out, I let myself fall over the steps and my vision blacks when my head hits the wood.

I gasp for air and flail off of the couch, falling onto the floor with a thud that knocks the wind out of me. Pain sears through my lungs and I roll onto my stomach, fingers knotting in the shaggy threads of the carpet as I try to catch my breath. A wave of nausea moves through me and before I have enough coherence to crawl to the trashcan, I vomit onto the carpet.

My head is pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears, and I heave over and over again until there's nothing left but putrid stomach bile.

And that's when I hear it.

The familiar, horrifying tsk-ing sound that Malcolm loves to make.

Fingers still threaded in the carpet, I slowly lift my eyes to none other than Malcolm himself, sitting in the armchair, watching me as he shakes his head.

"Beautiful place you've got here, Indiana," he says calmly, hands folded together in his lap, smiling though it doesn't reach his eyes. I don't think it ever has.

I feel all the blood drain from my face and a chill runs down my spine.

"Who do you share it with? Josephine, perhaps?"

I'm almost too afraid to look away from him, but my eyes drop for a split second, long enough to see that there's no vomit on the carpet.

I'm still dreaming.

My stomach lurches again, but I don't throw up.

"You won't talk to me anymore." The way he says it almost sounds sad.

I'm stunned into silence. On one hand, I'm relieved he's not really in Paul's house. On the other hand, I'm terrified he will see something that will give away where I am.

My brain runs through the house. There's minimal clutter, no mail because Paul shreds it all, nothing pinned to the fridge… No prescriptions. Nothing that I can think of with Paul's name or address on it… But if there is anything, Malcolm will find it if I don't wake up quickly.

I have to wake up.

Swallowing, I force myself onto my hands and knees, and then onto the edge of the couch. Malcolm tilts his head as he watches me, hands still folded together.

"Hi," I whisper, and the word feels foreign on my tongue.

"Why did you run away from me?" He asks, wasting no time.

I don't know what to say to him. I know I shouldn't say anything at all, but he's here in Paul's house, and that changes things. I need to keep him focused on me so he doesn't go looking around. I'm surprised he's not already.

My lungs burn as I take a deep breath. "I got scared," I reply, not having a better answer. "I wanted Josie to be free."

"She was a bit of a free spirit, wasn't she?"

I nod.

"But that wasn't your choice to make."

"You would've killed her. You kill everyone."

"I kill who I have to, Indiana, but I've never hurt you and would never hurt you."

Another wave of nausea rolls through me. I feel like that same young teenager that was afraid for my life who was comforted by his kind words and handsome face.

"You're really not taking care of yourself, are you? I imagine you smell rotten again."

Good.

"Why do you torture yourself this way?" he asks, leaning over his knees. "Why did you want to be free from your mother if only to slowly kill yourself instead?"

I'm not trying to kill myself. The unhealthier I am, the longer it would take him to nurse me back to where he wants me to be. It's my only backup plan. But I'm not going to tell him that. "I don't know."

He stands up and a jolt of panic hits my stomach. I try not to let it show on my face, but I can feel my fingers tingling with nerves. What if he starts looking around? What if I can't get myself to wake up? What if he finds something?

He takes a seat next to me on the couch and it takes every ounce of my strength not to scoot away from him. I keep my eyes straight ahead at the TV and watch our reflections in the black screen.

"I'd give anything to smell your hair right now," he whispers, leaning in. My body erupts in goosebumps, but not the good kind. "Or see the pulse beat in your neck." His finger hooks around the neckline of my hoodie and pulls it down, then freezes.

I think nothing of it. Until…

"Indiana, what the fuck is that?"

I can't make myself move. I can't do anything but watch the reflection of him staring at the side of my neck – the side of my neck where the mark of my soulmate's teeth rests in my skin. An impurity, to Malcolm. Something marring the smooth skin he was always so fond of. A combination of terror and smugness mixes in my chest. I almost smirk.

"Use your words, Indiana," he demands.

I hate when he says that to me. I hate it so fucking much. I'm not a child anymore.

I finally turn my head to look at him. His eyes are vibrantly red, and his brown curly hair is styled with not a lock out of place. As always. I hate that a part of me still feels attachment to him – the part of me that needed saving and was saved by him.

But then my mind goes to Josie, who saved me from him. Then to Paul, who saved me in a way no one else ever could. Embry, who saved me. Jared, who saved me. Sam and Emily, who saved me. Malachi. Seth. Leah and Jesse. The twins. Collin and Brady. And they all saved me expecting nothing in return. Malcolm only saved me because I was a prize he wanted. I was something he could show off later like the rest of them. I was weak, young, naïve, and easily manipulated.

Not anymore.

"What's it look like?" I smirk.

His face remains blank. It's uncanny how well he can hide all emotion when he wants to. Maybe vampires don't have emotions.

The next thing I know he is on his feet with his hands wrapped around my neck. "You're beautiful skin is ruined!" He lifts me off the couch and my hands curl around his wrists, trying desperately to pry them away from my neck.

If you die in a dream, do you die in real life?

He slams me into the coffee table but I feel nothing. I can't breathe, but I feel nothing.

"What kind of whore have you become?! I will kill the person that did this to you," he growls, fingers curling tighter into my skin. Maybe he'll rip my throat out like he did my mother's.

My eyes start to slip shut.

"You've gone too far, Indiana!"

Darkness.

Beep. Beep. Beep… Beep. Beep.

Somewhere in the depths of the dark, I can hear the beeping.

Wherever I am smells sterile, and the sheets under my hands feel generic. The hospital, I guess. I rub my fingers into the fabric with one hand. The other hand is being held tightly, and I already know it's Paul holding it. His warmth is familiar. It's different than all of the other kinds of warmth in the world.

I try my eyes but snap them shut again just as quickly. It's way too bright in this room, and everything is white which only seems to intensify the brightness.

"Indie?"

I squeeze his hand softly.

"Jesus Christ, babe," he exasperates, squeezing my hand as he stands up and leans over my body to hug me. "You scared the shit out of me. What happened? I thought I was losing you."

I bury my face into his neck and breathe in his scent. It swirls in my lungs and warms me from the inside out. He slips his arm under my head and holds me close, nuzzling into the side of my face.

"Where am I?"

"We had to bring you to the hospital in Forks," he says, voice cracking as his arms tighten around me. "I couldn't wake you up... You wouldn't wake up…"

I try and remember what happened, but everything is blank. "What happened?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

There's a knock at the door and two nurses come inside.

"She's awake!" the first says animatedly, her chin-length brown hair in tight, wild curls. She's a bit older – maybe early fifties – and has skin so tanned it's leathery. The other nurse – much younger and with darker features – says nothing but immediately walks over to check my heart monitor and drip bag.

I pull my face away from Paul's neck just enough to see the IV plugged into the back of my hand.

Something tugs at the back of my mind.

"Can you let everyone know she's awake, please? And bring Josie back?" Paul stands up and asks the bubbly nurse.

She truly is bubbly. The other is having a bad day. I can feel how much she doesn't want to be here.

"Of course, sugar. You've got some great people here for you, sweetie," she says to me with a gentle smile.

I half-smile back and tighten my fingers around Paul's. I don't want him to let go of me.

He sits back down next to me and sandwiches my hand with both of his, bringing it to his lips, knee bouncing nervously.

The nurses leave a minute later and shortly following that, Josie flies through the door to my bedside. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her hair is in a tangled, messy bun. She's wearing one of Embry's t-shirts and a pair of light pink sweatpants, looking exhausted and scared.

"God, Indie," she throws herself across me and wedges her arms between my back and the mattress, practically sitting in Paul's lap. "What the hell happened?"

"I can't remember," I admit honestly. "I was watching TV and then I was waking up here."

There's another soft knock at the door and the doctor – I'm presuming by the white lab coat – backs through the door dragging a tray behind himself. His white blond hair is just as bright as everything else in this room.

"Welcome back, Indiana."

His voice, though pleasant and kind, makes my blood run cold. It has the same, melodic tone that Malcolm's does.

Malcolm.

Wide-eyed, I turn to Paul and Josie. "It was Malcolm," I blurt, the memories rushing back to me. "He was in my dream. He was in the house."

Paul's anger ignites. "What?"

"Not in the house, but in my dream," I reply, lowering my eyes thoughtfully. "Two dreams. I remember now. I woke up from the first one and fell on the floor, and then he was there again. He was talking to me and—"

The doctor approaches my bedside and I freeze in near terror. For a second, I completely forgot he was there, but now that he's right next to me with his clipboard and stethoscope, the hair on the back of my neck is standing on end. The same feeling I used to get when Malcolm would sneak up on me is now sinking in my gut – my instincts telling me that I'm in the presence of danger.

My heart monitor starts beating erratically before I pull the tether off and it flat-lines.

The doctor nods and takes a step back to unplug the monitor. "It's okay, Indiana. You don't have to be afraid of me."

"It's okay, Indie," Josie assures me. "Do you remember hearing about the Cullen's? This is Dr. Cullen."

I look up at his eyes – warm and the color of honey, not red. Contacts maybe? I can't imagine he'd be allowed a job at a hospital with red eyes. But even so, his marbled skin reflects in the bright light of the room and you can tell that it's not normal. I'm drawn to him even though I want to run.

Is this some kind of sick joke? Working at a hospital to help people when you eat people?

Worried, I look over at Paul, who just smiles weakly in response. I can tell that he doesn't particularly like Dr. Cullen, but he tolerates him, and clearly trusts him enough to be in charge of my care.

I breathe a small sigh of relief.

"Do you mind if I examine you, Indiana?" Dr. Cullen asks. I don't like the way he calls me by my first name. It reminds me too much of Malcolm.

I nod. "Indie is fine…"

He smiles and nods. "Okay, Indie. Can you tell me how old are you?" He pulls a pen from his coat pocket and scribbles something down on his clipboard.

"Twenty," I reply, then make a face and shake my head. "Well, what day is it?"

How long have I been out? Is it still my birthday?

"It's October 31st."

I swallow. "Twenty-one."

"Well, I'm sorry you're spending your birthday in the hospital," he says. He unwraps the stethoscope from around his neck and holds up the chest piece. "Do you mind if I have a listen to your heart and lungs now that you're awake and alert?"

"Do you really need that to hear them?" I ask without thinking about it.

Paul snorts from beside me, and Josie laughs quietly.

Dr. Cullen glances back and forth between us, looking amused. "Well, for documentation purposes."

Nodding, I move into a seated position with Paul's help and allow Dr. Cullen to slip the piece under my hospital gown first against my chest, then against my back over my lungs. He waits a few moments and then removes the pieces from his ears and places it back around his neck. He then holds up a small flashlight and shines it into my eyes, moving his finger back and forth for me to follow.

It takes a few more minutes for him to complete his physical exam, knocking my elbows and knees with a reflex hammer and checking my ears. Once he's finished, he jots down a few notes on his clipboard.

"Aside from the arrhythmia, everything sounds good. Reflexes are good, stats are okay." He flips over the first page on his clipboard and scans the second. "The arrhythmia is usually nothing to worry about. You've probably had it your whole life."

"Usually?" Paul asks.

Dr. Cullen looks between Paul and me, then at Josie, then back to me. "I have a few sensitive questions that I need to ask," his words are careful and calculated. "Please don't hesitate to ask for privacy if you need it."

Paul takes offense to his words, but says nothing even though I know it's taking every ounce of his strength not to. Josie probably wouldn't leave even if I begged her to. She's so fiercely loyal and would never leave me alone in a situation like this.

My stomach starts to hurt. "Okay."

"Is there any chance you may be pregnant?"

"Oh, I can't get pregnant," I answer, the fingers on my free hand playing nervously with the hospital sheet.

"When was your last menstrual cycle?"

At this point, I would expect Paul to be cringing, or shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but he hasn't changed position at all and is steadily stroking the back of my hand with his thumb in a comforting manner.

My brows pull together as I try to remember. "I don't know. When I was thirteen, maybe fourteen?"

Nodding, he scribbles a few more things down on his clipboard. "You're severely malnourished, so I'm not surprised by that." His shoulders move as if he's taking a deep breath, but no sound comes out. I bet he's doing it out of habit. You can't treat sick people and have them know you're not breathing. "When your body has certain vitamin and mineral deficiencies, you begin to lose muscle mass, and your heart is a muscle. The arrhythmia usually wouldn't be concerning, but your heart is very weak, and if you continue to deprive yourself it'll only grow weaker until it eventually cannot handle the workload."

I stare at him blankly.

"I believe when you woke up from your dream, one of two things happened. First, you may have simply fallen and knocked yourself out. There is some bruising and swelling on the side of your head here," he states, cold fingers gently brushing the side of my head. I don't remember hitting my head, but the knot is definitely there. "Second, if you were having a nightmare, the fear could have been enough to cause your heart to stall, sending you into a temporary cardiac arrest that you were lucky enough to resolve on your own. I don't think that's the case, based on your test results, but I don't think we can rule it out completely without more extensive testing."

My throat feels thick as I try to swallow. Just as Malcolm did, Dr. Cullen is telling me, with medical clarification, that I am slowly killing myself, but for some reason there is only one thing I care about.

"Dr. Cullen do I… do I smell bad?"

He looks at me, head tilting slightly, almost as if he's confused by my question, but I think he knows exactly what I'm asking.

"My blood," I clarify. "Does my blood smell bad to you?"

"Jesus Christ, Indie," Josie exclaims, hands on her head. "Are you listening to yourself right now?! You sound insane!"

"Josie," Paul warns.

I ignore her. "It does, doesn't it?"

Dr. Cullen stares back into my eyes with the most compassion I think I've ever seen. It's strange, I can't feel it with him, but I can see it in his eyes.

Paul pulls on my hand until I reluctantly turn and look at him. "I've got you," he says gently, eyes soft and tinged with sadness. "We've all got you."

Dr. Cullen stands up, flipping the pages of his clipboard back over. "I would recommend staying for one more night of observation," he tells me, lifting a syringe that he attaches to my drip bag. "However, I've been doing this a very long time, and I think it's more likely that you just knocked yourself out. If you agree to wait until the electrolyte drip is completed, I think it'll be okay for you to go home."

It's not lost on me that he refused to answer my question, but his silence is a good enough answer for me.

He injects the full syringe into the drip bag and stuffs his pen back into his pocket. Smiling softly, he nods at Paul and then sees himself out.

Josie turns to me and rubs her forehead. "You know he's going to have like, thirty pamphlets on eating disorders in your discharge papers, right?" she asks. She's trying to lighten the mood even though she wants to go off on me.

"I know it's stupid," I tell her. "It's just… once Malcolm started showing up in my dreams again, I panicked." I leave out the part about how easy it was to stop eating again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Paul asks.

I sigh. "Because I knew you'd feel like it was your fault, and it's not. You can't help your patrol shift—"

"You are my priority," he says sternly. "There is nothing more important to me than you and your safety."

My heart flutters.

"How many dreams has he been in?" Josie asks cautiously as she takes a seat on the edge of my bed.

I shake my head. Sometimes he's in them, but I don't know if he's really in them. But maybe that's what he wants me to think. It'd be a smart move to blend in – pretend he wasn't spying. "A few," I reply unsurely. "More recently."

She swallows visibly and starts feeling nervous. "He was in one of my dreams the other night, too…"

I sink into the pillows behind me and slide down onto my back. "Did he see anything?" My voice barely comes out.

Her head shakes. "Not really, I woke up pretty quickly. But… he asked about you."

I feel Paul's anger curdling in his chest. "He saw my neck," I tell them quietly. "He was so mad. I've never seen him so mad before. He's going to start trying even harder to find me now." The tears burst from my eyes before I have a chance to try and stop them.

This is the closest Malcolm has been to finding me, and the thought of it terrifies me. He was so close to having everything he needed to come for me. It's almost like being brand new to La Push all over again – terrified and concerned for the wellbeing and safety of the residents.

Only now the fear is greater, because I have more to lose.

"Hey," Paul shushes, moving around to the other side of the bed and lying next to me. I immediately curl into him. "It's okay. I told you I've got you. I know you're afraid of what might happen if he comes here, but I'm not."

He means it. He's always so sure of everything.

Josie squeezes in on my other side and snuggles up behind me. "You have to start taking better care of yourself. We were all really afraid."

I nod and continue to cry silently for a few minutes until my tears dry up and I'm emotionally spent. The drip bag still has a ways to go, and I definitely don't want to stay in the hospital another night on observation. I want to go back to La Push. Back home.

"I love you," I whisper.

"I love you, too," both Paul and Josie say at the same time. They lift their heads and look at each other over my shoulder before the three of us all burst into laughter. Paul kisses my forehead and Josie nuzzles her face between my shoulder blades.

Sometimes I forget the well-oiled machine that the Quileute pack members are. They were born and bred to protect. Born and bred to destroy this kind of threat. There are over a dozen of them and even more on the other side of the Quileute border.

And there's just one of Malcolm.

Just one.

A/N: I rewrote parts of this chapter several times, so please let me know if something doesn't make sense. I'm sure you all saw it coming, but of course Malcolm's return was inevitable! I enjoy writing him lol. Thank you so much for reading and if you have a moment, please leave me a review. Until next time! xx