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"Stand up straight, you're slouching."
"Smile, Isabella. Stop glaring all the damn time."
"Christ save us all, you're wrinkling your dress!"
Mama swatted at my stomach, urging me to suck in and straighten out.
I had been plucked, pruned and rinsed to an inch of my life– my midnight curls gelled and straightened, though already frizzing at the seams, under the glamor of some relaxing treatment Honey had bought at the supermarket.
So far, it was making me dull enough to fit in. Though the sun had brought all those beige freckles to the surface, and my shoulders had burnt up within an hour of being in the yard without suncream.
The Swan's were celebrating a birthday at the La Push estate, situated on the top of Forks' finest hill. Isabella hadn't wanted to go, especially after the grueling tasks Mz Flowers had subjected her to - Wash this, Dust this, Iron this, Don't touch that.
Though if her mama was anything, it was stubborn. An old mule in her previous life, or maybe a tinned can of tomatoes that could survive a nuclear blast. She had crossed her arms and tapped her foot, pulling every inch of a reason from the air to try and persuade her daughter that the party would be worthwhile.
Isabella had nearly bitten her tongue off to strife off an argument.
"Mike Newtown is going to be there." Honey had tried again in the car, peering in the rear-view mirror. Isabella had avoided the winged-liner of her stare, squashed between Paul and Seth. Their suit-jackets rubbing uncomfortably on her bare arms.
Pink was the color for tonight, striking both her heels and dress. Though she knew no Mike Newtown or small-town boy would bring that color in her cheeks.
Not like that carnival boy had last week.
"He said he's excited to see you."
"How can you possibly know that?" Isabella grumbled.
"His mama told Dorris and Dorris told me, and now I'm telling you! Jesus girl."
Daddy had tittered to himself from behind the wheel, and Isabella scowled as Paul's shoulders bounced with a silent laugh.
Though mama was right. Mike was happy to see her, and in fact, had kept her glass refilled all night with samples from the various champagne bottles in the Newtown cellar. She had sipped on those vanilla bubbles and obliged in small talk, listening as he droned on about scholarships to big-league universities and plans for inheritance, gesturing his hands all the while.
"Honey said you were looking into some swimming thing after summer break," This Newtown boy said, just as her eyes had roamed a little too long elsewhere. Her attention snapped back like a rubberband, and the wide-eyed look she gave him warranted a smile. "Or maybe I heard wrong."
No, he hadn't. Though that dream had disappeared after the accident.
After… Well, shit hit the fan.
"That woman says all kinds of things nowadays." Isabella sniped.
"You don't like going for a dip every now and then?"
"Not enough for a career."
"Ah." His thin lips merged together apologetically. "Maybe you'd benefit from the housewife dream down in these parts, then."
"I'd sooner die." Isabella snorted into her flute glass.
Mike swallowed sharply.
He divulged in a little business talk, though nothing too heavy– not wanting to disrupt the perfect setting of their quiet corner, fetching the canopies as they circled around on silver platters. Isabella ate to avoid speaking, and was grateful when Aro Wirchwood stood to give his birthday speech.
A round-faced man with yellow teeth and eyes that were bloodshot with age.
He spoke below a white beard, the occasional twitch of the hair carried by a slur of southern words. Isabella looked out the window all the while, not even clapping politely as he rounded with a 'hazzar!' and a celebratory clink of glasses.
The music began before she had time to escape, and Mike led her toward the center of the room by hand, flattening her to his chest. They lulled in small circles and leant on each other's shoulders, floating like foreign fish in a small pond– weaving between the other dancers and their smiling faces.
She risked a peak upwards and saw him staring feverishly at her lips, all that boyishness melting out of his face– daring, as so many pairs of eyes were prying. Though she felt no flicker of excitement, nor encouragement to meet him on that lustful little playing field.
Only embarrassment… and a rotten wedge of something else. Pity, or disgust, maybe.
The Newtown boy was handsome, in an obvious sorta way. He had good bone structure and gentle eyes– a good head of hair, and an athletic looking body. Though he was as safe as a rose, too polished and pruned. Nothing extraordinary in the making.
Isabella turned away as he dipped a bit lower, and covered his face in the blanket of her raven hair, feeling the embarrassment course through him.
An hour later, she was standing in that corner by herself, and as night drew on, Mike danced with one of the girls from school instead.
"She ruined a perfectly good moment is what she did!" Mama said as they came through the door, pulling the slips of her heels off with vigor.
"The boy was a chum." Paul shut the front door.
"Nonsense!"
"She could have a better pick at a life than to live one with the Newtown family."
Isabella didn't know why he was sticking up for her so much, though said nothing as she stood in the foyer, Seth yawning sleepily at her side.
"You've got your whole life ahead of you, Paul." Honey said, hanging up her shawl. "Isabella won't have the same opportunities."
"Mama–"
"He was a nice boy!"
"Oh enough!" Isabella yelled, shunning the room into silence. "I will date who I please, when I please! Not when you decide."
"Young lady–"
"I'm going to my room."
"Get back here! Charlie, are you goin to let her speak to me like that? Charlie, get off that chair and help me be a parent, here!"
Isabella charged up the stairs and already had the door shut when her father's rousing voice came sleepily from the living room, wrapped lazily around too much whiskey.
The merge of voices grew and dropped in argument as she undressed, throwing that blush frock into the bottom of the wardrobe, where hopefully, it wouldn't see the light of day again.
Her skin felt rashy and hot, as if some thunderstorm was going to come rocketing out of her and fry up the plain-white of her room. Anger too colorless of a word to describe what had been brewing inside.
Was it because of Honey, and how freely she had told the Sutton's about the swimming and the lake?
Or was it Forks all together?
Isabella sat on the ledge by her window and stared into the black and orange stretch of night, trying to shun away thoughts of wading water and tight lungs, splashing and fighting for survival. When she dreamt, she saw a red shore ebbing against the dirt of a grassy bank, and when morning came, she was doused in sweat.
Mama didn't say sorry in the following days, and took all of the apples from the dining table– a hidden way to make Isabella eat something different, and weld some meat to her bones. Though despite hunger, she didn't touch breakfast. Nor lunch. Nor dinner.
She sat in her room or went for slow walks around the neighborhood, wearing earphones without playing music. Trying not to look unhappy, trying not to let the loneliness bridle its way in.
Thursday ampled its way into the week, and Charlie was the first one to break the atmosphere, too proud to wager anger beneath his roof. Paul had got a call from Wildetown, and he was due to start an apprenticeship in the fall.
They had steak for dinner, and Paul slammed down a flyer between the gravy-boat of peppercorn sauce and the string beans.
"What's that?" Seth squinted to see.
"Opportunity!"
"Get the opportunity off the dinner table." Honey scowled.
Paul did no such thing.
"They're offering free land out there. Land with good soil and foundations– ripe enough to construct houses or farms, even buildings for business."
"Wildetown is nothing but casinos and fighting pits, Paul. Ain't no suburbs or farmland out there." Charlie frowned. "Pass the carrots Seth."
Seth, still angling his head for a better look, passed the plate without looking.
"It's true, daddy. Some childless millionaire is looking for fighting men, with a good academic background and enough wit to look after his possessions. He's offering four slots for four pieces of himself."
"Sounds like hooey to me." Mama snorted.
Paul got an angering glint in his eye, though it died as Charlie took the paper, reading a little more closely. Isabella had been watching without too much to say, her head buzzing like a beehive. Free land?
Childless millionaire?
She was chewing on a tough bit of steak when Charlie inclined his head, an approving hum sliding out. "This looks legit, Honey. It has the mayor's stamp at the bottom."
"Are you sure?"
"It's right here… clear as day." Charlie shook his head. "Regardless, Paul. You ain't going to have much free time when you start working. Not enough to be chasing empty dreams, anyway."
"But, dad–"
"Now, don't fight it. This internship is a good thing, and will open plenty of doors. Don't gamble it on a whim."
Paul skulked down his head of moppy, dark hair as Charlie folded the paper, setting it on the table. They had apple pie for dessert, and as daddy took his eldest son into the living room for a drink of whiskey, Isabella slipped the flier into her back pocket and went to bed.
IIIIII
Red and blue lights flickered against the window, highlighting all the childish things in her room. Stuffed animals and old journals losing their innocence under the scope of Forks' police department.
Isabella didn't get up at first, lost in the sweat of another bad dream. Though when the front door went, rattling the house in a series of thuds that meant no kindness, she surfaced enough to hear the men speak.
"–take you down to the station for questioning."
"You will do no such thing!"
"Sir, I'm going to have to kindly ask you to step outside the house."
"What's going on, Charlie?"
"Get back inside, Honey. There's been a misunderstanding."
Isabella had one arm in her lavender dressing gown, lingering worriedly at the top of the stairs.
Policemen were on the front porch, one sporting the sheriff's hat and golden badge. It twinkled boastingly, the only thing stopping Charlie Swan from getting the gun in the basement and scaring them off his property.
Daddy didn't like trouble.
"Sir, please?" The policeman said, advancing a hand to the car.
Charlie went red faced. "What in God's name is going on?"
"Mr Swan, this would be best to discuss down at the station." The Sheriff smiled bleakly.
"Please," Honey wept, her pin-curls coming out of their rollers, "you can understand our fear. Two policemen showing up in the dead of night… we're god-saving people."
The Sheriff's lips thinned.
"There's been a fire at the Carnival on Old Meek Lane. We're of the opinion it was arson, done as an act of hate or something… other." He flickered a look to Charlie. "We have reports saying that you had a rather explosive meeting with Carlisle Cullen the other day, and tried to threaten him off the land."
"Ludicrous!" Charlie seethed, the veins bulging in his thick neck. "Unkind words might have been exchanged, though I would never do anything to–"
"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to please come down to the station."
"But–"
"It's strongly advised." The Sheriff snapped, a little more final.
Isabella could only stare as Charlie was carted off in the back of the Sheriff's car, trying to hasten out the wails of her Mama as Paul led her into the kitchen. Though worry bloomed like a bad cancer when trouble arose in this house, and Isabella tried to piece together the rough-edges of the puzzle as Seth stirred in the next room.
She thought of the Irish boy, Eddie, and his kind smile as his home burnt around him. The animals and rides, homes and cars exploring in flurries of orange and yellow, black smoke dirtying the sky.
Charlie had a guilty conscience when it came to gambling and whiskey, though he was no criminal. Not in the eyes of the Lord, and in the pursuit of murder. Never would he take an innocent life.
Though were these gypsies really innocent in his eyes? Isabella cringed, her stomach churning at the thought.
Last spring, following the accident, Isabella had spent ample time in police stations - passed through the hands of blue badges, sweaty detectives, and little black books with scribbled alibis. The very face of her future deformed in one hour, or so the Sheriff had said as she sat across from him, her hands cuffed to the table they shared. Charlie had passed a lot of dirty money through Forks to get her out, and even went as far as—
Mama's wailing didn't stop, even as the sky began to melt into that lovely vanilla color that signified a sunny day. Her hair was all but frazzles and clumps, the scarce mascara she had slept in muddying her perfect skin. A wreck– even against the comfort of Paul's shoulder, and his blank, sightless stare.
It didn't even flicker to Isabella as she approached the kitchen, smelling coffee before she found a voice enough to say hello.
"We should have heard something by now." Honey whispered, her hoarse voice enough to make Paul cringe.
"Don't think about it."
"The whole neighborhood is going to want answers."
"Screw the neighbors." Isabella scoffed, jumping onto the kitchen counter to sit, her feet dangling lazily above the floor. Honey retaliated with a glare, though didn't have the energy to scold further. Her face laden with fear, and a little desperation.
Honey decided it was in the family's best interest to make an appearance, as almost everyone had seen the blue and red lights of their dead pride by now. She got into her best Sunday dress and her mother's pearls, fetching a handful of money out of the emergency tin and setting off to the grocery store.
Paul reluctantly went with her, under the guise of a panic attack or manic meltdown.
Isabella chose to stay.
As the door clicked swiftly shut, she fetched a bowl of cereal and stood in her oversized t-shirt, tuning the radio to fill the dreaded atmosphere with sunshine yellow, good-mornin vibes.
This was both a blessin' and a curse for what was about to happen.
A noise clattered from the basement, and having lived in a quiet neighborhood all her life, Isabella decided to take a look. Clearly not having gained the 101 life-lessons you were meant to know from horror movies, tv-shows, and basement no-no's.
She set that ceramic bowl on the side and unlocked the door in the kitchen, opening up the cellar and its brightly lit innards. You see, this wasn't your usual water-dripping, shadowy, sinister hell-hole - but instead, a complete collection of Honey Swan's organization fetish.
Hell, she even had Charlie's bullets arranged in one container or another.
Isabella ventured down without a freckle of concern, still in her night-wear and still as oblivious to what lurked in the furthest corner. Though as she rounded, her heart hammered, and the upstairs radio stifled her very loud, very piercing scream.
A curse.
Eddie Cullen was standing in the corner with her father's gun, directed straight for her head.
"Hi, there."