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Chapter 3


In his entire time as a Police Chief – heck even before then – Charlie Swan had picked up many stragglers.

He'd picked up drunken teens, lost travellers, lost drunken teenage travellers and quite a few other persons who dressed (and spoke) as if they were missing a screw or two.

He wasn't sure if happening upon a skinny, teenage girl in a fancy, over-sized robe – who looked as if her hair had gone through a small tornado (but then again who was he to judge) – near midnight, who was clutching a trophy(?) and spewing muttered curses at it as she stumbled in her walking every now and then…

"What was my point again?"

...Ah, that's right – he wasn't sure if the small girl was his weirdest case yet. And that was saying something.

For such a small town...well, Charlie always knew Forks was special.

"Bloody incompetent gits," he overheard the dark-haired girl grumble from the backseat of his car.

Hmm, she was British.

…Maybe this was his weirdest case yet.


Word Count: 170

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