well, i suppose i don't have a choice but to continue this story, because i have recieved thirty-three reviews after just one chapter. I am extremely pleased, and i hope that i recieve even more for this chapter. hint hint, nudge nudge.

Generic Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer, NOT ME!!

enjoy

Previously: Inside, there was a camcorder, a notebook, a cell phone, a wallet, and several other miscellaneous items. I closed the bag, and walked away from the office.

Chapter 2

I couldn't say exactly what it was that had possessed me to take something that didn't belong to me. But here I was. Sitting on my black plush leather couch, worn denim bag sitting comfortably in my lap. I ran my fingers over the cold, molded plastic of the pins strapped to the side, and stroked the threadbare strands hanging off the edge of the flap, deep in thought. Each time that I touched the tattered item, I could almost feel the lost owner's warmth seep through my fingers.

"Who do you belong to?" I asked the inanimate object stupidly, as if expecting it to actually answer me. It didn't, of course. But that wasn't about to stop me, though. If anything, I only became even more doggedly stubborn to solve the enigma.

I set the bag down on the couch, and wandered into the kitchen, where I found a pen and pad of paper in one the drawers. I returned to the couch and patted the bag, as if to reassure myself it was still there. I made a list of things that I needed to know if I was to find the owner:

Who:

What:

Where:

But how do I figure these things out?, I thought. A moment later I nearly smacked myself in the face. This wasn't going to be hard at all. I would just look at the nametag with the address and phone number that was bound to be attached to the bag somewhere. I threw the pen and paper aside and turned back to the bag, lifting it gingerly into my lap once more.

I held it up, handling it as though it were a small child, and examined it from every angle, looking for some form of identification or another. But I didn't locate any, and I only found myself getting better acquainted with the surface of the bag. I realized that it was probably on the inside of the flap, and I felt a thrill of anticipation at the thought of having to open it again, which I had not done since glancing through its contents at the crowded station.

With a smooth twist of my fingers, I un-did the buckle holding the cover down. I lifted the flap up reverently and examined the contents again. I gently shifted things around, looking for an ID of some sort. I shook my head when I didn't find anything, becoming conscious of the fact the owner probably wouldn't want a complete stranger rifling through their personal belongings.

I frowned to myself.

I didn't want to invade this person's privacy, but there were some pretty expensive things in here, and it would really suck if they had to replace all of it. I sighed, and began to carefully remove everything from the bag, setting them down on the glass coffee table in front of me.

The silver camcorder. The well-used denim notebook. The sleek, deep-red cell phone. The flower-patterned wallet. I also extracted a make-up bag, a pair of heels, and some pomegranate mints.

I gazed at the items thoughtfully for a moment, weighing the potential importance of each one. Then I separated them into two piles: Important on the left side, Not-Important on the right. It was obvious which item fit into which category. I turned back to the discarded pen and paper, knowing that they weren't going to be as useless as I had first believed, and set them back on the couch next to me.

I slowly reached out and pulled the wallet off the table, knowing that if there were any kind of identification in it, I wouldn't be able to look through any of the rest of the things without feeling guilty. I flipped it open and flicked through it quickly, looking for anything: name, number, address…

Again, I came up at a blank.

Whoever had forgotten this stuff on the train must have been really determined for it to stay lost, I thought frustratedly; still frustrated at not knowing who these things belonged to. The only thing that I knew for sure about this person so far was that it was a girl. No guy would be caught dead with a pair of ostentatious heels in their possession. Or a make-up bag.

But, I realized excitedly, that gives me a justifiable reason to look at the rest of her things. A shot of adrenaline ran through my veins, and I looked back at the other items on the table with longing.

I felt shocked senseless at my eager curiosity again. I was doing things that were completely out of character. Why hadn't I just left the bag at the station, and let the authorities find this person? Why was I so anxious to learn the identity of the mysterious owner of this bag? Why did I have this fervent inner thirst to learn more about this person?

I shook my head. It made no sense.

I turned my eyes to my right, to the window that replaced the entire east wall, giving me a spectacular view of the tall sky-scrapers dominating the landscape. It was twilight now, and the dusk was making the city begin to glow with an intense orange light. This had always been my favorite time of day, ever since I had been a child. It was the transition between two extremes: night and day… sun and moon… dark and light… But right now, I was too distracted by the enigma of the messenger bag to enjoy it properly.

I sighed angrily. This bag was going to be on the forefront of my thoughts until I solved its mystery. I didn't have a choice in it anymore. I had to figure it out, or I would go mad. I looked back to the miscellaneous items, and took a deep, calming breath. Here we go.

I reached out towards the camcorder first, still hesitant and unsure, but determined all the same. I lightly tapped the 'power' button, and the screen glowed blue, indicating that the videos that had been recorded were loading. Five seconds later, the most recently watched film began to play. I watched the screen intently:

The lens was focused on a picture-perfect blonde, who was laughing merrily, looking at someone or something off-screen. She was wearing clothing that hinted at designer origins, indicating that she was probably wealthy.

"Bella," she said, voice filled with amusement, "Don't be a pansy. It only stings for a few seconds, and then it's gone."

"But I don't like needles," A hesitant, lilting voice came from behind the camera's line of sight. Whoever was controlling the camcorder turned to focus on that person.

"Relax, Bella," another female voice came from the one holding the camera, attempting to soothe the camera's subject, "You won't even see the little gun--," but she was cut off by the brunette who was on-screen.

"Gun?!" she cried.

She was very pretty, with wide, intelligent brown eyes, long, straight mahogany hair, a heart-shaped face, and voluptuous lips. There was a crease in her brow, and she seemed to be in complete panic because of whatever they were discussing.

"Don't worry," the perfect blonde's voice floated in through the speaker again, "we'll hold your hand through the whole thing." The brunette that the other two referred to as Bella didn't seem the least bit comforted.

"That won't help!" she insisted, eyes flashing to something off-camera and back, "Are you absolutely sure that I have to do this?"

"Bella," the person who was holding the camera spoke again, "This is completely necessary. It's on your list of things to do before you turn thirty!" The soprano voice of the girl speaking was high and insistent.

"But, Alice," Bella grumbled, "I'm only twenty-three. I have a good seven years--,"

"No! Bella, we're not going to compromise here! This is something that you're going to have to experience, whether it be now or later. And you know what they say,"

"What?" Bella sounded exasperatedly sarcastic towards the Alice girl.

"'No time like the present'," Alice said, sounding cheery as ever.

"Really?" Bella said, still really disgruntled, "I personally prefer the saying 'Why do today, what you can put off 'til tomorrow?'," A snort was heard from the perfect blonde.

"What is today, but yesterday's tomorrow?" She said slyly, returning to the screen, and pushing Bella forcibly to the left.

"Rosalie!" Bella exclaimed, more panicked than ever. But the blonde, Rosalie, completely ignored her, and pushed her inside a jewelry shop that was now visible.

The camera followed inside, a bell jingling as they all entered. Bella looked as though she were on the brink of fainting, terrified into hyperventilating. Her eyes darted around the small shop, as if claustrophobic. A giggle came from Alice.

"Rose," she said, "I need you to hold the camera for me for a sec."

"Kay," Rosalie said, leaving the screen once more.

The camera tilted for a moment, focusing on the ground and shaking around as it was exchanged from one girl to the other. It flicked back upwards again, centering on anxious Bella, who was twisting and untwisting her fingers, and shifting from foot to foot nervously. A small, spiky-haired pixie appeared on screen, looking extremely tiny next to the average sized Bella. Obviously it was Alice. She patted Bella on the arm, and moved to the front desk, where a bored looking Goth sat, drumming her black fingernails against the faux wood.

"Welcome to Terry's Jewelry Shop, where we strive to meet all of your expectations and needs," the Goth drawled the clichéd slogan lazily, "How may I help you on this fine day?"

"We need an ear-piercing job!" Alice answered cheerily, unaffected by the other girl's boredom.

"Sure," The Goth said, pulling out a box. She opened the box and lifted a sterilized needle gun – a pathetic whimper came from Bella – and some different color selections for earrings, "Pick a set, and tell me when you're ready." Bella stepped forward and made a face, rifling through the earrings.

The lens zeroed in on her delicate fingers, and the blue studs that she had chosen. Bella's hands shook slightly. The lens zoomed out again.

"Alright then," The worker said, "Let's get this over with." Bella sat down in a chair nervously, handing the studs she had chosen to the Goth.

"Rose," she said, voice breaking, "could you hold my bag?" She lifted a denim messenger bag from her shoulder, and handed it to Rose, behind the camera.

The Goth girl put markings on Bella's ears, and cocked the needle gun. She went the first ear, and aligned it with the purple dot. Alice held Bella's hand, giving her an encouraging smile. A loud clicking noise was heard, and Bella bit her lip, and screwed her eyes shut. Her face was extremely pale. The Goth switched sides, and another clicking noise was heard.

"All done," she said boredly, looking at Bella with amusement and satisfaction. Apparently, she was a sadist. "Now if you'll just come to the front counter--,"

Bella fell out of the chair, unconscious.

The video ended there. I felt oddly giddy and anxious all at the same time.

Giddy because I finally knew the name of the girl who owned the mysterious bag.

Anxious because I didn't know what had happened to her after the screen had blacked.

sigh, i'm afraid that i may or may not be able to update this for a while because i have to focus on finishing 1918 before i can do this story proper justice. so it may or may not be on a hiatus. we'll see.

izzy x edward

P.S. oh yeah, ahem: READ AND REVIEW, READ AND REVIEW, READ AND REVIEW!!

P.P.S. i forgot to note that there are tons of pictures on my profile if you're wondering what anything looks like.