A/N: Finally, the next chapter! I'm sorry I've kept you waiting, but I've been busy—and frankly I didn't really know what to put the scene into words; no matter what I wrote, it just didn't sound the way I wanted it to. Anyway, here it is. I have no idea when I'll be able to post the next chapter. I have a fairly good idea what's going to happen next, so I'll hope I'll manage to write it pretty quickly.

Copyright: I don't own anything, Stephenie Meyer does.

VI. VISITOR

Sometimes when I sat alone in the dark—mourning the life I'd lost—I couldn't help but wonder what my life would have been like if I'd never met him, if I'd never entered his world, my world now, too, if I'd never found out about vampires and werewolves. I'd never have met James and Victoria. My heart would never have been torn out if my chest. Maybe I'd never have decided to become a doctor. I would never have ended up in Alaska.

Then again, I would have died almost ten years ago, crushed to death by Tyler's van in the school parking lot.

I didn't regret that he'd saved me, not because I so desperately wanted to live—even before I'd fallen in love with a vampire I'd never been afraid of dying; death was an inevitable part of life—no, if he hadn't saved me, I would never have had the chance to fall in love with him, and despite the excruciating pain in my empty chest, I didn't regret the few months of happiness we'd had, and I never would. How could I ever regret loving him?

But now… Now people were getting killed because of me. Because of how he'd once felt about me. If I'd never met him, if I'd never fallen in love with him, Victoria would never have come after me. Camille Reed, Hannah Osprey and Amanda Greene would still be alive.

Victoria had killed them to send me a message. She had disposed of them just around the corner to make sure I'd see or, at the very least, hear about them. And then the resemblance… There'd been no need for Danielle to point it out. "Holy shit, she looks like you!" she had said when she returned, but of course I had already noticed. I'd even rushed upstairs to buy the Anchorage Daily. I'd wanted to know whether Amanda had been Victoria'd first victim—or if there'd been more, and I just hadn't heard about them yet. After all, I wasn't the only pathologist working at the Alaska Regional, and I rarely bothered to read the paper or watch the news.

Amanda hadn't been Victoria's first victim. Camille Reed and Hannah Osprey—who, just like Amanda, looked almost exactly like me—had been disposed of in the same dumpster, and I'd read their autopsy reports: inexplicable loss of blood, among other things; there even hadn't been a drop of it at the scene, according to the police.

Three young women had died because of me. If it wasn't for me, Victoria would have had no reason to kill them. Hell, if it wasn't for me, Victoria would have had no reason to be here. My hands tightened around the steering wheel, and the plastic groaned in protest, but I couldn't persuade my fingers to loosen their grip. I had to stop her. I had no idea how, but I had no choice.

I wouldn't let anyone else die because of me.

I had still been sitting in front of the computer and trying to keep myself from ripping the screen in half, when Danielle returned. "Did you get started without me?" she asked as she entered my office, her voice disappointed.

"No, I didn't," I said, surprised at how normal my own voice sounded. I didn't dare look at her; I was afraid of what she might see in my face. "I just wanted to take a look. I'll be with you in a minute."

"I'll be in the autopsy room then," she replied, confused now. She left, closing the door slowly as if she half-expected me to call her back. Then she was gone, and I allowed myself to growl at the autopsy report on the screen. I had no idea how to stop Victoria. I wasn't a fighter, and while I supposed I'd do well on a purely instinctive level, Victoria was older than me, and more experienced. Even if I did manage to track her down—and I wasn't so sure about that—she'd tear me to pieces the second she laid eyes on me. I don't know what to do, I thought desperately. I couldn't possibly fight her alone. If only I could talk to Jake. Maybe he'd know…

I gasped. I'd forgotten about Charlie. Was he safe? Was Victoria after him, too? What if she'd already… No. I forced myself not to go there. Charlie was fine. Jake would never let anything happen to him. And if… if he wasn't, Jake would have called me. He would have, wouldn't he? Sam wouldn't keep him from telling me that… I realized my fingers were trembling. Stop it, I told myself, then reached for my cell phone and punched in Jake's number to leave a message; he probably wouldn't pick up, even if he happened to have his phone on him.

When I hung up, I didn't feel any better at all.

What was I supposed to do?

As I pulled up beside Mrs Morris, who'd walked down the street to meet me—I'd have picked her up at home, but she didn't want to inconvenience me—I still didn't know what to do, and by then my desperation had turned into panic. Before I'd only felt guilty—now I was scared. I wasn't afraid to die, but Victoria wouldn't just kill me. She'd tear me apart piece by piece, and even if I didn't—couldn't—feel any pain, I was pretty sure it wasn't going to be at all pleasant.

Even as Mrs Morris climbed into the car—breathing heavily; she was asthmatic, which was the reason I'd have preferred to pick her up right in front of her house—I didn't manage to chase Victoria out of my mind, not even temporarily. She was there as Mrs Morris told me about her day, about the rat her cat had caught and killed, about the talk show she'd watched, about the newspaper article she'd read. She was there as I drove to the supermarket. She was there as I picked Mrs Morris up again almost two hours later.

"How are you?" I asked. Victoria—the mental image of her, anyway—smiled and retreated into the back of my mind, but I could still sense her presence.

"Well," Mrs Morris said, fastening her seatbelt and folding her withered hands in her lap, "apparently, I'm fine." She smiled her lovely old-lady smile, and I knew she was lying. She wasn't fine. Her heart wasn't beating as fast as it should, as strongly as it should, as regularly as it should. Death wasn't far away. He'd knock at her door eventually, and she'd open him. She wasn't afraid to die, but I didn't want her to die yet. She'd always been kind to me. "By the way," she said after a while, "a young man came by your house this morning. I didn't get a very good look at him—you know how bad my eyes are," she chuckled, "but from what I could tell he was very handsome. Why didn't you tell me you had a date?"

Mrs Morris smiled at me, and I forced my lips into a smile as well, suddenly tense. Nobody ever came by my house—well, aside from the mailman and the guy who delivered the groceries I ordered online, and both were neither young nor handsome—and in light of what I'd learned today I had to assume he was with Victoria, and if Victoria wasn't alone, if she'd found someone who'd help her kill me, I'd better set myself on fire right now and save myself the discomfort of being ripped into a million tiny pieces first. Was I being pessimistic? Was I overreacting? I didn't think so. I was alone, and there were two of them. I was outnumbered.

And there was nobody I could turn to for help.

I suddenly remembered Mrs Morris was waiting for an answer. "I didn't tell you because I don't," I managed. "I don't know who he was."

"Really? What a pity. You know, maybe you should have a party. Young people always have parties, don't they?"

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Who would you invite? I asked myself. You don't have any friends. Sad, but true. Jake and the rest of his pack weren't allowed to contact me anymore, and I didn't know any vampires—well, no vampires I'd count as friends. Shortly after I'd decided to settle in Anchorage I'd met a nomad, but as neither of us had been particularly interested in getting to know one another we'd never even exchanged names. If I hadn't been a vampire I probably would have forgotten her already.

And then there were the Cullens.

After I was changed I'd thought about tracking them down. I was a vampire now after all, no longer a liability, so they had no reason to send me away again, had they? They'd only left because they were dangerous, right? I'd always been aware of the danger I'd constantly been in for almost half a year, and even though I'd try to downplay it, even though I'd told him that Jasper's attack was nothing I'd known how close I'd come to dying that night. He… No. Edward—I forced myself to think his name after nine years—had left because he didn't love me anymore. His family had left to protect me. They still loved me, didn't they? I'd always thought they did, and despite Edward's promise that I wouldn't see any of them ever again, I'd always thought Alice would turn up on my doorstep eventually. However, Alice never came, and as the weeks turned into months and the months into years, I'd forced myself to consider the fact that maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe they'd never cared as much about me as I'd believed. And so I'd banished every thought of ever seeing them again.

I'd also thought about contacting the clan in Denali. Alaska was their territory, and I didn't want to intrude—or be mistaken for a threat—but I was afraid they'd tell the Cullens, and that wouldn't do. I always went as far away as possible to hunt, and so far I didn't seem to have attracted their attention.

But now… I would have been nice to have someone I could ask for help. I'd always counted on Jacob being there although I'd known all along that Sam would put and end to our relationship eventually. I should have prepared for it, but I hadn't.

I shouldn't have assumed Victoria would leave me alone, but I had.

Mistakes over mistakes.

I parked the car in front of Mrs Morris's small cottage. I reached for the door, but I didn't open it. The minute I did I'd know if another vampire had been here, and I didn't want to deal with it. I wanted to go home and shower and sit in front of the window just like I did any other night.

But what if—maybe—it hadn't been a vampire?

"Thanks, dear," Mrs Morris said, pushing open the door. "Darn," she muttered as she stepped out of the car into the ice cold night. I just sat there frozen, hands still on the steering wheel. My nostrils flared. I clenched my teeth together, fighting down a snarl. I'd been foolish enough to hope that the man Mrs Morris had seen might not have been a vampire after all; now my hope shattered and was replaced by despair so heavy and dark and ugly I couldn't breathe. I was going to die as soon as Victoria grew tired of her games. I knew I was, and there was nothing I could do.

Well, there was. I could seek her out, surrender. If I did, maybe she'd stop killing.

And maybe not.

I got out of the car to carry Mrs Morris's groceries inside, watching my house, which was dark and silent, from the corner of my eye. I couldn't see or hear a thing, at least nothing that would indicate the presence of a vampire.

Which, of course, didn't mean anything.

After I'd said goodnight I got my bag, locked the car—one of those silly human habits you just can't get rid of; as if I wouldn't be able to track it down if it was stolen—and crossed the street. As I reached for the simple wooden gate I recoiled and hissed. The vampire Mrs Morris had seen hadn't been alone. I was able to detect at least one other scent—maybe even a third.

I made up my mind within seconds. I'd run. I didn't want to. I'd settled here because I'd hoped I'd be able to stay for at least three or four years, until people would notice I didn't age; then I'd have to leave anyway. I was aware that I'd only delay the inevitable. Victoria would catch up with me eventually. I wasn't stupid enough to believe she'd give up if she didn't find me. She wanted revenge, and being a vampire myself and having experienced the intensity of our emotions I knew why she'd never stop. Why she couldn't stop. If someone killed Edward I would do the same, even knowing I was of no importance to him anymore. No, I just didn't want to die yet. I wasn't afraid of death; I'd never had been. I was afraid of how much pain it would cause Jacob—and Charlie, too—if I was truly gone. And I didn't want Victoria to kill any more girls and young women just because they happened to look like me.

I went inside, made sure I was alone, then dashed up the stairs. I didn't bother to switch on the lights; I didn't need them and right now I really didn't care what Mrs Morris might think. I'd never see her again anyway. I wouldn't be able to take anything with me, so I'd send everything I owned back to Forks. Luckily, I'd never unpacked the boxes Jake had sent back to my once I had an address again.

I went into my study first and froze. I knew my house had been searched, I just hadn't realised how thoroughly. The stacks of books had been moved around, and the drawers of my desk had been emptied on the floor. I kept my diploma in the top drawer, but it wasn't there. The boxes in my spare bedroom had been cut open and their contents taken out. Again a few things were missing. Why would Victoria want my stuff? It was of no use to her.

I entered my bedroom and when I saw the letters and pictures I kept in the blue box on the dresser, things that were of great value to me, scattered on the bed I wanted to cry. My eyes started to burn, and a dry sob rose in my throat. I took the only picture I had of Charlie and me, my hand trembling slightly. The letters, most of the other pictures and even the handful of e-mails my friends from Pasadena—they'd given up eventually, because they's never received a reply—had written to me and the vampire had printed out from my computer had been put into chronological orders. I frowned. Why would he do that? Had he been ordered to search for people Victoria could go after, people who were close to me?

I was tossing them back into the box—I'd only take a few pictures with me—when I heard the quietest of steps in the hall, the kind of steps only a vampire was capable of. I froze only for a second, my brain already going over the options I had. I could grab what I could and jump out the window. I could also stay and fight, but I didn't know if I'd even stand a chance. I'd never fought before, and instinct alone wouldn't help me in a fight against someone who actually knew what he was doing.

It was settled, then. I'd run. However, I'd try to get a good look at him before I did. It might help to know who I'd have to run from. I folded the pictures and letters I'd take with me together and shoved them in the pocket of my pants, pants that were neither suitable for running through the forest nor fighting. I could sense him standing behind me and briefly wondered why he hadn't attacked yet, then I turned.

I gasped. My arms closed around my torso as my empty chest exploded, the pain suddenly as intense as it had been when he first left, maybe even more. I stared at him and didn't know what to say.

Edward.