Disclaimer:

This world and most of the characters belong to Stephanie Meyers. My main character Cricket, is inspired by Tara Bray Smith's character Nix from her novel Betwixt.

Betwixt is about fairies not vampires.

Nix is a fairy and will not be making an appearance in this story.

Cricket is not a fairy and will be telling this story.

Got it?

Good.

I walked down the street at a leisurely pace. It had to be nearing midnight, and the only light came from the occasional streetlamp but I wasn't worried. I have my survival kit. A messenger bag from a previous life slung securely over my shoulder and across my chest, -- packed with a change of clothes, a toothbrush, a notebook and pen, a package of beef jerky, and a couple of recently filled recycled water bottles -- the acoustic guitar I got from a pawn shop for an antique diamond brooch was strapped to my back, and my money was hidden sporadically over me for safe keeping. It was just another lonely night on the streets.

I prefer it lonely. Being lonely makes things easier for me.

I lived most of my life with my grandparents in Massachusetts. My parents died in a car accident when I was two, and for the most part, I never miss them. I can't miss something I don't even remember having, and if it weren't for my grandparents photos I wouldn't have a clue what they even looked like. My mom, Elise, had had the same hair color, light brown, shot through with highlights of gold. My grandmother had always called it sandy. My father, Darren, had contributed his lightly freckled round cheeks to my face. My smile was a combination of the two. Her full lips with his dimples.

When I was twelve I began to see the light that eventually made me leave home. The thing is, "seeing the light" means something a hell of a lot different to me, than it does to other people. I literally see a light. People get this glowing aura of bright white light just before they die. Trust me, I know.

Sometimes the light is so bright, it's physically painful to look at… The way it was with Robert. His was the first light I saw. He was my grandfather's fishing buddy, and the night he walked into our house glowing brighter than the sun… First, the brightness caused my eyes to tear up. Second, I fled screaming to my room frightened of a man I had known for several years. On some people it's fuzzy and hard to see, the way it was with my grandmother. That just means the death is farther away. Her death was coming, later instead of sooner, her light would gradually grow brighter and brighter until I couldn't see her figure anymore only the light and then she would die.

That's why I left. I didn't want to watch her die. And others, so many others I knew who didn't have the glow but sooner or later would. Running was easier than waiting. I saw the light on my grandmother when I was fifteen. I've been on the run for four years.

I guess homeless is the term most used for me and people like me, but I don't look like the stereotypical bum because I'm not. I bounce around from place to place and each time I land in a new place, I pick up part time or odd jobs and I make sure to get paid in cash. I can then spend some money on one of those junkie-and-whore-pay-by-the-hour motels, the kind of place you could get an STD just by sitting on the bed. Anyways, I pay for an hour, use the shower, change clothes, then haul ass to a Laundromat to wash my dirty set so they will be clean for rotation. Being clean means I can stand in the park or on a street corner and play my guitar for handouts looking more like a high school student ditching school than a hobo hassling the good citizens.

As for finding a place to stay, that's easy enough too. There are always hangouts for street kids, made by street kids, if your in a city. If not, it's a matter of knowing what to look for. A cheap motel that doesn't mind longer term residents as long as the payment is on time, an area wooded heavily enough that a tarp is all that's needed to protect from the elements, a homeless shelter works if your desperate, a woman's shelter if you have no qualms about lying…

I stopped walking and squinted up at the street sign. I could just make out the big white letters on the blue background.

"Welcome to Port Angeles," I read out loud.

Washington. What a stupid place to come. It rained way too much to make street living easy. I'll just stay long enough to get some cash and then travel south. California maybe. I hadn't been there, yet.

I was ready to crash, but I wouldn't make the mistake of being caught out in the rain. Even in the dark I could tell, that this was a touristy town. The sidewalks were clean, the shop windows glittered… Places like this had the pretty front, pretty shops and pretty vacation houses. I knew from experience that further in there would be and industrial park or a warehouse district, and at least one of those building will have a "For Rent" sign. Those ones are usually vacant and good for squatting for the night.

A car drove passed, the high beams hitting me, encouraging me forward. So I started walking again, taking notice of the places that were still open. A pharmacy, a convenience store, a doughnut shop, a bar… The bar was on my side of the street and as I passed by it I heard the door open behind me and a couple of someones stumble out. One of them whistled a cat call after me and the other called out, "Hey! Baby girl!"

I didn't speed up as most women would have or slow down for that matter or react in anyway. I wasn't afraid. It would have made sense for me, a nineteen year old girl who was traveling alone on a dark street, to be afraid of two strange men, but I wasn't. Living on the streets, I had seen things… done things… Not much scared me these days.

As I walked deeper into the city, I began to get that tingle on the back of the neck sensation. I was being followed. I maintained my pace but tried to take quieter steps, so I could hear who was following me. I listened and then… there! Someone stepped into a puddle.

The street I was on now was deserted. The street lights still glowed but no one was around to see me but me. At least I'd be able to see my attacker. I took my guitar off of my back so I could move more freely, and lowered the black case quietly to the pavement. Then I waited. I didn't have to wait long.

There were two of them, reeking of booze, and looking like they were up to something stupid. I almost laughed. The two drunks from the bar. Of course.

"Baby girl, I'm glad we caught up with you," the first guy said in a now familiar voice.

I got to work memorizing him. Beefy. Long hair. Eyebrow piercing. Tattoo partly visible underneath the sleeve of a t-shirt. Taller than me, so maybe five ten. Mostly things that would come in handy on an anonymous tip. The other guy too. Buzz cut. Goatee. Shorter than me so about five feet. Dark skinned, Latino possibly African American. Redskins windbreaker.

"What's your name sweet thing?" The second man asked, his words slurred dramatically.

"Cricket," I answered without batting an eye.

"What's yours?" I asked.

A name was always better than a description and the Redskins fan seemed just drunk enough to tell me. He opened his mouth to answer when his friend stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"What kind of name is Cricket?" The beefy guy asked while taking a step closer.

"Mine," I hissed through my teeth.

"You want to have some fun with us?" He asked pleasantly.

I knew what he meant by "fun" and I knew it wasn't really a question. I stood up straighter, determined that neither one of them would be having fun with me tonight. Knee in the crotch. Kick to a knee. Upward thrust into a nose. Elbow in the stomach. A fist to the face. All good ways to buy myself some run time. They wouldn't be able to catch me. They were too smashed to put up much of a chase.

"Take a fucking hike!" I snapped.

"Such language," Redskin fan slurred again.

"Do you wanna have some fun with us now?" The beefy ringleader asked pulling out a knife.

My eyes locked on the blade.

Fuck! I screamed internally. I could put up a good fight. The question was, was it a good idea now that the perv was armed? No. Probably not. But then… what did I really have to lose, besides my life which wasn't worth much to begin with…

I still had my bag. It was heavy. A well aimed swing would have the knife knocked out of his hand. I gripped the strap. If I took the bag off first he would know what I was up to, but this, simply holding it tighter was nothing he'd notice drunk as he was.

Both men took a step closer and then… Boom. There it was. The light. Brilliant and blinding, and my eyes reflexively glued themselves to the ground. I tried to force my eyes up to the threat before me, but they were so bright. My eyes watered.

The guy in the windbreaker chuckled. "Awww… She's gonna cry."

The other guy moved to quickly for my blurred vision to follow, but I knew when I felt his hand in my hair pulling my head back while the fist clutching the knife struck me in the jaw, and moved to my throat. Through the pain and tears I heard him growl in my ear, "Now your gonna behave for us, aren't you?"

I couldn't disagree with the cold blade tickling my throat so instead I said nothing. He shoved me back with his fisted knife and tugged me back with his tangled hand until I collided with the wall of a building.

"Very good…" He said leaning into me. I could feel his excitement through his pants.

Think, Cricket, think! Get yourself out of this, you stupid bitch! Survive!

The hand that had been in my hair moved to unbutton and unzip pants, both mine and his. It continued to travel, under my shirt, into my bra, and as he bean to rub me he moaned into my ear with his pleasure. My pleasure was nonexistent. My skin felt like it was about to crawl away. I wanted this to end, I wanted to think of a way out of this, but I couldn't force my brain to think of anything other than his knife so close to my throat, his groin rubbing against mine, his hand on my skin that was now traveling down my stomach back to my pants…

Something hard and big, hit both me and him at the same time. I fell sideways, alone, to the ground. My head hit the pavement, but I managed to raise it at the sound of a man screaming. I raised my head to see a third man, only he was wielding the knife now, and there was a pool of blood coming from the center of the body of the prick who had tried to rape me. It took me a second to understand why he was bleeding then when I did my mouth dropped open. His… manhood had been removed. The stranger dropped the knife to the ground bent down. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it. A crack as a neck snapped.

The stranger straightened and looked around. He didn't even look at me although it was clear he was looking for something. I knew what he was looking for and I looked too. The second drunk. He wasn't hard to find. Shock had him paralyzed in place. He snapped out of it as my rescuer stepped in his direction. He turned and tried to run but the stranger was there in front of him… I looked over to the corpse where the stranger had been standing a second ago. How the hell did he go from there to-- A second crack called my attention away from the mess and I turned my head back just in time to see the second drunk's body falling to the ground.

My blood was dripping down the side of my face from where my head struck the ground and as the adrenaline began to wear off I became aware of just how much it actually hurt. My vision suddenly started swimming, and as he stepped toward me, my sight faded altogether.