Hello, this is the english version of "finding the whale", obviously English is not my native language so I am sorry for the mistakes. The inspiration for the first chapter is the tv show "Finding Carter", but it's only for the begining of the story. I want to write a fanfiction about all of the wolfs and their imprints, so Embry is the first one. Tell me what you think about it please. There will be at least 15 chapters.
The artificial light dominated the restaurant, as if time had stopped for the pleasure of the customers, between the laughter of the children, the clinking of the dishes and the delicious smell of tomato sauce and cheese. "Victoria Moore is the luckiest girl in the world. » That's what I wrote in my diary and on m'y mirror with a red lipstick. Of course, I was under no illusions. Happiness lies in the simple things, however small and trivial they may be. For example, tonight, in this pizzeria, with my mother, curled up in the leather jacket she had lent me ... I knew I was lucky.
- Did you know that whales swallow their prey whole ? I said to my mother, under her soft amber eyes.
- Such as you. She replied as I giggled, my slice of pizza halfway in my mouth.
As a child, I stopped eating for a time, « Eat anything, but eat » my mother repeated. The anything was pizza. Problem solved and pizza was the solution. Since then, my mother has been telling anyone who wants to listen that if I got lost, she would find me in the local pizzeria. Not false. I believe we all like to hear stories about our childhood, about the child we were, about our construction as human beings, even if at that time we were too small to look higher than a table. The world was so small. It allows you to be reassured about your own existence.
- No, seriously, they swallow all of a sudden. No wonder they are so big, but that's not all, they also have a predilection for long-term relationships. I added.
- Well, they're not easy girls. She answered, rummaging in her wallet to pay the bill, a smile on the corner of her lips.
- Damn mom, nobody talks like that anymore. I laughed again.
Not all the girls can say that their mother is their best friend, right ? Especially at sixteen.
- We should have time to get to the cinema, even if someone absolutely wanted pineapple on her pizza. Do you know that's a crime against humanity ? I asked, maliciously, to the one whose blond hair contrasted with my short brown hair and my tanned skin.
You don't have to be a genius to know that I look like my father, even if I have never met him. It's always been me and mom. Her soft amber pupils focused in mine, her eternal smile splits her face, just enough to guess it but not enough for you to really see it. Meghan Moore's smile, almost invisible.
- So what Meghan, you don't want to go see a rom com anymore ? Do you prefer a horror movie ? I asked, making a funny face.
Playing the clown and calling her by her first name was like being a child, and what a pleasure, to be someone's child forever. Staying with the person who will love you more than anyone in your entire life.
- No, go have fun. It's Friday night, your friends must want to see you. She said, keeping her smile while I keep checking my phone.
- They can have fun without me, it's our night. I responded, shrugging my shoulders.
- I doubt it, go. And keep the jacket, it's cold outside. She replied, seeing me slide the sleeve of the jacket over my shoulder.
- You're sure ? I asked, my jet-black eyes crossed by a hint of guilt, about the jacket but also and above all about our mother-daughter evening at the cinema.
- I'm sure. I love you, like a ton of precious stones. She said, as always.
- And I love you like a ton of candy. I said in response, as always.
- If I love you with tons, you can only love me with pounds. My mother replied, before I slapped a kiss on her cheek and walked away, twirling between the tables.
- Impossible !
The sound of the restaurant door slamming behind my back was already lost in the hubbub and tumult of Seattle, Washington : An avant-garde city, with a port and with an impressive modern architecture. Tourists considered that it was complicated to live here, but it was not. Obviously, it's easy to say, I have always known only big cities. It was fresh for the month of June which was passing at full speed. I was wearing a black leather jacket on my thin shoulders, headphones in my ears, in faded denim shorts and garish red converse, when I joined my friends at the corner of a street. They were waiting for me in a dented car.
- Vicky, hurry up ! Yelled Andrew, the driver, with a loud voice, before I rushed into the vehicle.
I didn't know everyone, but most of the people there were friends from high school. I liked them, sincerely, but it was like if there was between us an invisible fence that prevented me from letting myself go to fully like them. To be myself. Seated in the front seat, next to Andrew, I was happy to not be in the back seat, nestled between legs and cigarette smoke. Cigarette smoke evaporated through the open windows, taking with it our music and the melody of our youth.
- Glad you came. Andrew breathed, his lips brushing mine.
He almost kissed me, but it was going to happen one day, right ? I liked him, him and his chestnut curls. He just had the annoying habit of letting his hands slip in some forbidden places without asking permission. And I let him do it, as I did a lot of things in my life, letting myself be carried by a boat that sailed gently. A boat I did not steer. The car, which we called our old Betty, ugly but loyal, circulated in the streets of the city, between its thousand lights which contrasted with the fallen night. Taylor, a girl from the drama club, sitting in the back, had passed me her drink and I drank from the neck of the bottle. I asked Andrew where we were going, enjoying the summer breeze that reached me from the window down, looking away and relaxed.
- At Davis's, he's having a party. He replied, his voice less confident than usual.
It was rare, he used to brag, he would have talked about the fact that Davis had a big brother who was a bouncer in one of the hippest clubs in town, so he could go. With frowned eyebrows, I returned my attention to the teenager, and noticed that he had a beer between his thighs. I felt my heart becoming heavy and the worry rising in my stomach. However, I believe that my face, charming and smiling, had shown nothing. But I wasn't sure of that memory. Yes, I was drinking too, but I was not driving.
- It's not a good idea. Won't you stop ? Is there someone who can drive in his place ? I shouted, without provoking a particularly strong reaction from the other passengers.
- Don't piss me off Vicky, we're almost there, there's hardly anyone on the road. Don't bother me. Andrew muttered, giving me a look that if it could talk would say "you're ruining the mood."
And suddenly, the evening seemed to swirl around me. It is in fact the car, which, to avoid reversing another one, came head-on into an external element. A pole on the road. Everything mixed together, in a multitude of cries, while I clung to my car belt, there were atleast four people in the back seat. And when it finally slowed down, without knowing why, I put my hand on the top of my head. Silence reigned, a few seconds, before being torn by the words and the slamming of doors. I soon got out of the car, painfully. Andrew staggered a few feet away from me and was already on the defensive.
- It's not my fault ! It's that fucking car, I already told my parents to buy me another one! And then what was he doing there ! It's okay, don't worry, everyone's fine ! Screamed the young man, until he kicked the pole and writhed in pain.
Yes, we were all fine. It was a miracle after that accident. But what he said was not true. It wasn't because of the car, even though it was dented, and it was even less the fault of the other driver that we had nearly killed. I didn't want to blame Andrew, but he didn't have the right to blame someone else so unfairly. It was clear that the smoldering old Betty was now unusable. I was going to miss that car.
The blood test for alcohol must have seemed useless, because of our faces and especially the fact that Taylor couldn't help but puke in front of the cops. I felt something liquid on the back of my neck. Some blood. I hid it under my hair and with my jacket. It was nothing, I had just bumped myself. And all I wanted was to go home. Really, maybe I wasn't as lucky as I thought. Head to the police station. Mom was going to kill me.
Later, I could tell my grandchildren that their grandmother was in jail. Well, approximately. We must have been in police custody for a at least six hours, after they took our pictures, our fingerprints and our testimonies. I hoped that I looked good in the photo, but I had no illusion. And believe me, sleeping on the floor in a greenish room with bars, a foul smell, after almost dying, under constant light, was a good lesson. Alcohol and the lecture from the cops made things much worse. Even though it was Andrew who was driving drunk, we weren't twenty one years old and shouldn't have been drinking or even in possession of alcohol. That's why they had called our parents. When we arrived there were six of us, Andrew had been the first whose parents picked him up, and there were now only three of us. Me, Taylor and Benjamin.
- They will arrive soon, do not panic. I tried to reassure them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, my legs exposed by my denim short against the freezing ground.
That's right, no reason to panic. If Taylor's parents hadn't arrived yet, it's simply because they are nurses and often work night shifts at the hospital. They could not leave their jobs like that. About Benjamin, let's say that his parents expected a lot from him, maybe even too much if you ask me. To make him wait here was certainly a way of punishing him in advance, of making him feel the weight of their disappointment on his young shoulders, as if it were all the problems of the world. It was their kind. What about my mother ? She must not have looked at her phone. After all, I had no curfew.
The passage of time seemed paradoxical to me. In a way, the minutes were long, I was unable to sleep and I had nothing to occupy my mind apart from my worries. On the other hand, every time a policeman comes to say "Taylor Brown" or "Benjamin Hills" and they leave with a compassionate look in my direction, it's like time speeding up. I was the last one. I didn't want empathy, all I wanted was to go home and forget all of this.
Another hour passed. Or maybe three. I was going to go crazy.
- Are you sure you have the right number to call my mother ? I can repeat it to you, you know. I told to the officer who passed in front of the bars, with a hangdog look. No answer.
If my eyelids weren't so heavy, I would have persisted, but I ended up dozing off, the jacket as a pillow.
"Victoria Moore" pronounced a monotonous voice, rousing me from sleep. I suddenly straightened up and ran a hand over my face, before finally leaving the cell. I couldn't help but have a malicious smile, while the policeman looked at me curiously. If he could avoid staring at me like a pervert, that would be nice.
- I told you she was coming. Where is the exit ? I asked impatiently before he stopped in front of a white door.
- Get in there.
Looking confused, I entered anyway, without my smile. Apparently I had to stay here, but it was probably the same for the other people. I sat on one of the two chairs and found myself, again, alone with the only occupation of detailing the room. A greyish carpet, a clock, a wooden table with a coffee and a bag of crisps and another chair similar to the one I was on. After a few minutes, a middle-aged woman with a bang and a suit jacket on her broad shoulders entered the room. She exuded a gentle and authoritarian aura at the same time.
- Hello, Victoria. You can have it, it's for you. She greeted me, nodding toward chips and coffee.
- Hello, that's nice but no thank you, I'll make myself a coffee at home. My mother has arrived ? I questioned her.
- I advise you to drink it. She insisted, sitting at the other end of the table, with a thick folder in her hands that she placed between us.
Was it all about me? Well, it was just some alcohol, and I wasn't even driving. That's too much.
- Can my mother join us ? And I am not supposed to be with a lawyer if I have problems ? I asked, starting to lose patience and losing control.
- We can't find your mother for the moment. Things are more complicated than they seem.
- What ?
- My name is Maria Sanchez and I work in the service of the children's department.
- Good for you Maria, but where is my mother ? Did something happen to her ? I questioned her, my back straight and my eyes wide with concern and shock.
- Victoria, your mother goes by the name Meghan Moore ? The woman asked, looking serious.
- What do you mean by "goes by"? That's her name, that's it.
- That's not her real name, and your name isn't Victoria Moore either.
- Yes it is. It's my first name and my last name. I responded directly, like if she said that I was not real.
I could hear the ticking of the clock at the top of the wall, and footsteps behind the door. My stomach contracted, before the kind of investigator speaks again.
- When you were four years old, you were kidnapped, near your home to the reservation next to Forks, in this state. The woman you call your mother is not your real mother, she is your kidnapper. Your real name is Lynn Evans.
And all of a sudden, everything is overturned, my life, my mother, my name and with it, all my certainties. What is this story ?
- That's bullshit ! Let me leave, I just want to go home with my mother, please ! I'll never do anything bad again, I promise. I cried out, straightening up abruptly to leave, before my interlocutor stopped me with a compassionate look.
I don't want it, I don't want it, keep your empathy and give me back my mother. I noticed that my sight was blurring, my eyes clouding with tears.
- I promise you'll go home. But it will be in your childhood home, with your real family...Victoria, please listen to me. You have to know the whole story.
If I understood correctly, Lynn Evans is a little girl from a Quileute reservation who disappeared one summer morning, right in front of her house, when she was only four years old. Lynn had a twin sister and two loving parents. Her family had never stopped looking for her, even if there was no clue, for nearly twelve years. I felt like the room was shrinking on me.
- Very well, but it can not be me. There must be a mistake. I... I'm not even Quileute, I don't know anything about it, and I'm not from that state either, we lived in Nevada and before that we lived in Colorado.
- Look at this picture. The woman said, taking a new document out of the folder, the photo of a tiny child with black irises. As dark as mine.
- So what ? She... She looks like me but... I've never seen that picture. I never saw myself that young.
- What ?
- Nothing important, but it's not me. I pronounced before pressing my lips, so frustrated.
Once, I had asked my mother for photos of me as a child for my family tree, in middle school. She said no, explaining to me that all of our photos had been destroyed in a fire. I didn't ask any more questions. I had no reason to do.
- Victoria, fingerprints and dental records don't lie. There is no mistake, you are Lynn Evans.
What if I didn't want to be her ? It was like if there was a sort of knot in my stomach, a knot that was becoming more and more tangled.
- Your biological parents are waiting, they want to see you. Revealed the inspector, getting up to open the door, while my body tensed and recoiled in rejection.
- No, no, please, not now, I'm not ready! I exclaimed, before a couple in their forties came into the cramped room as a storm.
The woman, dressed in a green-colored blouse, surrounded me in an embrace that was meant to be warm, without me relaxing or saying a word. The man, overwhelmed, remained in the background, as if he dared not approach. I always thought I was alone in the world, with only my mother. I was wrong.
- Lynn, sweetheart, you look so much like Kim... Said the mother, supposed to be mine, running a hand through my short dark hair. Concern could be read in her eyes when she saw the few traces of blood on my neck.
- Kim ? I whispered, as the only response.
- Yes, your twin sister, you haven't forgotten her ? Oh my God, we found you, Lynn !
I had no memory of a Kim. And if they had found Lynn, I had lost everything. Victoria Moore was a lie created by Meghan Moore who was also a lie. And my only certainties were the following : My name was Vicky and I did not want in any way to go with them to Forks, in this cursed reservation.
Finding Lynn was like destroying Victoria.