The Littlest Cullen
By Margueritekrex
Summery: Not all the Cullens went to Forks. One found it necessary to break away for awhile, see what the world was like on her own. Kitty's now returned to Seattle, to meet her new sister and manages to find herself in hot water.
Word Count: …You seriously expect me to go through and count my words? J/K
Characters: Kitty, The Cullens, Bella, Jacob
Rated: T
Chapter One: Hello..this is Kitty Cullen
"Hello, this is Kitty Cullen on KBHU, the Seattle Point. It's 3:07 on a balmy Sunday morning. We've just been listening to a little Korey and the Fireflies, and now it's time for the little discussion portion of the show. Why? Because I said so and no one else is at the studio to make me shut up.
The following was a headline in the Seattle Tribune today: Woman's Ghost Leads Police To Murderer." I'll tell you what, if I was a ghost, I would be camped out in the dressing room of the Thunder From Down Under. For those of you who don't know what that is…for shame. You're missing out. It seems every few years a story like this crops up…so what do you think? Are ghosts real or people need to cut out the Mountain Dew before they go to sleep? The lines are open."
I waited nervously. It wasn't often I took calls, but the night was dead – pardon the pun. I had never opened up the phone lines to callers yet. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing and my producer, Frank was staring at me through the glass in horror. My show wasn't slotted to be a talk show – we were set up by default, it was a small studio and we all shared the same booth, but this was supposed to be a boring job for Frank. In blinked and went to pick up the first blinking line. When you called into a radio talk show, you never went directly through. You wound up talking to a produce, who got your name, your number, and briefly asked you what you wanted to say. It helped weed out the cranks. My decrepit computer flashed in front of me with a message from Frank.
Carole. Line 1. Seattle. Saw a ghost. I HATE YOU.
I smirked and blew a little kiss to frank and hit the line 1 button.
"Carol, you're on the air. What do you think…?"
If only I'd known the can of worms I'd opened. I swear to God, my heart was actually beating again. From that second on, the lines lit up like a Christmas tree. I didn't think that many people in Seattle were awake, let alone listening to my show. Everyone had a story – or facts to debunk a story.
"…I swear to god, when I got the film developed, my father was standing there in the suit we bought for him to wear during the funeral after he died!"
"….my daughter swears that there's a little boy that plays with her and no one lives around us for miles!"
"People need to get a life, seriously! Ghosts aren't real, I mean honestly…aliens on the other hand…"
"…the murders in the city that abruptly stopped a few months ago were vampires, I swear to god!"
Uh-oh. That one hit a little to close to home. Maybe humans weren't as dim as we generally mistook them for…but I took it as a hint to wrap things up.
"Well Seattle, we've made it through the night to see another sunrise together. I feel like I should say something insightful to leave you with…but they really don't pay me enough to actually think. This is Kitty Cullen for KBHU." And I cued the exit music and sat back. I knew I just imagined the sweat on the small of my back – funny, wasn't it? That even after 50 years, such impressions still stuck with me and the door between my booth and the producer's flew open.
"What the hell was that?" Frank said, a little peeved.
"Aw, what's the matter? Didn't get your 4 hour nap?" Men. They were always cranky when they couldn't sleep. Go figure that he'd actually have to do his job.
"Just…give me a heads up next time, would you?"
"Don't worry," I replied. "That was a one night only engagement." And it was to bad too. Talking to all those people…it didn't matter that most of them were nuts, even nuts needed someone to talk to, to believe in them. It made life a little easier, and that made me feel something I hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe never.
"I'm telling Phil it was all you, just so you know." Frank threatened, crossing his arms. Phil was the station manager. If it didn't have a dollar sign in front of it, it didn't get Phil's endorsement. He was KBHU's own little Stalin. Never mind that music and radio was supposed to be about diversity.
"Fine, throw me under the bus." Not that it'd do any good. Buses had nothing on me. "I'm officially out of touch until next Sunday, cell phone off, incommunicado, okay?"
"Yeah yeah…have fun with your folks, okay?"
"Thanks Frank." I gave him a smile and patted his shoulder on my way out into the sub-basement's hallway. Posters going back from a time when I was alive littered the walls, one on top of the other as I headed passed the elevator to my closet of an office. More music posters were plastered all over the walls, layers over layers as I grabbed my leather jacket and helmet.
Not that a fall would have done any harm, but really, when you added gloves and the dark tinted face shield of the full helmet, I could go out anywhere, any time. It made me feel just a little naughty.
I was finally off to Forks. Mapquest directions were securely tucked in a pocket as I grabbed my backpack with a few personal items I would be taking. I was sure Alice would have already filled a closet for me. I tugged my gloves on as I hurriedly headed out to the parking garage, excitement already starting to build. Waiting in a spot was a '78 Norton 2-stroke. It certainly wasn't the fastest motorcycle on the road, but it could get up past 100 if I warmed it up first. It was classic. It had character. It was stealthy. I'd spent long days restoring it all herself, with Rosalie on speaker phone helping me out. There wasn't a ding on it, not a scratch in the paint, the chrome tail pipe gleaming in the darkness.
With a smooth, practiced move, I swung a leg over the seat and started the 'cycle without so much as a hiccup. Rosalie would have nothing to tut over when I reached home, I made sure of it. With a quick twist of my wrist, the back tire squeeled and I was belting out of the garage and onto the still empty streets of Seattle, heading north.