Here I am! I would like to remind everyone who hasn't gotten the notification that this story is being rewritten and it is in your best interest to reread the first chapter if you haven't done so already. The way to know if you have is: if you have read more than two chapters of this story and you are seeing this message for the first time then you probably haven't read the first redone chapter.
Thank you to my beta baysidebird, I think you're on vacation or something which is why this chapter isn't beta'ed, and bubblyamericanwriter1 for being my vice beta and listening to my qualms about the story. I really appreciate it.
I would also like to thank alicecullen51089 for reviewing thus encouraging me to post this chapter which has not been beta'ed. Without further ado, I would like to welcome all of my faithful crazies of the asylum, to Forks.
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The world is a dangerous place. Not because of the people who are evil; but because of the people who don't do anything about it. ~Albert Einstein
I woke up the next morning with an excruciating headache and a mouth like cotton. I smacked my lips together in a pathetic attempt at hydrating my sore lips. I swallowed and shuddered as hot air burned down my throat rather than saliva. There was way too much light in the room, I found myself thinking. Logically I knew that couldn't be because other than the small window bringing in the gray light of early morning, there was no significant source of brightness.
My eyes squinted open to slits and burned with tears as I perceived the offending daylight. I moaned lightly and the simple sound seemed to burst its way through my eardrums like a marching band. My head felt ready to split in half. The agony was unbearable and kept me from thinking straight.
With as much effort as I could muster, I dragged the jagged fingernails of my thumb and index finger to my arm and pinched firmly at an expanse of loose skin. The sudden sting of pain traveled up through my nervous system and cleared the fog from my brain momentarily. Water, I thought. Water will help, the primal instinct within me took over and I hurriedly stumbled the few feet from my couch to the dirty sink sticking out along the wall.
My head spun. With a low hiss I stubbed my toe on the edge of the cooler that served as my fridge. I stubbornly ignored the distraction and persisted on my mission. I turned the knob, attempting to disregard the frantic pounding in my skull. A yellowish stream of liquid ran from the faucet. I impatiently waited for it to clear enough that it resembled drinkable water. There was a collection of drowned bugs clogging the drain and speckling the basin.
When I was fairly certain a drink wouldn't kill me, I leaned down and lapped at the cool wetness desperately. The steady torrent of water was practically choking me and had a powdery texture to it. I gulped down all I could. After a few more seconds, the water was running down my face and I was gasping for breath. I attempted a few more tentative licks then pulled back, grazing my head against the tap, adding yet another tingle to my assemblage of pain.
I shut my eyes tight and braced myself with both hands on the sink's ledge. I leaned forward slowly until my forehead met with the chill surface of a chipped wall. I could feel the frantic beating of my heart through my throbbing head, injured toe and all my pressure points. I waited for my breathing to steady. Drops of water trickled down my nose and chin noiselessly. The pain throbbing throughout my body slowly subsided to a dull ache.
"Ow," I whimpered pathetically.
My eyes ripped open; an epiphany burst forth through my mangled form. I spun my head slowly to the right. There, on the small coffee table, sat a lone clear glass that was previously filled approximately half way with a plain liquid I had assumed was pure water. I gulped, hoping my suspicions wouldn't be proven correct.
Shaking, I shuffled back over to the couch and leaned down with my knees to the floor, staring down the aberrant chalice marring the otherwise empty surface of my coffee table. The grimy couch a bit further in front seemed to stare at me, daring me to make a false move. A hand slid over the flat surface and gingerly grasped the cup. I scraped it over to my face. My nostrils flared as I sniffed, inhaling deeply.
A subtle, yet identifiable sickly sweet smell hit my sensory glands; a drug, I recognized. My brows furrowed angrily and my shaking resumed full force. With an agitated grunt I threw the cup at a wall across from me and watched it shatter and plummet to the floor in a shower of reflective crystal.
I was clenching my teeth and my hands were balled into tight fists, the skin of my knuckles stretched impossibly white. A nerve just below my left eye began to yank compulsively. I started to generate disconcerted moans and grunts through my pursed lips.
"Fuck you to hell, you fucking bitch," I growled and got up, knocking over the immaculate coffee table with my knee, breaking one of its legs in the process. I couldn't care less. I grabbed a few shirts, pair of sweatpants, pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from wherever they were strewn on the floorboards. I batted away a cockroach from inside one of the habiliments absentmindedly. It scurried off.
I stuffed the clothes and a few assorted weapons into a time-worn backpack. Lastly, I picked up the manila folder containing, to put it bluntly, my keys to survival while switching identities. I took out some of the bills and stuffed them in the pocket of the pair of soiled sweatpants I had on. I honestly couldn't tell you the last time I went to a Laundromat. The rest of the money went into the bag.
I switched all of my ID's to Isabella Swan's, finding that all of my Marie Higginbotham ones were gone. I knew they have been properly disposed of. I checked myself over to make sure my artillery was still tucked in its place. Once satisfied, I threw the backpack's strap over my shoulder and left my home of the last one and half years. I didn't look back.
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Approximately one month from that day, the landlady, Mrs. Dubose, will come to pay Marie a visit because the rent was long overdue. She will knock on the door for five whole minutes. She will call Marie's name anxiously, worrying when no answer comes her way. She has been sending the occupant of 5C mail notifications for a while now with no answer. When she asks the neighbors, they will say they haven't seen the girl or even heard any signs of life through the flimsy apartment walls in a long time.
Mrs. Dubose will turn suspicious. Was Marie avoiding paying her rent? The landlady, in a last desperate attempt will open my old mailbox with a master key she hasn't used in years. She was worried what she would find there. A note explaining Marie's disappearance perhaps, she will think, or more likely, it will be stuffed with unopened mail. That would mean Marie ran off somewhere, Mrs. Dubose will reason, in which case she isn't my problem anymore.
She will turn the lock and lick at her thin lips nervously. She will look in and freeze when there isn't a single letter in mailbox 5C. The lady will run back up the steps to Marie's room, and open the door. A mouse will scamper past the elderly woman's feet in fright. When she looks around, her confusion will amplify.
The small room barely changed since Mrs. Dubose first rented it out to the girl named Marie almost two years before. The girl looked no older than fourteen, but had an ID on her claiming her adulthood. The apartment complex had a bad reputation and Mrs. Dubose, desperate for money, accepted Marie's offering in rent, in return, disregarding Miss Higginbotham's discernibly adolescent age.
An uncomfortable looking gray couch dominated the center of the room. The small coffee table, once standing as the proudest monument in the residence, was turned over on its side. A slab of broken, splintered wood hung off in place of one of the legs. Mrs. Dubose will place a hand on her heart and walk forward slowly, unwilling to fathom what may have occurred.
A soft crunch beneath her shoe will snap the lady out of her musing. She will step back instinctively and look down at the broken shards of glass beneath her feet. Her eyes will automatically sweep towards the entrance to the bathroom, the door slightly ajar. She will pray that she won't find yet another dead body in there. When she checks, she will sigh happily, noting that no murders have been committed as far as she could tell.
Mrs. Dubose will turn to leave, still ill at ease and very apprehensive. The last thing she will see will be the light reflected off one of the glass shards destroyed against the wall. A barely discernable, elegant cursive letter "E", engraved within that one fragment, will blink in her eye just before the tip of a sharp object burns through her chest. Mrs. Dubose's eyes will drift closed, never to see again.
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One train, two buses, a taxi, and an hour later, I was boarding the 10 AM plane to Washington State. The flight was delayed for two hours, which worked to my convenience as I only made it to the airport at ten till eleven. My carry on item was my luggage, which honestly only consisted of the few belongings I stuffed into the backpack back at my old apartment. I'm not permitted to tell how I made it past airline security but I can say it was not a comfortable time.
I sat stiffly in the stuffy confines of the plane, knowing full well that with the ammunition I possessed I could blow the thing from the sky in mere seconds. A snoring man was seated beside me, drool frothing at the corner of his mouth. A service lady was walking along the isle with a large fake smile plastered to her face.
"Would you be needing anything, miss?" She asked politely over the sleeping figure. Annoyance for her job was obvious in the gleam of her violet eyes. I glared at the blonde, not saying a word. She stared back but her smile seemed to twitch slightly at one corner. Her manicured hands fisted but released almost as quickly. She straightened up and swept the skirt of her flawless navy blue uniform as if my staring dirtied it.
"Have a nice flight," she excused herself through her teeth. My eyebrows rose suggestively and she stomped off with airs. A single strand of yellow hair fell out of her bun, I noticed. That gave me a burning sense of pleasure. She obviously thought herself a strong woman and I managed to frazzle her.
The rest of the flight went by without further interruption. At some point, the man beside me woke up and attempted to strike a conversation. I pretended not to hear him. Eventually he became too embarrassed to continue and ignored me for the remaining duration of the trip. It was insanely boring, but it was safe. I have learned to appreciate moments of peace for they were few and far between for people like me.
A few hours into the voyage, my eyes drifted closed. At such high altitudes, I could almost pretend that nothing existed; that I had no troubles or worries, simply floating up in the sky. In a place where there was no Esme, no law enforcement, no killing, no constant movement from fear of being discovered. A nice, safe, warm place to sleep, a home, a family…
I was floating in the air, flying like a bird. All of my qualms and fears stared up at me and I laughed as they got further and further away. I floated to a place I felt was happy, goodness was radiating from it. I slipped through, and I felt warmth. I was finally safe. Just one more step and I'd be in for good.
Instead of going forward, I was being pulled backward, toward an abyss. I screamed but no sound came out. I screamed for help, but no one heard. No one came and I continued floating in the wrong direction.
"Bella?" I heard a soft, affectionate voice from the happiness ask. It was unmistakable. I knew who it was and I was getting farther from it by the second.
"No!" I screeched, but still not a sound came out. I needed to go back, I had to go back! Blurry, dark figures were all around me, smothering me. All I could think was why they wouldn't let me go.
"You didn't let us go," they whispered in unison, answering my thoughts. I started bawling my eyes out, still silently.
"You didn't let us go," the figures whispered at me again, but it seemed so loud it hurt.
"You didn't let us go!" They advanced and suddenly my eyes popped open. I was still on the plane. A single tear cascaded down my cheek and I intercepted it with a finger. I lifted it, staring at the wetness as if it were a dear friend who betrayed my trust.
"We are approaching Sea-Tac Airport in Seattle, Washington. Please fasten your seatbelts for the landing. Thank you for flying with us," a scratchy female voice informed the passengers through the speaker system. The announcement followed a series of yawns, grunts and creaking of seats as the travelers did as they were told. I followed suit.
The plane landed finally after more than eight hours of arduous, melancholy flight. I needed to use the bathroom really badly and I was hungry, as I refused to eat airline food. Not to mention my legs were wobbly from sitting in one place for too long. I followed the line of people shuffling from the plane, thinking how to get where I needed to be. It was highly unlikely I would get an escort to that Forks place.
I blended into the sea of passengers scanning the crowds for friends and family members, trying to stay invisible.
"Lucy! Ah, baby I missed you so much! Come here!" A woman with laugh lines beckoned to a girl a few years older than I was. I looked back unobtrusively, at who I assumed was Lucy. The girl rolled her eyes, and trudged her luggage as she waltzed over to be enveloped in a bone crushing hug by the woman.
"Hey ma', so what's…" That's all I heard before I pushed past the reunion sooner than I could dwell on the scene. I blinked furiously, pulling back the burn in my eyes. That didn't stop the thoughts.
What if that was me in Lucy's place? She took it all for granted; I could see it in her eyes. I wouldn't. What I wouldn't give to be her. No, I chided myself. I need a taxi. A taxi would take me to Forks; from there I could poke around and see where the chief of police lived.
My pathetic attempt at distracting myself pathetically worked. I put all my being into finding a way to get to Charlie Swan. My demons lay tucked away at the back of my mind for now. Sure I'd face them sometime. Though hopefully not anytime soon.
I looked around for an exit above the bustling heads of the travelers. That was when I spotted the sign. It was a simple white piece of paper held up by two rough hands. On it was written the name "Bella Swan".
I bit my lip. Sadly enough, the sign already made this person the nicest guardian Esme ever appointed me. None of the others bothered to greet me or help me get to their homes. They didn't even bother getting someone else to do it, preferring to simply leave me to my own means. I walked closer.
The man with the sign was probably Chief Swan. He had a police uniform on and a thick handlebar moustache accentuating an ascetic face, other than his eyes. The man's eyes were brown and soft. They didn't match his otherwise severe appearance. The chief had wrinkles on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. He was looking around and shuffling his feet. I approached.
"Uh, hey," I mumbled, looking down. I wasn't good at conversing with people who didn't mean me harm. This man, despite his job and connections to the criminal underground, was obviously passive at heart. I didn't bring my guard down, not for a minute, but I didn't sense him to be an immediate threat. Plus I still had to pee.
"You're Bella?" He asked in a gruff voice, that wasn't unkind but sounded as nervous as I secretly felt inside.
"Uh, yeah," my hair was covering most of my face and I looked anywhere but at the police chief. We stood in an unsure silence for a while before he scratched at his receding brown curls and spoke.
"So the car's this way. Police cruiser," he explained, "hope you don't mind."
"Nah its fine," I gulped. I had to watch my step. These were new waters I was treading. One false move could land me in a superfluous situation. The man walking beside me made me nervous. Not in a bad way, but an unfamiliar one.
Charlie Swan opened the passenger door of the police car and invited me in with a grunt and a small wave. The car was a typical black and white with "Forks Police" written on the side in bold script. There was even a red and blue tinged beacon resting on the top of the vehicle. I flopped myself down and slammed the door behind me. Charlie entered through the other side a few seconds later.
We sat in silence as he drove through Seattle. Night was falling and the deep, pastel colors of the twilight sky enveloped us on the street. A few stars were visible on the far end of the horizon.
It didn't escape my notice the irony of my situation. There I was, one of the worlds most wanted and still yet to be identified criminals, sitting in a squad car of my own accord. My lip curved up slightly at the humor.
"So, police chief, huh? Shouldn't you have a…respect for the law?" I asked in my self-assured voice. I was herding the man for information. In my mind, he was no longer Charlie and I no longer Bella. He was a potential threat and I a survivor.
"Uh, well," he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "yeah. But I believe in what Esme is doing. Her people are like the police inside criminal society. I may not agree with all her methods, but he heart is in the right place." Swan attempted to explain this to me. I huffed.
"Her heart? There's a freaking black hole were that's supposed to be," I reproached. He gritted his teeth nervously. I was the only one among the organization who could get away with talking bad about the bitch. Esme found me too valuable to loose and no one reprimands the leader's little girl.
"Is she threatening your family or something?" I inquired, attempting to receive some background of this person.
"Err, no. Uh, no family," he answered curtly. I stayed silent for a while after that. Has he never had a family or did he loose them, like I did?
"Why do you call me Bella?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. Swan fidgeted again.
"Well she told me you prefer Bella, unless you like Isabella?" He asked uncertainly with a bit of fright laced in. I needed no confirmation as to who "she" was.
"Nah, I like Bella, chief." I waved it off. Was he scared because he knew or at least guessed at the true profundity of my past deeds? It gave me a feeling of security that he was scared, but I didn't want the only reason of his kindness to be out of fear. I had many more questions for the man, but I had to bide my time if I wasn't to scare him off. He coughed.
"You can call me Charlie," he stated. I risked a small smile his way and nodded. With that, I assumed my socially awkward persona. Fortunately, Charlie didn't feel the need to fill the silence with senseless chatter. I took this time to further observe my surroundings.
A light drizzle and a coat of mist covered the strange new world I was becoming a part of. Everything was green. Trees were everywhere and even their bark was enclosed in swathes of moss. Grass erupted through cracks in the pavement. Dark clouds hung over our heads and there was barely a soul to be seen. Despite the occasional passing car, there was a feeling of complete isolation to the place. I could see why Esme decided to send me here; into a bubble of separation from the rest of the world.
"Alright Bella," Charlie grinned my way, "welcome to Forks."
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So¸ what did you think? Once again, if you reviewed to the old chapter 2, you can't do so again but I would appreciate a quick PM on how I did. New members of the asylum: Welcome! Admittance is free and remember: if you must be insane, why not criminally insane? Review and feed my ego!
MSFYS: What is time but a skewered view of celestial orbit?