The memories came fast as I ran through the forest, leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. I was blinded by the images, disoriented as I ran, and I carved a clean path through the limbs, underbrush, and trees as I made my escape from the meadow.

He'd called her Charlie. I knew a Charlie and I remembered him now.

He'd been kind to me, cared for me in his own stoic way, and I had memory after memory of him bursting forth from the recesses of my mind – Charlie on a boat trying to show me how to fish; Charlie's pleasantly surprised when I set a plate of disgusting looking slop in front of him; Charlie's voice coming through the phone while I stared at sun on grass through lacy curtain framed windows. He was someone to me. He existed. I knew it like I knew blood doused the flames. But the memories weren't enough. I needed more.

Did he exist, like the tiny phone existed in both my mind and real life? Or was he a dream, an idea, something as obnoxiously stupid as carrot cake and microwave popcorn? Where these memories, these scenes, something I'd lived before, or something I'd dreamed when I'd been burning? Was this man, this Charlie, someone to eat, or someone like me?

That idea was interesting enough to stop me in my tracks, just short of taking out a tree at least thirty times my height.

In all my time in the forest, in the meadow, near the road, I'd never met another creature like myself. I'd smelled and seen countless animals, both big and small, in my time awake since the fire. I'd encountered fewer, but some, campers and passersby with pounding heartbeats and sweet blood pumping through their veins. Those I remembered special, each and every one. But I had yet to meet someone like myself, someone who shone brilliantly in the sunlight and used the heat of the blood to extinguish the heat of the flame.

Maybe this Charlie was that someone.

I had countless memories with Charlie, of Charlie, about Charlie, and couldn't imagine how those memories would have come to be if we weren't the same. It was hard to be close to someone whose blood pulsed through them with that hypnotic rhythm without the fire igniting in my throat, without attacking and dousing the flames. If Charlie and I were together time and time again, surely he was like me. Had he been food, I would have at least remembered the burn.

I stood stock still and focused as I filed through the new memories, looking for one that might give me more information about Charlie. I stopped on the one of us in the boat, fishing.

It had been a rainy day, of course, but we'd been out in the middle of the lake anyway. The day was so rainy and the shore was so far from the boat that it looked like barely an afterthought, just a hazy detail on the periphery of my memory. Charlie insisted I pierce a worm on the hook and dangle it in the water, even though the idea of catching a fish like that was outrageous. After the fire, I'd examined the fish in the lake up close, simply by getting into the water and swimming to them. Some I'd even touched, letting my fingers brush against their shiny scales as they swam by. I couldn't imagine catching a fish would be difficult, even without the worm dangling ritual.

We'd stayed in the boat for what felt like hours, sitting in silence, staring at the line in the still water. I was smaller then, younger, and didn't have the patience to sit still for hours at a time that I'd developed at some point. I'd fidgeted a lot, sighing and shifting, until Charlie ran out of patience and said we could go home. It was on the way back, the shore growing more distinct every second, when it happened – the sun came out, full and fierce, just for a second. I examined my memory closely, scouring every inch of Charlie's skin for the slightest indication of sparkle. I ground my teeth in frustration when I realized his skin was sparkle free.

What did that mean? Were Charlie and I not the same? In the memory, the boat, the entire lake, were silent. I couldn't hear his heartbeat, or the blood pounding through his veins at all. Maybe he was like me only without the sparkle? Could it be that men and women of my species looked different just like male and female deer looked different? Maybe my shimmering in sunlight was meant to attract a mate. Was Charlie my mate, the one that I loved?

I scratched at my chest absentmindedly, my fingers going to the place that usually ached.

Charlie as my mate didn't seem like the right idea. His name, his face, didn't stir those kinds of feelings in me. My feelings for Charlie were more companionable, comfortable, soft. I didn't get the heat, the passion, the aching pain, that I had come to associate with even the idea of love.

Maybe Charlie wasn't my mate but he was tied to me somehow. I remembered him clearly, and in so many situations.

It was obvious I had to find Charlie.

I found myself running toward the road before I'd consciously formulated a plan.

I remembered the phone and that cryptic call I'd made right after draining that blonde girl – the thin one with small tits. The person I called, who I spoke with, seemed to know me. I hadn't realized it at the time, so shocked at having been able to use the device in the first place, but I'd recalled that call many times afterward. The person I'd spoken with seemed concerned with finding me. He seemed to care for me and asked if I was hurt. Maybe that person was Charlie. And if it wasn't, maybe he knew how I could find him.

I reached the road in record time, managing to get there without tearing down half the forest, and stopped in the shadow of the trees.

I hadn't hunted on the road since the blonde girl. I'd taken her from her car before I'd left it behind and buried her deep in the woods. No one could find her where I'd put her, but that didn't stop people from looking. When I'd made my way back to the road a full week after I'd taken her, the visitors' scents were still fresh, making my already parched throat burn. Her car had been removed, her blood was washed away, but no one could seem to rest until they'd actually found her body. Dealing with the burn in my throat had been pure agony, and I had been tempted to retrieve her body with the hope that she wasn't completely empty. Fortunately it didn't come to that. After a miserable day and a miserable night spent in pain, I found a hiker who was able to satiate my thirst.

Still, I had to be cautious. The girl driving off the road had drawn a lot of attention quickly, and I still hadn't forgotten having to spend a day and a night being tortured by the flames. If I was going to stop someone on the road, I had to be smart about it.

It was fully dark by the time I'd stepped out onto the pavement. The idea was simple. Rather than planting myself in the center of the road and startling a driver, I would walk along the side of the road and wave my arms when they got close. Surely they'd see me and stop.

And hopefully they had a phone.

I strolled down the road for nearly a mile before the telltale rumble met my ears and I heard a vehicle coming my way. I had my arms raised high in the air well before the truck rounded the closest bend, and was surprised when the driver hit the brakes as soon as their headlights shone my way, bringing the vehicle to a screeching halt in the middle of the road. Two men were out of the truck in a flash.

The men looked similar, but not the same. Both were over fifty, with full beards, flannel shirts, and trucker hats, but had different colouring and different heart beats. The man on the driver's side was calm, much more calm than his friend, whose heart was already hammering away in his chest a mile a minute.

"Jesus, lady, are you okay?" the man on the driver's side asked, taking a couple of careful steps toward me. "I'm not gonna hurt you none, me and Gus here just wanna help." The man on the passenger side, Gus, gave me a nod, eyes wide and unblinking as he stood behind his open door. His heart was racing, his face was bright red, and he swayed imperceptibly where he stood. I cocked my head in his direction. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was about to pass out.

His buddy, the driver, drew my attention with another step my way. "My name's Hank. Are you that girl from that accident? The one that went missing a while back?" I looked at him steadily, watching the pulse in his neck leap and dance in front of my eyes, but didn't answer, the sound of the blood thrumming through his body overriding my desire to for a phone, my desire to find out more about Charlie. The familiar burn started in my throat and I swallowed reflexively. Hank swallowed heavily as well.

"Why don't I get you a blanket to cover up with and then I'll call the police. Would that be okay?" I watched as Hank stepped back to his truck, reaching into the cab to retrieve a white and gray blanket. His heart rate was steadily rising despite his appearance of calm. Gus clutched as his door more heavily and swayed on his feet.

"I'm just going to bring this over to you, okay? I'm not going to hurt you. I just want you to be able to cover up while we wait." Hank was within three paces of me when I came to my senses.

"Stop," I commanded, pleased when he stopped on the spot. "You have a phone?"

"Yeah. It's right here." Hank reached into his pocket slowly, so slowly, and held it up for me to see. "Just as soon as we get you covered up, I'll call the police, okay?"

"Okay," I breathed, before losing control completely. I went for Gus first because the pounding of his heart was nearly deafening. My teeth slid into his fleshy neck easily and his hot, metallic blood pumped wildly into my mouth in time with his heartbeat. I pulled him with me to the back of the truck, sitting with my bare butt on the asphalt, and cradled him close while I drank from him deeply, ignoring the guttural sounds coming out of his mouth. I was on my feet and biting into Hank before he realized he was down one friend, plucking the phone from his hand and pressing him against the truck as I fed.

I'd learned my lesson after my last kill on the road and tucked both men back into their truck before making my way into the shadows with the phone. The phone was different from the one the girl had, and I had to flip it open carefully before I could dial the only number I knew.

"Hello? Bella?" The voice asked urgently after three rings, and I laid the phone on the ground, crouching carefully over it.

"Is this Charlie?"

"I . . . no, this is Jacob. Are you okay, Bella? Are you still in the woods?"

"I'm near a road," I answered, glancing toward the light I could still see coming from the truck's headlights. "I'm looking for Charlie."

"Near a road," he mumbled. Then with his full voice, "Charlie's looking for you too. We all have been. Are there any more details you can give me about where you are? We haven't been able to pick up a scent. Or maybe you can get to the road and get someone to help you? Please, Bella. Anything you can give me."

"Is Charlie like me?" I asked, ignoring the desperate quality to Jacob's voice and getting straight to the point.

"Uhh . . . in what way?" He sounded confused.

"He doesn't sparkle."

"No, of course not." He paused for a long second, then choked out, "Do you sparkle?"

A noise at the road caught my attention, the slam of a door, followed by a yell. I turned my face back to the phone on the ground between my knees. I didn't have much time. "Listen to me. I need Charlie. Where can I find him?"

There was a long pause. "Don't worry about finding Charlie, we'll find you. I promise I'll come for you, just stay near the road."

The sound of a second vehicle stopping, of another raised voice, drew my attention back to the road and I could feel the beginnings of the fire in my throat. "Shit," I hissed, clicking the phone shut and dashing into the trees.

I was well away from the truck, well past the meadow, by morning.