Chapter 2 – First Time for Everything

After I hung up with Renee, I changed out of my work clothes and sat on my bed, staring off into space. If it had been a typical late night close, a shower would have led to me stretching out in bed as the cool sheets and soft pillows pulled me down into a deep, dreamless sleep. Instead, I curled up in a ball, all the lights off as I dug through my memories, attempting to recall people and places beyond my mother and our time in California and Arizona, but it was all to no avail. My personal history was a blur of brown and red, dirt and packing boxes and bad carpet. No matter how hard I searched, I could find nothing beyond Renee and an endless succession of small cheap apartments and cloudless blue skies. I couldn't remember a single playmate, let alone anything about being a child. Just Renee.

"Mommy, why don't I have a daddy?"

We'd been sitting on a pair of rusty swings behind our apartment building in Riverside, California. I probably wasn't any more than seven or eight, and Renee had been explaining to me why my father would never come to the father-daughter social my elementary school was hosting.

"Daddy didn't want you, baby, so I took you far, far away. It's just you and me, and that's all you'll ever need."

"What a thing to tell a child," I whispered, disgusted by my mother's choice of words. It had hurt to think my father might not want me, but it was even worse to wonder if my mother might have actually lied to me. If that was a lie, what else about me might not be true? Was there anything I could be sure about?

Curling further into myself, I fought off something that felt akin to grief. Mourning for my childhood, for the little girl I never got to be, for the father that I had always thought had either abandoned me or never cared enough to come looking. The frustration from the day, my exhaustion, the fear, it all drug me down into a fitful sleep, filled with strange, disjointed dreams.

The first images were the sharpest - they were also the most terrifying - red eyes, irises the color of wine or Macintosh apples, beautiful until they turned cold. A single, malevolent laugh echoed through the dark, a man's high pitched cackle, followed by screams of terror. There was nothing warm or inviting in those red eyes – they were death wrapped in a pretty package, like nightshade, the beautiful red berries luring in the innocent with the false promise of nourishment. Regina Vampira, the voice taunted, over and over again.

And then everything went quiet. It was still dark, but the sense of abject despair and desperation slowly began to ebb away. A man's voice, the words formal with odd inflections, filled my head. You are the vow, the one strong yet pliant. You will bend but you will not break, for supple new growth will always overshadow older, diseased limbs. You are the vow. His words were kind, and something about the darkness shifted, becoming warmer, like a lovers embrace or a whirlpool, cradling me and caressing me. Protecting me.

A hand skimmed gently across my face. I could feel soft skin, then the ridge of a fingernail, trailing across my cheek. When his hand – for it was a man – reached my mouth, his index finger traced the outline of my lower lip. His touch was ice cold.

You are the dreams I'd have if I could sleep. You are the reason to believe. You give us all hope.

I started awake, my skin tingling from a stranger's touch. The apartment was empty, no sound but the ceiling fan humming overhead. Struggling to sit up, I scanned the room frantically, searching for the man that had never been anything more than a figment of my imagination, even if it had felt so incredibly real.

A faint light filtered out from the tiny kitchenette, the yellow glow from the oven hood casting shadows across a small loveseat and end table pushed up against the far wall. Piles of books were stacked neatly on the small kitchen table and a large Japanese lantern hung in the far corner of the room.

Everything was as it should be. I was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Dropping back onto my bed, I stared at the ceiling, unable to purge the images from my dream. The red eyes, horrific and evil had been terrifying, but I hadn't run away. And then the whispers, nonsensical words, wove round and round in my head; you are the vow.

"I vow that I am taking a sleeping pill tonight," I mumbled, rolling slowly onto my side. The muscles in my lower back ached, and even though my head was cloudy from the lack of sleep, I knew what I had to do. The clock on the DVD player read 9:55. Washington was on Pacific Time, which meant that it was 8:55 a.m. there.

The business card lay on the end table next to my cell phone. I'd turned it off last night, avoiding the inevitable early morning calls from Renee. She was a creature of habit, not letting go when she set her mind on something. As agitated as she'd been the night before, it wouldn't have surprised me if she stayed up all night searching for flights and talking to Phil. If that were the case, she would think nothing of calling at 7 a.m. her time, even though it was 4 a.m. for me. I'd learned a long time ago that the only sphere that existed for my mother was the reality in which she moved. It wasn't spiteful on her part, Renee just had one view of the world and everyone else fit easily into it.

When the phone finished powering up, a small asterisk appeared over the SMS and Voicemail icon. Three missed calls, three voice mail messages. They were all from my mother, each escalating in manic chirpiness. Something had spooked Renee last night, and she was not going to give up until she got me safely out of Phoenix. That alone was enough motivation to make the call I'd been debating all night. She wouldn't be pursuing me so intently if there wasn't something to hide.

I quickly typed in area code and seven digit phone number, and then hit send. There was a momentary hesitation, followed by a click as my cell phone connected to the nearest tower before being relayed into the atmosphere. A mechanical pulse echoed down through the line as I waited impatiently for someone to answer on the other end. It rang once, twice, three times.

"Rosalie Hale's office," a woman answered. Her words were flat, free of any inflection or accent. There was no way to tell anything about the speaker's age or education, simply gender.

"This is Marie Geoffrey," I said, waiting, although for what I wasn't sure.

The line was silent for just the briefest moment before the women responded. "You are not Marie Geoffrey. Your name is Isabella Marie Swan. You were born in Forks, Washington at Clallam County Hospital on September 13, 1987. I've been retained to administer a trust set up for you by your grandmothers, Marie Higgenbotham and Helen Swan, on your twenty-third birthday."

"My birthday is next week," I answered, my voice just as flat and toneless as the speaker's. It was as if all the life had been sucked out of me. "I'll be twenty three."

Ω Ω Ω

After we disconnected, I sat on the couch staring vacantly at the wall. Just like the night before, I turned the words over and over in my head, looking for facets of truth within the intricate web of lies. Isabella Swan. Forks, Washington. I tried to find some familiarity, some kernel of truth that I could wrap my head around. Instead, I only come up with more questions.

Who were the Swans? Rosalie Hale had mentioned Marie Higgenbotham and Helen Swan. I had a grandmother Marie, I knew that much. According to Renee, my grandmother had died right after I was born. But Helen Swan? If what Rosalie told me was true, she'd been my paternal grandmother, making it impossible for me to be Marie Geoffrey. When I tried to dig for more answers, Rosalie had told me I needed to come to Washington to review the documents, it was not a conversation she could have on the phone.

As I followed the hairline crack that had fanned out from a small nail hole, I thought about all of our sudden moves, Renee claiming to have lost a job or found a better opportunity. Was this why we'd jumped from town to town, never staying in one place for very long? I'd been too young to question, and I'd never had a reason to. Had Renee really lost all those jobs, or had she quit, packing us up and moving us to a new place whenever she felt like we were at risk for exposure? Had my father really not wanted me, or had Renee not wanted him? What if it was something even worse?

My phone vibrated in my hand, and I answered without looking. Renee was the only one that ever called me anyway. She was all I'd ever really had, or been allowed to have.

"Marie, oh thank god you answered, I was going to call the police if you didn't pick up!" my mother cried. "Baby, you can't go MIA on me like that!"

"I didn't go MIA, Mom. I just turned off my phone so I could sleep."

"You scared me to death is what you did! Now get up and get moving. I've arranged everything for you, there is a flight that leaves at noon. If you hurry you can –"

I'd hovered on the edge of worry and indecision all night, afraid to believe what the strange man had told me. My mother's actions had done nothing to douse the fire that had been ignited the night before. While her lack of denial and strange behavior had fueled my suspicions, the conversation with Rosalie Hale had been the strong gust of wind necessary to send the fire flaring sky high. Someone was lying to me, maybe even manipulating me, and I had a bad feeling I knew who it was, based purely by her actions.

"Mom, I spoke to an attorney this morning who claims to be administrating a trust from my grandmothers," I over articulated the word, hoping to make her understand just how scared I was. "She said my name isn't Marie, Mom. She said-"

Renee's laugh was brittle and forced, the words quickly tumbling over each other. "I think you are getting scammed, honey. There are con artists out there that do this all the time, they'll take your money, ruin your life-"

"I don't have any money, Mom. I'm broke. You are too, but you sure are desperate to get me away from here. Why is that?"

"I don't want a few con artists sinking their claws in my baby girl, I just want to keep you safe," she said. "You come down here with me, away from all the crazies. I'll take care of you. I've kept you safe all your life, Marie, I can still do that."

It was nothing, really – a passing comment that should have sent me running to my mommy, who would make it all better. But it felt too much like all the other moves, the times she'd come home, flustered and tired, throwing clothing into suitcases and telling me to pack up all my belongings. I'd always chalked it up to Renee's flakiness, her need to be able to follow the wind wherever it might take us.

As an adult, looking back, I realized that it might have been something entirely different. She might have been running, pulling me along with her as she fled. The question was, from what?

"Mom, who is Isabella?" My voice shook, making me sound very much like a scared little girl.

"Baby, don't let that man's nonsense fill your head. Come to Florida. Everything is green here, and it rains. You can run around in the rain like you always wanted to…"

"It rains in Washington State too, Mom," I countered.

"I know honey, but it's cold there, not like-" Renee stopped, immediately realizing her mistake.

"I thought you never went anywhere green before Florida," I corrected her, my voice cracking. "I remember when you told me that you and Phil were moving, you were so excited to finally have real grass. It was all a lie, wasn't it?"

"Baby, no, I was excited, listen just let me explain, you don't -"

"No, Mom," I snapped. I had no clue what was a truth or a lie anymore, and I didn't trust my ability to distinguish between the two. She was my mother - she was supposed to be honest and protect me and make it all better. Instead she fed me lie after lie in an attempt to lure me to Florida, away from someone who might offer an alternate take on my life to date. "I've let you explain my whole life. It's someone else's turn now."

"Marie! Please, baby, you don't realize –"

"Marie?" I hissed, no longer capable of suppressing the confusion and anger threatened to take me under. "Is it Marie, or is it Isabella, Mom? Which is correct?" Renee's strangled sobs on the other end of the phone told me everything I needed to know.

"Goodbye, Mom."

I disconnected without giving Renee a chance to say another word.

The anger of my mother's betrayal spurred me into motion, crystallizing in a series of methodical, logical actions – my way of coping with an entirely irrational situation. I opened up my laptop and began digging. I looked up the name Rosalie Hale, refining my search criteria until I found a yellow pages listing for an attorney by that name in Washington State. The address and phone number matched the name on the business card. I looked up the town of Forks, Washington next, trying to find out as much as I could.

The Wikipedia page for Forks, Washington told me it was a tiny town, population 3,120, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. It had one hospital, a main street, and a tiny municipal airport. It averaged 106 inches of precipitation a year, and sat on the edge of the Olympic Forest National Park.

"Well, kiddo, you wanted a change of scenery," I told myself as I typed a quick email out to Rosalie Hale. "It doesn't get any more different than this."

Ms. Hale,

I will be clearing my schedule and have decided to accept your offer to arrange transportation. If you could send the details to this email address, I would appreciate it.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure how to close the email. In just a few short hours, everything I ever thought I'd known about myself had disappeared, including my name.

Ω Ω Ω

"Would you like anything else to drink?" the flight attendant asked me. "We'll be starting our approach soon."

"No, thank you," I responded, my fingers never releasing their death grip on the pillow I clutched in my lap. When I'd arrived at the airport, I'd been shocked to find a first class ticket waiting for me. My first flight, at the ripe old age of twenty two years, eleven months, and twenty one days, would be done in grand style.

In my rush to find answers, I'd focused on the purely logistical details, such as calling work to inform them that, for the first time in my three years of employment, I was going to take a vacation. I watered all my plants and bolted all the windows. I dumped out the milk and took out the trash. Not once did I stop to think about the fact that I had never set foot on an airplane before, nor did I have any clue what to expect. Fortunately, the first class cabin, as the flight attendant had called it, was relatively empty, and the seat to my left was unoccupied. There was no one nearby to witness my panic as I'd grabbed a pillow, holding onto it like a child hugs a stuffed bear as the giant bird taxied down the runway, it's mammoth steel body defying every law of gravity as it took flight.

The flight crew had easily identified my distress, and after a few well-placed questions, realized that this was my first time flying. They did everything under the sun to keep me distracted offering up movies, magazines and food. Once they realized I was of legal drinking age, they made me a mimosa. After three, I'd relaxed enough to watch the movie. When it wrapped I finally worked up the courage to look out the window – there was nothing there but giant, fluffy white clouds.

"Seattle usually has a low ceiling," the flight attendant informed me. "Once we break through the cloud cover, you should be able to see the harbor. This time of year it's quite a sight, especially if it's sunny."

I smiled weakly, watching out the window as the plane gently banked to the side, cutting through wisps of fluffy white vapor. The intercom crackled to life, our captain informing us that we'd be landing in Seattle shortly and thanking us for choosing United. Just as the announcements ended, a break formed in the clouds, revealing the landscape below.

The harbor loomed large out the window, the dark green water sparkling in the early afternoon sun. Long, white trails billowed out behind barges as they sped north towards the city, their wakes stirring up small waves that sent ripples across the glistening surface. All the pictures in children's storybooks could never do justice to a visual like this.

As the plane leveled off, I caught a glimpse of dense pine trees dotting the hills that dropped down into the water. They reminded me of my mother's pleas…come where it's green, play in the rain. She'd bombard me with calls, her desperation becoming more and more palpable with each subsequent message. I'd finally answered the phone before the cab picked me up for airport, informing her that I'd taken her words to heart, and would be enjoying some quality time in the lush woods of the Pacific Northwest.

While my delivery had been perfect in its execution, the satisfaction I'd gleaned from it was fleeting. I'd always craved my mother's approval, her blessing making me feel like I could actually be something special. But she had lied to me, kept things from me that I deserved to know. Her blessing or support shouldn't matter anymore.

I closed my eyes, squeezing my pillow against my chest as the plane touched down, the seatbelt clasped securely across my lap keeping me pinned in place as momentum and gravity tried to force me forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Seattle Tacoma Airport. The local time is 2:25 p.m. Please stay seated as we will be taxiing for the next few minutes, and please exercise caution, as items may have shifted in the overhead compartments. Electronic devices are still prohibited throughout the cabin, although the use of cell telephones is permissible at this time."

A man to my left reached down into his briefcase, digging out a cell phone. I followed his lead, pulling mine out of my pocket and depressing the power button. I expected the voice mail icon to illuminate when the screen lit up, but there were no messages. I didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

Stashing my phone back in my bag, I unbuckled my seatbelt and followed the other passengers as they disembarked. I wasn't prepared for the cooler weather of Seattle, the damp, fall air easily cutting through my short sleeved t-shirt and jeans. In my mad rush to pack, I'd not taken into account the temperature difference. It was going to be one hundred degrees in Phoenix today. Here it barely felt like it was fifty.

"Ms. Swan?" A small Asian woman approached me as I cleared the jet-way, her smile bright. "If you'll please come with me, I'll be escorting you to the Signature hangar."

Instinct kicked in, but I bit my tongue, not correcting the woman. I wasn't one hundred percent sure I was Isabella Swan, but until I knew for sure, I wasn't going to make a decision one way or another.

The woman led me through a warren of tunnels to a dingy white van, the SEA/TAC logo painted on the side. My suitcases had already been stowed in the back, along with a few large white shipping boxes. She caught me eying the contents in back and laughed. "Mr. Whitlock flies down to pick up a few things every few weeks. He's made arrangements with the airport to do an internal transfer from the airline to the Signature hangar. He said it was easier to pick you up himself, but I think he just likes the excuse to fly that little plane of his."

She continued her one-sided conversation as we climbed in the van, barely waiting for my door to close before punching the accelerator. We dodged planes and cargo trucks ferrying luggage to and from the main terminal as she sped across the airport. At the far end of the runway, she made a hard left, winding up the hill to a large arched hangar.

"That's his," she said, pointing at a small silver plane sitting at the edge of the tarmac. A pair of legs were visible under the belly of the plane, clad in denim. As the van came to a stop twenty feet away, the man stepped out, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"Well hello there, Isabella Swan," he said. It was the blonde man who had set this all in motion two days ago. His hair was in the same state of casual disarray, his white oxford replaced by a thermal grey t-shirt and a fitted fleece vest. "So glad you decided to take us up on the offer. There is a jacket for you in the co-pilots seat. It gets cold above five thousand feet, so you'll want to bundle up before we take off."

"Take off?" I responded lamely. Forks wasn't close to Seattle, but I'd anticipated a rental car, or even a car service. Not what appeared to be a four seater airplane flown by a total stranger.

The man smiled. "Don't worry, I'm a pro. Flying is second nature to me."

"What, are you a bird? Superman?"

He laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "No, nothing that interesting - just Jasper Whitlock, recreational pilot. Now come on, the flight isn't that long, and I think you might enjoy the view."

I followed his instructions, cautiously climbing up onto the wing, and then awkwardly stepping down into the tiny cabin. There were two bucket seats in front, each situated behind a steering yoke. "You go right there," he said, indicating the co-pilot seat.

"Don't you want me in back? I have no clue-"

"Better view up front," he said, climbing down into the cockpit and pulling the door shut behind him. His shoulders were much broader than I'd realized, and I instinctively shifted closer to the window to give him more room.

"Put your fleece on and buckle in," he instructed me. Before I could move, he popped open a small inset in the window. "Clear!" he called, then pushed a button in the console. The plane's engine roared to life, the fuselage vibrating as the propeller spooled up.

I watched as he pulled on a pair of bulky headphones and lowered a microphone down in front of his mouth. He pointed at a similar pair hanging off the yoke in front of me, then at my head. Following his non-verbal request, I pulled them on, and then tugged the large black fleece jacket that had been draped on the back of the seat around me and buckled in. As I worked to pull the harness over my shoulder, I caught a faint aroma from the jacket. It was sweet and heavy, reminding me of Christmas scents – specifically pine trees and cinnamon.

"What are you smiling about?" Jasper's voice boomed in my ear. The volume startled me until I remembered that my headphones would pick him up. I lowered my boom mic, blowing into it a few times to test the volume.

"Nothing, just something silly." The mic hissed a bit, feedback echoing through my headset. "Oh, we've got a hot mic," I quipped.

He laughed, adjusting a few knobs on the console. "Whatever it was, it made you happy."

"I don't know about happy, it was just a nice thought."

The man pulled on a pair of steel rimmed sunglasses. "Well, Miss Swan, welcome to Whitlock Airlines. We've got a short flight today, but with roughly forty five minutes from wheels up to touch down in Forks, no cabin service will be available. To make up for it, I'll take the scenic route so you can get a feel for the place."

I waited patiently as the man, Jasper, communicated with the tower. Unlike the commercial flight from Phoenix, I wasn't nervous in the small plane. If anything, I was excited. An adventure awaited me, along with the answers to questions I'd never known to ask.