A/N: Right. Let's get going, if I can go five minutes without typoing today.

Chapter 2-2: The Farthest Shore

Detroit, 10th October 2010, 09:52 PM

"God, it sure took a lot of work getting this one to understand."

Chelsea sighed and blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "Tends to take about a day or so to make them get that they're already fucking dead. If I get one like her again, I'm gonna kill someone.

Rick was slouched in a nearby chair, fidgeting with the hem of a shirt in his lap. "Huh. Yeah."

Chelsea leaned her head back and pouted. "Yeah, sure. I'm stuck in here with an antisocial, creepy knife nut and a psycho charlatan with a seriously fucked-up personality. Just my luck, dammit. Eh, by the way, know when Lucky's gonna be back?" Rick twirled his mussy hair around his finger, chewing indecisively on his lip. "Yes. I can hear him. Also, I like my knives. Don't criticize them."

Chelsea huffed and stood up abruptly, only to wince and lean up against the wall. "Fuck. I shouldn't have left it in there. Still, the guy was good for getting me in the shoulder. Just a shame it was so thin. If I move fast enough while it's in me, the blade snaps off."

She peeled back the sleeve of her t-shirt, exposing a bloodless cut about an inch long. Prying open the wound with her left thumb and index finger, she stuck in two fingers on her right hand and, wincing, pulled out a four-inch-long fragment of a knife blade that had seemingly been snapped off the end of a slightly larger weapon.

"Ow. Fuck. It hurts like a motherfucker after keeping it in for two days. Next time, I won't go easy on our prey. It was a kick, though." Chelsea stared up towards the ceiling, seemingly not caring that Rick was in the room. The door at the other end of the apartment slammed open, and the vibrations from something heavy being dropped on the floor shook the thin floor. Rick, without lifting his head or dropping the shirt he was busy modifying, spoke into thin air, as if the person had been right beside him. "Lucky? That the gear?" The black-haired boy walking into the room nodded faintly and began taking off his grey sweater. "Sure spent a lotta time this way. Havin' ta act th' honor student's really screwing with my brain."

His accent was an odd mix of Midwest, New York and Deep South, and seemingly shifted in intonation between specific words, as if he'd picked up different words in different places. "Time to get outta th' kiddie look. Jesus, whatta fucking relief." The black-haired boy shook his head, and something in the air shimmered as his shape disappeared, being replaced by a skinny, stubbled man in his late twenties with a mess of straw-blond hair. He rooted around in his shirt pocket and pulled out a polished steel cigarette case, took one between his teeth, held a finger to the tip and smiled self-consciously as it began smoldering. He took a long drag, relaxing visibly while he blew the smoke back out again. "So? What's the news back here?"

Chelsea frowned and flicked the knife fragment in her hand over her shoulder. "First off, stop your tricks. All of us can do the disguise, but you just like flashing it. Also, just because you picked up the fire trick from Aro doesn't mean you'll ever use it for anything else than lighting up. Live up to your name and give us some of that luck. We fucking well need it." Lucky chewed on his cigarette in a show of mock nervosity. "Hey, hey, go easy on me, girl. I need a bit o' time to settle back in." He took a huge drag of the cigarette, taking the ash three-quarters of the way to the filter. Chelsea sighed heavily, stood up straight and crossed her arms. "Christ, do you never fucking learn? You need to get your ass in gear, or we'll get sacked. Also, I'm not a "girl", at least not the way you mean it. I've said it a thousand times, retard. We don't age, and unfortunately, neither do you. I was born in 1968, and I've told you. You're from '83. You're twenty-seven, I'm forty-two. Difference."

Lucky took a last, crackling wheeze of his smoke, burning the filter halfway down, and spat it out on the floor. "Yeah, but yer not that old mentally. You're not a housewife or shit." Chelsea sighed, put one foot against the wall and tilted her head. "For once you're right, wankstain. But that's not all a compliment, right?" Lucky took another smoke from his case and lit it with a touch of his finger. "Ding fuckin' dong. You've just won the grand prize, lil' miss. Wanna get the bullet in the head here or take it home with you?" Chelsea snorted and flipped her hair, then strode out to the middle of the floor.

"Very fucking funny, joker. Well, enough talking. Let's get to the point. Lucky, you've got your guns, I've got my fucking jailbait charms, and Rick doesn't like guns, so the nutter has his knives. We're supposed to be out there, watching the new ones' backs and do the job for them if they can't take the heat. Let's go, or Aro will have our asses."

Port Angeles Local Police, noticeboard, 10th October 2010

Found this one on some crazy guy's site. Posted from one of the computers at the library. I thought Willis and all his paranormal-activity nutters might get their jollies from reading this, that is if they don't believe it.

- Samuelson

"I just came back home to the North after a trip to Vegas with my S.O. We left after things started going wrong. People started disappearing, then coming back again as the prime suspects in new crimes. The cops are freaked out.

Back in Forks, it's just as insane. Murders everywhere, in just a few days. My friend's family is gone. I'm afraid they've taken her.

EDIT: We had our first confrontation with one of them this night. I managed to shoot it 'til it couldn't move, then I smashed its brains in, severed its spine, drove a stake through its heart and put a lighter to it. When I threw it in the sea, it'd just stopped twitching. I might be going crazy, but I don't want him and me to die, and I wanna save my friend.

EDIT: I just got a call. The guy said he was Father Jeremiah David Canyon, and that he'd help me "exorcize the demons." I really dunno if I can trust him, but I'll call him back. I'll do all I can.

- Angela W."

Completely bats. Hey, Willis van Helsing, this one's for you.

- Freddy