"For dreams, too, are ghosts, desires chased in sleep, gone by morning."

- Lair of Dreams by Libba Bray

"Where were you the night of the murder?"

The interview felt endless. The truth suddenly felt flimsy against hours of questioning. I could see why innocent people felt the need to lie. I could feel the officers not believing me and I had to fight the urge to embellish my story - just to convince them.

"Incredibly drunk at the beach."

"Alone?"

"Yes, until a friend found me and took me to hospital."

"So you have no alibi for the murder?"

"No, I guess not."

"Are you planning on leaving the state anytime soon."

"Yes, I'm flying out tomorrow - today."

I lost all track of time. I was aware of my utter exhaustion but couldn't even think about putting my head on the table to sleep. I looked at my hands and saw them covered in blood. I still smelt - no one had let me shower. Sometimes, the officers left me to stare at the clock on the wall for hours, was it 4 am or 4 pm? They only ducked their head in occasionally to ask if I needed anything, otherwise I was left to my thoughts.

I didn't understand anything. Why had someone done this to me? And it certainly did feel like someone was doing something to me, killing the boy in my house, making it look like I was the one who did it.

It didn't feel like the Volturi. They wouldn't set me up for murder. If they wanted to get to me they could make me disappear, without a trace, in a second or kill me at any time, in any place and never be noticed. Why go to all this trouble?

Finally, after 24 hours I finally cracked.

"I want a lawyer," I croaked, pleaded.

"A lawyer?" Detective 1, as I was beginning to know them, raised a suspicious eyebrow. To him, this was the clearest sign on my guilt yet.

"Yes, get me a lawyer." I demanded, more certain this time.

It took about an hour from the arrival of Mr van de Water to when I was released, with no charges but a stern warning that I was still a suspect and not to go anywhere. Everyone in the police station besides Charlie and Houghton were glancing at me with deep suspicion. The news would be everywhere by now - Leighton Summers, forks murderer. It was just another reason to leave a small town, news travels at the speed of light.

Even Mr van de Water's usually serene face was twisted with displeasure at the sight of me - a murder was a long way from his usual divorces and driving charges.

I was a zombie walking out of the station. Houghton gave me his coat, shielded my face from the photographer who was waiting outside the doors and helped me into the passenger seat of the cruiser. I was hollow and exhausted. I'd never felt anything like it before, even worse than the days that followed Embry being killed. I felt like some crucial part of myself had been taken, spread out with the blood and horror on my dining room floor.

Houghton started to drive, and I mindlessly watched the town fly by.

"You need to sleep," he said after a moment.

I couldn't even answer him, my exhaustion was so complete that even sleeping was too much. Besides, I saw a carved up body on the back of my eyelids every time I blinked. I didn't want to know what I would see if I closed my eyes for longer. There was something else too, I didn't want to take this horror back to the real world with me. As if somehow it might leak over the edges like spilt ink. No, I couldn't sleep. I'd stay away till I dropped dead if I had to.

I realised about half way to the reservation that he wasn't taking me to the Cullen's house. My phone was gone, left in the house to probably be read by nameless detectives and used against me. I had no way to know what was going on.

"I can't take you to Charlie's house, the street's blocked off, and I sure as hell aren't taking you to the leeches so don't even try arguing with me." He said, as if reading my mind.

I said nothing. Arguing took more spirit than I had left.

"You can stay at my house. You'll be safe there."

I had the distinct feeling he was trying to get a rise out of me, but I felt nothing. My eyelids were heavy. Every time the drooped I saw flashes of blood. Felt the horror of it crawling under my skin.

"Stop the car," I managed to gasp, and I threw the door opened while the car was still driving.

Houghton cursed, slamming the brakes on as I thrashed with my seat belt. Once I was free I flung myself from the car, landing on my knees on the hard asphalt. I heaved, but there was nothing in my stomach anymore except bile.

"It's ok. It's ok." Houghton said, kneeling down next to me. "You just have to tell yourself that he wasn't in there."

"What?" I croaked.

"He wasn't in there anymore. When all that stuff happened to him. He wasn't there and that was just an empty vessels on that table and we're not there anymore either. You just have to keep blinking away the images and make sure you're seeing where you really are."

I looked over at him, he was staring at the trees, really staring. I forgot that he would have seen the mess - not just this mess but the mess at the school as well. And not just seen it but had to look at it and study it and remember it.

"I can't," I said, trying and failing to see anything but blood.

"That's alright," he said, pulling me to my feet and helping me back into the car. "We can try again tomorrow."

#

His house was ordinary. It wasn't dirty, but filled with the clutter of a young man who wasn't expecting company. Some empty beer bottles littered the coffee table in the lounge room, along with Playstation controllers and four pizza boxes. Besides the slight mess, it was nice. The back door opened up to the beach, there was a deck, the bathroom was modern. Houghton led me into his bedroom. It was surprisingly minimal, just a huge bed that faced a wall of glass and a view of the swirling ocean. It was another grey day. The ocean was in as much turmoil as I was.

Houghton disappeared into his walk-in and returned with a bundle of clothes.

"An old girlfriend left these here," he explained. "They'll be a bit big on you, but they'll do."

"Thanks," I said, grateful to be in anything that wasn't these crime scene scrubs.

He opened another door, "The bathroom is in here. There are clean towels on the shelf. There's plenty of soap and shampoo."

I nodded again, not taking my eyes off the ocean.

"I have to get back to work, but I want you to stay here. Get some sleep."

I panicked for a moment, "Alone?"

"Alone in the house, but the pack is patrolling the reservation. They'll swing around all the time. You're safe."

I said nothing. I was beginning to get the feeling that nowhere was safe.

After some negotiating, Houghton left me with instructions for the television and his iPad. I would try to sleep, but just hang out if I couldn't. He left me his cell number that I could call him if I needed anything.

I planned to call Bella and let her know where I was, but first I needed a shower. I needed to feel clean again.

The bathroom was nice, with one of those rain shower heads that I'd always wanted, but couldn't have with anything less than a full scale renovation.

I turned the water on and stripped down, cautiously stepping under the spray. It was luxurious. I felt myself sigh and a small amount of tension release. I scrubbed myself down with the shower gel, trying to ignore when the water ran off me in dark brown sheets. I washed my hair too and then just let myself soak in the warmth. I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, letting the water fall on my face.

I surprised myself by not seeing anything at all, just fireworks of colours exploding behind my eyelids. I sighed again. I could sleep, without any visions. I wanted to curl up on the floor right under the shower and pass out.

I wanted to lie down in that bed and watch the ocean while I drifted off.

I opened my eyes. The water from the shower head was running thick and red, covering me again. The glass of the shower stall and the tiles under my feet were all bright, glossy red. I froze, choking. I reached to turn the water off, but the red kept flowing in thick, warm torrents over my body.

I yanked the door open, making to run out of the room but froze as I saw the person standing in the door way.

She stared at me, her long dark hair hanging limp and wet. Her black eyes stared me, her expression distant.

But then she spotted me, her eyes suddenly snapping to mine and I felt the connection in my chest. The breathe was squeezed out of me. It was then that I noticed the knife in her hand, the blood covering her clothes. She laughed, so much lighter than I expected.

She took a step towards me. I screamed, shuffling away till my back was pressed against the far wall.

The shower screen suddenly burst, glass shattering around me.

I dropped to the ground, covering my face, closing my eyes, waiting for the blow.

It never came.

Instead, warm shaking hands grabbed me.

"Leighton?" Jacob asked, panting, shaking.

I looked up. Jacob was crouching in front of me, his dark eyes meeting mine.

I looked behind him, the doorway was empty. I looked at the shower, it was off and there was no sign of any blood - just a puddle of water on the floor.

The shower screen was smashed, on the floor in a million pieces of tempered glass.

"Someone was there Jacob," I said, my fingers digging into his forearms. "A woman. She had a knife. She was covered in blood."

Jacob looked behind him and sniffed. "Wait here," he whispered, and made to get up.

I grabbed him, "Don't leave me." I choked.

"I'll be right back," he promised and I knew that he would. He was gone for only a few heartbeats, I counted them.

"There's no-one here, Leighton." He said gently. I couldn't help but notice that he hung back this time, at the bathroom door. "How did you smash that glass?"

"I didn't," I told him. "I was over here when it smashed. There was someone else here, Jacob. I saw her with my own eyes. She looked at me."

"No-one's been here, Leighton. I promise you, there's no scent. Everyone has a scent. Are you feeling ok?"

I didn't like the way he said that, like it was all in my head. I knew what I had seen. I saw the way her gaze had cut to me. "Yes, I'm feeling fine." I snapped, standing up.

"What are you doing here, anyway." He asked, as if sensing a change of subject was needed.

"Houghton brought me here. He wanted me to stay at his house..." I drifted off, realising. "Wait. It is his house isn't it?"

Jacob chuckled. "Yeah, it is his house. But it's my house too. And this is my bathroom you're destroying."

I was furious. I was trying to think if Houghton had said this was his bedroom - no, he hadn't. He'd just said 'the master bedroom'. I was going to kill him.

"Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's ok. I think Houghton was taking us both for a ride. I had to come home for some kind of toilet crisis."

It was then that I suddenly realised how naked I was, not even covering up the slightest part of my body. Jacob had a peculiar, pained look on his face. I noticed he was looking out the window a lot.

"It's not anything you haven't seen before," I joked, grabbing a towel.

Jacob gave me a wiry smile, "It looks different."

I pulled on the sweater and pants that Houghton gave me and threw the towel at Jacob. "Not fair. I'm older now, okay. For us mortals, everything sags a little with age."

Jacob barked out a laugh, easily catching the towel. "Trust me," he said huskily, "nothing is sagging."

Our eyes met, and for a moment I was so overcome my breath hitched. He looked away first, frowning.

"Well, as long as everything is okay here. I'll get going."

I wanted to say, nothing is okay here. Please stay.

"Oh, okay, sure. I'll get out of your room." I tried to laugh, tried to bring back the lightness that we had just a minute ago. For some reason I had this strange urge to start again, to wipe my memory and meet Jacob today for the first time. The longing for it filled me with equal hope and sadness. I always wanted things I couldn't have.

"No, its alright. You can sleep here. You don't want to sleep in Houghton's bed, trust me on that." His lopsided smile told me I really did not want to sleep in Houghton's bed.

"Thank you," I told him, climbing in as Jacob headed for the door. Good god, this was a comfortable bed. It smelled like him too. I lay my head on the pillow, trying not to imagine Jacob lying here next to me. Fighting the urge to hold the pillow to my face and suck it in.

As soon as I lay down I knew I was going to sleep - and quickly. I was plummeting there and my body didn't care that I was scared, or scarred. I wanted to say one last thing to Jacob, my mind was trying to hang onto the thought, I missed you? I love you? I'm sorry? I couldn't be sure. I was leaving this place.