Hello, hello! I am back again :)
Just a short one today, as we return to our main girl. I have most of the next chapter finished, but I'm going to do my usual routine of holding off on posting any more until NaNoWriMo is done - don't worry, DoD is my project this year, so there should hopefully be a few chapters in the chamber by the end of the month! I hope anyone else taking on the challenge has a good NaNo, and I'll see you all in December.
Glitterb x
Chapter 4: Waking Up
Time is relentless. Even when it feels as if the whole world should stop and stand still, even when going on seems impossible, time stubbornly refuses to stop passing. It ploughs ahead, heedless of anyone's wishes, uncaring and unsympathetic. And as much as I want to, I can't step out of its endless flow, not even to take a moment's rest. Time marches on, dragging me unwillingly along with it.
Charlie slammed his fist down on the table, rattling all the breakfast dishes and making me jump. Which was testament to his strength, really; nothing had startled me in quite a while.
My brother, though looking equally astonished, recovered faster than I did, eyeing our father warily. "Everything good, Dad?"
"I've had it," Charlie declared, seemingly not hearing Beau. "Bella, you're going to Florida."
I frowned. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"
It was a question that probably ought to have been indignant, or at the very least, surprised. But summoning that kind of energy wasn't so easy for me these days, so instead it came out sounding dull and bored. But really, I couldn't think of any reason for me to be so abruptly exiled to my mother's house; I'd kept up my grades and my attendance at school, hadn't missed a single shift at work, never broke curfew – mostly by not going out in the first place – cooked when it was my turn and served leftovers less than my brother ever did. There was that first week, of course… but none of us ever talked about that, and there hadn't been a repeat of it.
Charlie still didn't look happy. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. And that's part of the problem – you never do anything at all."
"You make it sound like you want her to get into trouble," Beau commented, nonchalantly taking another bite of his cereal and clearly trying to diffuse the tension.
"I'd take it over this," Charlie grumbled. "All this moping around can't be healthy."
As usual, I was struggling not to tune out the conversation, especially when it didn't actively include me. It was like trying to listen through cotton wool; my ears would register familiar words like my name, and I generally knew when I was being spoken to, but otherwise I just let the sounds of the world wash over me without making an impact. But my dad's last comment did sting – I'd been trying very hard not to mope, and it was depressing to hear I hadn't succeeded.
"I haven't been moping," I argued anyway, mostly trying to keep my own attention from wavering and still not as forceful as I wanted to be.
"You're right, that is the wrong word," Charlie allowed. "Moping would still be something, but you don't even get that far. You're just… just nothing. It's like you aren't even here half the time."
He was frustrated, without a doubt, but I could hear the concern and sadness hiding in his voice. After all the effort I had put in to keep my dad from worrying about me, the realisation that I hadn't been fooling him at all was something of a gut-punch. All I had wanted was to keep my family from having to suffer along with me, and apparently, I had failed. When I glanced at Beau, he was making a valiant attempt at a neutral expression, yet the crease forming between his eyebrows hinted at a frown ready to emerge at any moment; he was just as worried as Charlie was.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, not exactly sure who I was talking to.
"I don't want you to be sorry, honey," Charlie sighed, leaning forward on the table.
"Then what should I do?" I asked, trying to put some life into my voice and failing miserably.
My dad watched my face carefully as he spoke, an air of wariness to him now, as if he were afraid I would explode if he said the wrong thing. "Bella, I know it may not feel like it, but you aren't the first person to go through something like this."
"I know that," I insisted weakly, a grimace twisting my face.
"What I'm trying to say," Charlie went on, "is that it might be time for you to get some help. From a professional, I mean."
The implication wasn't lost on me. "You think I need to see a shrink?"
"Is that really necessary, Dad?" Beau chimed in.
Charlie was quiet for a moment, seemingly searching for his words. "When your mother left me… when she took you two away…" He had to stop and take a deep breath before ploughing ahead. "Well, you know I don't like to get into it, but I had a pretty rough time those first few months."
"We know, Dad," Beau assured him gently.
I could only stare into my cereal and idly stir my spoon around.
"But I handled it," Charlie said, getting back to his actual point again. "I found a way to make peace with it, and I was lucky enough to be able to do that on my own. Sweetheart, you are not handling it."
I couldn't meet his eyes, though I could feel his stare on me.
"Your brother wanted me to give you time, and I have – a lot more than I planned to, honestly. But I think we all have to face the fact that this is not getting any better. So perhaps getting away, being with your mother, talking to someone with training and experience… well, maybe it will help."
"I don't think it will."
I couldn't explain to my father exactly how unhelpful any form of psychological intervention would be for me. I was hardly an expert on therapy or anything like it, but I was pretty sure it only worked if you were honest with the person you were talking to. Of course, I could try that – and most likely get myself committed in the process. I was tolerably sure my dad didn't want to spend the next however many years visiting me in a psych ward.
My father could see he wasn't making any progress with this argument, so he pivoted slightly in his focus. "Fine, but I still think you should at least go to your mother's. You and Renée have always been so close, and I get that there are things you don't want to talk to me about, so-"
"I don't want to leave," I said flatly. "Look, if you want me to get out more, I can do that. I'll see if Angela or McKayla have plans tonight. We'll go shopping or something."
"No," Charlie huffed, frustrated again. "No, the last thing I want is for you to force yourself to do that stuff just because you think it will make me happy. It's painful watching someone try so hard to be okay when they so obviously aren't."
"Then what do I do? Because it feels like you can't make your mind up, Dad."
Beau's slight wince was all the warning I got that I'd said exactly the wrong thing. Charlie's eyes narrowed and the look on his face was the furthest thing from indecisive.
"Oh, my mind is more than made up, young lady. You're going to Jacksonville, and that's that. As far as I can see, it's your best chance to be… not even happy, just not miserable."
Something like an emotion was brewing in me; I could feel desperation building, and it came out in a spark of anger that made my eyes feel hot. "No."
Charlie matched me for ferocity. "Give me one good reason."
"I'm nearly finished with school. I don't want to start over or get behind."
"You've never had a problem with academics. You'd adjust."
"You two need me, and I don't want to be in Mom and Phil's way."
"We managed just fine for sixteen years before you moved here, we'll survive. And you know your mother would jump at the chance to have you living with her again."
"It's too hot in Florida."
The fist hit the table again. "Dammit, Bella! Stop trying to pretend there's any other reason you're staying here. It's not healthy for you to wait around for someone who isn't coming back."
"Dad," Beau cut in, a warning in his tone, but Charlie ignored it.
"Four months, Bells. It's been four months, and no calls, no visits, not even letters. It's clear enough to me that he's moved on. You need to at least try to do the same."
The angry heat kept rising, but it didn't quite get to my face. There hadn't been any blushes or tears – angry or otherwise – in a very long time.
"I'm not waiting for anything," I said slowly, enunciation each word. "I just don't want to leave."
"Bella-" Charlie said, but I cut him off before he could start another tirade – or worse, start begging.
"We have to get to school." I stood abruptly and dumped the rest of my breakfast in the sink, not bothering to rinse the bowl. "Come on, Beau."
I'd gathered my things and marched out of the house before either of the boys had a chance to react. I got into the driver's seat of the truck so fast that I half-expected Beau to keep me waiting, but it was only a minute or two before he was hurrying out of the house and clambering in beside me.
I might have still been in a bit of a haze, but I was aware enough to read the look on my brother's face that told me he had something to say. After a few minutes of driving in silence, I couldn't take the tension anymore. "Spit it out, Beau."
He played dumb. "I'm fine."
"No, you're holding something back. Spill."
"Fine," he sighed. "Dad might not have gone about it the best way, but he does have a point."
My eyes narrowed, though I didn't turn from the road ahead. "I'm not going to Florida."
"I know," he said hastily. "Just telling you what I'm thinking. Like you asked for."
He had me there; I wanted to give some pithy comeback, but my foggy brain couldn't come up with one fast enough. Instead, I settled for changing the subject. "Who do you think is more likely to be free, Angela or McKayla?"
There was something like suspicion in his eyes, but he let me have my distraction, shrugging. "Kay sometimes gets random shifts at the shop, and Ang is her parents' go-to babysitter. So you'd really be banking on whether the Newtons or the Webbers feel like a Friday night out on the town."
If I were to make a guess, the pastor and his wife would be the more likely to stay home. Then again, there wasn't much for anyone to do in Forks on a Friday; even my vague beginnings of a plan involved a drive to the movie theatre in Port Angeles. And as lovely as Angela was, I had a feeling she'd eventually try to bring the conversation around to things I didn't want to be thinking about, much less discussing. McKayla, on the other hand, could be pretty consistently counted on to prattle about herself for hours if given even the slightest opportunity. The only problem would be convincing her to come.
Rushing us out of the house the way I had unfortunately got us to school before it was reasonable to be heading to class, and the typically gloomy weather made sitting outside a non-option. The silver lining was that I could nab one of the best parking spots, but it left me with a sizeable chunk of free time, which was something I avoided at all costs these days. Free time meant my brain could go wandering, and that never ended well. Rather than risk slipping back into this morning's altercation, I pulled out my Calculus book and started trying to decode the chapter we were due to start today. Math was still like a foreign language to me at times, even harder to read than to listen to, but I was gradually becoming more fluent, largely thanks to moments like these. I'd spent monumentally more time on Calculus in these four months than I probably had in the rest of my life combined, so I was now keeping a pretty consistent low A, my best Math grade ever. A lot of my grades had improved this year, but whatever my teachers might think about their skills, the real reason for my recent academic success had been the constant need for distractions.
Beau took my hint and got out his own book. After a time of reading quietly, he started popping off questions, quizzing me on things we'd covered recently and even a few of the new concepts we were looking over. It certainly wasn't an unfamiliar setup; study sessions were about the only safe way we could have a significant conversation. My brother had become a protector of sorts over the last few months, providing a buffer between me and our friends, our father, and the rest of the world at large. He never seemed to tire of repeating questions I hadn't heard, or steering me away from a situation he knew would set me off. But even with him, I knew I wasn't engaging the way I should. The gulf between us was smaller than it was with everyone else, but it was still there. I hated it, but I didn't know how to fix it.
Although he knew well enough to leave it until the last moment, Beau's sense of responsibility wouldn't let us be late, so we left the truck with just enough time to get to our classes.
School made the passage of time easier to handle. It was predictable and just the right amount of engaging – not requiring much in the way of effort, yet keeping me suitably distracted to not allow for wayward thoughts to take root. The dreaded Calculus was first, but the class felt very fast, partly thanks to my preparation this morning; I didn't have to struggle so much to understand what Mr Varner was explaining.
As I was packing my bag at the end of the hour, Jeremy leaned over and caught my attention from the other side of the aisle. "Hey, Bella?"
I raised an eyebrow, inviting him to go on.
"You busy this weekend?"
I sighed, hoping it wasn't too obvious. Jeremy was valiantly trying to show he was coping with his breakup from McKayla by dating as many other girls as he could. None of his ventures seemed to turn into anything lasting; I knew via Beau that there had been a very unsuccessful date with Erica about a fortnight back, and I had yet to see him wandering the halls holding hands with anyone like he used to with McKayla. Then again, I wasn't exactly paying attention.
About once a month, he tried his luck with me.
Honestly, I wasn't sure why he was still bothering, because every time my answer was the same one I gave now.
"Working, sorry."
I didn't elaborate, and Jeremy never pushed. My lacklustre apology was usually the end of the conversation. Today, probably because of Charlie pointing it out this morning, I heard how flat my voice sounded.
Jeremy looked like my answer was what he had expected – of course – and turned to head for his next class, just like always. Abruptly, he pivoted and added, "Hey, would you say hi to Kay for me? You have class with her next hour, right?"
The break from routine threw me, and I blinked a few times before my sluggish brain caught up.
"S-sure," I finally stuttered, just barely stopping myself from asking why he didn't do it himself; after all, the school was so small that they couldn't help running into each other, even if they weren't firmly part of the same social circle.
Jeremy gave a small but pleased smile and walked away with a wave over his shoulder.
I dragged my feet just a little as I walked to English. We were working on 1984, a welcome rest from all the romances that Mr Berty insisted on padding out the curriculum with. I could handle the novel's romantic subplot, since it was mostly inconsequential and couched in the dystopian horror of the wider story, and the lectures had so far been nicely focused on the social and historical context. So, for once, it wasn't the lesson itself that I was dreading.
I hadn't had a significant conversation with McKayla in weeks, maybe even months. She was a social creature by nature, and I knew she felt personally offended by my refusal to take part in any of the common teenage outings and chatter that made up her daily life. This would not be an easy bridge to rebuild by any means, and I hovered outside the classroom way too long trying to form a plan of attack.
I got a dirty look from Mr Berty as I walked in – he'd already started talking – so hurried to my seat with my head down. McKayla barely acknowledged my arrival, and I was suddenly grateful for the fifty-minute reprieve before I had to attempt a conversation with her.
English sped past, as if it were a tape on fast forward. Of course, there was the fact that I was anticipating something unpleasant, which always made time race ahead more than usual.
By the time class ended five minutes early (with Mr Berty smiling like he'd done us a favour) I'd psyched myself up enough to try talking to McKayla but hadn't quite figured out what to say. Resolved to winging it, I took a deep breath and dived in.
"Hey, McKayla?" I tensed, ready for the hostility.
Sure enough, she looked up from packing her bag with an incredulous look on her face. "Are you actually talking to me today?"
"Of course," I said, playing dumb just a little.
"Did you not catch the homework?" McKayla prompted when I didn't immediately elaborate.
"No." I shook my head quickly. "I actually wanted to ask if you were free to hang out tonight, maybe… go see a movie?" It wasn't exactly the most exciting activity choice, but it could be a good one – it got me out of the house and she'd be able to talk my ear off in the car, but I'd get some reprieve during the film itself.
McKayla was looking incredulous. "Why do you want to go with me? What about your brother?"
It wasn't an unreasonable question; Beau was pretty much my constant companion, and the only person who seemed willing or able to spend extended amounts of time with me.
I shrugged, hoping I gave off a suitably nonchalant air. "He's working. Besides, I need some girl time, and you're the first person I thought of."
She still looked a little sceptical, probably because I sounded hopelessly stiff and awkward, but I could see a glimmer in her eyes, like she was starting to come around. "I don't know… we have work in the morning."
"We could go straight from here," I offered. "Then we wouldn't be out too late. Beau needs the truck to get himself to the library, anyway."
"Yeah." A slow smile was creeping across her face now. "Okay, that could work. What do you want to see?"
That one threw me. "Um… what's playing right now? Is that one with the female president still in theatres?"
She gave me a look that was just shy of condescending. "That one stopped showing months ago, Bella."
I fidgeted, not sure what to say to that. Luckily, McKayla appeared to be getting into her chattering stride already.
"There's a new rom com just out that I've been wanting to see, and it's getting great reviews. Or we could try that zombie movie, Dead End."
Zombies certainly appealed more than romance. "That sounds good."
She looked startled by my response. "Really? My parents went to see it with the Stanleys last week and said it was the scariest thing they'd ever seen."
"I like scary movies," I insisted, absolutely no clue if I was telling the truth. "Can we watch that one?"
"Alright," McKayla agreed, still looking uncertain but brightening a little. "Meet you at my car after school?"
I nodded and tried to smile convincingly. "Yep, see you them."
We both headed off to our next classes, McKayla shooting me a small smile that I returned just a fraction of a second too late.
The rest of the day passed quickly, lessons flying by in the blur that had become my days these last months. I was so lost in the haze that I almost forgot to tell Beau not to wait for me after school; thankfully McKayla mentioned our plans at lunch and hearing my name pulled my attention just long enough to answer my brother's questioning look with a nod and another attempt at a smile. He didn't seem as easily convinced as McKayla had been, but he didn't make any comment beyond saying he'd let Charlie know.
Other people would likely be concerned or disconcerted by losing track of time the way I did for the rest of the afternoon, but I embraced it. Finding myself in McKayla's front passenger seat with no clear memory of how I got there was surprising but not upsetting to me — at least if I wasn't thinking, I wasn't remembering.
"Thanks for coming out with me," I said as we got onto the highway out of town, trying to sound appropriately enthusiastic. I needed to get her talking as quickly as possible so I didn't have to think so much about what to say; I was out of practice making conversation with anyone but my brother and father.
"No problem," she replied. "So, what made you want a trip to the movies so suddenly?" There was something like suspicion in her tone and a keen, assessing look in her eyes that made me nervous.
I shrugged, trying my best to make the movement slouchy and natural instead of stiff and performative. "I just needed a night out. It's been a while since I really got out of the house." A familiar song came on the radio, and I reached instinctively for the dial, catching myself at the very last moment before changing the station to sheepishly ask, "Do you mind?"
McKayla was unbothered. "Go right ahead."
I skimmed through the frequencies, skipping past classical, jazz, and oldies until I found something that I was fairly sure wasn't going to set me off. The last thing I needed while I was trying to be normal was to get thrown into a panic attack by an errant melody.
McKayla wrinkled her nose a bit. "I didn't know you liked rap."
"It's not so bad," I said, bobbing my head as near to the beat as I could manage.
"Whatever," she muttered, still not looking convinced.
I needed a distraction and picked the first one that popped into my head. "Jeremy told me to say hi to you earlier."
It half worked; her eyes narrowed, and she didn't look exactly happy, but I was tolerably sure she wasn't thinking about my strange new music tastes any more. "Did he really?"
"Yup." I nodded. "He made a real point out of it." No need to bring up that he'd only mentioned her after trying to ask me out. "Do you two see each other much these days?"
"Not really," McKayla said, her nose going up in the air. "He's usually too busy with whoever his flavour of the week happens to be."
"Oh. Right." I scrambled around for a way to salvage the mess I seemed to be making of the conversation. "What about you? Been on any good dates lately?"
She snorted. "I've been on dates, but I wouldn't call them good."
"Who with?" I prompted, trying to sound appropriately eager for gossip.
"Well, Conner and I have been seeing each other off and on." She was looking coy now, and I was sure it would only take a few more prods for the floodgates to open. "And last week, I had a date with Logan."
"Logan, really?" I hoped I was riding the line between curious and too surprised; after all, she wasn't to know why Logan Mallory going out with any girl would come from a place of fear rather than any genuine affection. "Who asked who?"
"He asked me, of course. Kind of out of the blue, too, and I couldn't think of a nice way to say no. I mean, I like the guy, and he's kind of cute, but we're just friends, you know? Then he was super awkward all night. I honestly wondered why he bothered asking."
"Oh God, that sounds awful," I groaned, hoping I sounded appropriately sympathetic. "Tell me all about it."
She laughed a little, but did finally get going with the story properly. I was able to sit back in my seat and settle into listening and making the required murmurs and gasps at the proper moments. Once she'd finished, I didn't have to give any more prompting for her to start comparing the whole ordeal to her latest date with Conner, which then got her onto weighing him against Jeremy, an exercise which quickly devolved into a rant that lasted until we arrived at the theatre. We were just in time for the early showing, so McKayla suggested we get food afterwards, which I was more than happy to agree to. After all, I had already achieved what I wanted, which was to get Charlie to stop worrying about my lack of a social life.
I managed to keep McKayla grumbling about school and work through the previews, which made them easier to ignore. But when the movie started, I tensed up almost immediately. The opening scene was a young couple walking hand in hand down a sandy beach, warm sunshine bearing down on them as they laughed and talked about their future with saccharine artificiality. I had to resist the almost overwhelming urge to close my eyes and stick my fingers in my ears. What was all this lovey-dovey stuff doing in my nice, safe zombie movie?
"Are we in the right theatre?" I hissed to McKayla.
"Yeah," she whispered back tersely. "What's wrong?"
"Where are the zombies?" I wondered, hoping my panic wasn't showing. "Why isn't anyone getting eaten?"
McKayla have me an odd, slightly scared look, her face lit up by the glow of the screen. "Give it a minute, they can't start with that stuff right away."
"I'm getting popcorn," I decided, digging my wallet out of my bag. "Do you want anything?"
"No, I'm good."
Someone shushed sharply from behind us.
I crept out of the screen as quickly as I could and took my time getting the food. The movie was only ninety minutes; how much of it could they waste on useless exposition that wouldn't matter once the guts and gore started flying? I gave it ten minutes and listened at the door before I went back in, just in case. When all I could hear was terrified shrieking, I figured I was good.
"You've missed half the movie," McKayla murmured as I sat back down. "They're nearly all zombies now."
Good, I thought to myself, but all I said was, "Long line. Want some?"
She took a handful of popcorn and didn't comment further on my abrupt vanishing act.
After the shaky start, the movie was exactly what I'd hoped it would be. The undead steadily chased down those left alive, who could only run and scream as the inevitable tide of destruction washed over them. I was remarkably unbothered by all the death and dying, and yet I felt a growing sense of unease. At first I thought it was fear that the love plot would return, but that didn't happen.
Towards the end, I finally realised what the problem was. The film was cutting back and forth between the last human left alive, a beautiful young girl shrieking her head off as she stumbled down an alleyway, and the lifeless face of the zombie shuffling slowly after her. It was backing her into a corner, gradually closing the distance, with nowhere left for her to run. It had no reaction to her fear; there was no joy in its pursuit, no frustration, no feeling of any kind.
Like a bolt of lightning, I was struck with the realisation of which one I looked more like.
I stood up without consciously deciding to.
"What are you doing?" McKayla hissed. "It's nearly over."
"I need the bathroom," I muttered hurriedly, grabbing my bag and stumbling my way out to the lobby without waiting for her to reply.
I sank onto a bench off to one side, ignoring the curious looks I was getting from the other patrons. There was something like irony in it, not that I particularly wanted to think about that. Once upon a time, I had dreamed about being a kind of monster – but a zombie wasn't quite what I'd had in mind. There was little appeal in this type of walking corpse, especially compared to the other…
I shook my head, trying to get the thought out of it. It wasn't helpful, and would only send me into a tailspin that I couldn't afford right now, not when McKayla would be out here at any moment.
Still, it was depressing to realise that my time as the heroine was over, that I was now just one of the shambling horde.
McKayla emerged from the theatre and scanned around until she saw me, a brief flash of relief on her face before annoyance began to take over.
"Was the movie too scary for you?" she asked a little snidely.
"Yeah," I agreed, doing my best to look sheepish. "I thought I could handle it, but I guess it was all a bit too much at the end there."
She didn't look completely convinced. "Weird. Because I didn't even hear you scream once. I thought for sure you were fine with it, so when you got up and left…"
"Just scared," I assured her.
Finally, she relaxed. "Well, I'm not surprised. That has got to be the most terrifying movie I've ever watched in my life. Total nightmare fuel, right?"
"Absolutely." I was still doing my best to sound normal, but it was getting harder the longer we were talking. Not to mention that her talk of nightmares was making my thoughts stray to the ones I was sure to be having tonight; I didn't need a zombie movie to inspire my dreams. Something in the sideways look McKayla shot me as we made our way outside made me think that, despite my best efforts, my regular teenager mask was slipping.
"Where shall we go to eat?" she asked.
"I don't mind. You pick."
"Alright."
She led the way down the street and thankfully started talking about the male lead in the movie without any prompting needed from me. I nodded and hummed in agreement as she went on about how hot he was and lamented that there weren't any guys like that around town. I couldn't even remember any men in the film that weren't zombies, apart from the couple at the very start.
I wasn't paying any attention to where we were walking, just following in McKayla's wake like an obedient dog, but I suddenly registered that it was much darker and quieter. I quickly realised part of the problem; McKayla had stopped talking. Glancing up guiltily to apologise for not responding to whatever conversational cue I had missed, I instead found her staring fixedly ahead, her jaw tense and a determined yet anxious air to her swift walk. Her eyes kept darting off to one side, past me to something across the road.
Frowning, I looked around us more carefully to see what had her so on edge. We'd cut down a darkened side street, most of the businesses closed for the night. There were no streetlights here, but the next intersection ahead was practically glowing with illumination, including the distinctive golden arches of the McDonald's that was obviously our intended destination. However, between us and it was a far more disreputable building, the only place on the street still open – a small bar whose sign proclaimed it as One-Eyed Pete's. The door was open, clinking glass and the hubbub of staff and customers echoing from inside. The window was full of neon signs for various beers, their light casting an eerie pallor across the faces of a handful of patrons standing outside.
I could see at once what had McKayla so nervous. The four figures were all male, all tall and well built, dressed in the rough clothes of dock workers. Two of them were smoking cigarettes, the curls of grey smoke twisting up into the air and causing even more odd shadows to veil them from our eyes. They were watching us with varying degrees of intensity, from casual interest to fixed staring.
The most avid attention came from the one on the end; he was leaner than the others, almost rangy, with close cropped dirty blond hair and pale skin. I caught his eye without meaning to, my brain too slow to realise I should be staunchly ignoring the group the way that McKayla was. He smiled at me, a smile at once friendly and deeply unsettling. It reminded me of another smile, painted across the face of a hunter in a brightly lit room hundreds of miles from here as he calmly explained how he was going to kill me.
Stop, I told myself firmly. Don't follow that thought.
But the memory wouldn't be ignored. The resemblance was so sharp that I stumbled slightly, feeling a rush of panic as I wondered if it could be… if it was possible…
No. He'd died. He'd been burned to ashes, and there was nothing left.
And yet… I had only been told that. I had never seen it for myself, and really, how could they all be so sure? There had been a million distractions, not least me nearly bleeding to death.
It isn't James. It can't be. Just a coincidence, keep walking.
Despite these firm instructions to myself, instinct took over, making me irrational. There wasn't much I could do; just like last time, I didn't have the strength to fight against him, and there was no hope of running. But perhaps, if I gave myself up, if he succeeded where he had failed last time, he would leave McKayla alone. I could at least protect my friend, give her a chance to escape, and die hoping it went some way to repairing her clearly damaged opinion of me.
I'd paused to catch my balance and hadn't started moving again; McKayla was now a few feet ahead of me and, on her next sideways glance, realised she had left me behind.
"Bella," she hissed sharply as she whirled around. "Come on."
"One second," I mumbled, turning fully to face the hunter across the street. I squared my shoulders, scrambling to find that much lauded courage I'd been told I possessed as I stepped off the kerb towards the bar.
McKayla caught my hand. "Are you completely insane? Or have you just got a death wish all of a sudden?"
"No," I said, feeling irritated. Despite everything that had happened, I had no desire to die. I had Charlie, Renée, and Beau to think of – and besides, I'd promised to take care of myself. Of course, walking towards a killer wasn't exactly keeping that promise. But this was different. This wasn't attempted suicide. This was the only way I could help McKayla, even if she couldn't see it. I didn't want to die; I had to.
"Go ahead without me," I told her. She needed to be away from here for this to work; I wouldn't have her trauma on my conscience on top of everything else. "I'll catch up in just a minute."
I didn't turn around to see what her face was doing, but her tone was irritated. "I am not leaving you here alone! Can you imagine what people at school would say if they heard? Come. On."
"This will just take a second," I assured her, pulling away and striding forward across the road. The other three men outside the bar watched my approach with interest; one of the smokers flicked his cigarette away, the red glow of the stub arcing through the air before being snuffed out in a nearby puddle.
The hunter smiled.
"Bella, stop this right now!"
I froze halfway across the street, every muscle locking down. The voice that called out to me wasn't McKayla, or even my own internal monologue. This voice was furious, familiar, and unspeakably beautiful even in its fury. It was a voice like velvet, smooth and soothing despite the anger.
His voice.
I couldn't think of his name, and I was more than a little surprised that the sound of his words had not wrenched my hollow chest open and sent me sprawling on the pavement. But unlike every whiff of memory that had made its way through my protective haze over the last few months, the voice did not hurt. There was no pain attached to it, no unbearable need to run away from whatever the source of the recollection was.
And this could only be a memory. He wasn't here, of that I was absolutely sure. I didn't whirl around to check; my eyes didn't even flicker from their fixed stare ahead.
In an instant, everything was suddenly crystal clear. I hadn't realised how deep I still was inside the haze until it was abruptly pulled away. It felt like coming up for air after being deep underwater, and I almost started gasping. Everything seemed sharper around the edges, the sounds surrounding me were clearer, and I could feel the icy wind that blew around me, chilling my hands and picking up bits of my hair; I could even smell the stench of stale beer and salted peanuts emanating from the bar.
"Go back," the voice went on, unmistakable anger in the command. "Go back to McKayla and stop this recklessness. You promised me, Bella."
The men leaning against the wall were still watching me in curiosity and confusion. The one at the front, who I could now clearly see was absolutely not James, was smiling, not the smooth, calculating smile I had seen before, but a loose, dopey grin, his blue eyes clouded with alcohol.
"You okay, honey?" he said in a rough voice that grated on my ears – not the melodic croon of the hunter at all. "Wanna join us for a drink?"
The voice in my head (and it could only be there, some kind of bizarre hallucination brought on by the flash of memory in the man's face) growled softly, that beautiful, familiar anger I had been missing for so long clear in the sound. "Keep your promise," he said, his voice beginning to fade like he was moving away from me – like he was leaving again.
I considered the possibilities more carefully.
Option one: I was going crazy. Hearing voices in your head had to be a pretty clear sign of insanity. So that was definitely possible.
Option two: this was some kind of bizarre wish fulfilment, my subconscious run amok, taking the vaguely familiar situation and dredging up a miraculously painless fantasy of what he would say if he were actually here and actually had any concern about something bad happening to me. That certainly felt probable, too.
Given that there didn't seem to be another option, I could only mentally cross my fingers that it was option two, just an overactive daydream, and not something that might land me in a padded cell.
Still, I had to acknowledge that there was something completely mental about the way I was reacting to the whole bizarre occurrence. I had been so careful to avoid any thoughts of him, to avoid the pain that inevitably followed and had the power to completely cripple me. There were moments I dropped the ball, of course, but for the most part I could keep the agony at bay, wrap myself in the lovely blanket of numbness that I was sure I'd lost that first night and use its protective covering to make it through another day. The haze could be disconcerting, but I'd take nothing over pain any day.
However, all of this careful avoidance meant that I had been afraid I was losing my memories of him altogether. So I felt an overwhelming gratitude that my subconscious had apparently held onto the sound of his voice better than I could possibly have imagined.
I was braced for the pain to return now – because it had to be coming. My haze was gone, and I had no inclination to pull it back over me just yet. But there was no stabbing in my chest, no feeling of being ripped open. Only disappointment, because his voice was starting to fade away.
I thought it over for half a second, knowing it was beyond foolish to encourage delusions, to risk breaking myself again when I was still so fragile. And yet I couldn't find it in me to let him leave me again.
I took a step forward.
"Bella, turn around!" he growled, loud and enraged again.
I couldn't help sighing in relief. I liked anger; anger made me feel like he cared, even if it was just a facsimile of his rage conjured up by my desperate mind.
All my dithering had taken only a few seconds; the fair-haired man was still waiting for an answer to his question.
Now he waved me forward. "Come on, baby. Let us show you a good time."
The voice in my head let loose a glorious snarl, and I knew I had pushed this far enough for one day.
"I'm too young," I finally answered, the rush of adrenaline fading as I realised that this man was not the monster I had mistaken him for. There might be danger here, but not the horror I had expected.
The man blinked slowly and stupidly. "Huh?"
"Sorry," I went on. "You just looked like someone I know… from across the street, I mean. My mistake."
"We could get to know each other," he insisted, apparently not ready to give up yet. "Come on, I won't tell if you don't."
"No thanks," I said, and turned to head back to McKayla.
She had a look on her face somewhere between horrified and disgusted, and grabbed my arm as soon as I was in reach, pulling me quickly down the street. "What were you thinking? They could have been total psychos!"
I shrugged, a sinking feeling beginning to form in the pit of my stomach; she wasn't going to let this go anytime soon. "Sorry. I just thought I recognised one of them. Come on, let's go eat."
"When did you get so weird?" McKayla complained bitterly. "I feel like I don't know you at all."
I couldn't argue with her there, so I just mumbled another quiet, "Sorry," and kept walking.
Dinner was quiet. I could feel how anxious McKayla was for the evening to be over; she didn't take any of the conversation starters I tried to throw out, and when we got back to her car, she tuned the stereo back to her favourite station and cranked up the volume so that talking was impossible.
Despite the noise, I found it surprisingly easy to block out the lyrics this time. There was too much else spinning through my mind to allow me to focus on anything outside of it.
Mostly, I was bracing for the return of the pain. Because that had to be coming, surely. Where before I had lost hold of my nice numb blanket, tonight I had basically thrown it away; I had chased down the memories I had been running away from, and there had to be consequences for that. I was scared of how awake and present I suddenly felt, especially after so long asleep.
And yet, even through all of that, the strongest feeling in that moment was a bone-deep sense of relief.
I could not think of him – that hurt too much, made it harder to go through my day pretending to be normal. But I knew I could not allow myself to forget him, either. There was always a worry, one that most often reared its head in the dark night hours when I was exhausted and had nothing else to occupy my mind, that I was going to lose all my memories of him completely. That my imperfect human mind wouldn't be able to hold on to the exact shade of his eyes or his hair, the comforting chill of his touch on my skin, the solid security of his body against mine, or the rich velvet texture of his voice. So hearing him speak tonight, finding that those little pieces of him had not been lost to me yet, was a source of almost overwhelming comfort.
I could not think of him, but I must remember. There was no other way for me to survive; I had to believe that he existed, that the whole thing hadn't been some mad daydream I'd cooked up to cope with being stuck in my least favourite place on Earth. That was why I fought so hard to stay here now – because being around the memories, no matter how painful they were, was the entire point. I wasn't stupid; none of them were coming back, that much was clear. Even the one who still had a tie to this place, who should be coming to visit – and I was so far gone, I couldn't think of her name either – was conspicuously absent. They had all moved on, and in any other circumstance, it would have been right for me to do the same.
But in Jacksonville or some other sunny place, or really anywhere that wasn't here, what proof did I have that they had ever been real? If I forgot them, forgot him, because I had no reminders… well, then life would truly no longer be worth living.
Forbidden to remember, yet terrified to forget – it was like trying to balance on a tightrope made of spider silk. And eventually, something was going to snap.
All this morbid musing easily filled the drive home, and I was almost surprised to find we were pulling up outside my house. I was tolerably sure McKayla had never gone so long without talking in her life.
"Thank you for coming out with me, Kay," I said, hoping the endearment would soften her. "I had… fun tonight."
No such luck; she kept her eyes fixed out of the windshield. "Whatever."
I felt a sharp stab of guilt in my stomach. "Sorry about… after the movie."
"It's fine," she snapped, clearly not calming down; if anything, she was getting more angry.
"See you at work tomorrow?"
"Sure. Bye."
I gave up then, realising I would need to wait until the night was less fresh to try to rebuild this particular bridge, and got out of the car. McKayla drove away as soon as I had shut the door, still ignoring me.
I'd forgotten her mood by the time I got to the front door.
Beau wandered out of the kitchen as I took off my shoes and coat, drying his hands with a dish towel. "Good night?"
"Mm hmm," I hummed, heading for the stairs. After all the thoughts of him, there was bound to be a reckoning, and I couldn't let it happen in front of my brother; he already worried about me enough. I might have promised him no more secrets, but there were things he just didn't need to know.
"Dad's in a mood," Beau commented casually, as if he were pointing out that the sky looked like it might rain. "I tried to talk him down, but…"
I sighed, took the hint, and made a detour into the living room, hoping I could settle my father's ire and escape quickly.
Charlie was in his usual chair, watching Sports Center with a face like thunder.
"Hey, Dad," I called from the entryway, doing my best to sound calm and unbothered.
He turned to me with a deep frown. "Where have you been?"
"Port Angeles. Kay and I went to a movie, didn't Beau tell you?"
He grumbled something unintelligible, then sat back in his seat, still frowning but not quite so furious. "You might have called."
"Sorry, Dad."
"Did you at least have fun?"
"Sure," I said breezily. "We watched that new zombie movie, it was super scary."
Charlie raised an eyebrow, but clearly decided to let the odd film choice slide. "Well, I'm glad you had a good time. Did you eat? I'm sure you can scrounge some leftovers if you need to."
"That's okay, we got McDonald's. I'm kind of tired, though. I'm going to head to bed."
"Alright. Goodnight, honey."
"Night, Dad."
I made a beeline for the stairs again, but Beau was still in the hallway, watching me with a look that was far too assessing for my liking.
"Zombies, huh?" he asked, and I could hear the note of suspicion in his voice.
"Yup," I said, doing my best to sound nonchalant and unaffected. "I've got to get to bed, work in the morning."
Mercifully, he let me go, and within minutes, I was safely closed away in my room. Charlie hadn't gone as far as taking the lock off, but he had made me promise to only use it when absolutely necessary.
The pain finally hit as I was lying down on my bed, and I faced it with a resigned acceptance.
Here was the agony I had been expecting, the feeling that someone had taken a meat cleaver to my torso and hacked away until there was nothing left but a bloody pulp. No matter how much time passed, no matter how often I felt it, the sensation of my chest being full of gaping, throbbing, bleeding wounds never lessened, never seemed to heal even a fraction of an inch. All my internal organs were affected, too; I gasped and struggled to catch my breath with lungs no longer able to inflate, and I couldn't feel the pound of my pulse any more, my heart too damaged to keep pumping.
My logical, rational mind knew that, of course, I still had fully functioning circulatory and respiratory systems. I wouldn't still be alive if everything had actually been carved out in the way I imagined. Yet listening to that part of my brain was difficult when I was in the throes of this torture, and I could focus only on clutching together the shreds of myself, to force the gashes closed so that the raw edges were not so exposed. I felt oddly cold, despite the warmth of my comforter, and I struggled to find my lovely numbing haze – to no avail, sadly.
And yet, for the first time since my heart had been unceremoniously yanked out of me, the pain was… bearable. I still felt every throb and sting, and the sense of everything suddenly being in sharp focus hadn't faded since the alley; it should have been the most agonising night of my life, going through all this without my haze to shield me. But for the first time since this began, I felt as if I might actually survive the night somewhat intact. At the very least, I would be no more broken than I was now. I was tolerably sure the pain had not decreased one iota – I was just finally learning to cope with it. I was stronger, and so it did not have the same power over me.
I had been asleep for so long, lost in my protective fog, but something tonight – the zombies, the fear, or the hallucination, I wasn't sure which – had woken me up with a vengeance.
For the first time in longer than I cared to think about, I didn't know what to expect when morning came.
