Prologue:

Edward stepped off the bus in Forks, Washington. This was not the plan he had in mind. He wanted to start over in Seattle, but he didn't have the extra bus fare to make it that far. He grabbed his army-issued rucksack and limped slowly off the bus. His hip was stiff and aching from the long ride and the shrapnel he had taken in Vietnam.

As the bus doors opened, he took a deep breath. It felt nice to breathe fresh air. He had been trapped on the bus for three long days. He sat down on a park bench just outside the door of the station and dropped his pack beside him. He saw a newspaper sitting on top of a sidewalk trash can. He grabbed it and turned to the wanted ads. Then he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He needed to find a cheap place to live. Forks would be his home now.

Edward slammed his hand into the alarm clock that blared at full volume. He sighed. His head hurt, and his mouth felt full of cotton. He sat up and quickly laid back down. His vision was swimming. How much did I drink last night? He wondered. He rolled over to check the time. Shit, it was one forty-five. He had to be at work by three P.M. He had to get up now, or he would be late. He sat up slowly this time and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He kicked beer cans out of his path on the way to the bathroom.

He started the shower, and the old pipes in his apartment groaned and rattled. He stared at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. He had slept more last night than he had since leaving the hospital in San Francisco but was paying for it with a deadly hangover. He opened the medicine cabinet above the sink and tossed several aspirin down his throat before climbing into the lukewarm shower.

Once showered and shaved, he put on his work uniform, packed a lunch, and left his apartment. It was a nice day. The sun was almost shining. As he walked the mile and a half to the factory, he realized how used to the weather he had become. The first few weeks were an adjustment, but now, a year later, he had learned to love the foggy days and dark, gloomy skies.

Edward appreciated his job at the factory. It wasn't glamorous work putting fruit into cans, but it paid the bills, and he could sit on a stool, which helped his hip pain. At the end of his eight-hour shift, he headed for the time clock to punch out for the night. As he reached for his time card, he noticed his hand was trembling.

"You alright there, Edward?" One of his co-workers asked. Merrill was a nice lady. She reminded him of his grandmother. Edward's first few weeks in Forks had been hard. He had spent most of his money on finding a place to live. When he started at the factory a few weeks later, he was down to just a few dollars. On their first night working together, Merrill noticed that he didn't have lunch. She shared hers with him. The next day, she packed him a lunch as well, and she brought him something to eat every day until payday. Even now, she would leave baked goods in his locker.

"Yeah, thanks, Merrill. Just a tough day, ya know." He tried to sound reassuring as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Once they had both punched out and emptied their lockers for the night, they headed to the parking lot. He always walked to her car and helped her in. "Are you sure I can't give you a ride, sweetheart? It's on my way."

"Merrill, how do you know my apartment is on your way home?" He asked with a chuckle in his voice.

She laughed. "Small town, sweetheart, everything is on my way!"

As much as he would have liked a ride home, it would mean backtracking his way to Dolly's Liquor Emporium. The name implied much more than it was. It was a small rundown shack halfway between home and the factory. It was his nightly routine.

"I'm sure Merrill, the night air will do me good."

"Alright, well, you have my number if you ever need a ride." Her heart broke for this poor soul. She knew there was so much hurt and torment behind his soft, green eyes.

"You know I will, and please be safe getting home. I will see you tomorrow." He waved as she pulled out of the parking lot.

As Edward headed down the dark street toward the liquor store, he glanced at his watch. Dolly's closed at midnight. He would have to hurry. It was already eleven forty-nine. Maybe Joe would stay open just a few minutes late. Edward thought to himself.

Once he rounded the block to Main Street, he felt a pang of panic. The bright neon sign was already turned off. He walked as fast as he dared. His hip was on fire.

Joe was standing out front, locking the door. "Joe! Joe!" Edward called out, "Please, can you wait just a minute?" He hated how frantic his voice sounded, but he knew he could not escape the nightmares without his nightly drink.

"Edward!" Joe called back as Edward limped towards him. "I was starting to wonder about you." He unlocked the front door, "I left your beer and smokes on the counter. Let me run in and get it." Edward reached into his pocket for the last of his cash. "Nah, man, don't worry about you. You can catch me tomorrow night," Joe said. He understood Edward's situation. His brother had fought in Korea.

Joe walked back into the dark store, thinking about his brother, Daniel. He had been unable to fight the demons he had brought home and sought solace at the bottom of a liquor bottle. Joe sighed as he grabbed the beer and cigarettes from the counter. He hoped Edward could get help before he drank himself to death like Dan did. Joe didn't know about Edward's family situation, but the death of his older brother destroyed his whole family, especially his mother. She passed not long after Dan. Joe was convinced she died of a broken heart.

Joe was barely outside the door when Edward reached out for the beer. Joe had seen those shaking hands and that look of desperation. He pulled his hand just out of Edward's reach. "I know it's not my business, but this may not be the best way to deal with what happened over there, ya' know," Joe said, looking Edward in the eye.

"You're right! It's not, and if you prefer, I can take my business elsewhere." Edward said harshly, grabbed the beer out of Joe's hand, and turned quickly on his heel. Pain tore through his leg. He winced and swore through clenched teeth.

"Come on, let me drive you home," Joe said with sympathy.

Edward stopped abruptly. He knew he would never make it the fifteen blocks back home. "Alright, and thanks."

Joe always parked his old truck right in front of the store, so they got in, and he cranked up the heater. The nights were getting colder. "Edward, I didn't mean anything earlier. My brother, you know…." His voice trailed off. Edward knew that Dan had fought in Korea and killed himself soon after coming home. "Well, he had a problem with the bottle."

"I don't have a problem," Edward said curtly.

"Alright, enough said," Joe checked his side mirror and then pulled out into the dark street and headed for Edward's apartment.

Once inside the building, Edward unlocked his door and entered his dark apartment. He changed out of his work clothes and tossed a T.V. dinner into the oven. He sat down in his recliner with his first beer of the night. As he waited for his food to warm, Joe's words rolled around his mind. He knew Joe was just concerned, but he didn't know Edward, not really. He had no idea that Vietnam wasn't the only thing that kept Edward up at night.

He finished his dinner and decided to turn it in. To prove Joe wrong, he put the last three beers in the fridge. He couldn't be an alcoholic; an alcoholic would have drank all twelve beers. He was able to walk away. I am not my father. He thought. Edward turned out the lights in the small apartment and got into bed. He fell into a fitful sleep. The dream he had over and over reared its head again tonight.

I am walking down a long, dark hallway. Dark wood paneling on the walls. Worn green carpet under my feet. I am barefoot, and it's cold. This hallway is much longer than I remember, but it feels like the house on Maple St., which we lived in before Roy left us. The place is quiet. Where is my mother? I keep walking until I find her bedroom door. It's open, just a crack. There is no noise, no light. I push the door open and reach for the light switch. As soon as my eyes adjust to the light, I see her. She is slumped in the corner. Her eyes are almost swollen shut. Her arm is hanging at an odd angle. I think it's dislocated. She is moaning softly. She finally speaks, but she is hard to understand, like her voice is coming from another room. "Go back to bed, Edward," she urges. I start to walk toward her. The closer I get, the farther away she seems. I reach out to touch her, and my hands are dripping in blood. I try to scream. She begs me again to go to bed. Blood starts to pool around her, soaking the carpet. I take several more steps, and I drop to my knees in front of her, blood ruining my superhero pajamas. I need to touch her. I need to know she will be alright. I want her to get up and tuck me into bed, kiss my forehead, and promise to love me to the moon and back. I reach for her again. I try to climb into her lap. She starts to disappear. Not like smoke but more like she is dissolving into the air. She is leaving me. I will be alone. I yell for her, but no sound comes out.

Edward woke himself up screaming, "Mama! Mama, don't leave me." His arms and legs are tangled in the sheets. A cold sweat covered his body, and his heart was racing. "Shit." He swore out loud.

He moved to sit on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He remembered that night clearly. He was six or seven years old. It was the first time he had seen his mother so battered and bruised. His father was a nasty drunk and took out his anger on both of them. Edward was used to seeing his mother with black eyes and split lips, but that night was a new level of violence. When he found his mother slumped on the bedroom floor, she smiled at him. She promised she was fine and had got herself up off the floor. She took him by the hand and led him to his room. She tucked him in and kissed his forehead. Sadly, the abuse would go on for several more years. Both Edward and his mother would carry the emotional and physical scars of Roy's rage.

He turned on the bedside lamp and pulled a cigarette from the pack. Edward lit it and leaned back against the headboard. It was just a dream, he knew that, but it always seemed so real. He rubbed his face and glanced at the alarm clock. He had only been asleep for an hour. He smoked a second cigarette and tried to calm down enough to go back to sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, the image of his mother soaked in blood burned in his mind. He tossed off the blankets and went to the kitchen, where he chugged the last three beers in the light of the refrigerator.

He paced the apartment, trying not to let the dark images of his past overtake him. Frustrated, he dropped into his recliner and turned on the television. Programming was off air until 6 A.M., the message told him. "Fuck!" he swore. He knew there was one solution. The emergency bottle of Jack Daniels he kept under the kitchen sink. He had bought the fifth two nights ago when he had drained the last emergency bottle. He lunged out of the chair and went to retrieve it. I will only have a shot or two. I have to be able to sleep. This was a justified reason to break out the whiskey.

He found the bottle where he had left it. He took a small glass from the cabinet. Roy drank right from the bottle. Edward always used a glass. He took the bottle and his glass back to his chair. He slumped into it and reclined it back. He drank one shot after another until he passed out—finally, dreamless sleep.