Hello to everyone.

This is my first fic about twilight, more specifically about the universe of Life and Death.

This chapter wouldn't be possible without the great help of Glitterb1234, who kindly helped me with the editing of the chapter since my English is not very good. I will leave the link to her profile at the end of the chapter for you to read her amazing stories.

I hope you like the chapter, regards.

The E-mail

Absolute misery.

This is what my life feels like since the death of my parents.

I have alienated my friends from the University, the few I had at my old school, and I have even rejected the kind views of my neighbors, who seem to have finally given up on engaging in any kind of relationship with me, all for the simple fact that I have no desire and make no effort to talk to anyone.

The loneliness is so crushing that it suffocates me, oppresses me and keeps me in an almost immobile state for most of the day.

Sometimes I wonder how it is possible that everything has changed in just one year, a tiny amount of time, because a year ago it would never have crossed my mind that I would be in my room surrounded by junk food, garbage and a terrible smell that emanates from me thanks to the week that I have not cleaned myself.

I vaguely remember that I had a bright future ahead of me. Having graduated from high school with honors and being selected for a full scholarship to study at Caltech, there was nothing I couldn't achieve and at the time I felt that only the sky was the limit.

What a great joke.

A drunk driver, an ignored stop sign, a cargo truck crashing into my parents' car, blood and metal scattered on the asphalt, and my whole life came crashing down.

I was in the middle of a class when I received the fatal call. The world beneath my feet suddenly sank and the next thing I knew, I was in the school infirmary recovering from a fainting spell.

From then on, everything became a blur.

The trip to the morgue to acknowledge the bodies, the funeral, receiving condolences from friends and strangers alike, nodding mechanically at every show of support or affection… until one fine day, a month after that fatal call, I simply said goodbye to everyone who was still at my parents' house and locked myself away.

I ignored the calls from my old college friends and simply dropped out of my degree, much to the dismay and horror of my professors, who protested in disbelief, arguing that with my grades and the situation I had been through I could take a year off and resume my studies when I was in better shape. I didn't listen to any of that and my decision was final.

Money was not an issue either. My parents did not have to spend a single dollar on my college education. The standard of excellence I attained in high school earned me a full scholarship that allowed me to study at Caltech without spending a single cent, housing in a luxurious apartment and access to many amenities that most would kill to have. All thanks to a science patron named Masen, who funds the education of promising young scientists in various fields, and who had chosen me out of thousands of applicants to help me excel.

I wonder what his reaction would be to seeing me in this state.

Disappointment and disgust, I think miserably.

Leaving aside the fact that my parents spent nothing on my education, when they died, a nervous-looking lawyer approached me and informed me that they had left a life insurance policy in case a fatality befell them, an insurance policy with a sum of such astronomical proportions that if it were not for the catatonic state I was in, I was sure I would have fainted again from shock.

Without the financial pressure, my life took a radical turn as I realized that I could live without worrying about anything for the rest of my life and I simply wrapped myself in my misery.

The doorbell rings and as I look at the time, I realize it is the fast-food delivery man who daily supplies me with the little food I force myself to put in my mouth so I don't die of starvation.

I climb sluggishly out of bed and wrap myself in a blanket, partly to cover my disheveled appearance and also to disguise a bit of my unwashed body odor. I shuffle down the stairs and on my way, I push aside the trash that is all over the dining room and living room floor.

If my mother saw the state of her house, she would no doubt die again, I think sadly. However, sadness soon gives way to apathy and I feel nothing once again.

I open the door and unsurprisingly find a bag with a Chinese food order on the porch; no doubt the delivery man doesn't want to be near me again after our last encounter and simply left the food and walked away. I take the bag and go into the house to continue languishing in my misery.

Later that night, as I stare into the nothingness in my room, a beeping sound interrupts the afterlife silence of the house and judging by the sound it comes from my laptop that I forgot to turn off when I ordered my food a few hours ago. I ignore it and eventually it falls silent. After that, it isn't long until I plunge into the recurring nightmares that plague me every night.

The same as usual. Blood, screams, moans of pain and waking up with her heart beating wildly, as if she had been in that accident.

The next morning, classical music wakes me up from my nightmares and I immediately summon all my strength to go downstairs and turn off the annoying noise.

I can't stand music of any kind.

The laptop is not in the kitchen where I remember leaving it, but is in the dining room turned on and the screen shows an e-mail whose address I don't recognize and, without even stopping to wonder how the mail opened on its own and how my laptop got there, I am about to close it when the sender's name makes my heart stop completely.

Charlie Swan.

Swan... Swan… Swan… Swan…

It is the name of my late mother's first husband and my late brother's father.

With my heart beating a mile a minute, I begin to read.

Isabella Dwyer…

I don't know if your mother ever spoke to you about me, although I suppose she did mention your brother Beaufort, the son we shared and tragically lost.

First of all, I would like to offer my condolences on the sad passing of your parents, and I hope you'll forgive me for taking so long to send this email, but I only learned of Renée's death yesterday and wanted to get in touch with you as soon as possible.

I know very well what you went through a year ago, and I promise you that it isn't my intention for you to relive an experience that I'm sure you have worked hard to overcome.

I'm writing to you now because I would like to invite you to pay a visit to Forks, Washington. Your mother left in my possession some of her belongings that reminded her of our son Beau and that at the time, she asked me to keep them for her because it was too painful to have them with her knowing that they would remind her of her loss.

I don't want you to feel obligated to come here, I understand that you have more important things to do and that it's not so easy to pack your bags and cross the country for something that will probably bring you more anguish.

This invitation has no deadline, you can take all the time you need to think about it and if ever you are willing to make the trip, you just have to let me know and I will happily welcome you to my house to return what belongs to you.

If it is too much for you and you don't want to travel to Washington, you can send me your home address and I will be happy to send you your mother's belongings no problem. I will understand if this is the case, of course.

Whatever is most comfortable and healthy for you.

Hoping you are well, I bid you good night.

Charlie Swan.

I stared at the e-mail for quite a while without even moving or sitting down.

One year…

It had been a year since my parents' death.

Until then, I wouldn't have been so shocked by the fact that it had been a year since their death, but with this email, my world was rocked from head to toe.

The phrases kept running through my mind.

"An experience you struggled to get through."

"Belongings your mother left in my care…"

"An invitation to Forks, Washington…"

"An invitation with no deadline…"

I felt dizzy and quickly sat down in a chair to avoid falling to the floor.

It was as if a window that had remained tightly shut suddenly opened and the sunlight illuminated all the gray that was in my head.

My brother Beaufort…

She was 10 years old when his mother told him about the son, she had had with another man who had died in a car accident.

At the time, she felt sad to know she had a brother she could never know, but at the same time not having known him made it easy to let it go as a passing tragedy that didn't have that much impact in my life.

Since that revelation when she was 10 years old, there had been only so many times she had thought about him, until now.

"Crossing the country for something that would probably bring you more heartache."

It would certainly be distressing, but no more than I already felt day to day.

"It's not so easy to pack your bags…"

I get up as if propelled by a spring.

Suddenly, is would be easy to pack my bags and get the hell out of here. With an energy and determination, I haven't felt in months, I set out to do just that.

Like a whirlwind, I stuff the few clean clothes I have in my closet into a suitcase, some important things I can't leave in there like my credit card and bank statements, my parents' wedding rings, some photographs and the cash I still have stashed away.

For the first time in months, I feel like taking a long bath.

My cheeks turn pink when I see the view that the full-length mirror offered me when I finished grooming myself.

My hair, once a beautiful light brown, is brittle and dull. My blue eyes, once sparkling with curiosity, are dull and shadowed by deep dark circles that seem to cover my entire face. My skin, once a cream tone, looks pale and yellowish.

What makes me gasp is the appearance of my body once I pay more attention to it.

I am thin.

Terribly thin.

So thin that my bones stick out wherever I look.

Not that I'm vain or anything, but ever since I finished my full development at 18, I had been aware of my attractiveness to the opposite sex (and the same sex at times). Several men and some women in college had asked me out on numerous occasions for dates ranging from the romantic to the outrageous.

Once again, I wonder what those who were once attracted to me would think if they saw me now.

Disappointment and disgust, I think for the second time this week.

Now it seems that instead of 21 years old, I'm back to 16.

I stifle a cry of anguish at the state I'm in and muffle a sob with my hand as I realize the damage, I've done to myself all these months.

No more, I swear silently.

I hastily throw on a blouse and pants, and run to the dining room to answer the e-mail.

I don't want to stay a second longer than necessary in this house.

Charlie,

If it's okay with you, I'd like to take you up on your offer.

I can leave today and be there in a few hours.

See you soon,

Isabella Dwyer.

I throw my number at the end and hit send before the misery can make me second guess myself.

After leaving home, I received a call from Charlie Swan where he explained that to get to Forks, I had to take a 4-hour flight to Seattle, another one by plane from there to Port Angeles where Charlie would be waiting for me to take me to the town of Forks.

As the hours went by, anxiety took over the sadness and apathy which my mind had been submerged in for the last few months. I didn't know what I was going to find in Forks and I still wasn't sure if I wanted to stay the night at a stranger's house, but what caused me the most anxiety was that my mother had left her ex-husband in charge of her son's belonging because it was too painful to have any part of him with her. Knowing that she had gotten rid of some things and not knowing what precisely those things were had created a pit of apprehension deep in my stomach.

"Would you like something to drink, miss?" a flight attendant asks me kindly, bringing me out of my musings.

"I'm fine, thank you," I say, trying to smile, but all I can manage is a grimace.

"Are you feeling well?" she asks with obvious concern when she sees my haggard appearance.

"I hope I am," I answer her with sincerity. She says nothing more, just smiles again with kindness and pats me comfortingly on the arm and walks away.

The gesture takes me completely by surprise, but I appreciate it.

A few hours later, I am getting off the plane with a knot in my stomach from anxiety and with the feeling that from this moment on, my life is going to take a completely radical turn.

I walk around the arrival's hall looking for Charlie. I've seen him only once; in a photograph my mother showed me when she told me the whole story about my brother. As I venture out to the pickup zone outside, I see a man standing by a shabby black car who bears some resemblance to my memory of that picture, though he has more wrinkles and darker hair than that man. Still, I am fairly sure this is Charlie.

"Isabella Dwyer?" he asks when I get close enough for him to make out my face.

"Charlie Swan?" I ask in reply, and he nods.

"You look a lot like your mom," he says gruffly, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

'For a brief moment, we stare at each other in awkward silence until he reaches out to take my suitcase and I hand it to him silently; he points to the car and I climb in while he stashes my case in the trunk and takes the driver's seat.

I vaguely remember that when my mother told me about her first husband, she mentioned that he was very introverted and that if you wanted to have a casual chat with him, you had to make the first move.

I'm trying desperately to think of something to say, but Charlie beats me to it.

"So, you decided to come," he comments in a tone that tries to sound casual.

"Yes," I answer mechanically.

The awkward silence returns and this time I get ready to start the conversation, but he once again gets there first.

"Look, I know it's none of my business and I wouldn't mind at all if you ask me to …butt out, but..." He cuts himself off and looks at me with a mixture of curiosity and deep worry. "Are you okay, honey?"

For a moment, I stare at him and he looks away uncomfortably. I inhale deeply and exhale a tired sigh.

"No, the truth is that I'm not well," I answer with sincerity.

Charlie lets out a sigh and gives me an understanding look.

"No offense, but from the state you're in, I imagine you haven't left the house in the last year, right?" he suggests in a delicate tone.

I just nod.

"I know how it feels," he continues, thankfully keeping his focus on the road. "It took me 3 years and another 5 years of therapy to get out of the depression I dealt with because of your brother's death."

I turn to look at him and his gaze seems lost for a few seconds before he pulls himself together and exhales a sigh.

"Again, I apologize for taking so long to find out about your parents' death…" He looks at me apologetically and I just nod in understanding before he continues "But since Beau's death, your mother and I found it very painful to keep in touch and the last I heard from her was that she had you. From then on, I didn't hear anything more from her."

"So, you knew about me?" I asked him, more than a little surprised.

"Yes, your mother sent me a letter with a picture of you when you were born," Charlie answers in a nostalgic tone. "I think it was a kind of closure for her, something that helped her to close the episode she had with me and to move on."

"Didn't it bother you that she moved on with her life?" I ask in a delicate tone, not wanting to upset him.

"No, not at all," he immediately answered. "I was a little surprised, I admit it. But it was more because Renée was always adamant that she only wanted one child and that she was not willing to go through pregnancy a second time."

"I wonder what made her change her mind," I say, more to myself than a question, per se.

"I don't know," Charlie answers.

"My mother was very fickle, wasn't she?" I say in a slightly amused tone, and Charlie smiles and nods.

"Back to the subject," Charlie says after a pause, and the atmosphere becomes tense again. ""I've already prepared the things your mother left me, and I put them in a box for you." Charlie gives me a hesitant look. "Do you want to stay at my house, or would you prefer me to take you to a hotel?"

"A hotel would be fine," I answer quickly. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"Not at all, it's no problem," he assures me immediately. "My wife has prepared Beau's old room in case you decide to stay the night. You're more than welcome to stay tonight and tomorrow, then I can take you to the hotel if you decide to stay a little longer."

"I don't know…" I say hesitantly, unused to such displays of kindness. "I still haven't decided exactly what I'm going to do tomorrow or today, to be honest."

"Well, think about it," Charlie says, and the lack of pressure is refreshing. We fall into another silence, but it is comfortable now.

I spend the rest of the trip observing the bleak landscape, amazed that there could still be such dense forests in this time and in this part of the country, because if my memory serves me correctly there were big marches and protests a few years ago due to the alarming decrease of forests and green spaces across the Pacific Northwest. Apparently, those protests had an impact.

Before arriving at Charlie's house, we drive through much of Forks and I am amazed to observe that many of the structures retain that classic air of a small town hidden from the world, stubbornly refusing the changes that come with the modern era. Growing up in a city as populated as Phoenix, I have never seen anything but big buildings and gentrification at its finest, so I am fascinated by the simple feel of the town, so much so that for a moment I forget about my depression and simply enjoy the tranquility that envelopes Forks.

Finally, just as it begins to get dark, we arrive at Charlie's. He lives in a simple two-story house on the side of the street, where a somewhat old pickup truck is parked in front of the curb and some bushes and a leafy tree give the property a bohemian feel.

As Charlie parks his car in the yard, almost immediately the front door of the house opens and out comes a middle-aged woman, short brown hair, cinnamon-colored skin and dark eyes framed by long eyelashes, who smiles kindly at both of us, although her smile falters a bit when she sees my condition and she hurry to greet me as soon as I get out of Charlie's car.

"You must be Isabella," she says, taking my hands and squeezing them tightly. "Welcome to Forks, my dear."

"Thank you, Mrs. Swan," I say, trying to sound as friendly as possible - quite a feat for me.

"No formalities, please," she snorts, taking my arm and leading me into the house. "My name is Gaby, and that's what you'll call me."

"Thank you," I answer, not sure what to else say. The woman is clearly a force of nature.

The inside of the house is homey—that's the only word I can think of to describe it. A living room, a small dining room and the kitchen, from which emanates a delicious aroma of fried fish. The wooden stairs leading to the second floor are flanked by many picture frames hanging on the wall, on which I can make out image after image of a young boy with brown hair; my brother Beaufort as a child, I guess, and some other pictures of young people I don't know.

I hover awkwardly as Charlie takes my small suitcase out of the car until Gaby leads me into the living room, where she instructs me to sit on the couch while she retreats to the kitchen.

I sit uncomfortably on the two-seater sofa and anxiously look around the room, not knowing what to do with myself.

"I'll leave your suitcase here, if that's okay with you," says Charlie, putting my bag down in the entryway. "The bathroom is on the second floor, down the hall, if you want to use it." He points to the stairs and I stand up instantly, grateful for an excuse to relieve my anxiety by escaping for a few minutes.

"Thank you," I reply, hurrying up the stairs and quickly entering the bathroom, locking the door. When I finish relieving myself, I rinse my face in the sink and psyche myself up for whatever is coming.

Charlie is waiting for me outside the bathroom, which surprises me a little. Judging by how uncomfortable he looks; he's feeling as much anticipation as I am.

"Do you want to get something to eat, or would you rather get it over with?" he asks nervously.

I let out a deep sigh and try to relax.

" Better just to get on with it, if that's okay," I answer.

Charlie makes no comment and simply nods, motioning for me to follow him to a room that I assume was the one that belonged to my brother. Charlie steps aside and allows me to enter, points to a box on the bed and discreetly leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him.

I take a deep breath and open the box.

For what seems like hours, I cry a sea of tears over all the things I find in the box. A couple of times, Gaby knocks on the door asking if I'm okay and I can only utter a rather weak "I'm fine." Fortunately, she doesn't enter the room and I am left alone.

When I finally calm down enough, I look out of the bedroom window and am surprised to see that it's totally dark outside. I glance at the time on my phone and find that it is past midnight.

I quickly leave the room and go downstairs to the kitchen, where the light is still on and Charlie and Gaby are sitting at the small table drinking cups of what looks like tea.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stay so late," I apologize immediately.

"Not a problem, dear," says Gaby, waving away my concern.

"Are you feeling better?" Charlie asks gently.

"Yes, a little," I answer, surprised by how honest that is.

"Sit down, I'll make you a cup of tea," says Gaby and without waiting for my answer, she gets up from the table and goes to the stove to fetch me a cup.

"Thank you," I respond automatically and sit down.

We sit there not speaking, the stillness interrupted only by Gaby gently placing a steaming cup of green tea in front of me. After I finish the cup, I finally decide to break the silence.

"Can I stay the night?" I asked politely. Charlie had already offered, but it never hurts to ask.

"Of course, my dear," Gaby hastens to answer. ""I already prepared your' brother's old room, so you can sleep there."

"Thank you," I say softly, already feeling the calming effects of the tea and a drowsiness that I haven't experienced in months. I debate over continuing, but then figure it's best to be upfront. "Can I talk to you both tomorrow, there's something important I want to discuss."

"Sure," Charlie answers immediately, although he looks just as unsure as I feel.

"Thank you," I murmur so quietly it's a wonder that they hear me.

Gaby walks me to the bedroom and asks me if I want to take a shower before going to sleep, but I'm so tired that I just shake my head.

Settling my nerves as best as I can, I get myself ready for bed, crawl under the comforter and cover myself with a blanket for good measure; it's colder here than I'm used to.

It is testament to how tired I am that within seconds, I'm fast asleep.

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