Invisible
Chapter 1*
I stood in the Forks High School cafeteria, looking at the humans and the single table of vampires around me. Even though they would never see me, I saw all of them. My power could be turned off if I wanted, but I found myself keeping it on indefinitely more and more. I mean, I have to; the Volturi want me to keep an eye on them, and I personally would rather they not know my power is invisibility. But that is too easy a word for it. It was more like I could erase myself to an extent that I couldn't be seen, felt, or smelled. Vampire powers could work on me, but I've found that they only worked when they knew I was there. After all, I think looking at Edward Cullen, the resident mind reader, you can't read someone's mind if they don't exist. I looked back to the object of my attention. Unfortunately, I realized there was no object of my attention. My life is very boring. Interesting at times. When I'm with her, I feel myself smile. No one else could make me smile like that. She did this to me often when I was in her presence or just thinking about her. I started grinning like a fool. I sat down next to Edward at the Cullen table and began remembering the day she had found me on that dreary day in London, 1819.
Flashback*
I sat uselessly against the stone wall of the alley. I couldn't feel the rain that pounded around me, which only deepened my anxiety. It had happened a week ago. I remembered it vividly, but I replayed it in my mind over and over again, as if I was trying to figure out what had happened. I was traveling with my family. I was the oldest at 13. My younger sisters were 8 and 7. My mother had passed away when I was six, leaving us with my father. He was a failed businessman with a lot of debt. My mother used to tell me stories about my father when he didn't drink or yell, before the business failed. One day, the debt collectors got to us. Anxious for their money, they broke into the house. After that, my dad thought we should take a trip, and so we did—all the way to London from France. Unfortunately, my father contracted the plague a couple of miles from the city and was unable to travel, so we were forced to squat in a barn with an old couple. My sisters got the plague too, and there was nothing I could do but watch them die because we had no more money for medicine. I left the barn shortly after my youngest sister passed. Fog covered the land, and I wandered the road until I came across a family, all much older than me, having a picnic. I walked up and asked for help—for food and water. I knew it was desperate, but I was so hungry and thirsty. They only laughed at the poor French boy who spoke broken English. I stumbled away, angry, hot tears rolling down my face. I wished I was invisible.
When I got to the road, I heard them screaming. I turned just in time to see a white phantom creature that resembled a human killing the family. It turned to me suddenly, and I stumbled backward as it leaped on me. It bit me in the neck, hard, and threw me clear of the road into the bushes. I saw it move to finish me off, and I thought that was the end. Then it turned, hearing a noise from the picnic—a survivor of its brutal massacre—and moved off to chase it. It never came back. The wound in my neck burned with a strange intensity, and I knew I had to get help or I would bleed to death. So I dragged myself into the ditch before collapsing unconscious.
I woke to the searing pain in my neck. I was on the back of a cart filled with watermelons, and I strangely felt fine. I wasn't cold or hungry or tired. My surroundings were quite strange, though. It was pouring rain, and I was in a city. I quickly got off the cart and slipped into an alley on Main Street. Looking around, I sat against a wall, trying to get my bearings. I'm not hungry or cold, but I know I must be, and I feel a strange need to drink blood. I want to cry for my family, but I can't. My father would be proud of the fact that I couldn't cry. He always thought me weak—too skinny and too quiet. The unexpected flash of fury at his memory made me give a double take. Suddenly, I heard a clatter, and a fat man walked out and dumped the leftover vegetables from the kitchen into the dumpster as he walked back in. I felt like I could smell his blood, and it made my mouth water. I ignored it, thinking it must be the blood loss, and walked to the dumpster, forcing myself to eat the food. It tasted awful, and after a few handfuls, I felt myself wrenching, throwing up the awful-tasting stuff back into the dumpster. When I was done, I looked up and was startled to see a short, pretty girl my age staring at me. I backed away in shame, immediately averting my eyes. She must be of higher class, based on her clothing, and she would not appreciate a displaced, dirty French boy far below her class just caught throwing up and ogling her. But she was still staring at me. I was starting to wish she would just go away when she moved toward me, reached up, and placed her soft, cool hand on my chin, lifting my face to look at hers. The movement scared me a little, but I forgot all about my fears when I saw her face. She wasn't pretty; she was breathtaking. With a round face, delicate body, full lips, soft ivory skin, and perfect feminine features, honey-blond hair worn in a bun on her head showing off her sleek neck, her eyes—her eyes—caught my attention. They were ashy, wide, and round, framed by thick lashes, and they were the color of red velvet. My mother had an old ruby necklace, and I mentally compared her eyes to it, marveling at the similarity. I had never seen anything so beautiful, and I stopped breathing, not wanting my breath to distort her face. But it wasn't just her face; I felt better looking at her, like my life wasn't the chaos it was. Then I came back to reality and jerked away, embarrassed at my reaction to her, wishing for all the world I could be invisible in my shame. I couldn't look at her. I'm me; she's beautiful. Our circles do not mix. As I stumbled away, the girl gasped suddenly, looking where I had been. Confused, I looked down and saw nothing. I was invisible. She moved away quickly to stand next to a boy I had not noticed. They gave each other a meaningful look and hurried off. She glanced back, though, a look of curiosity crossing her beautiful face before she turned and departed. I stared after her for a long time, wondering why it felt like my heart was leaving with her.
"Stupid," I thought, shaking my head and falling back against the wall. I fell through the wall. What was going on? Sighing, I stood and focused very hard on being visible. It worked. I could see myself. This was an interesting situation. Whatever I was now, it was not human.
A week later, I was walking in the woods when I saw HER sitting on a stone bridge that crossed a pond. Her beautiful eyes were closed, and she sat so still I almost thought she was a statue until I realized most statues don't glow that way in the sunshine. When I realized it was her, I crept up on her, still invisible, and stood behind her. She'd let her honey-colored hair down, and it moved in the soft breeze. I very much wanted to go sit next to her and struggled with myself. Could I allow myself to get this close? I had never felt this way about a girl before. My father had tried to set me up with a few girls that, if I married them, would bring in a lot of their money. But I was never interested, and they were never interested. I was too skinny and too quiet. I hoped she wouldn't think that about me, but she couldn't see me. So what was the harm in sitting next to her? So I did. I sat next to her. She never opened her eyes. She couldn't see me anyway, so it didn't matter. I told myself it didn't matter that I was staring at her. But I felt guilty about it. I also realized upon closer inspection her skin was glowing like diamonds. I thought: ruby eyes, diamond skin. Her hand was in her lap, and I would have liked to hold it to see if it was as soft as it was when she tipped my head up. There was also a loose lock of her honey-blond hair covering her face, and I wanted to tuck it behind her ear so I could see more of her angelic face. I'd read about people doing that in books, but I didn't know if I had the courage to do it in real life. I turned myself visible then, and when I tried to turn myself back invisible, I found I was distracted by her face again, and I just sat there visible, staring at her like an idiot until she opened her beautiful, big red velvet eyes to stare into mine. Her mouth opened into a slight "oh" of surprise, but as the minutes stretched on, her face relaxed, and she moved her body to face mine. Now that we were facing each other, eyes open, me staring at her and her staring...back. We both got a good look at each other: me, dirty and in rags, and her in her black cloak. For a moment, I thought about saying something, but it would probably be something stupid, so I kept my mouth shut. Her beauty and my inadequacy struck me again, and I instinctively averted my eyes from her beautiful ones. Angry with myself, I jumped off the bridge and turned invisible again. But before I could walk away with a heavy heart, she spoke.
"Stop. Don't leave, please."
The words were spoken softly, and I halted my retreat. Did she talk to me? The thought gave my stomach butterflies. I turned and slowly became visible again. She looked pleased once she saw me and treated me to a smile. I smiled back, wondering why she wanted me to stay. I was about to ask when she continued.
"I know what you are. I can help you."
I froze. Was she referring to the strange hunger for human blood I'd been feeling recently, or perhaps to the invisibility? Quick—say something; she's waiting for an answer. What is wrong with me? She laughed; it was clear and reminded me of a bell. But I should be mad; she was laughing at me. I crossed my arms and glared at her.
"I don't see the funny," I said, mentally cursing my broken English.
When she finally stopped laughing, she smiled curiously and a little shyly at me. "What's your name?"
My name. She wants to know my name.
"Neil," I said. "Neil is my name. What's yours?"
"Jane."
