( TWILIGHT FANFIC ) the ghost of love.

[SHADE. :D]

Umm... I was bored. xD I thought I'd write a Twilight fanfic. And as a lot of you here seem to like Twilight... Here it is. If you don't like it, sorry. x) But anyways... Just a warning, this probably won't have much Edward and Bella stuff, so if you don't like that, then blurgh. xD

I DON'T OWN ANY OF THE TWILIGHT CHARACTERS THEY ALL BELONG TO STEPHENIE MEYER. (:

AND THERE MAY BE SPOILERS FROM ALL FOUR BOOKS!

CHARACTERS
Bracken Moore (Original)
Oscar Cullen (Original)
Bella & Edward Cullen
Alice & Emmett Cullen
Rosalie & Jasper Hale
Esme & Carlisle Cullen
Renesmee Cullen
Jacob Blavk

etcetcetc ...

PREFACE.

The rain lashed across the windows of the large house, which was obscured mostly by the thick forest that surrounded it. This sort of weather was typical of Forks, Washington. In fact, it rained almost every day. Sunshine was a rare event in Forks. The rain soaked the grass so that the earth welled up wetly around the green stalks. It trickled down the windows of the big house like tears. If you were to stand in front of the house and look forward, you would see as sheet of silver rain bearing down on the earth.

But something was breaking that clean-cut sheet. Something that was utterly soaked, something that seemed to have no qualms with the torrent of water that was cascading down on it. As that something grew closer to the house, it became obvious that it was, in fact, a person. It was clear in the way it walked, upright. Too upright. The person did not hunch forwards, hiding their face from the rain. They weren’t even wearing a hood. But no emotions, no twist of disgust or annoyance flashed across their face.

As the person’s feet crunched on the gravel driveway, which exuded a snake of water, his features became clearer. His body was wrapped in a travelling cloak which was dark with all the water it held. His face was stark white against the gloomy day, and his black hair soaked through, but curiously haphazard as though he had not liked it to lie flat with wetness. But the most shocking part of his appearance was his eyes. The irises, deep black, were swimming in pools of crimson. His height and facial structure placed him in the region of sixteen to twenty years of age.

The figure crossed the driveway at an average pace, though there was a curious air to the way he walked – as though he knew he could go so much faster. His feet made no sound as they mounted the stone steps that led to the front door of the house. His face was tense as he halted there, staring at the door. Emotions battled on his face, and his hand half-raised, hanging in the air as though a piece of string held it there, rigid. Eventually, he thrust it forward and knocked on the door. Twice, briskly.

He took a couple of steps back, his inhuman eyes close to regret. The door did not take long to swing inwards. The culprit was a tall man, his skin just as white as the visitor’s, with blonde hair and honey eyes. He looked confused at the sight of the red-eyed boy before him, who seemed to feel awkward, shuffling his feet on the stone.

“What can I do for you?” The man at the door seemed unsurprised by the arrival of the boy, despite his wet-through appearance and garish eyes. As though he had known he would be coming. The boy swallowed nervously. “Carlisle... Cullen? Right?” His voice was soft and gentle, and seemed to fit his features perfectly. It was the sort of lullaby-esque voice that lulled flies into the spider’s web to be killed and consumed. The man at the door frowned, though it was hard to tell what he was feeling. He nodded once, choosing not to word his answer.
“My name is Oscar,” he told the man, Carlisle. “I... I heard about you and your family. I...” He trailed off, his expression torn. His eyes, the colour of freshly-spilt blood, were turned down and his face was a picture of confusion and desperation. He raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes, as though embarrassed by their colour, or the emotion they held. Carlisle’s face softened a little, though it had never been harsh in the first place. He waved a hand as though to invite the boy, Oscar, inside. Peering through his fingers, which he still had raised like a makeshift mask, the boy looked uncertain. After a moment of deliberating wordlessly, he walked inside.

Oscar was careful to remove his dripping boots and cloak before he left the hall. A slimy layer of mud oozed from the criss-cross pattern in the bottom of his boots. He dithered, his cloak held at arm’s length, before Carlisle helpfully removed it. Inside the house, Oscar could be seen more clearly. His hair was starting to dry in the brief lull of constant drenching, into ebony hedgehog-spikes. His skin was as pale as moonshine. And he, like Carlisle, was utterly beautiful. Every feature seemed perfect, crafted specifically to suit him. Thin lips. Pointed nose. All exactly right.
Before either of them could move, there was a rumble of voices from another room. Neither of them seemed to react to the noise, though a ghost of fear crossed Oscar’s face. Carlisle led him out of the hall, away from where he cowered in the corner with his boots. The light fell on the jeans and button-up shirt he was wearing – clothes hardly appropriate for such wet weather. And clothes that looked formal, but still perfect, on his body, as though he usually did not make such an effort.

When the two of them rounded the corner, eight pairs of eyes turned towards them, mostly focused on Oscar. A woman with soft caramel-brown hair, along with four other females, though all looked younger than she. One was tall and heartbreakingly beautiful, with shiny blonde hair. Another was much smaller, slighter, and almost elfin. She had pointed features and spiky ink-black hair. The last one that could be called a woman had dark hair and an anxious expression on her face. Her eyes flicked between Oscar and the last female, a young child, who played on the carpet.

The child looked around eight years of age. Her pale was snow-white, but her cheeks were flushed with little red roses. She had an inquisitive look on her face. Her eyes, curiously, were chocolate brown, and her hair bronze ringlets that fell halfway down her back. It had the air of hair that had been reluctantly cut, and now had overgrown yet again.

The other four eyes belonged to males. The first, who was sat close to the anxious-faced woman, with his arm around her waist, had bronze hair the exact shade of the child’s, and a similar face structure that screamed relation. The second, who was tall and muscular, leant on the chair which held the blonde woman. The third was tall, like the second, but lean rather than muscular. His hair was blonde and his face was a pattern of crescent-shaped scars. Where one of his sleeves was slightly pulled up, more of the same silvery scars could be seen.
Each of the people had deathly pale skin and golden eyes, excluding the child. Each one was utterly, enchantingly beautiful. And each one’s eyes were fixed on Oscar, wondering what his next move would be.

His crimson eyes were fixed on the child rather than any of the staring adults. His face was distracted, but not by her beauty. He could smell the blood beneath her alabaster skin; hear the beating of her heart. Something that no other being in this room possessed. A beating heart. With something akin to reluctance, Oscar pulled his eyes from the child’s startling face, and switched them back to Carlisle, apprehensive. It seemed that whatever temptation the youngster was to him, he had been forewarned about it.

Carlisle’s voice broke the tense silence. “This is Oscar,” he informed his family in a low, level voice. “He came, like Alice said he would.” Oscar’s bloody gaze followed Carlisle’s to the pixie-like girl. The scarred male pulled closer to her protectively, his face wary. There was another brief silence, filled along by the breathing of the child. None of the other’s seemed to need to do such a thing, and their chests only rose and fell usually out of habit.

“What does he want?” The blonde’s icy voice shattered the awkward quiet. Oscar opened his mouth as if to answer her but it clamped shut again as his gaze scraped her syrupy eyes. Eyes that meant business. “I told you, Rosalie,” the slight girl, Alice, said, sounding a little put-out. “I told you what I saw. That our family was going to grow.” Oscar’s expression changed at this, looking shocked. What did she mean? He just wanted advice, he just wanted to change. He backed a little towards the door; hand on the frame as though to steady himself. “Go and scare him then, Al,” came a mutter from the big male stood beside the blonde, Rosalie. Oscar’s eyes moved back to the child, who was looking curiously at him. He shivered when she got to her feet and ran to the brunette and the bronze-haired male who could have been her father. She launched herself into the woman’s lap and placed a hand on her face, her eyes curious.

Oscar noticed the bronze-haired male glaring at him, and quickly averted his eyes. Definitely her father. He licked his lips as though preparing himself to speak. “I don’t... Want to be a monster.” The words were little more than a murmur, but everyone seemed to catch them. Alice put one small hand on the glarer’s leg. He relaxed his stance a little, but still looked suspicious and protective as he touched the child’s shoulder.
Oscar blinked, taking a split-second to realise nobody was looking at him anymore. Everyone’s eyes were locked on the bronze-haired male. He sighed, rubbing his brow. “He means no harm,” he said eventually, sounding as though he would have liked to tell them the opposite.

The faces that were turned towards him looked a little more accepting now. Oscar breathed out, whether he needed to or not. It was a simple reflex that betrayed his relief. It seemed it was true. It seemed he was getting what he had wanted.

A brand new start.

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[SHADE. :D]

CHAPTER ONE.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

What was that noise? Lord, it was irritating... The inside of her head felt tender as the thoughts bounced around inside of it. As though she had been asleep so long that she had forgotten how to use it. She explored it gingerly, trying not to injure herself. She could not recollect where she was. She couldn’t remember... And that was annoying. Who was she? She was pretty sure that she was somebody. Somebody in a world of millions of people. She still hadn’t quite taught herself to move again, so she lay there still as she tiptoed around her skull, trying to dislodge the memories that she had misplaced.

Feeling was coming back to her, too. She could feel her body, her slender figure, and her legs. Her nimble hands and thin wrists. She could feel her face, her eyes locked shut with no hope of opening. Yet, anyway. And she was becoming dimly aware of something covering her, a sheet, some sort of fabric. And that breakthrough seemed to up her confidence. She turned her head so that one cheek was pressed against something cool and soft. Her toes curled up beneath the sheet, and she inhaled a scent that reminded her of lavender.

And that beeping was still there. Insistent. Never-fading. And always completely and utterly irritating. It made her want to cover her ears, but she couldn’t remember where her ears were located on her body, or how to connect her hands with them. She switched back to her mental state, probing, sometimes a little too roughly. It infuriated her that she could not remember what had happened to her. It infuriated her that she could not sit up and demand answers. Right this second.

She became aware of something touching her skin. It brushed her right arm, the crease of her elbow. In an unconscious movement, she snatched up from under the cover and grabbed onto the thing that was bringing back her senses. Her fingers clutched at it. As she waited, she realised that it was somebody’s hand. It was gloved, but she could feel the shape of fingers. She exhaled shakily, this new discovery slotting itself into her memory. And there was noise too. She had heard a lot of this noise, but had never been able to place it. She knew she should have been able to, but she had just been too tired...

But it seemed today was her lucky day. She could separate the sounds from one another, the syllables. She could recognize them. They were words, not just pointless noise. Somebody, whoever’s hand she had hold of, was talking to her. “Bracken? Bracken? Can you hear me, Bracken? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.” It took her a moment, but with a jolt she realised what he was saying. Bracken. Why was he calling her that? He did mean her, right? She struggled to clutch at straws of ability, struggled to remember how to do what he wanted. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t remember...

There was a short sigh and the fingers began to slide from her own carefully. No! No, they couldn’t leave! She clutched at it; instead of letting her hand flop uselessly back to her side. She heard a gasp. “Nurse Lewis? I think she’s waking up.” There was another voice (she was blazingly happy that she had remembered how to listen to people talking), higher, more delicate. “Finally. I’m glad.” She waited. She still had the hand clutched in her fingers. She had no desire to let go. “Bracken, can you open your eyes? Can you open your eyes for me?” Open her eyes...? What...?

That was like giving a toddler a pair of wings and telling it to fly. It would not know how, without instruction. But she didn’t need instruction. Frustration burnt inside of her. She knew how to do this. She just had to concentrate, to think... She could do it... She just needed...

Beep... Beep... Beep...

“You check’n th’smoke ‘larm ‘gen, Dad...?” Her lips had moved, and sound had come out. She had spoken. Spoken! She had harnessed her voice! She pursed her lips, trying to do it again, but couldn’t manage it. The words seemed to delight her witnesses. They were still trying to encourage her, but she was tired. Much too tired to comply. She managed only a senseless whisper before blackness sliced over her like cold black waves of water.

She floated like that for a while. Feeling nothing. Seeing, hearing nothing. She could just lie back and forget everything. Forget her life, forget her struggles. Forget... But then her comfortingly ebony expanse was slashed apart. Sound roared in her ears. Her throat was dry. She couldn’t breathe. And everywhere she looked there was red. Dancing and flickering and tearing her eyes out of their very sockets...

Her lips were wide, her throat scratching. A one-tone noise filled her eyes. The black-red chaos fell apart, scattering like feathers in the wind. The noise was deafening, horrifying. And it was coming out of her mouth. Hands clutched at her lips, drowning the noise a little. They were her hands. But more were thrusting her down, pushing her back into the familiar horizontal position of lying down. “Bracken! Bracken! You need to calm down! You need to-“ The scream died away as though it had never been there, but an echo rang around. Her body was shivering violently. Fingers touched her face and she snatched at them, holding them in her burning hot hands. She was sat, and her eyes were open. Her eyes were open. She could see.

She had forgotten what it was like. Everything was blinding, so that she shut her eyes almost as soon as they had opened. But curiosity forced them wide once more. White surrounded her. The sheets, the floor... The walls were cream. She turned her head wildly from side to side. There were tubes coming from every angle, tubes that went into... Well, went into her. She felt sick as soon as she recognized where she was. In a hospital. She shuddered feverishly.

“Bracken. You did it.” She looked at the source of the voice. A man looked down at her. His eyes were honey-coloured, his hair blonde. He had snowy skin and wore a doctor’s uniform. She had his hand clutched in one of hers. He released it as she realised his, looking down. She was covered by one of those awful hospital gowns. It made her want to rip it off and clothe herself normally. She was breathing rapidly, so that her breath scratched in her throat. She’d had problems like that before; brief spells where her breathing had bothered her until a black ocean had swallowed her up.

“I... I... I...” Her voice was small and hoarse. The doctor looked at her patiently. She examined the badge of his jacket – Dr Carlisle Cullen. “I... I...” She gave up, wetting her lips with her tongue. She looked over her shoulder, shaking still, to see a rectangular sign pinned up behind her bed. It was a whiteboard, and written in fine black handwriting was Bracken Moore. It smacked her in the face almost physically.

She was Bracken. Bracken Moore.

Finally she found herself. “Where am I?” The words were still in that same low, strained voice that didn’t belong to her, but sounded smaller, more fearful. She tried to control her shaking but wrapping her arms around herself. “You’re in hospital,” the doctor, Dr Cullen, told her. “But don’t worry. You’re going to be fine.” Bracken pressed a hand to her forehead. Something wet fell on her hand. What..? Water was trickling down her face. Why? Had she lost control over herself? Why was she crying?

“But... why?” The words seemed to trouble Dr Cullen. He turned to the nurse, who hovered at the end of the bed. She had dark skin and shiny black hair, scraped back into a ponytail. She wore the same expression as Dr Cullen. “Memory loss,” he murmured, so low that Bracken forgot to listen, distracted by the jumping of her heart in her chest. And then the blonde doctor was looking at her again. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” His voice was soothing, but it did little to calm her. What was going on? She wanted to know. She needed to know. She shoved and pushed at the barrier in her mind, but it refused point-blank to budge. She eventually gave up, defeated. The doctor was still looking at her.

“Bracken, what do you remember?” Bracken assumed he meant her human functions. Not what had happened to her. She had just made it clear that she couldn’t grasp those details long enough to examine them. A flash of dancing red. Choking. Twists of memory, tantalizing, but not enough to trigger a full blown flashback. She blinked. It was going to take a while for her to be able to talk casually again. “I... Well, t-talking. I can hear and see and...” She trailed off.

Dr Cullen looked as though he was going to suggest something, but then shook his head. “Too early...” It was another murmur. Bracken didn’t care to strain her eyes enough to pick apart it’s meaning. He nodded once. “You should rest. Well done. You’ve defied the odds.” He turned and walked away silently. Too silently. The nurse picked up a file from the table that arched over the end of the white-clad bed, smiled at her, then departed.

Bracken lay back down, still shivering. There were so many holes in her memory. So many things she only half-recalled, or not at all. She wanted to drag them towards her, to see them, to taste them, right now. But when her head hit the pillow, it was blissfully soft. Her eyes felt full of sand, though she had only had them open for a short while. And before she knew it, her consciousness slipped. She was not floating on black water that threatened to swallow her, but soft, clear liquid that rocked her until she was completely relaxed.

She was back.

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[cheshy says grace]

*flails* I LOVE OSCAR!! <3 8DDD

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[SHADE. :D]

xD

Thanks. ^^

EDIT!
Ah, Chapter Two is finished. (:

CHAPTER TWO.

She was pinned. Trapped. Not by physical force, by something else. All she could see was flickering red, and it burnt her eyes whenever she looked, so it was easier to keep them shut, though she knew this was giving up. Every breath was harder. Each inhalation brought new intoxication. Her chest felt too tight. But she couldn’t move. Her limbs were like lead. She didn’t want to open her eyes and see. She didn’t want to breathe in any more, though she doubted it was possible anyway. She could hear, and that was enough. Enough to wish that death would just take her and stop toying with her.

The screams of her dream did not fade as Bracken waded through the blackness back to consciousness. But there just one, panicked, petrified. And coming from her mouth. It stopped sooner than last time. Bracken lay gasping. The sheet had been clawed away from her and hung from the bed in an almost dejected manner. She sat up after a moment. She was blazing hot. Bracken used both hands to scrape her hair off her face, where it was stuck with sweat. She circled the room with her eyes.

It wasn’t much different from the night before. But the one window on the far wall had been revealed – somebody had pulled back the curtains to reveal a mottled blue china vase filled with yellow flowers, and the bright world outside. Bracken wished whoever had chosen to do this had not. It made her ache to rejoin the outside world. She exhaled shakily. Nobody had come running. That must mean she was alright.

Bracken scraped around inside her head, but to no avail. Her memory was no more recovered than yesterday. She only wasted a moment or two sighing about this. It was a new day. And she planned to use it well. Bracken turned in the bed, her legs dragging like dead weights. Annoyed, she jerked them along with the rest of her body. She peered at the small table beside her bed. There were a few things on there. A brush and a mirror. She smiled. It seemed the nurse had thought of what she would have wanted.

Bracken took a deep breath. Though she knew her name, one part of her memory that had floated away to disintegrate was her appearance. She was a little scared to look at herself, though she knew it was essential if she wanted to recover. She sucked in the air, which scored her teeth, and took hold of the mirror. She pulled it from the table. It felt oddly heavy in her hands, though of course it shouldn’t have. It was simple plastic set with thin glass. Then she looked at her thin wrist, and took it with the other hand. She didn’t want to go and break something.

Before she could change her mind, Bracken thrust the mirror in front of her face. She blinked. Weirdly, she was not too horrified by her appearance. The scrap of memory reformed itself to slot back in snugly. She could pick out the small differences between her appearance before, and her appearance now. Her hair was still pretty much the same, straw-blonde, but tied back in a messy bun that kept most of it off her face. Her eyes stared back, hazel as ever. Her skin was paler, but still speckled with freckles. She looked thinner, more gaunt, and distinctly more unhealthy, but other than that... She was the same old Bracken.

This filled her with confidence. She released her hair. It bounced down in irregular curls and clumps from the bun. She took hold of the hairbrush (this time with both hands, taking no chances) and began to pull it through her hair. Since her hair was very knotty, and her strength deteriorated, it was harder than she remembered. But she managed, tying it up in a far neater, more sleek ponytail. Usually she would have left it loose but she wasn’t sure Dr Cullen would approve.

Now was the challenge. Pushing away the sheet, which was draped loosely in all directions, she sat on the edge of the bed and dangled her legs down. Blood rushed through, bringing with it pain. She hadn’t used her legs for so long that it hurt to merely hold them in this position. She gritted her teeth until the sensation faded. Her bare feet didn’t quite touch the floor – she had always been small in the height area. She pushed them downward until first her toes, then the rest of her feet touched the cold floor. She breathed out, wondering why she was shaking lightly. This wasn’t a new experience. Walking was something people did every day.

Bracken placed both palms on the edge of the bed and pushed herself upright. Her legs, which, like her arms, were much too skinny, shook with the effort, as though they had forgotten how they had taken so much weight. She took hold of the table which held the brush and mirror, hunched over. Her heart fluttered in her chest and, embarrassed, she told herself furiously to calm down. She could do this. Bracken let go of the desk and took a shaky step in the same heartbeat. Before she put her foot down she knew she wasn’t strong enough. She was pushing herself too far, too soon.

She staggered forward, the white floor rushing up to meet her, but something broke her fall before she could connect with it. Something iron-hard and cold, around her wrist. And something else, catching her around her waist. She was guided back to the bed, where she sat, shaken. The thing around her wrist was somebody’s hand. She looked up at the face – it was Dr Cullen. How could somebody’s skin be so cold, and hard, like stone? Maybe she had just forgotten what it felt like in her seemingly endless sleep. But her own skin wasn’t like that. Her head span, and she put one hand down on the mattress to stop herself sinking flat to the bed again.

“You shouldn’t push yourself like that.” Bracken knew that Dr Cullen would be angry, so she wasn’t surprised by the steel edge to his words. But as she appraised his face, his expression softened. She noticed that his eyes were just a fraction darker than yesterday – more topaz than honey. Maybe it was light. Or she was seeing things. Option two was probably the more likely. “Sorry,” she mumbled, averting her eyes from his, disconcerted. She examined the window, tracing the frame, then looking out of the clear glass. A lump formed in her throat.

“I know you want to get out of here,” this time Dr Cullen’s words were more kind, more like the voice she remembered from last night. “But you’ll have to wait a bit longer, I’m afraid. It’s going to take practice.” His words were meant to chastise, but comfort her. They did neither, just frustrating her further. She wanted to remember. She was tempted to ask Dr Cullen what had happened to her, but she was fairly certain he would refuse, wanting her to remember under her own steam. He was stood at the end of her bed, holding a folder, pen in hand, doing something that was obvious significant to her recovery.

Bracken bit her lip and closed her eyes, running through everything she knew about herself. Her name was Bracken Moore. She was seventeen years old. She had lived somewhere large, a city. But that was all. She gritted her teeth in frustration, wishing the facts would come back to her just like that but knowing that they wouldn’t. She opened her eyes to see that Dr Cullen had disappeared (soundlessly, again) and the nurse was back. Nurse Lewis, she recalled. The nurse, who didn’t look much older than she was, smiled at her as she passed and began fiddling with the machines beside her bed. Bracken was briefly glad that somebody had taken the pipes out of her body. Thinking about them made her shudder.

She looked at one of the machines, her mind wandering. A red light flashed before her eyes, winking from the machine. She tried to think, but the light blasted away her concentration with its irritating little dance – flicker, flicker, flicker. She tried to shut her eyes but it was as if they were being held open. And then it came to her.

The light grew until it swallowed her up. Flickering redness surrounded her. She was lying on something hard, the floor. She wasn’t injured, but her throat was stuck up with smoke and ash. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think. And all she could hear was the screaming. The pleading. And there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing...

Bracken found herself curled up on her side on the hospital bed. Her knees were pressed to her chest, her nails digging into the flesh so hard they she punctured it. There was somebody shaking her. “Bracken, Bracken. Bracken, it’s alright.” She breathed evenly, trying to calm herself. She clung to the words. It was alright. It was fine. She was safe. She could hear the nurse’s voice, and Dr Cullen’s soft tones. But she couldn’t pick out the words. She had to concentrate on stopping panic taking over.

After a few long moments, Bracken uncurled her body. She felt stiff, as though she had been lying there for hours rather than minutes. She did not move herself into a sitting position. Dr Cullen crouched beside her bed so he could look at her. He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it. “Where are they?” A line appeared on the doctor’s white brow. Was he going to deny that he knew what she was talking about? “Where are they? I... I... I need to know... I...” She trailed off, her teeth chattering together as the haunting memories swept through her once again.

Dr Cullen’s mouth moved, but he said nothing. He looked downwards, not meeting her gaze. But she sensed he was preparing to answer rather than stalling. “Bracken... Do you remember what happened on September 2nd?” The question was simple enough. She dove into her mind to find the answer, but there was nothing. A hole. Another blank spot. “I... No.” She decided to keep it short. She wanted to know what was going on. Dr Cullen pinched the skin between his eyebrows for a moment, and then spoke again.

“We’re not entirely sure what happened, but... Well, the police are still investigating it,” he began slowly. “But it seems that somebody broke into your house that night, Bracken. They set fire to one part, the part where you were. Then they proceeded to the rest of the house. They didn’t set anywhere else on fire, but... Well, your parents heard them upstairs. They went to investigate. The person was in your brother’s room... They... Well, they...”

Yes, she remembered that. This was when she had first woken up. She had heard the screams. The agonized wailing. Her brother. Her Aden. Tears welled up in her eyes, though only seconds ago they had felt dry as a pile of straw. She noticed the doctor falter, perhaps because of this. “N-no, go on.” Her voice was husky and cracked. He scanned her tear-filled eyes. Water was sliding down her face by now. She guessed why he was hesitating. He story wasn’t going to be pretty. She hardened the steel defences around the more sensitive parts of her heart, though she knew it wouldn’t help her much. “Just say it.”

Dr Cullen blinked, but did not wait any longer. His expression was pained as he continued the terrible recount. “Your parents went upstairs. They were... Attacked, like your brother. As far as the police can tell, they didn’t do anything more. Nothing was stolen. The ambulance’s arrived. The fire crew had to pull you out through the window. You weren’t burnt, but so much smoke and ash was inside your body, you weren’t breathing.

“Four people arrived in the hospital. All the rest of this I saw with my own eyes. There was a woman, Heidi Moore. She... She was dead upon arrival. She had multiple injuries, and had lost too much blood. It was hard to tell what was used to attack her with. Then there was a man, Mason Moore. He was in a similar state, and... And he was dead, too.

“There was you, who he resuscitated. And then there was a boy, Aden Moore. He had received a bad head wound. The police think that he was... That he was thrown against a wall. We tried. We thought he could live, we really thought he had a chance, but... But his brain just shut down. He died. And then there was you. You were just in a coma, until yesterday.”

Bracken was silent. She realised that she hadn’t breathed for over a minute and sucked in air. She was shaking with sobs and her whole face was glazed with tears. Her mother, her sweet, overprotective mother. Her father, who tried to act stern but could easily be won over. And her brother. Dear little Aden. He would’ve been ten in a few weeks time. All gone. All dead. She was all alone.

She pressed her hands to her face, then rolled over onto her stomach so that she could not see anything. She heard the nurse murmuring to her, and assumed Dr Cullen had left. She felt the sheet being pulled over her body. She seized it and tugged it as high as it would go, right down over her head, hiding her from view. Hiding her from the world.

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[SHADE. :D]

I did a lot of writing today. x) Woot.

CHAPTER THREE.

A week had gone by very quickly, almost a blur. It was scary, if she thought about it too hard. How quickly a week could be gone. Day, night, day, night... Just melting in together. She couldn’t remember much. Just the constant, tiring lessons that were supposed to teach her how to walk again. They had paid off. It had taken her a couple of days (she knew this only from asking Nurse Lewis) to get the hang of it again, but she needed perfecting. She still hobbled a bit, but she was no longer hunched over like an old woman. She remembered the nights, because they were harder than the days. She just kept turning everything over in her mind.

Everyone was gone. Her mother, her father, her brother. Her mother had never known her father, and her own mother was in an old people’s home. Her father’s parents were both dead. She had nobody left. No aunts. No uncle’s. Nobody to count on.

As her eyes opened, she registered that it was Monday. Exactly a week from when she was woken. But she didn’t remember because of that. It was because today was the funeral. The joint funeral of her mother, father and brother. Even as she thought about them, their faces, their voices, tears fell. The way her mother had to pick apart her day meticulously every time she got home from school. The times when her father had picked her up and held her when she cried. Aden’s annoying habit of leaving lights on around the house. His peaky face when Ross Taylor had pushed him over at school and she had had to clean him up.

She wiped her face as the door opened. It was Dr Cullen. He seemed to notice the redness around her eyes, but the look she gave him refused comfort. “Nurse Lewis is bringing you some clothes for the funeral,” he told her, before politely leaving. Bracken wiped her face properly and took a deep breath. She looked down at her body. She no longer wore that horrible hospital gown. She had been allowed to wear some of her clothes – the clothes that had been saved. These were the garments that had been in the wash basket downstairs, where the fire had not touched anything. Her mother had often forgotten the growing pile of dirty clothes.

Angrily, Bracken swiped away the fresh tears. There were dark blots on the pale blue jeans she wore. She pressed her nose into the cuff of the green cardigan she wore. It was slightly too big, because it was her mother’s. She breathed in the familiar smell, and felt a little stronger.

At that moment, the door opened. She knew it was Nurse Lewis because she heard the slap of her footsteps. She sat up straight and turned her gaze onto the young nurse. She held a pile of black clothes over one arm. She placed them on the end of the bed, then looked up to smile sympathetically at Bracken. “If you need anything, any help, just call for me.” Bracken nodded absently, though she knew she would not take up the offer, kind as it was. She slid from the bed and padded to the pile of clothes.

The funeral was going to take place in a church just outside of Forks, a town fairly near to her old home. She had lived in Seattle, but didn’t want to travel back there for the funeral. There would be far too many memories to cause her distress. Bracken pushed the items of clothing apart with her hands. There was a black skirt that had belonged to her originally, along with a lacy ebony top that had also been hers, though she had only wore it once before, to her grandma’s funeral. There were tights, a cardigan and a pair of ballet shoes. The shoes were not hers.

Bracken pulled the plastic curtain around her bed shut. She rubbed her chest absently. It had felt tight ever since she had found out about her family. It was like her heart had twisted itself up into a knot, and only time would loosen it. She began to dress herself in the dark clothes, pulling on the tights, sliding the shoes onto her feet. They were her size. She wondered who they belonged to. After every garment clung to her body, and the jeans, her mother’s cardigan and the shirt she had been wearing were folded neatly on her bed, she picked up the mirror and brush.

She brushed her dark blonde hair into a plait that hung over one shoulder. Stray bits of hair fluttered free from either side, but still managed to look neat enough. She fastened the plait with a piece of black ribbon somebody had left on the little table. She then peered in the mirror. She looked tired, and her eyes sore and ringed, hung with dark shadows; but groomed enough. Would anybody really expect her to look perfect at her family’s funeral?

She pushed back the curtain to find Nurse Lewis waiting for her. She put a hand on Bracken’s shoulder. “Good luck,” she said, as though Bracken were entering a show-jumping competition or something. “A friend of your father’s is waiting for you outside the hospital. Mr... Trayson, I think he said.” Bracken nodded. Jack Trayson had been one of her father’s closest, if not the closest. She was sure he would be devastated at the news. Bracken left the room, remembering to be careful. Her walking still wasn’t perfect, and she didn’t want to trip over.

She took the lift down to the ground floor, then walked stiffly out of the huge entranceway. Fresh air rushed into her lungs through her mouth. The world seemed absolutely huge to her, and for a moment she swayed, disorientated. Being shut in the same small hospital room for so long had had its effects. She was saved the trouble of having to find the car when she noticed a black-clad figure walking towards her.

It was Lucie Trayson, Jack’s wife. She wore a long, elegant black dress that was not suited to the worsening weather. She had known Bracken’s father vaguely, but been closer to her mother. She took hold of Bracken’s hand as she reached her. “Oh, Bracken dear,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Bracken looked downwards, trying not to let the tears in her spill over. Damn. It looked like this was going to be happening a lot today. She should have expected it.

Lucie led her towards the big silver car she recognized as Jack’s. Inside, she could see Jack himself in the driver’s seat, looking out the window, face greyish. Four of the six back seats were occupied by the Trayson’s children; Luke, the oldest, who was the same age as Bracken; Irisa, who was fifteen and close to Bracken; Mika, who was seven, and Damon, who was four. As Bracken slid into the car between Irisa and Luke, she noticed that both of them wore grave expressions. Mika and Damon were squabbling behind them. Bracken preferred their normal behaviour to the looks on the others’ faces.

Jack turned around as his wife got back into the seat beside him. He touched Bracken’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, Brac,” he said gruffly. “It’s such a... We’re all gonna miss them.” He turned around. His eyes had begun to look oddly dewy, and she suspected that was why. Bracken forced her thoughts away from her family, and looked down. She concentrated on nothing, absolutely nothing.

She felt soft skin as Irisa took her hand. The fifteen-year old wore a black dress like her mother’s, and had her chocolate brown hair neater than usual. She said nothing, which made Bracken grateful. Then again, she had known Irisa since she was two... Bracken raised her head and tried to smile at her friend, but she was pretty sure she’d done it wrong. Because instead of smiling back, Irisa squeezed her hand. She turned to look at Luke instead. He was carefully avoiding her eyes. Luke never really spoke to her. She hadn’t expected a miracle.

Bracken said in silence as the journey began. It was about half an hour to reach the church. Mika and Damon continued their fight until Lucie silenced them sharply. After that, the car was quiet and awkward. Bracken wished Lucie had left her two youngest to squabble.

When they pulled up outside the church, Bracken sucked in air nervously. Her heart was hammering. Lucie got out first, and released the impatient Damon and Mika. The youngsters did not understand the seriousness of the situation, and so were getting right on their mother’s already fragile nerves. Jack followed, then Luke, until it was just Irisa and Bracken left in the car. Bracken shut her eyes. For them. I can do this. I have to do this. For them. She opened her eyes to find Irisa looking at her patiently. “I’m ready,” Bracken whispered.

Irisa placed her hand on the door handle, and Bracken gasped in a flash of realization. “My speech! I forgot it!” Before she knew it, tears were rolling down her face. The slightest thing had been setting her off recently. She had spent so long on the speech, though it was not long. Not even half a piece of paper. But it had been like tearing out her heart, spilling everything onto the paper. Irisa’s arms were around her. “Hey, hey! Bracken, don’t cry,” she said quickly. “The nurse gave it my dad. She said he’d better hold on to it, in case.” Bracken gulped, trying to regain her composure. Eventually Irisa released her and she rubbed away the tears, making her eyes sting again. “Ok-kay,” she said shakily. “Let’s go.”

The two of them left the car. Bracken held onto Irisa’s arm as they walked over to Jack, Lucie and the others. As if he knew what her hesitation had been about, Jack produced her speech and handed it her. Bracken cradled it to her chest, letting go of Irisa’s arm. She had to this. She had promised them that she would, every night. “Thankyou,” Bracken said, and her voice sounded more steady than before.

As they walked towards the church, Bracken took hold of Irisa’s arm again. People craned their necks to look at her. It seemed that everybody was there but her. They were the last people to arrive. She inhaled, looking at faces as she passed. All of them were twisted with pity. She recognized one of her mother’s childhood friends, Lola Frank, and another woman who had been friends with her mother, Yasmin Cane, and her twin sons, Oliver and Jamie, who had been friends with Aden. She recognized other people, but her mind felt disconnected. She couldn’t place names to the faces. She took her place on the front row with the Trayson’s, sandwiched between Lucie and Irisa. She clutched at her speech, the paper weakening beneath her fingers.

This was going to be like a torture to her, so she tried to unplug the rest of her emotions. She felt numb. But as the funeral began everything seemed to start up again. She was hyperaware of all that was going on, and no matter how hard she tried she could not ignore it. The music began, and she choked on her breath. Tears rolled down her face, and she didn’t bother to raise her hand to mop them up. She had chosen the song. ‘Far Away’, by Nickelback. Bracken wished she had not chosen it now. It felt like each word was being stuffed down her throat to stop her from breathing properly.

The music faded eventually, and Bracken’s hysterics dulled too. Tears still slid down her cheeks, but her breathing grew more regular. Her eyes were painful, and every tear burnt them further. The vicar was reading now, words that had nothing to do with her mother or father or Aden. Words that were nothing to do with her. There was a song, which she stood up to sing, but then found she could not. The words wouldn’t come out of her mouth.

Her turn was approaching. Rapidly. Karen Topps and her little sister Sadie went up to trill a song, and then Jack read a speech. She had meant to listen to this, but forgot to in her nerves. Irisa’s hand was clenched in her own, but it didn’t comfort her much. And then she was watching Jack walk back to his seat, his face red with emotion. The church waited. Bracken heard the vicar say her name, telling the church who was going to be next. She pulled my hand out of Irisa’s, feeling like a robot as she walked up the aisle. She stumbled, forgetting how bad her walking still was, as she walked forward. Nobody laughed. Nobody made a sound.

Bracken held the paper in front of her, scanned the words, and began. At first she was just mumbling, looking at the paper, but as she got further through she looked at the audience. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she knew she had to this. For them. For them. For them.

“I never thought I’d be here. I never thought I’d have to do something like this,” Bracken said, her voice hoarse from crying and lack of regular use. She looked at the audience nervously, and noticed Dr Cullen near the back. He looked odd in his black suit. There was a beautiful women with caramel-coloured hair sat beside him, who Bracken assumed was his wife. She continued. “But I am, and I do. M-my mum was a good person. She might’ve nagged a b-bit too much, and treated me... Treated me like I was three years old at times, but.. But I loved her. I... I... I still d-do.

“My dad... Well, dad was just dad. He always knew h-how to make you feel better. He always... He always knew how to let you know he was there. That he always... Always would be,” Bracken’s voice grew high pitched and cracked on the word ‘always’. She swallowed, trying to control herself. “And I loved him. I still d-d-do.

“And Aden... M-my little Aden. He was s-so.. He was so... So... So happy. So... Carefree. Just right. My Aden. It’s not fair that he... He was so young...” Her words reflected what she had sobbed so often in the past week – that it should have been her who died, not Aden. “And I... I loved him. I loved him so, so much. And... And... I still do.

“I love them... Them a-all. But they’re gone. And... And... And... I don’t know what I’m going to do without them.” The last part was hard to understand. Lucie hurried from her seat, placed an arm around Bracken’s shoulders, and hugged her close. Bracken cried on her for a while, forgetting about the audience even though she heard a couple of people blowing their noses.

Bracken raised her head to look at Lucie, and she led her back to her seat. As soon as she sat down, Irisa seized her hand and squeezed it tight. Bracken squeezed it back, though she was still trying to catch her breath.

It was easy to ignore the rest of it. She caught snatches of songs, which she didn’t stand up or join in for. She was like a stuck record, one image lodged in her mind. Her mother. Her father. Aden. Her mother. Her father. Aden. All of them. She forgot about everyone else around her. She forgot where she was, until Irisa shook her shoulder. “Brac, we’re going outside,” she said softly. Bracken got to her feet and staggered after Jack, Luke and Lucie. Lucie had hold of one of Mika’s hands, and one of Damon’s hands, but she looked more restraining than comforting.

Bracken walked out of the church with the Traysons. They were the last, so nobody jostled her. It was cold outside, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Irisa had her arm around Bracken’s shoulders, but this did nothing to warm her up. The vicar, who led the procession, was walking through a graveyard to where there were three newly dug graves, in a line. Fresh tears choked her. We stopped in a ragged circle. There was a coffin in each dirt hole. Bracken’s mouth went completely dry, and she could not breathe properly.

She listened vaguely to the vicar. This part of the service was a lot shorter. A bowl of dirt was offered around to people. When it reached Bracken, she took three handfuls of the dirt and scattered one on each. She then walked back to the Traysons. Soon after, people began to disperse. Eventually the Traysons left her too, though she knew they would wait until she was ready to leave.

Bracken walked forward, tears falling from her face onto her cardigan. This was the last chance she had to speak to her family. This was the last moment she had with them. She inhaled, the cold wind making her cheeks sting painfully due to their wetness.

“I love you so much… Goodbye.”

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[x.Jolly.x]

Shade, you are an awesome writer. This story is so good, yet so sad! I love it!

[/blockquote]

[Spice..xx]

<sub>Oh Shade, you bad girl you made me cry .

It's really good. Can't wait to see where it goes.</sub>

[SHADE. :D]

Thanks Jolly, and sorry Spice! *hands you hanky and cookies* :3'

I might have more up later today... Dunno.

(:

Thanks for reading it guys! <33

EDIT.
I wrote more. Attack of muse for this story. xD

And by the way, the Misty Valley Inn is a real place. I researched B&Bs in Forks. xD

CHAPTER FOUR.

When Bracken woke the day after the funeral, the sound of rain pattering on the window drummed on her ears. She pulled the sheet up over her head and tried to concentrate on the noise, wanting to put up a shield against the memories. It didn’t work. The funeral came rushing back, and by the time her mind had finished whirling her cheeks were wet.
Bracken pushed the sheet off her body. It fluttered to lie flat on the bed. She stretched and rubbed her face. Her eyes stung when she touched them. She was fairly sure she was a mess.

She ran her hands through her thick hair and yawned, the stretching of her face only paining her eyes further. She took up the plastic-backed mirror and peered into it. The delicate skin around her eyes was red raw, and her eyelashes were stuck together. She sighed and raked her fingers through her hair again. It was tangled because she hadn’t bothered to untie the plait from yesterday. She proceeded to do so.

She was still picking away at the knotted hair when Dr Cullen walked in, as usual making no noise as he approached her. She raised her eyes to flash a quick look at his face, to let him know she knew he was there, before going back to her work. If Dr Cullen noticed her dishevelled appearance, he didn’t comment on it. “Well, Bracken, you’re test results are back and I’m pretty sure you’ll be okay to leave tonight, like we discussed,” he said calmly.
Bracken would’ve punched the air if the situation had been different. The little hospital room held so many bad memories that she couldn’t wait to be out. It was though it was filled with intoxicating smoke, as though she were still in that fire. She couldn’t breathe here without inhaling an unwanted feeling, an image that would just make her cry again. This was why she wasn’t going back to Seattle.

She had thought it over many times, but nothing inside her pushed her to return to her home. Everything there would be different. Her house would be half-charred and filled with police and forensic scientists. She could’ve stayed with Lucie and Jack, but she just couldn’t muster up the effort. With Nurse Lewis’s help, she had located a small, local bed and breakfast near the hospital, and arranged a stay. She would look into finding somewhere from permanent later. For now she just needed to clear her head, and returning to Seattle would just make things ten times worse.

Forks seemed like a nice enough town. Small. Everyone knew eachother, and she’d be the newcomer, which would be uncomfortable, but she’d have to deal with it. Bracken blinked, realising that Dr Cullen was still stood there. She forced the tightest knot free with a wince and then faked a smile at the doctor. “Okay. I’ll pack my stuff ready. Thanks.” He nodded and disappeared from the room. The smile, which was really more of a grimace, slid off her face as if the glue it had been stuck on with had abruptly melted.

Bracken got to her feet, swaying a little. She managed to steady herself faster than she ever had before. After the accident, anyway. Pride flared briefly in her chest, before the stone that was becoming familiar fell onto it, crushing away the life. Sadness tingled through her body and limbs, burning out at the ends of her fingers and toes, leaving behind a dull ache that she recognized from yesterday. She inhaled in preparation, and then ducked down to rifle through the cardboard box of rescued clothes she had been given. She hoped they had some shops in Forks. She was running dangerously low on garments.

She picked out a pair of dark jeans, and then picked through everything other item in the basket. She found just one shirt, an electric blue one with a bright yellow smiling face motif on the front. She smirked briefly at the irony, but threw it on top of the jeans anyway. It was better than nothing.

Bracken dressed herself quickly, shoving the dirty clothes she had slept in into a plastic bag somebody had provided, most likely the nurse. She reminded herself to thank Nurse Lewis before she left. Bracken picked up the box of clothes and upturned it so that the small stream of clothes slopped into the bag. It didn’t take long for the spout to sputter to an end. Bracken then did the same with her other box of possessions, a even smaller, more dog-eared box. It contained four things.

One of these was her favourite necklace, which had a purple owl-shaped pendant. It had been rescued because Aden had taken it after an argument between them and hidden it in his room. Therefore it had not been burnt. Bracken rubbed her thumb over the shiny surface, cold sweeping over her skin as she thought of her poor little brother. She tied it swiftly around her neck, and then went on to examine the rest of the contents.

There was the one ornament that had lived through the fire in her bedroom. It a small well, each stone carefully crafted. A slight, white-skinned fairy with a pair of butterfly-like wings sat on the edge of the well, head rested on one hand. Her face was permanently painted in a dreamlike expression. She had been given the ornament as a present on her eighth birthday, and treasured it ever since. She was glad that it alone had not been destroyed, though it had needed meticulous cleaning and there were still traces of black on the surface.

After wrapping this in her mother’s green cardigan and placing it in her bag, Bracken peered back into the box at the last two objects. She removed the floppy shape of a soft toy. It was a droopy dog with faded brown fur, which had rubbed off in places. It had belonged to Aden, who stubbornly told everybody he was too old for soft toys, but had always kept this one hidden. Its name was Brownie. Bracken cradled the toy to her chest, breathing in her brother’s familiar, but now bittersweet smell. She used one of Brownie’s fluffy paws to wipe away the single tear that escaped one of her eyes, and then placed him in the bag too.

The last thing in the box was book-sized and thin. It had been concealed by Brownie. Bracken placed her hands carefully underneath it and removed it, blowing on it gently to shift the dust. It was a photograph, set in a square-cut glass frame. The image was recent, from this summer. Bracken and Aden had gone to the beach with their parents. The picture had been taken in the evening, though it was hard to tell due to the brightness. The Bracken in the picture was sat on a low wall holding a lollipop, not looking at the camera. She was looking at her father, who had Aden on his back. Her father had forgotten that Aden was nine and getting heavy and he was getting older. He was staggering. The Bracken was laughing.

Her mother was on the edge of the picture, smiling, and her face tanned and radiant. Bracken touched the image with her fingertips. She was smiling, but tears ran down her cheeks. It was weird. She quickly wrapped the photograph in the biggest garment she could find, the black skirt she had worn to the funeral, and then added it to the bag. She was set.

Bracken dragged the brush through her thick tangle of hair until it was fairly tamed, and left it loose. It tickled her cheeks and fell over her eyes were her fringe had overgrown, but she didn’t notice enough to care. She turned and pulled the sheet over the bed she had occupied for so many weeks, smoothening it. She studied it for a moment, thoughtful, before her eyes switched to the window. She sighed. The rain was still falling in a steady patter. It looked like her only sweatshirt with a hood was going to be getting wet.

She pulled the sky blue garment from the bag carefully, shrugging it on but not zipping it up. She glanced at the clock set into the cream-painted wall. It read three-forty five. She had woken up late, because the night had granted her no sleep whatsoever. She had finally been caught by slumber’s web at about three in the morning, which was partly the reason for the irritation in her eyes.

The door pushed open, but nobody entered. He blinked, perplexed, before Nurse Lewis backed into the room, holding the door open with her back and pulling in an odd looking contraption. It took Bracken a moment to recognize the phone. It was one of those portable affairs you found in hospitals. Bracken got up from where she had perched on the edge of the bed. She would be glad to help the nurse, when she had been so kind over the past few weeks. She stumbled on the way, again forgetting that her brain still wasn’t quite connected with her feet.
Bracken took hold of the other end of the phone and pushed it to her bedside whilst Nurse Lewis pushed. When they had accomplished this, the nurse smiled at her. “Thanks,” she said with gratitude in her tone. “I brought this in case you wanted to make any calls.”

Bracken thought about it. “I should probably phone Jack and Lucie,” she mused, thinking to herself that she would much rather speak to Irisa. “But other than that... There’s nobody. I just need a cab.” Nurse Lewis laughed at Bracken’s impatience. She quickly explained to her how to use the phone, before departing politely, not wanting to intrude on Bracken’s conversation. Bracken removed the receiver and punched in the number, holding it to her ear while the tone buzzed away.

“Hello?” It was Irisa’s voice on the other end of the phone. Bracken was relieved. She knew her old friend would understand her need to be away from Seattle. Lucie or Jack might have tried to persuade her to stay. “Hey Riss, its Bracken,” she said into the receiver, sitting back on the bed and folding her legs under her body. “I just called to say that... Well... I’m getting out of the hospital today.”

Irisa sounded gladdened on the other end of the phone, but there was a catch to her voice, as though she sensed that something bad was coming. “That’s great, Brac! Bet you’re glad to be out, huh? So, how are you, anyway?” Bracken smiled to herself at Irisa’s attempt to conceal her concern with a casual attitude. “Yup, definitely. I’m okay. I’m trying not to think about...” She trailed off, not sure how to finish their sentence. “Anyway, Riss, I need to tell you something.” There was no going back now. “I... I’m not coming back to Seattle.” She waited for her friend’s reaction, not as confident as she had been earlier.

There was a brief silence. “I... I can’t say I’m surprised,” came Irisa’s voice. She sounded as though she was being honest. “I mean, I don’t want you to go, but... You’ll phone me, right? Where are you staying?” Bracken laughed a little at her friend. “Riss, you sound just like Lucie,” she chuckled. “Of course I’ll phone you, when I get the chance. I’m staying in a B&B in Forks. I’ll be fine, Mother Hen.” The word ‘mother’ made her flinch as it slipped from her mouth. “Oh, well, okay then, Brac...” Irisa replied on the other end of the phone. “I’m going to miss you so much. Who am I gonna spy on Luke with now, eh?” Bracken giggled weakly. The sound scared her.

“I should probably be going, Riss,” she told her friend down the phone. “The B&B awaits. But I promise I’ll phone you. As soon as. Tell Jack and Lucie not to worry, and say hi to the kids for me.” Bracken thought of Mika and Damon as she said this. They didn’t have a clue what was going on. “I will,” Irisa promised. “Good luck, Brac. Talk to you soon, okay?” The last word was said as a mock threat. Bracken laughed huskily again. “Yes, yes. Bye, Riss!” After exchanging farewells, Bracken hung up. She felt strangely alone after she replaced the receiver.

It was time to get out of this place. Bracken slid off the bed and grabbed her plastic bag. She span on the spot once, drinking in the room for one last time. She would be so glad to wave goodbye to it. And that was what she did, literally, as she hobbled from the room.

In the corridor outside, she encountered Nurse Lewis and Dr Cullen, who had been coming to see her. “Off, are we?” Dr Cullen asked with a smile. Bracken nodded. “Well, good luck!” Nurse Lewis squeezed her shoulder as she said this. Bracken smiled a proper, heartfelt smile this time. “Thanks a lot, both of you,” she said sincerely. “Thanks for everything.” Nurse Lewis smiled once more, and then hurried on to enter the room that had been Bracken’s.

“We might see eachother again,” Dr Cullen said. “I live in Forks, too.” Bracken blinked – she had guessed as much, considering the doctor had bothered to come to the funeral. “My children are about the same age as you. You’ll probably meet them in school.” Two things hit her at that moment. The first was school. She hadn’t thought about school. She suppressed a groan. She couldn’t put it off for long. The second was that Dr Cullen had children her age. She couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open. How old was he? He didn’t look much older than Nurse Lewis. He couldn’t be any older than late twenties. Could he...?

The doctor seemed to notice, because he responded with a short laugh. “My wife and I adopted them,” he told her. Bracken relaxed. “Um... That’s nice,” she said awkwardly, embarrassed. She hesitated, adjusting the plastic bag, and then smiled again. “I’d better go. Thanks again.” She turned and continued down the corridor towards the lift, her cheeks still burning.

As the lift swooped downwards, Bracken reran over the recent events. She’d been trapped in a house fire, which had been focused on her bedroom. Her family had been killed in a strange attack on the same night. She’d woken up in a hospital on the edge of Forks some weeks later. She exhaled. This story was going to take getting used to. The loss of her family was going to be harder, though. She kept finding herself reaching out, thinking that everything would be fine; her mother would make it better, or her father. She kept wondering how Aden’s day had went before remembering that he would never again burble a story to her.

Bracken stepped out of the lift as the doors slid open. There was an empty taxi outside. She increased her pace, but it still couldn’t really be called running. She was gasping by the time she reached the car. She leant on the roof. “C... Could you t... take me to... To the Misty Valley Inn?” she said, her words broken. The driver nodded. Bracken opened the door and got into the car, pulling her bag in with her. The slam of the door as it shut made her jump. She breathed deeply to calm her nerves.

This was her new start. She was going to turn over a fresh, clean page. She was still Bracken Moore, of course. And she refused to forget about her family, and what had happened to them. She would always love them, but she had to move on. She couldn’t dwell on her misery any longer.

This was the start of her new life.

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[Spice..xx]

<sub>I love this Shade, I'm totally hooked.

I keep finding myself sat thinking "I wonder what will happen next" and I only do that if i really like something so you're doing something right =D lol.</sub>

[x.Jolly.x]

Shade, this is so good! xD -takes cookie and shoves in her mouth- Fank you!

[/blockquote]

[SHADE. :D]

xDD

Thanks guys! I'll try and get more up for you today.

I think I changed to first person it some parts. x___x *goes to edit*

EDIT.
I wrote more my dears. ^^

CHAPTER FIVE.

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After a few days’ worth of mornings waking up in the small room in the Misty Valley Inn, the horrors of the past few days had dulled down a little. The room was not home, but it was better than the hospital. It was not complicated, just a square room with a bed and a chest of drawers shoved inside. The toilets were just along her corridor, along with the showers. It wasn’t like she had many possessions, so she didn’t need all that much room.

Bracken exhaled as sleep loosened its grip on her. Her eyelids were still heavy as stone, and she didn’t want to open them, but she was awake. She couldn’t put it off for long. She couldn’t hear the pattering of pain – perhaps today would be a good day to go and pick up some things. In fact, today would be the perfect day.

On the third day of her stay at the Inn, Bracken had walked the short distance to Forks High School, a building that was hard to distinguish as a school unless you read the signs. She had entered and, despite her misgivings, got herself a place. Her parents wouldn’t have wanted her to drop out. She was due to start the next day, Monday. She definitely needed to go and pick up some new clothes – she hardly had enough to keep her going at the moment.

Bracken sighed shortly and flicked open her eyes. Though she still hadn’t quite got over the bouts of tears that followed a sudden memory, her eyes were no longer swollen and red-ringed. She rubbed them casually as she sat up, the duvet sliding off her body. She yawned and looked out of the small window. The sky was grey, and swimming with clouds, but there wasn’t a trace of rain. This was a good sign.

Bracken got out of bed and walked across the room barefoot to where a small wash bag sagged on top of the chest of drawers. On her first day in the Inn, she had gone shopping to pick up the necessities; a toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, etc. She grabbed all three of these items, and then peered down at herself to check she wasn’t going to embarrass herself leaving her room. She was wearing one of her few shirts and a pair of loose cotton trousers that had been part of her school sports uniform back in Seattle. Shrugging, she walked to the door, unlocked it, tucked the key into her pocket, and left the room.

The bathrooms were empty apart from a woman with wispy blonde-grey hair and tired face. Bracken nodded awkwardly at the woman, then peered into one of the mirrors set over the grubby sinks. It didn’t take her long to tame her hair, clean her teeth, and wash her face. She felt a little more optimistic about what was coming the day after this, and it was with a higher heart that she trudged back to her room.

Bracken quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, groaning when she realised that her only other shirt was still going through one of the washing machines downstairs. She blew slowly through her clenched teeth, trying not to lose hope completely. She pulled a pair of boots from beside the chest of drawers – that was one thing she did not have a shortage of, as her shoes had always been kept downstairs, so none of them had been destroyed. Bracken shoved her feet into them, grabbed her purse, and left the room once again.

She had been given some money to keep herself afloat. She had set aside enough to pay the bill when she eventually decided to vacate her room in the Inn, and the amount she had left was thinning. She bit her lip. She knew that at some point she would receive what her parents had left her, but this filled her with a numb sadness rather than relief. That would mean they were really gone; it would mean she had accepted it. Bracken flipped through the notes in her purse as she left the lobby of the Inn, clicking her tongue worriedly.

She sat on a low brick wall outside the Inn as she waited for a taxi. This was one of the most irritating parts of living here. Back in Seattle, she had just passed her driving test, and her parents had promised her that she would receive her first car for Christmas. But of course, it was still only September, and she still had no car. She’d have to work on that.

Bracken thought idly over the events of the past few days. Nothing much had happened. Every evening she had trailed down the wooden stairs to eat, but otherwise she had stayed in her own. Well, she had ventured down to call Irisa once, but the phone was crowded and she had hung up quickly under the eyes of the other guests.

Bracken jumped to her feet as a taxi pulled up, carrying a young woman with a drooping baby. She staggered, cursing. She hadn’t done anything like that since leaving the hospital. She walked past the woman, who was dragging herself up the stone steps to the Inn. Bracken slid into the back seat of the taxi. “Port Angeles, please,” she said politely. The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb.

Bracken peered out the window as the car trundled along. Everywhere you went in Forks, you could count on there being trees, or some kind of green vegetation. They wouldn’t ever have to worry about an oxygen shortage here. Bracken remembered the tall buildings and traffic of Seattle – it was nothing like this tranquil town. But that wasn’t something which unsettled her. It was good. She didn’t want anything here to remind of her of her old life, her life with her mother and father and Aden. She sniffed pointedly, as though warning herself fiercely not to start crying in the back of a cab.

Bracken passed the driver a few notes as he stopped the car, and got out with muttered thanks. She was fairly sure she had offended him with her apparent coldness, but she didn’t dwell on it for long. Her eyes raked over the buildings before her and, stuffing her hands into her jeans pockets, she began to walk down the thin pathway.

Port Angeles was not too large, and it didn’t take Bracken too long to locate some promising looking shops. She flipped through racks of shirts and jeans without much conviction, but forced herself to continue nevertheless. After a couple of hours’ tiring trailing around shops, she had acquired enough clothes to last her (in her opinion) a lifetime. And her money supply was looking sadder than ever. She reminded herself to look into getting a job as soon as she was back in school.

Back in Seattle, she had worked as a waitress in a local restaurant for a few months. Maybe she could do something similar here. Bracken stopped at a small coffee shop at midday, bags hanging from her fingers, cutting into her skin. She had almost had enough of the town. Bracken dumped her bags on a table, and sat down. She paused to rub her temples for a moment, and then swept the little cafe with her eyes. It was not crowded.

One of the tables was taken by an aging man with russet skin and long black hair. He looked as if he came from the Quileute reservation down on the La Push beach. She had picked up information like this from eavesdropping on people’s conversations; something she didn’t like doing but felt it was a necessity. There was a thin woman with her head stuck in a newspaper, and a cup of tea hanging from one raised hand. And in one corner, there were two girls who looked Bracken’s age. They were trying not to glance in her direction, Bracken deduced, as she glanced at them. She decided she didn’t mind, though she could feel their eyes burning into her.

A waitress, who was short with curly, unnaturally blonde hair, bounced up to them to take her order. Bracken ordered a coffee, smiling wearily at the waitress. The overly-optimistic girl nodded vigorously and went to fetch her order. Bracken yawned and sifted through her purchases without much interest. It wasn’t that she disliked shopping; she just wasn’t in the mood at this precise moment.

“Hey, um, are you new here?” A voice interrupted her thoughts, which were seriously threatening to turn gloomy. Bracken glanced up through her straw-coloured hair to see one of the girls from the corner sat in the chair opposite her. The other girl was watching with something akin to apprehension on her face. The girl facing her had white skin (obviously she had lived in dreary Forks all of her life) and straight, thin dark brown hair. She also had a fringe cut neatly across her eyebrows, and piercing green eyes. Bracken had never seen anybody quite like her, but then, she had never been to Forks.

“Yep,” Bracken replied in a voice she hoped was mildly friendly. The girl probably attended Forks High (she was pretty sure it was the only school in the close vicinity) and it would be good to know somebody. “I... I moved here from Seattle.” The girl smiled brightly and offered Bracken her hand. “I’m Cleo! Cleo Mason,” she introduced herself. She turned to look at her friend; Bracken tilted her head slightly so she could still see Cleo’s face. She was half-mouthing, half-whispering across the cafe to her friend. “She seems cool!” And she was beckoning. Bracken stifled a giggle, turning it into a cough quickly as Cleo threw her a glance.

“Sorry about that,” Cleo apologized with a smile. “Sym’s just shy...” The other girl was heading towards them. She pulled a chair from a nearby table and put it next to Cleo’s. Cleo was right. This girl definitely exuded shyness. She had dark hair that looked almost black, tied back in a ponytail, a sensible fringe and thick-framed blue glasses. She shot Bracken a smile that looked more unsure than friendly. When she did not say anything, Cleo chipped in. “This is Symone! Symone Webber!”

Bracken forced another smile onto her face – this time it was not quite as hard. She nodded politely at the two girls. “I’m Bracken Moore.” The two girls exchanged a quick glance, probably reacting to her name. Bracken shifted in her chair, embarrassed. It could be annoyingly attention-attracting, having an unusual name. She was saved when the bubbly waitress returned, carrying her coffee. She thanked the girl and paid her quickly, with some of the coins rattling in the bottom of her purse.

“So, what, are you joining Forks High?” Cleo spoke again. It seemed she was the sort of girl who talked, whilst Symone listened. Bracken took a sip of her coffee, and then replied. “Yes, tomorrow,” she said, trying to keep her voice bright enough for conversation – but it dropped a key when she spoke of school. Cleo giggled girlishly. “It’s not that bad,” she informed Bracken. “You’ll be a junior?” The words were posed as a question. It seemed Cleo wanted to know whether Bracken would be in her class just as much as Bracken did. Bracken nodded in reply to the question.

Cleo beamed. “Great! We’re juniors, too,” she said brightly. Bracken returned the smile, this time not needing to force herself. Cleo seemed nice enough, Symone too – though they were quite different. Bracken shrugged mentally; this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “That’s good,” she said in reply to Cleo’s comment. “At least I’ll know someone.” The three of them fell into casual conversation. Cleo did most of the talking, informing Bracken about the timetable and other random facts about Forks.

Bracken rose regretfully after draining the last of her coffee. She glanced at the clock on the wall. She’d been here at least an hour – far longer than she had anticipated. She smiled down at Symone and Cleo, grateful that they had taken the time to speak to her. “Well, I should probably get back to the Inn.” Symone carefully disguised her surprise, but Cleo’s eyes popped. “Inn?” she asked. Bracken silently cursed herself. The two girls didn’t know anything about the reasons behind her move, or where she was staying.

“Umm... Yes,” she said awkwardly. She looked down, deciding she should probably explain herself but not wanting to look into their eyes when she did so. “My... My family were killed in a... An accident. So I’m staying in an Inn.” She waited, jiggling one foot to distract herself from the silence whilst the two girls digested what she had just told them. Cleo reacted first, as she had expected. “Oh, Bracken! I’m so sorry!” her voice was filled with surprise and sympathy. This is what it was going to be like for a while.

“That’s... Terrible,” Symone’s voice was quieter, but just as sincere. Bracken shot them a smile that was more of a grimace, and wiped her eyes furiously when they grew wet. “Well, anyway,” she said in a rush. “I should be going. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” With that she picked up her bags and left the cafe, Cleo and Symone’s goodbye’s still ringing in her ears.

The wait for a taxi didn’t bother her as much this time. It was just starting to get dark, so she stood in the shadows and let the tears fall down her face until she had none left to cry. She was wiping her eyes with her sleeve when a taxi arrived, and so was presentable enough. She asked for the Misty Valley Inn, trying to hide the huskiness of her voice. She noticed the driver looking at her from the corner of his eye, as though he wondered what the matter with her was, but he looked away when she caught his eye. Just as well.

Bracken paid him hastily, and ran up the stone steps into the Inn’s lobby. The only person present was a bored-looking women sat at the help desk, reading a book with a pen hanging from her mouth. Bracken was pretty sure she had missed the dinner servings. It didn’t matter – she wasn’t hungry anyway. Rubbing her face with both hands, she ascended the long flight of stairs and walked down the corridor to her room. She fumbled with the key, not quite managing to get it to fit the lock at first. It took her several heaving attempts to get the door open. The nearby guests probably thought somebody was trying to break in.

Bracken crossed the room, dumping her bags down anywhere, and sat on the bed. Her last day, the last day she didn’t have to think about anything. The last day she could just lie back on her bed and think if she wanted to. Growling under her breath, Bracken pushed herself off the bed and began upturning all of the plastic bags containing her purchases. She would put them all away in the chest of drawers to distract herself from the nagging anxieties nipping away at the back of her brain.

Folding up the clothes had a certain rhythm that calmed her juddering nerves. Today would be fine. She had told the school about what had happened to her. Surely they wouldn’t expect too much…? And she already knew two people. Maybe they would hang out with her, so she wouldn’t feel too out of place. Maybe she’d even make some new friends. By the time this thought crossed her mind her hopes had become fragile dreams that were highly unlikely to come true.

Bracken screwed up all the plastic bags into a big, crumpled ball and threw them into the corner. She shoved the things she had bought for school into the same corner, not wanting to see them in the night and think about them. She switched her jeans for the same loose trousers she had worn the night before, then lay back on the bed. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, hoping that the air in her lungs would steady her heart and calm her down.

Tomorrow would be fine. It was just school. Her worries were stupid, surely. Every girl went to school. She’d been going for the last thirteen years of her life. Bracken shut her eyes. Sleep was surprisingly easy to find, as she ploughed through her worries. She really had tired herself out today. As slumber swept over her like a warm wave of water, one word lodged itself in her mind.

Great.

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[SHADE. :D]

I had a lot of muse for this story today. xD

CHAPTER SIX.

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An irrational sense of impending doom filled Bracken’s mind as she prepared herself for her first day at Forks High School. She woke up much too early, and spent an hour or so thinking up believable excuses for not turning up. But, after taking a shower to calm herself down and make sure she looked presentable, she had deduced that she had to attend. There was no way of avoiding it. It would catch up with her eventually.

Bracken took a moment deciding what to wear. Eventually she decided on a loose black dress marked with small green flowers, with jeans, slip on shoes and her mother’s green cardigan. She brushed her hair more carefully than she had done for the past few days, so that it looked more curly than just messy. She finished off her look with a thin green alice band placed behind her ears. She hoped she wouldn’t look too ridiculous to the other students.

Bracken picked up the bag she had bought yesterday, and stuffed in everything she thought she might need, including her purse. She then took one last swift glance around the room, and exited, putting her key in the very bottom of her bag. It would not be good if she lost her key on the first day of school. Not good at all. When Bracken descended the stairs and peered at the clock in the lobby, she was dismayed to realise how early it still was. It seemed she had not wasted enough time deliberating. Oh well.

She had been told to go to reception upon her arrival, to pick up her timetable, and some sort of slip. She was supposed to get it signed by all of her teachers. In the end, pure nerves made her leave the lobby. She was attracting looks from the receptionist with her jerky, anxious movements. She was still half an hour early, but she decided this didn’t matter. It would take her a good ten minutes to walk to the school.

The wind was cold as it sliced past her. She shivered, but not because of the wind. Bracken wrapped her arms around herself and fixed her eyes downward. It was extremely difficult to ignore the impulse to turn around and dash back up to her room, to hide there all day. She distracted herself by thinking of all the people she had met so far in Forks. First, she went over Dr Cullen with his incredibly chalky skin and pale hair, and Nurse Lewis, the small, dark-skinned nurse who had been so kind to her at the hospital.

She was running over Cleo and Symone when the sign for Forks High School loomed up out of nowhere. She eyed it apprehensively, and then passed it with determination burning in her chest. She had come this far, right…? She was relieved to see that there were cars parked in the car park – she wasn’t the only one who had arrived early – but this also made her uneasy. She could see people’s heads turning as they stared at her. Bracken blushed, feeling her skin burn red. She brushed past a boy who was gawping at her from outside his old blue car, and slipped into the reception. Inside, it was warmer, and she instantly relaxed. The only person in here was a woman with dyed hair stood behind the desk.

Bracken hovered for a moment, and then walked to the desk. The woman smiled at her. “Hello, how can I help you?” It was obvious from her face that she did not recognize Bracken, but she did not stare. “Um, my name’s Bracken Moore,” Bracken began nervously. “I’m new… Today?” The woman’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I was told about that.” Her voice took on a lower quality – Bracken guessed she knew about what had happened to Bracken’s family. Bracken blushed again, clearing her throat casually to fill the silence.

“Anyway, welcome to Forks High, dear,” said the woman, in her normal voice again. Bracken relaxed. She noticed a little sign on the desk reading ‘Mrs Cope’. Mrs Cope handed her a piece of paper over the desk. “This is your timetable,” she said. She then ducked down to retrieve something which was stored on the inside of the desk. She appeared again, not a hair out of place, and handed a slip to Bracken. “You just need to get all your teachers to sign that, and then bring it back to me at the end of the day. Okay?”

Bracken nodded and thanked Mrs Cope, before walking away from the desk. She folded the slip in half and pushed it into her pocket. She did not leave the office, afraid of the stares. Instead, she squinted at her timetable. She was glad she had been given papers about her old school to give to Forks High. She was doing pretty much the same lessons she had done in Seattle. And first, was English. It started in five minutes, a quick glance at the clock told her. It looked like she couldn’t put it off any longer.

Bracken put her hand on the door and shoved. It was worse this time. She attracted even more stares due to the doubled amount of people. Bracken stared at her feet, determined not to look at anyone’s face. She tripped once, over her own feet, but pretended it had not happened and carried on. She was sure she heard muffled giggling from behind her, but she couldn’t be sure. It could just be her overactive imagination trying to taunt her.

She was halfway down the corridor when something suddenly grabbed her arm. She jumped terribly, only to recognize Cleo’s bobbing head. Symone walked on her other side, smiling but not looking quite as manic as her friend. Now that Bracken stood beside Cleo, she could see the other girl was taller than her. So was Symone. This made her feel further discomfort, though the fact that these girls seemed to want to talk to her was a good sign.

“Hey, Bracken!” Cleo chimed. “It’s great to see you! Sym wasn’t sure you’d turn up!” She turned to her friend, a chastising look on her face. “I told you she would!” Bracken smiled, but said nothing in reply. “So, what lesson have you got first, Brac?” Bracken noticed the casual use of her old nickname. She wasn’t sure if she minded or not. “English, with Mr Mason,” Bracken told her. She noticed Symone stifle a laugh, and Cleo glare at her. It clicked in her mind. Cleo Mason. Maybe she was related to the teacher. How embarrassing for her.

“Me too,” came Symone’s quiet reply. Cleo looked annoyed. “That’s so unfair,” she moaned, still clutching Bracken’s arm. “I have Spanish. Ugh.” Bracken caught Symone’s eye and they both coughed loudly to hide their laughter. The three of them split up outside the English classroom, Cleo miming a sudden and dramatic death at being separated from the others. Bracken and Symone were still giggling when they entered the classroom, which earned a mild glare from the teacher.

It was easy to tell he was related to Cleo. They had the same eyes. Symone went to take her seat beside a girl with blonde plaits. Bracken cursed silently. That meant she had to sit next to a stranger, or by herself. She approached the teacher cautiously, wishing she had made a better impression upon entering the classroom, but he smiled faintly when she stopped in front of him. “You must be Bracken Moore,” he said. “I was told you’d be joining our class today.” Bracken nodded, managing a weak smile. Mr Mason gestured towards a desk only a row in front of the back of the classroom.

Bracken walked through the middle of the rows to reach her seat, it being the only route. If she could have burrowed underground to get there, she would have. She wanted to physically grab everyone’s faces and turn them back to the teacher. What was so interesting about her? Bracken’s mood was not too good as she put her bag on the table with more force than necessary. When she moved it, the boy beside her was looking at her.

“Yes?” Bracken asked, exasperated. She then regretted her words. She didn’t want to be known for her rudeness, so she pinned a fake smile on her face to take the edge off her words. Mr Mason began the lesson, handing out books, on between two, to each table. The boy didn’t seem to notice the temper in her voice. He had dark brown hair, and was wearing a blue shirt with a collar and jeans. He was unremarkable in every way – pretty much like everybody else in the classroom, including Bracken herself.

“Just taking a look at the new girl,” he said to her. The words grated on her ears. She hated being referred to like that, though she knew it was true. And that she would have to put up with it for the next month. She blinked at him, the smile still glued in place. “Bracken, isn’t it?” The boy spoke in a friendly voice, but Bracken wasn’t in the mood for making friends. She decided to try, for his sake. “Yes,” she said simply. The boy seemed delighted that she had actually spoken to him. He seemed easy enough to please.

“I’m Luke Gregory,” he said, holding out his hand like Cleo had when Bracken had first met her. Bracken took it carefully and shook it. “So, why’d you move here?” Luke continued. He didn’t seem to be afraid of asking her questions. She had to remind herself that this was actually considered a good quality in a person. And he wasn’t that bad. Just a bit annoying. “I moved from Seattle,” she told him, only half-answering his question.

Luke looked as though he was going to ask why again, like a small child repeating itself, but at that moment Mr Mason threw a book down on their table with such force that Bracken nearly jumped off her chair. Mr Mason shook his head disapprovingly at Luke, and then carried on. Bracken wasn’t sure whether this was because he was talking, or because he was being nosy. It didn’t really matter – all that mattered was that it had worked. Luke didn’t get a chance to speak to her through the rest of the lesson, but whenever she looked at him he seemed to be staring.

Bracken practically ran out of English, wanting to escape Luke’s questions. Symone was waiting for her outside, a book clutched against her chest. She pushed her glasses up and smiled her small smile at Bracken. “Hey,” she said. “What have you got now?” Bracken consulted her timetable, to discover she had Biology. Symone was also in this lesson, so they walked together, talking comfortably.

The day passed at a reasonable pace for Bracken. It was not nearly as bad as she had anticipated, though the stares were excruciating. She met many more people, some who seemed genuinely interested, others just digging for information to spread. Bracken was relieved when the bell rang out clearly, signalling for lunch. She left her Spanish lesson with Cleo (who had been delighted to find herself in one of Bracken’s lessons) and a new girl and boy she had met today; Poppy and Finlay Ratterford. They were twins, which was easy to tell if you looked at them. Both of them had sandy hair and freckles, with deep brown eyes. They were chatty, like Cleo, but not quite as over-the-top.

Bracken found herself surrounded at lunch time, after she had paid for her food and sat down between Cleo (which had been inescapable) and Poppy. She recognized a lot of the crowd, Finlay, Symone and Luke, and some other people she had met today. There was Jay Arron, Braydon Jones and Carly Stanley. And then there were more people she had never met. These people dispersed only after Cleo yelled at them to give her space. For once, Bracken was glad that Cleo had such a loud, shrill voice.

The table was easier to manage with just faces she knew. And it also gave her space to look around the café. There wasn’t much in there of interest, though, so she averted her eyes back to her companions. Jay was looking at her as though he wanted to ask a question. She looked away quickly, instead concentrating on a conversation between Carly and Symone. Both of them seemed to be quieter than the others, so she was more drawn to their conversations.

Then it came, the inevitable question which she had been waiting for all day. “So, Brac, why did you come to sleepy old Forks?” It was Jay who asked, as she had expected. Bracken blinked. “I… I…” She struggled to get her words out. Symone kept her mouth shut, and so did Cleo, surprisingly. It looked like she was going to have to face this one alone.

“I heard she was involved in a murder,” Bracken heard somebody whisper. This was sort of the truth, but the way several of the group stared at her in horror made realization shoot through her. They thought she was a murderer. Bracken couldn’t help but laugh at that, it was so ridiculous. As if she’d be allowed to wander the streets, to go to school, if she was a murderer. At this reaction, Jay’s eyes grew huge and Poppy shifted away from the table a fraction.

“Yep,” Bracken said, still amused. “I murdered my rich aunt to steal her fortune. That’s why I’m here.” For a moment it looked as though the table believed her – then Cleo shrieked with laughter and everyone relaxed. When the laughter died down, all eyes were on Bracken again. It looked she still hadn’t escaped the question.

“I’m here because my family were killed,” she said simply. It felt as though she was choking as she said it. Everyone fell silent. After a moment, a few awkward ‘oh’s went around the table. Bracken watched as everyone went back to their conversations, satisfied.

Her last lesson was Art, the only thing she had been looking forward too. She walked with Poppy and Finlay, who seemed to like her more now, as though their minds had been put at rest. It didn’t take them long to find the Art room. Bracken entered and peered around. It was beautiful, in her opinion, the walls painted with flowers and stars and faces. The floor was splattered with paint. In fact, everything in the room was splattered with paint, even the teacher, Miss Hayze. The woman, who had a wild mop of black hair and large blue eyes, greeted her warmly. Bracken had her slip signed, and then went to take a seat.

The tables in here had been pushed together, so Bracken was able to share one with Finlay and Poppy, and two other boys who stared throughout the lesson. Bracken tried to ignore them as she worked on the task. The class were halfway through a project on crowded paintings – they were painting whilst she was drawing. Bracken had crafted a book, an apple, a soft toy that looked a lot like Brownie, and a clock on her paper when the bell went. Bracken flung her back onto her shoulder, somewhat relieved, and exited the classroom.

She left the school with Luke chattering away to her on one side, but he departed once she reached the parking lot. Bracken leant against a wall, wishing she could sink right through it. She would wait until it was less crowded before going to reception. She tried to find something to look at, to distract herself from the stares. After a moment’s searching, she found it.

There was a beautiful silver car parked amongst the others, like a swan amongst pigeons. It gleamed despite the lack of sunlight. The other cars in the car park were dusty and second-hand. Bracken watched as somebody got out of the car. There were two people – a very small, slight girl with elfin features and inky that spiked out in every direction, and a boy with blonde hair and an odd expression on his face. Both of them were utterly beautiful – much too beautiful for this plain school, for this dull town. They didn’t belong here.

A moment later, another joined them, but he came from the crowds. The other two had not been in school – perhaps they were graduate’s. The newcomer had hair as black as the girl’s. All three of them had inhumanly white skin, and syrupy coloured eyes – but the black-haired boy had slightly darker eyes. Bracken couldn’t help gaping at their beauty, until all three suddenly looked at her.

She dropped her eyes, flushing an almost unhealthy scarlet colour. How embarrassing. She looked up eventually, terrified, her face still flaming. The older boy and girl had looked away, but the black-haired one was staring at her. His expression was… Horror-stricken. Bracken turned smartly on her heel and fled (there was no other word for it) into the reception office.

She barely looked at Mrs Cape as she took her slip, and mumbled something that had probably been nonsense when the woman asked how her day had gone. Bracken stopped before leaving the office, peering through the glass of the door. Relief drenched her. The strange, beautiful group had disappeared, along with the sleek silver car. Bracken pushed open the door and hurried through the car park. There were not many people left there, and she had more on her mind than this morning, so she barely noticed the stares.

Bracken’s mind was stuck on the boys and girl she had seen as she walked back to the Misty Valley Inn. They were all she could think about. They just… Just didn’t fit here. Everyone here was nice enough, yes, but ordinary, mundane. Words that could never, ever be attached to people of such shocking beauty.
Bracken tripped on her way up the stone steps, she was so distracted, and had to break her fall with outstretched hands. She sat on one of the steps for a moment, sucking the torn skin on her palms. It hurt, but she didn’t seem to register the pain.

Bracken was more careful ascending the narrow wooden staircase up to the corridor, though she nearly knocked the woman with the baby she had seen previously flying in her haste.

Once in her room, Bracken lay back on her bed, forgetting to remove her shoes. Her mind churned, chewing up the information as eagerly as a favourite snack. She examined all three faces in her mind, and something hit her like a physical blow to the face. Honey-coloured eyes, pale skin – Dr Cullen. He’d said he had children, didn’t he? And he was much too beautiful to belong here, either.

Bracken chewed the inside of her mouth absently. But they were adopted. That couldn’t be it. It had to be chance… Didn’t it? She had moved here to escape such worries, such oddities. Forks was supposed to be boring! She had counted on it!

What the hell was going on here?

[Spice..xx]

_{*is hooked*}

[SHADE. :D]

I should be getting more up soonly. (:

Sorry for the wait. <3

[x.Jolly.x]

Love it.

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[SHADE. :D]

Again, sorry for the wait.

And sorry if this chapter isn't as good as the other's! :3'

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CHAPTER SEVEN.

It was after a long night of tossing and turning that Bracken awoke the next morning. She felt as though somebody had pulled back her eyelids and poured grains of sand inside. Bracken sat up, flapping her hand irritably to get rid of the sheets that were draped over her body. She yawned, rubbing her eyes with clenched fists. Her head felt as though it was filled with water as she got to her feet. Bracken threw out a hand to grab onto the bedpost, shaking her head for a few moments before her vision focused.

Right. Today was a new day. She was not going to dwell on people with oddly similar eyes and deathly pale skin. No. She was going to be good and concentrate on school and working, and making friends who weren’t just after gossip. More enthusiastic after this firm thought, Bracken walked to the chest of drawers less drunkenly than a few moments ago. She yanked open the drawers, yawning again and scratching her head as she sifted through her clothes. Eventually she settled on a grey lace shirt, with a hooded sweatshirt and a black skirt.

She pulled a pair of ash-coloured tights and then her black boots on, then leant on the dresser, repeating her earlier thoughts several times like a mantra. She then grabbed her bag with an air of finality, threw it onto her shoulder and exited her room. She was along the corridor and down the wooden staircase in a flash. Bracken left the reception quietly, not wanting to attract the attention of the grumpy receptionist who seemed to take pride in glaring at her whenever she passed.

Bracken was surprised to see an old blue car parked outside the Inn. The paint was peeling in places, and somebody was draped out of the window. “Oi, Brac, hurry up! We’ve been for ages!” Bracken hurried forward as she recognized Cleo, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. She returned Cleo’s grin. “What are you doing here?” she said, spotting Symone in the driver’s seat beside Cleo. Cleo sighed and poked Bracken towards the back door. “Giving you a lift to school! Move, idiot!”

Bracken obeyed her friend with no more objections. She slid into the back seat, slamming the door shut. It creaked as though it was complaining. The journey passed fairly quickly. The conversation was mainly about school and Cleo’s boyfriend Alex, which suited Bracken fine. She didn’t want to let her thoughts wander...

Bracken took a moment to brace herself against the anticipated stares before getting out of the car. As her feet hit the ground, she felt the eyes burning into her. Trying not to blush, Bracken headed towards the main building with Cleo and Symone. She couldn’t help her curiousity as it rose in her chest. Bracken raised her chin very slightly to peer around through her honey-coloured hair. She glanced around the car park quickly. It seemed she was alright. They weren’t here.

Bracken raised her head further as this realization went through her. She pushed her fringe out of her eyes so she could see where she was going. Cleo was still babbling on about Alex to Symone. Bracken stopped listening, singing songs in her head to avoid her mind skipping away to rest on another subject.

Laughter sounded from somewhere behind her. But it wasn’t like normal laughter – it was somehow beautiful. Was that even possible? Beautiful laughter?

Somehow, she already knew what she going to see before she looked over her shoulder. There they were. The three people she had been dreading seeing. The slight, elfin girl, the tall blonde boy, and the black-haired boy. A hot blush spread over her whole face. Their laughter intensified. Bracken couldn’t help thinking that maybe they were laughing at her – though she was pretty sure they were way too cool to bother with the likes of her. They looked it, anyway.

As they reached the steps, Cleo skipped ahead. Bracken looked down, her fringe falling over her eyes again. Suddenly, her feet weren’t on the ground anymore. She was flying. How curious.

Then the ground hit her. Bracken blinked, completely confused. She shoved her hair out of her eyes to see people crowded around her. Before she could say a word, Cleo’s face appeared. “Hey, are you okay?” She was frowning. Bracken watched as the crowd gradually dispersed. She blinked. “Yes... What happened?” Cleo suddenly looked furious. “Oscar Cullen shoved right past you! He didn’t even stop and help you or anything! Jerk!” She shot a look inside the building. Symone was there, too. She held out a hand to Bracken and helped her up.

“I don’t know, Cleo,” Symone said uncertainly. “It happened so fast. Bracken might have just tripped.” Bracken sighed. It was possible enough. She was still getting used to using her legs. But Cleo stubbornly refused to believe anything otherwise. “No, Sym, I saw him!” she insisted. Bracken grabbed her bag from the ground and began to walk inside. Her friends followed her, still bickering about the incident.

Something suddenly clicked in her mind. Who did Cleo think had knocked her over? Oscar Cullen? Cullen? It could’ve just been a coincidence. Bracken fought the urge to ask for a moment, then gave in. “Who is Oscar Cullen?” she asked, her exasperation clear in her voice. She just wanted to forget about the embarrassing incident, but not until she knew what Cleo thought she had seen.

“Black hair,” Cleo said absently. “Quite good-looking. Bit weird. He was in the stupid shiny car. But that’s not the point...” Bracken forgot to listen to Cleo’s next words. Black hair. He was in the shiny car. Oh God. It was one of the three from yesterday. Her faced burnt painfully. And Cullen was his surname. It seemed her suspicions had been correct. But then again, Cullen was a common enough surname. Wasn’t it...?

“Cullen... Is he one of Dr Cullen’s foster kids?” she asked, interrupting Cleo. Cleo shot her a glare as though her questions were nothing to do with the matter. It was Symone who answered her question. “Yes,” she said, her voice uncertain, as though she wondered how Bracken knew about Dr Cullen. Bracken knew that Symone would never ask (she was far too polite) so she answered the unspoken question. “Dr Cullen was one of the doctors who helped me when...” She trailed off.

Symone nodded, not needing the whole sentence to understand.
So she was right. The three were Dr Cullen’s foster children. But what was with their resemblance? They couldn’t all be related. Or could they...? Bracken shoved the thoughts away angrily. She had promised herself she wouldn’t dwell on the Cullen’s! She wasn’t even in school yet and she had already broken that promise. How useless was that?

Bracken found her concentration slipping around like silk all day. In Calculus she could not answer one of the questions the teacher shot at her. His venomous look had made her want to sink right down under the table and through the floor.

At least Games was her last lesson before lunch. She didn’t mind Games, and there would be a distraction from thinking about the Cullen’s. Bracken got changed into her kit quickly, and grabbed a racket from the bag. She joined the handful of other people who were changed already, practicing swinging her racket around. She caught Luke Gregory full in the face in one swing, as he passed. She gasped. “I’m really sorry,” she apologized, guilt making her fumble over her words.

Luke paused for a moment, obviously in pain, then smiled at her. It looked more like a grimace. “S’okay, Bracken,” he said through his teeth, before walking to stand a good distance away from her. Bracken tried not to feel guilty. Maybe he would stop staring so much now.

The lesson was easy, as she expected. She just concentrated on hitting the ball back and forth to Poppy Ratterford, who had partnered up with her. Bracken had noticed with a small smile that Luke stayed away from, not offering to be her partner.

“Oops!” Bracken laughed as she misjudged a hit and it bounced from the net back towards her. Poppy joined in, giggling. “I thought you were better than that, Bracken,” she teased, her sandy curls bouncing as she jumped from foot to foot. Bracken grabbed the ball from the gym floor. “I’ll show you just how good I am, Poppy Ratterford!” she yelled, still laughing under her breath. She threw the ball up into the air, and hit it with all her strength. The ball didn’t seem to want to obey her will. It sailed off to one side at full speed, and...

Her life ended.

Bracken’s hands flew to her mouth as the ball struck the back of Oscar Cullen’s head. She actually bit her hands with horror. Poppy was gasping, too. Everyone who had noticed was staring at Oscar, waiting for his reaction. Oh God, oh God. The thoughts flew through her brain like frightened birds. Bracken waited for the explosion.

Oscar turned slowly, the ball in his hand. He was walking towards her. Bracken gulped. She locked eyes with Poppy, who had gone very white – her freckles stood out on her skin like ink. Bracken quickly mouthed goodbye at her new friend. A moment later, Oscar was stood before her. He held out the ball. “I believe this is your’s?” His voice was not like the voice of someone who had just been hit on the back of the head with a ball flying at high speed. It was light, almost amused. What the hell? Bracken searched her completely baffled mind for an explanation. “I... I...”

Oscar’s other hand shot out. Bracken automatically flinched, still anticipating a temper tantrum of some sort. He looked upset by this. Bracken felt him take one of her hands and drop the ball into it. She gasped as his alabaster skin touched her’s – it was as cold as touching ice. He seemed to register her expression and sudden intake of breath, for he turned quickly and began to walk away. “Oh, I... I’m really sorry!” she called after him. Her voice sounded full of fear.

Oscar hesitated, then turned and half-smiled at her, before continuing on his way. Bracken exhaled for what felt the first time since she had accidentally hit Oscar Cullen with the ball. She looked at Poppy, who was scurrying towards the net. Bracken followed suite, so that they met in the middle. “Oh my God, Bracken, I can’t believe you managed to hit him!” Poppy gasped. Bracken blinked. “Thanks for that, Poppy. Like I’m not already mortified.” Poppy giggled weakly. “Sorry.”

Soon after this Coach Clapp appeared and scolded them for the lull in playing. The rest of the lesson passed without incident, though every few seconds Bracken’s face flooded red as she remembered what she had managed to do.

Lunch afterwards was worse. Poppy had told Finlay everything (as always) and Cleo had somehow heard the story. She, naturally, had spread it far and wide. Bracken found her skin burning for the entirety of lunchtime. She was glad to escape to Art afterwards, and sit in her seat to work on her painting for the hour long lesson.

As Bracken walked out of the classroom, she heard giggles erupt from a table of girls as she passed them. Bracken tossed her hair as though she couldn’t care that they were laughing at her. She quickly left the building without Symone and Cleo. She’d just walk back to the Inn – she didn’t feel like talking about her Games class, and knowing Cleo, that would be the subject the whole way home.

In her haste to get away, Bracken tripped over her own feet, as she so often these days. She threw out her hands to break her fall, but a hand caught her elbow. She looked up, expecting one of my friends. Her heart juddered painfully as she looked into the face of Oscar Cullen. She’d never noticed before, but... But he really was good-looking, like Cleo had said. Not just good-looking, though. He was beautiful. Every feature was perfect, his syrupy eyes, the point of his nose, the way his ebony hair just sort of fell this way and that, the way his hair contrasted with his eyes.

Bracken took a moment to compose herself. “I.. I... Um.. Thankyou,” she said eventually. Oscar’s hand was still tight around her arm. His expression had changed. At first he had been smiling, probably at her stupidity. But he looked odd now. As though he was fighting something. And, a second later, he was pulling on her arm, tugging her away from the crowd.

She took a moment to register what was happening. “Wh-what are you doing?” she said, fear piercing her voice. She looked over her shoulder. Nobody was looking at them. Wait a second, how had they got so far away from the crowd so quickly? They were only metre’s from the woods that surrounded the school already. Bracken grabbed the hand around her arm in one of her’s, and tugged. “Get off me! Please!” Real panic was winging through her like a flaming bird now. She tried to pull his hand several more times, but it was like stone. It was like trying to break a piece of rock.

The trees loomed over then like monsters. Tears were wet and cold on her cheeks as Oscar continued to pull her. “Where are you t-taking me? Please let me go,” she was begging now, her voice lisping with tears. She couldn’t help sobbing in her panic, but her captor didn’t say a word. She could hear his breathing, fast, as though he was out of breath. But still he moved at an inhuman pace, without any signs of slowing.

Bracken dug her nails into his white skin, before letting loose a loud scream. “Let me go or I swear I’ll-“ His other hand clamped over her mouth. She continued to shout under his palm, though the sound was muffled. Her mind was a confused mass of panic. What was he doing? She’d only hit him with a tennis ball, for God’s sake! Was he that angry? He hadn’t seemed angry before!

Bracken gasped as he sudden released her, pushing her onto the ground. She whimpered where she fell, her injuries from the fire roaring with pain. She looked up at Oscar, tears blurring her vision. “P-please don’t hurt me,” she begged. “I’m s-sorry for what happened, I r-really am!” Oscar hesitated for a moment. His face was twisted. Bracken prayed she had appealed to his better nature. Her hopes were useless, though. He was crouching, his face set now. He wasn’t frowning. He looked crazed. Terror shot through Bracken.

“Let me go you freak! Let me go!” His hands were on her face, pushing it back against grass. His finger was on her throat, pressing lightly on her pulse. She struggled, but his grip was like a vice. Oscar’s eyes met her’s. “I’m sorry,” he said, speaking for the first time. He bent his head, as though he was going to kiss her. Bracken was frozen with utter terror. She couldn’t even find it within her to scream. It looked like this was the end of the road.

She was going to join her family.

[/blockquote]

[x.Jolly.x]

Ooh! I love it!!

[/blockquote]

[Spice..xx]

_{*drools* MORE!!!}

[SHADE. :D]

My muse for this story has rematerialized, so hopefully I'll have more up soon. ^^

[SHADE. :D]

CHAPTER EIGHT.

There hadn’t been mist before. She was sure of it. So why couldn’t she see? Everything was obscured by some sort of swirling white fog, which stretched out ghostly hands to almost tenderly shroud her eyes. Subsiquently, she had no idea where she was. It was like before. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. But she could remember. She had not been so careless this time, keeping the key to her memories held tight in her fingers. She could recall everything. The stark white face of Oscar Cullen as he leant over her, mouth slightly open, eyes hard as granite. So she was dead.

She hadn’t been planning on this – death to come so soon for her. She didn’t want to die. She’d just began to get her life back on track again. Sudden pulsing anger flared within her. It was as if her very spirit had been slumped in her chest, weeping softly in defeat, but the flame of rage had roused it. She wanted to fight. She wouldn’t let death beat her. She had cheated it once before – she could do again.

As she fought through the fog, consciousness trickled slowly back into her limbs and body. Something was tickling her cheek. She could taste blood – her teeth had been forced into her tongue, cutting it. The taste was rich, but revolting. She tried not to concentrate too hard it as it danced around jubilantly inside her mouth. Bracken opened her eyes. The lids felt as though they were made of thick steel, but she managed it somehow. At this tiny, tiny movement, pain shot through her body. Her lips parted and she gasped. What had happened to her?

Before she had a chance to react, soft voices punctured the air. Bracken’s first thought was of help, but then a jagged dagger named fear forced itself through her heart. Panic skittered from her shoulders to her fingertips, as unpredictable as lightning. Gritting her teeth through the blood, Bracken forced her bruised body into a crouching position. The effort left her shaking with fatigue, but at least from this new vantage point she could view her surroundings. A jolt if surprise shook her. She had not moved. The same clearing encircled her.

Through the trees, she could see a small group of people. It was their voices that had caught her attention. Bracken shuffled backwards. Her sight wasn’t the best, but she could point out such jet black hair anywhere. It could be Oscar, and the very thought of him shoved terror down her throat to choke her. Bracken tried to quieten her fast breathing in order to listen. She could only pick out a few words, but suddenly, a louder voice cut across the others. “Great. She’s not dead,” it was strong, low and masculine, but still carried the zesty, cheeky spice of youth. “That makes things so much better.”

Sarcasm sliced away any truth from his last statement. Bracken gasped once more as several faces turned to her at once. She did not register any of them. She just rose, a cry ripping through her clenched teeth as pain cracked through her concentration, and fled in blind panic.

“No! I’ll go after her!” The same voice shot like a bullet through the trees, and Bracken felt tears run down her face and slide back into her hair. Every desperate step was torture, every movement made her whimper with agony. If somebody had decided to pursue her, they weren’t doing a very good job of it. She was not running fast, and yet there was no sign of anybody. Bracken stopped, sagging against a tree. She had almost given up. Sobs racked her body, shaking her ribs, rattling through her entire being.

It took her several long minutes to calm down. The tears kept on coming, and loud alarm bells still screamed at the back of her head, but she smothered the sound with thoughts of safety and sanctuary. Walking very slowly, limping, Bracken carried on her way. She avoided the school, sticking to the trees. She didn’t particularly want to be seen, not like this. But there was only so much forest, and too many streets to cross.

Bracken inhaled through her nose to prepare herself as she finally accepted that she would indeed have to leave the trees. She tried her best to pull the leaves out of her hair and brush the mud from her clothes, but she was sure she still looked a mess. Psyching herself up for only a split second, Bracken stepped from the trees.

The street was eerily deserted. Bracken hurried out of the foliage onto the grass that bordered the road. It was a wide affair, a thick slate river across the town. Bracken shuddered, before putting one foot onto the road. Her steps were fast, and a flickering light from a shop window made her head spin. The pain roared at her, furious that she was not submitting. She swayed on her feet, her eyes rolling back. Flinging out her hands, she groped for something to hold onto.

A loud, shrill beep, followed by the screech of hastily halted wheels hit Bracken’s ears. As she fell, something caught her. Bracken went limp, her eyes shut. She wanted to bow down to the pain, but something was shaking her. “Hey! Hey! Are you alright?”

The voice belonged to a man, and it was tight with anxiety. Bracken opened her eyes slightly, though her vision was whirling as if she were being spun around at a high speed. She tried to speak, but only groaned, and felt the sudden urge to be physically sick.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Another voice cut through the chill air. Bracken recognized it, but could not place it. “I’m coming out, Dad- Oh my God!” The last words were wailed, high-pitched with shock. “Bracken! That’s Bracken!”

“Sym, what are you going on about? We have to get her to hospital, she’s been mugged, I think,” the man’s voice said.
Something clicked in Bracken’s sluggish mind. Sym. Symone. That was why she recognized the girl’s voice. Something else quickly lodged itself into her brain, though. Hospital. Hospital. No. No, not hospital. She couldn’t go back there. Bracken’s eyes opened wide. The world was no longer spinning. She was staring into the worried faces of dark-haired Symone and her father, who was a tall man with similarly dark hair and an intensely worried expression.

“Please, I’m okay...” Bracken’s voice was thin, but just about understandable. She struggled to stand on her feet again – she was still depending on Symone’s father to keep her upright. “Please, just... I’m fine.” Symone’s father reluctantly released her. Bracken stood still for a moment, then swayed. A hand caught her elbow.

“I’m taking you to hospital,” Symone’s father’s voice was firm, but Bracken’s mind flailed in desperation at the thought.

“No, I don’t want to go!” The words were choked out, and a volley of sobs and tears followed them.

“Dad, why don’t we just take her home? She looks bruised, but other than that I think she’s just shaken up. Arguing will just make things worse,” Symone pressed, her voice tense but still sensible. There was a brief silence. Then reluctant agreement from Symone’s father.

Bracken felt her friend’s arm go around her shoulders, helping her towards the car. Symone’s father was already at the door, holding it open. With the help of Symone and her father, Bracken slid into the back seat. It felt cool against her bruised skin, and she sighed. Her eyes fell shut. She did not want to open them, but eventually did so, to find Symone watching her fearfully. After that, she made sure to keep her eyes open and her head propped up – she hated for her level-headed friend to be anxious.

It seemed Symone’s father had kept his word. The car whined as it turned up into the driveway of a large house. Bracken blinked at it sleepily. It reminded her of her home with her parents and Aden. Tears pricked her eyes and fell down her face, hot and intrusive. She wanted her mother to scream at her for being so careless, her father to hold her close and promise her everything would be alright. She even longed for Aden’s inane questions. Anything. She just wanted it all back. How could she have ever dreamt of an ordinary life here, without anybody, or anything?

Bracken blinked, suddenly realising that Symone and her father were waiting for her to respond. She wiped her eyes, pain shooting up her arm in the process. “Sorry,” she apologized quickly. She noticed the doubt back in Symone’s father’s eyes. “I’m fine, honest,” she reassured him quickly.

“Come on, then,” he said, his voice heavy. The two of them left the car. Bracken wrapped her fingers around the door handle and attempted to open the door. It was a struggle – the pressure hurt her hand – but eventually she managed it. Feeling wretched and completely pathetic, Bracken allowed Symone to help her out of the car. Her friend aided her as she limped to the door after Symone’s father. It swung open as the man was fumbling in his pocket, apparently for keys.

A very short, slight woman stood in the doorway. Her face was strikingly similar to Symone’s minus the glasses, and soft maple-brown hair framed her face. Her grey-blue eyes widened at the sight of Bracken. “What’s going on?” she asked in utter shock.

“We were driving home and we found her,” Symone’s father explained. “She didn’t want to go to hospital, but I couldn’t just leave her.”

“Her name is Bracken Moore,” Symone said. She sounded tearful, an emotion Bracken had never dreamt of hearing penetrate her quiet friend’s tone. “She’s new in our school, she joined yesterday.”

Symone’s mother hesitated, then ushered them all inside. “Come on, come in,” she said. She voice was just right; stressed, but soft and motherly. The perfect voice for a mother. Tears pricked Bracken’s eyes again, but she pushed them away with a mammoth effort.

The hall was bright and warm, the walls a cream colour. The carpet was thick under her shoes, and Bracken prayed she wasn’t marking it. There were pictures all over the walls. One of Mr and Mrs Webber on their wedding day. One of Mrs Webber holding a small baby. Another of Mr Webber, with one small girl of about four or five clinging to one hand, and a younger girl of around three clutching the other. The younger was definitely Symone. The older looked a lot like Bracken’s friend – but there were some differences.

“Tom, are you sure she shouldn’t be in hospital?” Mrs Webber asked her husband. Her face was lined with worry, making Bracken feel incredibly embarrassed.

“She refused to go,” Mr Webber replied, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Sym, why don’t you go and should Bracken where the shower is? We can discuss things after she’s cleaned up a bit.”

Symone led Bracken towards the staircase. It was hard, getting up the stairs. Bracken tried not to grit her teeth, knowing it would worry her friend. As they finally ascended the stairs, Bracken caught sight of a small child hovering just inside the doorway of a room. It was another girl, with the same eyes and mouth as Symone. But this child’s eyes were blue, like her father’s, and her hair was maple-brown and curly. “Who’s that, Sym?” she asked, her voice apprehensive.

“This is Bracken, Li,” Symone replied. “She’s hurt herself a bit.” The little girl nodded seriously, and as Bracken and Symone headed towards the bathroom, they heard the child descending the stairs.

“Dahlia, go back to your room, darling,” came Mrs Webber’s voice. The girl’s complaints became inaudible as they entered the bathroom. Symone let go of her, looking as at her as one might look at a delicate china figurine that could be shattered at the slightest touch.

“I’ll go and get you a towel,” she said, as Bracken leant on the sink. Bracken nodded, and her friend ducked out of the room. She raised her head to look in the mirror, and winced. Her face was drained, her hair messy, tangled with leaves and dirt. She peered down at her body. Her sweatshirt was creased and ruined, her skirt muddy and her tights ripped in several places. Bracken bit her lip until the taste of blood touched her tongue again.

Symone bobbed back into the room. She dropped a white towel and a shirt and jeans on the floor, before giving Bracken a last frightened look, and leaving the room. Bracken chucked her dirty clothes in the corner, hoping she had not gotten anything dirty in the gleaming bathroom. She quickly worked out how to operate the shower.

The water was warm on her back, and soothed her aching muscles. Finally, she could think. Finally, her head was clear. Her earlier worries waned a little, but still, fear yawned like a cave at the back of her mind. She was sure Oscar Cullen was not finished with her yet. He was out there, and he wanted to hurt her.

She was sure of it.

[x.Jolly.x]

OMG. What did Oscar do?!

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[SHADE. :D]

Nothing much. Just shook her up. (: He was gonna drink her blood, but was he stopped, or did he stop himself? *leaves you in suspense* xD

CHAPTER NINE.

Running is endless in dreams. And this dream seemed to be going on forever. Her feet pounded the forest floor. Her hair streaming behind her. As she gasped for breath, she choked on the long, thick tresses. But she couldn’t see anything. She could smell the earthy scent of trees and mud, but her entire world was one of blackness. The wind whipped around her, catching her hair in cruel fingers. It was wrapping around her neck, choking her. She could not breathe. And he was there. His face pale as snow, his eyes like topaz, his hair stark ebony against his chalk-white features.

Oscar Cullen.

Bracken inhaled with such force that a cry ripped from her throat. She woke, her eyes flicking open. Her entire body was shuddering, and her cheeks were wet. The duvet was snaked around her neck. She untangled it with quivering hands, before sitting up.

It took her a split second to place her surroundings. This was not her room in the Misty Valley Inn. It was more spacious, with a higher ceiling. The bed was larger, with an unmarked wooden frame and spotless white sheets. The curtains were drawn over the small window, but light filtered through the thin material. Bracken shut her eyes and turned over everything that she could remember in her mind.

It was Wednesday day. She knew that. And she was sure that she should be in school. Bracken groaned as something hit her. School. Fabulous. Everybody would have something else to gossip about. Bracken stretched her thin arms out in front of her. The pain was still there, throbbing dully, but it was nowhere near as bad. She scoured her skin with her eyes, and winced. The bruises had darkened from blue to near-black.

Bracken straightened up, standing on her two feet. To her absolute relief, she did not sway or fall. She peered at the clothes she was wearing. They were unfamiliar – Symone’s, she suspected. She wondered whether her friend had gone to school today, and if she had, what she would be telling Cleo and all the other curious people. If it was the truth, the whole school would be convinced of her murder by tomorrow – she knew Cleo well enough to be certain of that.

Bracken ran her fingers through her tangled, still slightly damp hair. With a turn of her head she noticed her things in the corner. Somebody must have driven to the Inn and fetched them. Guilt burnt hot in her chest. They shouldn’t have done that. Bracken crouched beside the bag and pulled out a few items. Everything was there. They must have paid her bill at the Inn, too.

Right at the bottom of the bag was her purse, which she opened with a sense of apprehension. All her (dwindling) supply of money was intact. They had not used her money to pay. Outrage filled her. First they take her in, and then they refuse to let her pay for her own stay at the Inn. That was crossing the line. She was not a charity case.

Moodily, Bracken removed a shirt, hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans from the bag, as well as underwear and a pair of ballet-type pumps. She dressed quickly, and then busied herself with folding each item of borrowed clothing immaculately. Not sure of how good a job she had done (mostly she just shoved her clothes into a drawer rather than mess around folding them up) she laid the pile awkwardly on the end of the bed, which she then set about making. She had got better at this since staying in the Inn – as she felt she had to make her bed there, whether or not she had done at home.

She forced away the thoughts of her family. It would not do to dwell on them, not now. This was just a minor setback. Her thoughts from last night were firmly chained down like wild, feral animals. She’d be fine. Oscar Cullen couldn’t touch her. There was the Webbers (though she hated to rely on them), Irisa and her family (no matter how far away they lived) and if all else failed, the police. Nothing could hurt her.

Bracken repeated those four words in her head as she quietly and nervously left the room. She peered down the landing. The rooms on either side of the room she was in – the first of which belonged to Symone, and the second to her younger sister Dahlia – seemed deserted. Bracken hurried out of the room fully, the carpet soft even through her socks. She bobbed into the bathroom to check her appearance in the mirror. She looked tired, but no longer ill or disturbed. Bracken ran her fingers through her thick blonde hair until it was fairly tamed, before leaving the bathroom and silently descending the stairs.

She padded towards the kitchen, craning her neck to see if anybody was present. There was a girl sat at the polished wooden kitchen table, reading a magazine. She wore glasses like Symone, and looked a lot like Bracken’s friend. Her hair was the same dark shade, her eyes the same hue. It was only a slightly different face structure that told Bracken that it was not Symone. She guessed it was the older child in the photograph she had seen last night, and the owner of the room she had slept in. Symone’s nineteen-year-old sister Angela.

Bracken wondered whether she should knock on the kitchen door, which seemed ridiculous, but she did not want to just burst in. She did not have long to dither, though, as Angela looked up from the glossy page her eyes were darting along. She smiled the same smile as Symone, and Bracken felt a little better. “Come in,” Angela said. Bracken pushed open the door so that it yawned as wide as it could go, and then stepped into the gleaming kitchen.

Bracken crossed the large room and sat opposite Angela at the table. Symone’s sister tucked a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her neat ponytail behind one ear, and then nodded at Bracken. She looked almost nervous, like Symone when Bracken had first encountered her. “I’m Angela, Symone’s older sister,” she told Bracken, obviously not realising that she had already worked out her identity. “Sym told me all about you, and what happened. Are... Are you okay?” Her eyes carried the same anxious gleam that she had seen in Symone’s eyes last night. It made her want to get up and dance, or run in circles, or just do something to prove that she was completely fine, physically and mentally.

“Fine,” she said simply instead, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of her sweatshirt. Angela seemed to sense her uneasiness and concealed her anxieties. “Sym’s gone to school, and I have some work back here anyway...” Bracken quickly caught her meaning. She had been called upon to watch over her like a sick animal. She exhaled, feeling irritated but at the same time guilty. She was not ungrateful – she just hated to feel so useless.

Bracken’s face flooded red as her stomach gave a loud and pointed growl. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday at lunchtime in school. It seemed like years ago. She raised her eyes after an agonized moment, to find Angela smiling at her in amusement. “You should’ve said if you were hungry. Help yourself.” Symone’s older sister pointed out the correct cupboards, and Bracken set about making herself breakfast – though she still wasn’t sure what the time was.

As she poured milk onto her bowl of cereal, she glanced up at the digital clock on the cooker. It was just past mid-day. She smirked. She’d slept for hours and hours. Poor Angela – she’d probably been so bored. Bracken sat back down at the table and proceeded to eat. When she began, she could not stop. Luckily Angela was like Symone, and did not feel the need to fill the silence with pointless babble.

As Bracken placed her spoon down into the now-empty bowl, the doorbell rang with a plaintive tone. Angela pushed her chair out and exited the room to answer it. Bracken got to her feet, intending to wash out her bowl, but halted. Guilt pressed at her – she knew she was being nosy. But as she walked across the kitchen to the sink, she couldn’t help listening.

“Ange, you didn’t tell me you were coming home today,” came a slightly disgruntled male voice.

There was a brief sigh. “Who told you?” Angela sounded a little tired.

“I saw your dad on the way to work,” said the male voice. “But I was thinking we could go out somewhere? I only see you on the weekends now, Ange. Please.”

“Oh, Ben,” the words were filled with dilemma. Obviously Angela wanted to go out, but felt tied down by her responsibilities. That was easily sorted out.

Bracken finished washing out the bowl, placed it on the draining board, and left the room. Angela turned around as she heard Bracken’s feet on the floor. She looked guilty. Behind Symone’s sister was a boy of around the same age. He had the look of somebody who had been short all of their life, but had had a growth spurt suddenly. His eyes were now on Bracken – he looked confused.

“Angela, if you want to go out, I’m not stopping you,” Bracken said. Angela opened her mouth but Bracken spoke again before the older girl could utter anything. “I wanted to go up to Port Angeles anyway. I need to get a job.”

“But Bracken... It’s too soon, you shouldn’t...” Angela trailed off, looking at Ben. Perhaps she was averting her eyes from the abruptly stony expression on Bracken’s face.

“I don’t need babysitting,” Bracken insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

Angela sighed a long sigh. Bracken recognized the heavy note of defeat in the sound. “Alright, then,” she said, her voice weary. She looked back at her boyfriend. “I’ll just get my coat and bag, Ben.”

Bracken slipped past the door to go up the stairs. She noticed Ben staring at her but chose to ignore it. She was almost getting used to it. She’d have to. People would be staring more than ever when she went back to school – which would be soon. She did not need weeks off. She was neither fatally wounded nor traumatized. At least, this was what she told herself.

Bracken ran (her limbs ached fiercely as she did so) into Angela’s bedroom to grab her schoolbag. She emptied the unnecessary things like pens and books from inside, shoved in her purse, and then padded back down the stairs. Angela was stood in the hall, waiting. She still looked uncertain, but Bracken edged past her, gently shouldered Ben out of her way, and was out of the house. “I’ll be fine,” she assured Angela again, before turning and walking down the path.

The wind felt unexpectedly glorious on her face. It calmed her slightly churning mind. Bracken could tell that Angela was still watching her, so she walked down a straight grey path that led away from the house. Only when she was definitely out sight of the house did she phone for a taxi.

Bracken leant against a wall, blowing through her teeth as she waited. Pretty soon everybody would be leaving school, and she knew a lot of the students either lived in Port Angeles or liked to go there after school. And she really did not want to be seen, not yet.

As the taxi pulled up, Bracken told the driver her destination and paid him hastily. Her bruises screamed as she got into the back seat, but she hid the pain.

The drive was not a long one, but it provided Bracken with time to think about things. She knew she would be going back to school tomorrow. That was already certain in her head. The only thing that troubled her was her living arrangements. As much as she tried not to dwell on it, she had really disliked living in the Inn. It felt so cut off, so different. But she could not hang around at the Webbers’, either. She’d already scared Symone half to death, freaked out her little sister, worried her parents and been a burden to her older sister.

Bracken decided to concentrate on getting a job, for now. She climbed out of the car as Port Angeles skidded into view. Thanking the driver, Bracken headed down a vaguely familiar street. She hoped she could remember her way from her trip a few days ago. She picked out the clothes shops she had visited, and finally, the little coffee shop in which she had first met Cleo and Symone. She entered the small building. As she pushed the door open, a bell jingled merrily.

Bracken swept the coffee shop with her gaze. There was a mother with two young children, who had chocolate smeared around their mouths, an elderly man, and a younger business-like man. Instead of sitting down, Bracken headed straight for the counter. She recognized the slight girl with tight blonde curls, who had served her when she had last been here. Bracken’s eyes darted to the badge pinned to her apron. It read ‘Maisy’. The waitress smiled at Bracken, her pale face managing to look bright. “Hello there. What can I do for you?”

Bracken shuffled her feet for a moment. “Well, I was wondering if you had any jobs going?” she asked nervously. Maisy’s face broke into an even larger and far more genuine smile.

“Well, we have been looking for some more waitresses’,” she told Bracken. “The shop used to be my mother’s, but she left town, you see, and left it all to me and my sister, Cassie. So I serve, Cassie bakes.” Bracken nodded as Maisy explained. “But it can be a bit hard, when it’s crowded in here.”

“I’m interested in working here,” Bracken said, feeling a little less awkward. Maisy was one of those people who were just easy to talk to.

“What days can you do?” Maisy asked.

“Weekdays, but only afternoons, because I have school,” Bracken said. “Or weekends, any time really.”

Maisy blinked, thinking. “Well, we’re most crowded on Monday, Thursday and Saturday, the market days,” she said tentatively.

Bracken nodded. “That’d suit me,” she said.

Maisy smiled again, holding out her hand. “Well then, welcome to the team, er...?” She laughed as she realised that she knew nothing about Bracken.

“Bracken. Bracken Moore,” she told Maisy. “I go to Forks High School. I’m a junior. I moved here because of... Of... Family problems.” She settled for the half-truth, not wanting to go into details.

“Oh. Well. That’s fine, then,” Maisy nodded, her curls bobbing up and down. “So, I’ll see you on Monday?” It seemed she wanted to give Bracken some time to adjust. Bracken shook her head.

“Would it be alright if I started tomorrow?” she asked, sounding uncertain.

Maisy giggled. “Well, if you want to,” she said.

From a partially hidden door somewhere behind Maisy, another woman appeared. She was young like Maisy, and looked a lot like her. In fact, their facial features were utterly identical. But Cassie’s hair was jet black, and pulled back into a ponytail. She had a fringe which was pinned back, too. Bracken stared unintentionally, her hazel eyes taking in the odd sight.

Maisy burst out laughing. “Cassie and I are twins, but you wouldn’t think it, would you?” she chuckled, touching her tight blonde curls.

Cassie folded her arms and scrutinized Bracken. “Who’re you?” she asked. Maisy slapped her arm lightly, though the words didn’t sound rude to Bracken.

“Cass! This is Bracken,” Maisy explained. “She’s our newest employee.”

Cassie blinked. “Maisy, are you sure?” she asked, frowning a little.

Maisy rolled her crystal blue eyes and nodded vigorously. “Yes, I’m sure!”

Cassie seemed to deliberate for a short amount of time. She then held out her hand and shook Bracken’s. “Then welcome to the team.” She smiled, but her face did not light up quite like her sister’s. Her smile was smaller, holding more intelligence. Bracken felt as though she had just found out that the radiant sun and mysterious moon were siblings.

“So, four ‘o clock, then?” Maisy asked Bracken.

“That’s fine,” Bracken said. “I’ll see you then.”

She turned and left the shop, with Maisy’s birdlike goodbye’s echoing from behind her. Outside, she inhaled at length. That was one problem sorted, but it flung several more at her. She would have to catch a taxi to Port Angeles three days a week. That would be expensive. She needed her own car. But then, she needed a place to stay, too. Life wasn’t perfect.

As Bracken was walking down towards where a taxi was parked, she spotted Poppy Ratterford and her twin, Finlay. The sandy-haired siblings were talking animatedly. Bracken quickly ducked behind a bin, feeling completely ridiculous. She stayed there, holding her breath, until a voice hit her ears as hard as any hammer.

“Bracken, what are you doing down there?” Bracken looked up into the freckled face of Finlay. She got up quickly, smiling falsely.

“I... I dropped something,” she said hastily, aware of how obvious her lie was.

“Symone Webber said you were in an accident or something,” Poppy said in a hushed voice, her eyes wide.

Bracken blinked. “Well, I’m fine,” she said lamely. She glanced at the taxi. Soon, somebody else would jump in before she had the chance. She headed towards it, waving awkwardly at Poppy and Finlay. “Well... I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

She quickly opened the taxi door and sat down before either of the twins could question her further. She told the driver Symone’s house number, though she was not entirely sure it was correct. As the taxi slid off down the road, she spotted the siblings watching her apprehensively.

Bracken laid her head back on the seat, exhaling through her nose, relieved to have escaped any really horrible questions. She felt guilty that she had left Poppy and her brother so abruptly – they were nice enough. But her fears had been confirmed. Everybody knew. Or at least, they would do, by tomorrow.

Bracken was glad to see that she had indeed got Symone’s house number right. She paid the driver and walked up the path, ringing the doorbell. The door was answered by Symone. “You’re alright!” Her friend sounded anxious.

“Yeah,” Bracken replied. “I only went to Port Angeles, not war.” She smiled at Symone.

“I know, Ange said, I just...” Symone trailed off.

“Worry too much?” Bracken suggested.

“Yes,” Symone agreed, flushing.

She let Bracken in. Bracken proceeded to tell her friend about the job she had secured in Port Angeles, and her car worries. Symone said she would ask her father whether he knew any cheap places to buy cars.

They spent an hour or so discussing their days. Bracken was dismayed to know that Cleo had found out about her ‘accident’, and subsequently, everyone did know. Symone then distracted Bracken by telling her that Alex and Cleo had had a messy break-up that lunchtime. Bracken couldn’t help smiling secretly, if not a little guiltily. Symone shyly mentioned a boy named Daryl in her drama class who had talked to her today. The only problem was Cleo liked him too.

Bracken found herself successfully lost in Symone’s worrisome day, until a loud voice called from down the stairs. The girls looked up; Symone sat on her bed, Bracken lying on the carpet. “Dinner’s ready!”

Bracken felt faintly embarrassed as she sat down next to Symone at the table. On Symone’s other side was Dahlia. Across the table from Bracken was Angela. Symone’s parents sat beside her.

Bracken concentrated on eating, feeling out of place. But when Symone brought up her car problems, Bracken had to look up. She couldn’t help flushing a little.

“Hmm... Places to buy cheap cars...” Mr Webber’s brow wrinkled as he thought.

“Don’t worry about it, Dad,” Angela interrupted. “I still have my old car, y’know, from when I was at school?” Mr Webber looked at her. “Bracken can have that. I don’t want it, and Sym uses Mum’s car.”

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Bracken blushed at the thought.

“Well, the offer’s there if you want it,” Angela said with a smile.

“Ange has a new car now, you see,” Symone explained.

“And you just use mine all the time!” Mrs Webber smiled at her daughter.

“Mum, you work five minutes down the road. You don’t need a car!” Symone replied.

Bracken looked awkwardly at Angela through their petty bickering. “Um... Well. Thanks.”

Angela smiled. “No problem.”

Bracken hated the fact that she found gratitude hard to show at times – and this was one of those times. She went back to eating her food.

That night, Bracken laid a calmer, more level head down on her borrowed pillow. Angela had gone over to Ben’s house for the night, which meant that Bracken could remain in the same room. She sighed. At least some things were sorted. She had a job, and her own car.

Bracken had intended to think things over more thoroughly, but as she shut her eyes to aid her concentration, tiredness washed over her like black silk. Before she knew it she was asleep.

And tonight, no nightmares haunted her.