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SIX FIRST BEACH
( APRIL 'O4 )
MONDAY MORNING and a school cancellation, yet Mallory Dunne was not buried beneath her blankets. No such sight of a girl in the comfort of her own bed using her allotted rotting-the-day away time. Instead, Mallory had stolen her brothers' truck (he was in Neah Bay anyway) woke up at the crack of dawn and decided that today, she'd touch the sands of First Beach. This was inevitable. She couldn't reason with herself any longer, she loved and respected her grandfather, held onto every word he spoke to her like it had all the answers of the world. This was inevitable though — her dreams were too much now, dreams of blood and her mother's home, of La Push, of boys who she knew turning into wolves.
She had to go.
The spring drizzle that followed seemed to encourage her.
Mallory kept focus on the road.
The tall red cedar trees became a background for her vision as she drove on, feelings of guilt filling her the further she got away from Forks. Her hands tightened on the wheel of her brothers truck and she let the window roll all the way down and didn't bother to tie back the mane of her curls that flew all around her face. Not even when her tears caught her hair.
Sometimes, there was peace for Mallory.
Sometimes there wasn't.
Yesterday, she wrote in her diary, I felt like dying.
Yesterday, with Paul Lahote and Ronan looking and talking to each other, was like a reminder of how completely fucked up and disconnected her world had gotten. When she felt a vampire—granted, she felt Ronan, his presence—her mind went to the feeling she cradled the entire two weeks she was taken by James.
