The Swan house was a quiet oasis, shielded from the ever-looming apocalypse. Its overgrown garden butted up against the towering trees, a squadron of front-line soldiers staring off their massive enemies. The house inside the siege's center was a citadel, a temple, a fortress.
An apple orchard grew mortal green souls, with twisted branches infused by the celestial essences of sunlight and moonlight.
The door creaked as Bella Swan returned to her quiet home away from the place she knew by memory but not by heart. Upon her arrival, she called out to her dad but was greeted only with the soft drone of wind against the chimney pipe. It was a hollow noise that trapped her in her bones and caused her to shift from foot to foot. Bella's soul remembered sharp things, quick things, and loud things. This place—this hushed grove—held a serene absurdity that her body refused to accept. From her experiences, nothing could be quiet and peaceful. There was always a jab around the next corner, always someone ready to point a finger her way and toss an insult or two just for good measure.
She was sure of it.
Mostly.
Bella Swan finally brought herself to hang up her soaked raincoat and slide off her equally wet boots. She cautiously paced into the kitchen, poking her head around each entrance to scout the empty area first. The floorboards whispered to each other as she passed them by. The furniture turned to gawk at her taut form. Even the lights raised brows at the drum of her fingers against the walls.
She was an unknown in this house, and this home was an unknown to her. They were mutually confused in that way—they understood each other within their misunderstanding.
Bella Swan approached the fridge, where a green sticky note awaited her. She plunked it from the metal like a ripe fruit, her gaze falling to the neatly written letters. Though Bella didn't recognize her dad's handwriting, the note's contents clued her in quickly.
Working late again. Spaghetti is in the fridge, but I'm sure you can whip something up if you don't like it. Friends ok, no boys, and no opening my wine cabinet.
I love you, kiddo.
~Dad
As gradually as a drip of water eroding a massive cliff face, Bella's shoulders eased from their high guard. Her breath echoed in the house like a heartbeat in the body, and similarly, the fridge opening bounced around the walls. Bella almost jumped when her chilled bowl of spaghetti crashed on the counter, even though she set it down gently.
Everything was too loud. There was no screaming to drown out the mundane actions of her life or a nagging voice pacing behind her to cast a curse over her own inner demons. Bella's gut writhed as she stood in front of the microwave, her knuckles white from her tight grip on the kitchen counter. Her breathing came in short spasms as her heart thrashed in her chest. It kicked violently at her ribs and tore through her entire body like a frenzied creature attempting escape.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Bella pulled the microwave's door open and shakily grabbed her spaghetti. She rushed to the couch, throwing on some random drama show and sinking into the soft cushions. Her eyes remained trapped on the ever-changing screen.
By the time she truly felt like herself again, her food had gone cold. A young green apple swayed along a thin branch, tempted by the chaos. The moon was hidden away behind a thick cloud cover. The rain hadn't started yet, but Bella could already smell it creeping in. She tore herself from the couch when a branch thudded against the garden screen door, her heart hammering in her throat. The wind howled outside and repeated its torment on the branch, which this time caused Bella to calm.
"Get a grip, Swan," she hissed under her breath. Her hands roughly tousled her hair to calm her staggered breaths as she bent down to clean the spaghetti off the wooden floors. "At least this isn't carpet."
Bella sighed as she returned her bowl to the sink and rummaged through the cabinets. She found bottles of lotion, food, sweets, a few vodka glasses, dog toys, hair products, and a whole bedroll in her quiet searching, but oddly no cleaning products.
"Where in the world-" the young woman scratched at her nape as she stood, looking through another pair of cabinets.
Then another.
And another.
Books, cooking supplies, living plants—she really couldn't explain that one—, drama magazines, DVDs, copious amounts of baking soda, dog poop bags, entire paintings, and candles but no cleaning products in sight.
"How is there not one spray bottle in the damn kitchen!" Bella groaned, the treasures of her scouring laying motionless at her feet. She would've continued to ransack the house in search of a single product that could be of use to her, she would've found one in her dad's bedroom, she would've cleaned up, would've eventually fallen into the serenity this house commanded.
But the night had an alternative fate for the green apple that just fell from its branch. It rolled to the edge of the steadfast wall and stepped away from its light, blessed land. A strange flash of red, a whisper of her name on the wind, lured her from safety.
Bella Swan held a knife in one hand and her flashlight in the other. Rain pelted against her scalp and roared in her ears. Shivers crawled down her hands as her skin prickled with the cold, her sleek brown hair soaked. She carefully left the garden door ajar behind her, taking a wary step into the garden.
"WHO'S THERE?!" Bella yelled at the top of her lungs. The dark, overgrown branches from bushes her dad refused to tend to swung low in response, tempting her forward. They created shadowy figures out of their twisted limbs and feigned fear from her trembling voice. Bella huffed and took another step, raising her blade high. She scanned the garden, watching evil monsters drop their disguises—from shadows with foul intentions to dutiful vined guards protecting her from where her flashlight couldn't pierce.
The forest.
Bella wasn't the type to be scared. She wasn't the type to back off. She didn't spend the past five years fending for herself to admit when she bit off more than she could chew. No threat was too profound in Bella Swan's mind.
She was no fucking coward, but admittedly, she was no genius either.
Bella glanced back at her back door once to ensure it was still open for her inevitable retreat. It was. She ventured further into her garden, never straying from the small gravel path that led to the back gate. The young woman couldn't discern the difference between a crooked tree groaning in the distance and the rhythmic wet thud of footsteps approaching her.
She reached the planked fenceline, alternating planks on both sides, creating a geometric ripple pattern. It was broken by a single swinging gate which didn't match the wave design and instead looked like something out of a barnyard. Bella shined her flashlight out through the forest, but all she saw were thick raindrops illuminated by the beam and a small sphere of the forest floor.
Nothing.
But she was sure. She was so sure there was something. Someone spoke her name. Someone from school? Cullen? Someone who knew her but apparently wanted to fuck with her. Anger burned in her chilled nose as she put her knife hand on the gate, the blade reflecting her flashlight.
"MY DAD'S THE SHERIFF, SO YOU BETTER FUCK RIGHT OFF!" she warned, the sky responding to her call with a flash of light. The forest was lit with dull green, and the canopy's void revealed its depths.
A person.
A man, she thought, standing only twenty or so feet beyond her dad's gate. He tilted his head in a cat-like fashion, a black suit and red-brimmed hat hiding his features: all but a flash of red eyes. Within a second, the world went dark again.
Bella didn't wait for the thunder to pull her into action. She shuffled backward as quickly as her feet would take her, shouting profanities at the top of her lungs. Terror clung to her lungs like a sick odor and ran her blood much faster through her veins than her body could handle. It could've been a prank, two teens in a big suit, or some ritualistic high school initiation.
But she couldn't force herself to believe it. Those eyes were perfect. Perfect as red skin that age has never touched. Age was only the slow caress of death—age has touched everything, seeing one who lacked a trace of death lacked any glimmer of life.
And that freaked the fuck out of Bella.
She kept her flashlight pointed strictly forward, never breaking eye contact with the dark. The thunder rolled over her just as another flash blinked across the night sky. He was standing at the gate now, his hand lazily reaching for the hatch. How did he get there? She didn't hear him. She didn't hear him move; he would've had to run from that distance-
Bella's footsteps grew more haste and less coordinated as she stumbled backward. She heard the latch unlock right before the thunder slammed through her soul. Bella turned around and booked it. She didn't care to see who was behind her anymore, didn't care that she was taking her eyes off the danger.
She had to get out of there.
Fast.
"Just promise not to go out at night."
Jacob.
What did he know? Was this him- No. This wasn't Jacob. This wasn't anything Bella knew before, and that thought resonated throughout each one of her cells.
Bella flung the door to the side and held onto the threshold as she dashed into the house, dropping her flashlight in the rain behind her. She overestimated her athleticism as she slipped, going down hard on the wood floors. The young woman had no time to groan or weep as she scrambled back to her feet and slammed the screen closed. The click of the lock only gave her momentary comfort, and the roaring wind that followed sent her running toward the home phone.
She lifted the phone body and swiftly dialed her dad's number, gnawing at her fingers as the ring went on and on.
"Come on come on come on," Bella chanted under her breath.
"Bella?"
"Dad- There's a man out in the forest! He's in the garden now- he was running after me!" she blurted out, her eyes snapping to the dark backyard. Bella couldn't see shit. "I can't see him anymore."
"Bella, get to the bathroom, ok? Lock the door, get in the tub, and wait there. I'm on my way," her dad told her, and only thanks to his training could he keep his fear contained. His daughter was in danger and he was twenty minutes away.
His daughter was in danger.
He immediately threw the sirens and flashing lights into action, Chimney lifting his head from his paws. The K9 sensed the sudden tension that blanketed the car and sat upright. Charles raised his radio to his mouth and called in a possible home invasion at his house to the other officers on duty. They asked him if he needed backup, and he told them to stay close.
Charles Swan was at his house in thirteen minutes. He opened the door, and Chimney flew out far before him. Rain soaked the K9's muddy coat as he regarded the front steps with a curious sniff. Chimney snarled and tapped his paw against the railing, indicating someone was there. With all this rain, Charles knew it was a fresh scent.
The two crept into their home, but Chimney didn't alert a second time. Charles didn't put down his gun either way, keeping it raised to the lit kitchen. He announced his presence for only the wind to answer him. They scanned everything they possibly could—each room, under the stairs, and even in the closets but didn't find a trace of an intruder.
They swept upstairs and ended up at the bathroom door. Charles carefully rapped his knuckles against the wooden door and whispered, "Bella? It's safe."
"Dad?"
He holstered his gun immediately and gently opened the door to the bathroom. Charles turned the light on to see his daughter curled up in the tub with her knees pressed to her chin. There was nothing that could explain the way his heart shattered in his ribcage. Gravity pulled his knees to the tiles as he wrapped his arms securely around his daughter, holding her close to him as he kissed the top of her head. Charles hoped she couldn't hear his heart's pieces attempting to repair themselves. Her hands clung to him the way they did when she was younger—when she woke from her nightmares of vampires and evil clowns.
"I'm here. It's safe."
I'll keep you safe. This time I won't fail you.
"There was someone outside- I think it was a man," Bella mumbled.
"Whoever it was is gone now, Belladonna. He's not coming back," he reassured her as he tenderly helped her stand. Bella was rigid, uncomfortably rubbing at her arms when he pulled away from their embrace. Even Chimney noticed her demeanor, whining as he sniffed at her knees. "Are you ok? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Dad."
He frowned, those brown eyes they didn't share narrowing. His face looked tired and worn, not just by tonight. "Are you sure, Viper?" Charles asked just to be sure, wanting to put a hand on her head but stopping himself halfway.
Bella felt tears bubble deep in her chest as her stomach settled in her throat. Her knees yearned to be pressed to her chest again so she could become the smallest target possible in her little ball of safety. She bit down on the tremble of her hands and steeled her heart up.
She was safe; nothing happened. Nothing except some bruising to her shoulder from her own stupid clumsiness. The fear remained well seated in her chest, but she let it know it wasn't welcome by shoving it down into her gut. This time she'd listen; she wouldn't go out at night.
If Jacob gave her an answer, that is. If not... then she'd have to bring a gun the next time she investigated the whispers of her name.
"Bella?"
"I'm sure. I'm alright."
Charles had to return to work for the rest of the night, well into the early morning. He told her where the spare gun was in the house. He let her keep Chimney for the night, hoping she wouldn't feel so alone. He quickly went to the kitchen as Bella was taking a bath to warm up a pre-made meal for his daughter.
But his curiosity got the better of him too.
The Sherrif slowly and quietly opened the garden door. He didn't know her flashlight was missing—he never knew she had it. All he knew was the man came from the forest. Charles moved warily but swiftly to the back gate of the garden, his hand comfortably resting on his holster.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw the back gate was open.
But there was no one in sight.
He was practically everywhere all at once. Staring into a man's bedroom one moment, he was a block down within a breath. Energy surged through him as his foot made contact with another branch and launched him through the furious storm.
The Defectors wouldn't dare leave their oh-so-protected home now. Not as the rain and lightning prowled the streets. They were too weak to handle the scorching blasts of light. Too weak and too foolish.
He landed behind the outdoor bathrooms of a gas station, his gleaming red eyes assessing the situation. A long car was parked and fueling, no store employees were in sight through the glass window of the station's convenience store, and bright—terribly bright lights—ignited an itch in his skin by just looking at them. But a drumming in his ear brought a grin to his thin lips.
No... not one. Two drummings. Two heartbeats inside the bathrooms. A voice, a woman, another responded.
A mother and son, possibly on a road trip.
Hurry, Al. We need to get back on the road.
You can start the car, Mama. I had too many pizza slices at Ben's house.
Alone.
He weighed his options right there, a long tongue gliding over his lips as he thought of his meal. His hands rubbed together in excitement before a tight hiss escaped him. Ah, the burn. The reminder of his escaped prey kindled fury in him—a type he hadn't felt for centuries on end. He supposed now was time to double his victory to cover his loss.
As quick as a blink, he surged for the car. His mouth ached of rubber as he sliced two long stripes in both rear tires with his fangs. He returned to the shadows and watched, just watched, as the mother exited the toilets. Her bouncy hair shimmered red like fire against the plush green jacket that she wrapped around her tightly. She was a keen prey. The moment she reached her car, her gaze snapped to the bathrooms, then the road, and then it scanned around cautiously.
She was looking.
He grinned wider.
The prey chewed on the sides of her fingernails as she quickly paid and took the gas tube away from her car. She tapped her foot against the pavement anxiously. She stared right at him for a moment, just a moment, but she caught him there. Not that the ridiculous human knew what she'd seen, she hadn't even glimpsed his form, but her body knew.
"AL! Get your butt in the car, young man!"
The cub ran from the bathrooms, flailing his hands around wildly to dry them before realizing it was useless in the rain. He resembled his mother, with crimson hair and a broad face. What they didn't share was their sense of danger. The cub himself would've made too easy of a target.
"I'm commiiinggg!" he whined.
"Get in."
"Wait, but you said you'd buy me rocky bars!"
"Get in the car, Al!"
"Fine," he huffed but obeyed his mother's command. The cub slid grumpily into the back seat while the prey slammed her door. He could hear the locks click loudly in his ears despite the distance and felt the engine's hum against his feet as it jumped to life. The prey practically whirled out of the lot and onto the road, sealing their fate with each bit of distance she placed between them and light.
He let them get far enough away so that he could no longer hear their heartbeats.
And then the game of prey and predator began.