Chapter One: The Orphan.

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by Stephanie Meyer, or her publishing company, or Lionsgate.

OOOO

"It isn't much," Charlie Swan spoke gruffly, "But this is home." Everything about the man was gruff, Tilly had learned. From his silver buzz cut to the smell of faded leather and crackling cedar that clung to him. His eyes were haunted, the bags beneath prominent from stress. From the loss that had taken him to his knees only a week earlier. That was why she refrained from pointing out that this would never be her home. How her parents had made sure with her unconventional upbringing that she would never perceive Washington State as home. He set her mother's-Her designer luggage down by the door. Matilda gripped tightly at the handle of her mother-Her suitcase. "Your, uhm," He cleared his throat awkwardly, "Grandmother is going to be here to see you on Friday. Rebecca and Rachel called today..."

Grandmother, Tilly internally scoffed, was what you called a woman who was present. The dependable sort of woman who had steely grey hair, a name like Helena or Sheila, and taught you how to play Crazy Eights, or how to hot glue stuff. Renee Dwyer was simply not a grandmother. She was a flighty mess even before all of… The mess that left Tilly a downtrodden orphan in Forks. The few times Tilly got a call from Renee since it happened had been horrific to say the least. Scatterbrained, frantic, almost psychotic. Most certainly unhinged. Matilda Black did not have the strength of will to hold herself together, let alone pretend Renee was a grandmother. Especially not when she was in such a deranged state. "Rebecca and Rachel are not my family." Tilly finally spoke, setting the suitcase down. "Family talks to one another before a tragic murder. I do not want to see them. Not after they ignored my dad for so many years. They need to visit his grave. Not try to mend bridges through me."

She turned around to face her grandfather. Features softening slightly. "Thank you for telling me though, grandpa." Her voice was bright, though fraught with sadness. "And thank you for letting me live with you." Without pause the tall girl wrapped her grandfather in a tight hug. Ignoring how he at first awkwardly moved to reciprocate. His smell filled her nose and she took comfort in her spot on his shoulder. Remembering meeting him for the first time when she was four. He had visited them in Barcelona when her mother was working for a lucrative marketing company. The contact became more frequent with time until Tilly could always count on him stopping by. Wherever they were in the world he visited at least twice a year. More than Renee ever bothered at least, stuck in her head as the woman was.

"I love you so much, kid," He rasped softly, "This will always be your home. No matter what happens." Then, after a few long moments she pulled away, pecking him on the cheek first.

"Well, gramps," She smiled cheekily, "I know you are getting old. So why don't you take a break while I unload the truck." Surreptitiously wiping tears away from her angular cheekbones the sixteen-year-old chuckled his way. The awkward tension dissipated while they completed the task. Chatting about everything but the terrifying thoughts lurking in the back of their minds.

OOOO

She spent the nights out. Not that her parents knew, of course. Clubbing with friends in clothing her father would have disapproved of. Stopping by book signings. Following her older friends to parties at the lavish homes of varied intellectuals and University Professors. Engaging those impressive minds in conversation whilst savoring champagne from flutes with a graceful grip. Dancing with men much older than was appropriate, and kissing the especially handsome ones too. This double life began when she was on the cusp of fourteen. Taller than most women. Far more confident too. Matilda Black was a blossoming beauty, and unfortunately for the world she was more than smart enough to know it too.

That night had been a raging party in a creamy white, Chelsea mansion. Tilly was invited by one of the posh boys she met in her engineering classes during the prior term at Oxford. Heels clicking she reveled in her break from designer clothing. It was nice to dress down in her favorite jeans and an old The Damned t-shirt. Honestly Tilly was growing far more interested in a possible research career than exploring her cosmopolitan lifestyle. Once the sixteen-year-old might have never imagined a night spent pouring over research articles in comfortable clothing would be such a desirable prospect. Yet now she tiredly longed for it with all of her heart. Deciding that perhaps this bash in Chelsea would be her last late night rendezvous for a while to come.

Untying her long hair from its ponytail the teenager reveled in the hot, early morning of an impending summer's day. Only to halt immediately in shock. Flashing UK police vehicles painted that nauseating green, nervous passerby tittering nearby, distressed neighbors sobbing in the backs of ambulances. Or not moving at all beneath bloody sheets. Hands clenching furiously into white fists, Matilda Black eyed the damage. Unlike anything she had seen before. Almost worse than the natural disaster coverage that always played incessantly on the news when they were living in an American city. Street lamps were torn and bent. Glass littered the streets in mounds. Entire segments of the row of townhouses had either collapsed into piles of dust or balanced like unstable columns of debris.

Her parent's own townhouse seemed to be the epicenter of the destruction. Kate Spade purse slinging off her shoulder to the ground. Forgotten in the face of a tragedy she could not fathom. Long legs pumping Tilly rushed past news crews and frantic relatives. Barely noticing the bodies that littered the street. Some of them buried beneath rubble. Others thrown like broken ragdolls across the cracked sidewalk. The police did not notice her until it was too late. Until she had collapsed to her hands and knees in the jagged piles of glass and stone before the spot where her old home used to be. Nailed to the neighbors splintered door like an effigy of Christ, arms outspread, eyeless head tilted to the left, was her mother.

Dead.

Matilda Black had never been animated during her sleep. She was the sort to go deaf while in slumber. Unable to move, speak, or scream during nightmares. Even when the memory progressed further to the police station where social workers had accidentally left her shocked self alone in front of the television. The media excitedly dissecting the largest death toll in London's history. Analyzing how mixed between the bodies of their neighbors her father's dismembered body had been recovered. Apart from the head. Now, lying in her mother's old bed, the girl slipped out of the sheets. Terrified to do so at the irrational prospect that whoever had done her parents in was waiting to do the same to her. Even though the London police had concluded that her mother was an unfortunate target of extreme animosity from a band of, still uncaught, terrorists. Desperate for some relief from the boiling hot room Tilly forced her rusty window to scream open. Even though the earlier humidity had broken into a fierce rainstorm.

The water struck her face instantly as the wind struck a comforting pattern against her overheated skin. Eyes closing, the tan teen clutched tightly into the window frame as though it would save her life. 'You need to leave.`A voice, hauntingly familiar, so cold it dragged icy nails across her spine, whispered in Tilly's ear. 'You are not safe here, Tilda.' Eyes flashing open again, the sixteen-year-old spun around to face the spectral form of her father. Then in a blink he was gone.

She sobbed, sopping wet on her mother's old bedroom floor for an hour after.

OOOO

Tilly gripped the paper grocery bags more tightly than was likely needed. Of course, she was walking through the middle of Shitzville, Washington. Shaking her head the girl tried to not reel from the negative, judgmental trajectory of her thoughts. She had gone from living in the nicest parts of the world to the crack ass of Washington State. They had visited a handful of times throughout her life. Always in Seattle where her grandfather would meet them at fancy hotels. Things had changed drastically since Tilly was a little girl. The homeless population was out of control all over the western side of the state. Seattle now evoked images of traffic mismanagement, the heroin epidemic, and getting flashed by a homeless man when she was twelve in Pike Place Market. Travelling to Forks, between all of the grief from seeing her mother's body crucified by terrorists in London, Tilly had imagined it was just all of the big city congestion.

She was terribly wrong.

The further west her grandfather drove the worse things seemed to get. Entire towns once dominated by the lumber industry were now defunct. Swathes of unfortunate souls hooked on meth and heroin. All of the cities were gross and old, sandwiched within layers of misery and despair. Even the summer did not help matters. The gloominess of the skyline leaving Tilly terrified for a bleak winter. Then there was the fact that she was the new girl in town. Not only distinguished by her designer clothing and worldly presence, but by her pedigree. Her grandfather was the longest serving Chief of Police in Forks history. Her mother had apparently been incredibly popular with her age group when she lived in the town. Most of her high school class was still stuck in the town. All of them oh-so eager to sympathize with Matilda about what a beautiful soul had been lost.

Of course, all that any of them knew of her mother was an awkward girl from Arizona. Not the woman that Tilly had loved so deeply. The beautiful intellectual who had managed to get a full ride scholarship to the University of Michigan. Who turned her double major in marketing and finance into an enviable, high-powered, international career. The woman who worked her ass off so Tilly could dress in the clothes she so adored. Who cultivated her daughter's early passion for the sciences and learning so successfully that the sixteen-year-old already had two years of college under her belt in a Chemical Engineering and Applied Mathematics double major. Feeling the tears burn the back of her eyes the girl stomped into the diner with her groceries. Hoping desperately they would not perish while she ate with Charlie that night.

The man had dropped her off that morning in town for the Farmer's Market. He had to drive to Seattle to meet with the expensive attorney settling her parent's large estate. She insisted on spending the day in town shopping for all of the cooking goods his kitchen was sorely in need of. Big mistake now that she truly had an understanding for how small towns functioned. "You look like your mother." A soft voice made her look up to find a waitress peering downwards. Her black hair was greying, and her face was creased with thick lines of stress. Tilly was stunned to receive the comparison given that few ever really saw the bits of Isabella Swan in her. They had the same face shape and cheekbones, though she shared her father's nose and dark eyes. Their hair was even similar, and though Tilly's was a bit darker than her mother's the same bands of red appeared in its color on sunny days.

People often stopped their observations at her tanned, Native skin tone, and assumed she was a carbon copy of her father. That, perhaps, was why she bothered to look at this sad, harried woman's name tag. Angela. The name rang no bells, though Tilly was not surprised. Her mother had rarely ever spoken of Forks, other than to mention it generally as the place where her father lived. "Thank you," She answered, trying not to sound so damn somber. Her mother was a beautiful woman. The memories ensued sharply, crisply again like a knife to her side.

She sat on the bed with her mother. The woman had worked a long day, again, but Tilly did not blame her. It was thanks to her mom's hard work that she had books, food, and pretty clothes. That her father could stay home with her, so she wouldn't have to go to daycare like her friends after school ended. 'You are so beautiful, Tilda,' The gorgeous women smoothed her daughter's brow with a kiss.

'You are beautiful, mommy,' Tilly had giggled, plucking at her mother's flawless, white Oxford blouse admiringly.

'Am I?' The woman poked her daughter in the belly with a smile. 'I wish my mom had told me that. That she had told me that I always deserved to hold my chin high.' A sad expression passed over Isabella Swan's face. 'You need to always remember that, Tilda. How beautiful, and kind, and clever you are.'

Tilly ran her hand up to her mother's face. Letting the tan fingers brush against that milky skin, and those lovely features. They had gone to the museum, the other day, and she reverently suspected even Michelangelo could not have sculptured marble so well. 'Can you read the Ada Lovelace biography to me mommy?' She asked softly, not wanting the moment to end.

Ringing laughter like honey filled the air, 'Of course, my love. Even though you should be practicing reading on your own. Numbers aren't everything…'

Fighting a violent storm of tears, Matilda Black smiled upwards as Angela spoke again. "I was friends with your mother during high school. She was always such a kind, golden soul. Never judgmental. Not a mean bone in her body. I envied her for it, actually." Smiling wistfully the woman peered back down. "I can put those back in the kitchen where it is cool, if you want? Sometimes Chief Swan would have your mother wait here for him too."

"Thanks," Her voice did not wobble, somehow, and Tilly felt incredibly proud of herself. "I really appreciate it." Then as an afterthought she added, "Could I have a vanilla milkshake too please?" Sugar always made her break out, but given that her parents were dead and she was now trapped in Forks, Tilly supposed she had earned it.

"Of course, darling," Angela's face turned tight with stress again as she took the groceries. When the woman stepped into the back it was down to just her and a third woman sitting on a bar stool. Tilly noted the woman's unhealthily slender frame and muted, blonde hair. As though she were another victim of the rampant drug epidemic. Her gaze must have been sensed for the woman turned so that a vicious pair of eyes filled with loathing bored into Tilly's form. A nasty smile crossed her face as she stumbled up to both feet. Tottering across the restaurant until coming to a stop at the table. Slapping her fingers onto the surface unsteadily.

"Your mommy was a no good whore." The blonde forty-something hissed nastily. "I was just sitting here, trying to enjoy the news coverage. How she was pinned up, drained of blood." Tilly noted then that the television mounted before the dusty bar was turned to Fox News rather than the traditional sports channel. Even a week later helicopters and drones were flying over to reveal a formerly nice area of London that had been flattened in the explosion. "Your mother was a stupid bitch. I remember how she whored herself out to those freaks. The Cullens. Edward Cullen. He was her favorite. Then they left her behind in this town like a fat piece of useless blubber." Matilda had never heard the name before but it sent shivers down her spine for some reason. "She thought she was better than us all the same. The perfect Chief's daughter. Good. Fucking. Riddance."

"My parents were spectacular, vibrant human beings," Matilda sneered, standing to both of her feet, "And you are an envious slag who will never leave this town."

"Apparently," The vindictive shrew smiled bitterly, "Neither will you."

A vanilla milkshake was slammed on the table as Angela pushed Tilly back into her seat. "You listen, and you listen well…" She began a blustery-faced in the woman's direction.

Only, Matilda did not listen. She was stunned into silence by the shadowy figure who was suddenly sitting across from her at the booth. An old woman with a hooked nose and silvery hair. Smoky in quality, yet composed of thick enough tufts of black energy that Tilly could see her. 'Tell Lauren that Marnie is disappointed.' The old woman urged earnestly, 'I know you can see me. I have been waiting for a chance like this for years. Tell her that she needs to stop destroying herself over what happened. That she can only control her response to what he did to her so long ago. There is no way to take it back. Tell her that Darrel Duffy is long dead. That she needs to grow herself and make me proud.'

Tilly did not know what to say as this blonde woman continued to shriek louder. Howling in Angela's face as the waitress threatened to call the police. 'Do it. Do it. Do. It.' The old woman only Tilly could see insisted. She wondered in the back of her head if it was the death of her parents causing a delayed manifestation of schizophrenia. Yet the young woman stood to both feet. "Marnie is disappointed in you, Lauren." Her voice was clear and firm. The drunken woman stumbled back from her tirade in shock. "You need to forgive yourself." Tilly was emboldened. "Darrel Duffy is long dead. You are the decider of your fate. Only you can forget whatever happened. Only you can make Marnie proud."

The drunk shrew was now staring at Tilly in shock. Tears running openly down her horrified face. She stormed from the diner like a tornado, barely pausing to snatch her purse up from the bar. Slamming the door behind her so loudly the bell peeled splittingly through the air for several long moments after. "Wha-. How-?" Angela spluttered for a moment. "Honey," She gasped suddenly, "You look white as a ghost. Let me get you something to eat real quick."

That word. Ghost. It stuck in her mind for a long while as she gathered the strength to look up at Marnie. "How can I see you?" She asked, voice laced with uncertainty. Not wanting to believe that she was seeing what was before her. That what had just happened was some insane episode of sorts.

'Your grandmother said you were a smart one,' She smiled chidingly, 'I am a ghost.' With that, she vanished into thin air. Leaving Matilda Black to peer up at the television screen at the latest development. The Fox News host crowing excitedly about the latest, most bizarre development. Most of the victims in London had been drained entirely of blood.

OOOO

This is weird for me. I loved Twilight when I was younger, and it was the first fanfiction I read after the whole Midnight Sun fiasco. Though I never really thought I would write a story for it. In general I find the vampires too powered up to yield a sufficiently inspiring plot line. They don't eat food, sleep, or age. None of those things make for an appealing life. However, I started to wonder. What if Bella and Jacob had a daughter? What if Bella pulled herself up by her bootstraps after Edward left in New Moon and set a strongly empowered, self-loving example for her only child? This story excites me, and I am kind of writing it for myself. Matilda is everything that I ever wanted Bella to be when I was reading the books. An incredibly intelligent, confident young woman with a wicked sharp tongue. Hopefully people read and like this, but if they don't, oh well. I kind of write fanfic for my own enjoyment at this point in life.

Next Chapter: A Slip of the Tongue.