The Point of Change

A/N This is a thought that has been bouncing in my head for quite some time. I'm excited to finally get to share it with you. I'm still a little new to this writing thing, the grammar and punctuation may not be perfect, but I would more than adore feedback on the story, ideas that you like, ideas that you don't like, and please give me feedback on something that doesn't make sense!

And, as usual, critters found in Moonlight are critters not copyrighted by me.

I appreciate each of you who have taken the time to read the inner depths of my creative story-teller.

What would life be like if one were sired by a vampire, and then, for fear of the child's life, she were sent to live with relatives in a foreign town, believing her parents dead? What if, through a twist of fate, the child grows up and moves to the same country, the same city, that has close vampire ties -some of the same ties that endangered her life when she was so young - and the beautiful young woman is inadvertantly in for the fight of her life when the enemies of her father learn of her existance?

At what point does her life cease to be normal, and she realizes that she needs to use her wit and a little help from her friends just to stay alive?

I would like to introduce to you, Isabella, a courageous young woman, fighting against an unknown evil, and searching to find her true roots.

And yes, in case anyone is worrying too much about the Moonlight characters, they're upcoming, I haven't forgotten about them simply because CBS seems to think its a good idea to forget about them

My life came to a point at that moment.

There was a knock at the door, and glancing at the security camera, it was no person I'd ever seen before. I had been warned before that I needed to leave, to disappear or move to another country, but I hadn't taken any of it seriously before last night.

Last night while I was working, one of my few friends in this country, my coworker Marcus, warned me that if I cared about my life at all, that I needed to do whatever it took to vanish as soon as I possibly could. He looked terrified, but I thought he was teasing me about the mysterious phone calls I had been receiving. I joked, asking him if someone had sent INS or the FBI after me. He hasn't even cracked a smile, but looked at me somberly and told me it was worse. I wasn't creative at the moment to figure out what could possibly be worse than having my student visa revoked and having to leave back to Europe before I'd taken the semester finals here at my university in New York City, the course load had been rough and with my internship, sometimes it felt like I never got the chance to sleep. I didn't want to have to repeat this semester again under any circumstances. When I shared that with Marcus, I expected that spark of terror in his eyes to fade away and his friendly smile to replace it. But it didn't. And that was what finally scared me.

I started to ask him what was wrong, but he hushed me. He walked over to the locker room, where we leave our street clothes to change into our scrubs before work. I must have been standing there gaping at him, because he came back faster than I thought possible.

"Here," he said, "take these". He thrust a large white envelope at me. He went back to the changing area as I opened the end of the envelope. Inside was a passport, an American one. Another piece of paper declared itself to be a birth certificate from California, and also a state driver's license and a plane ticket. There was also a smaller envelope inside, and at a quick glance it looked like it held several hundred Euros worth of American cash.

Why would he be handing me someone else's identification? Didn't he realize that by stealing an identity I could be sent to prison or deported? Was this some strange joke? Had I joked about the Italian mafia one too many times and he took it seriously and took it upon himself to 'rescue' me?

I didn't see him return, but I jumped as I felt him thrust my overcoat on my shoulders, and start guiding me out the door.

This was just getting too weird for me, and I planted my feet and came to a stand still. My emotions can change fast, and I was done being surprised and shocked, and now I was angry and wanting an answer..

"Marc," I said, addressing him, "I have no idea what's going on with you. I can't just leave my internship or the university or the country on a whim."

"Yes you can" Marcus replied forcefully, narrowing his eyes. "And you are."

"No," I said, pushing him off of me. "Maybe this is some late night joke, but you are taking this too far and its not funny anymore."

"Bella, this is no joke!" he said, raising his voice. That look of sheer terror hadn't left his eyes, and he seemed to be getting more pale by the second.

"Please, Bella, just take these and leave. Don't ask questions, don't be stupid. Just go." He started pushing me towards the door again.

At that moment, the bell on the elevators signaled that someone was stopping down on our floor. Marcus stopped pushing me, and tried to appear as nonchalant as possible as a technician came down with a delivery for our department.

I realized in that moment, that Marcus was completely serious about whatever he had been so adamant about before. I trusted Marcus, not only was he a great coworker, but he was a true friend. He looked out for me, watched my back, even when I insisted I could handle everything myself. He helped me learn the ropes both at my internship, and also at the university. America isn't too much different than Europe, but out here in the states, I had no family to rely on. And Marcus had stepped up and become a surrogate brother that I'd never had. He didn't look much older than me, but he had wisdom beyond his years.

I walked into the changing room to grab my purse and I quickly tossed on my jeans and sweater, and hurled my scrubs into the hospital's dirty linen hamper. I glanced through the envelope and saw that the passport had my photo on it, but the name attached to it was Amanda Marie Johansen. Amanda Johansen was the name on the other documents, and it appeared that Amanda had a flight to London first thing tomorrow morning. Whatever was going on, Marcus was certainly alarmed enough to invent me a new identity, apparently. I wondered if the paperwork was valid, but it certainly seemed real to me. Why on earth would he go to these lengths unless he was deadly serious about something I didn't yet comprehend. In one moment, I realized that myself, Isabella Giacomina De Mare, was in danger, for whatever reason so severely that I needed to flee the country, urgently.

As I walked out of the changing room, I heard Marcus and the technician finishing up their delivery paperwork. As soon as the technician left on the elevator, Marcus turned toward me, his pale face filled with concern.

Looking at him, I had never seen him so afraid in his life. He was one of these fearless sorts, kind on like myself, and his terrified expressions were seriously making me doubt my own safety here in the USA. I held up my hand before he could say anything. "I'm leaving, my instinct says I should leave right now." I started. "I'm going to drop by my apartment and get a change of clothes and a few things I need, and then I… er…Amanda will be on the airplane first thing in the morning."

Marcus sighed softly "Okay, Bella. There's more information inside the envelope, read it when you're safe and when you're alone. Be careful."

I wrapped my arms around the sturdy man and he stiffened, like usual, before he returned the warm embrace.

I turned toward the door, and I bid my dear friend goodbye. His last words were "Your life depends on your safety, Bella, be careful."

I hailed a cab outside the entrance to the university hospital, and the driver took me to my apartment building. Normally I walked the several blocks to my apartment, but I was starting to have the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. After paying the driver, I dashed upstairs to my third floor walkup I shared with my roommate.

I felt much safer once I was in my home. Several months ago I had began receiving warning calls and letters, urging me to leave or to disappear, to go off the radar. I had assumed they were prank calls, but Marcus had helped me wire a closed circuit security camera, and we installed extra locks and installed a security system. It did feel safer, but I wasn't too worried about the prank calls and notes.

When I sat on my bed, I realized the enormity of the situation. Was I being stalked? Did someone want to kill me? Was my father a mobster, like my cousin had teased as we were growing up in a small village near Milan, Italy? Had someone put a hit on me?

I started to pack my backpack, easier to handle in an airport than a purse. Even though I was just 21, I was a well seasoned international traveler. The envelope that Marcus gave me went into a hidden compartment in the backpack. The identification, money, and plane tickets, I kept on my person, glad for a concealment jacket.. I put on my jacket. Instead of a suitcase, I picked a small duffle bag. It had a hidden compartment and inside I set my Italian passport and documents regarding my student visa status. I placed my university card and my own drivers license I obtained when I moved here for university. I dumped out my purse. My lip balm, I-Pod and cell phone went into a small pocket in my backpack. My computer went into my backpack next, with its needed cords.. I tossed my toothbrush and my medications into an approved TSA baggie, set it in my backpack and zipped my backpack closed. I emptied out the cash from my purse, a few hundred in tens and twenties, and folded them into my pocket of my jeans. I looked over on my nightstand, and I found the jewelry that my great grandmother had given me, a set of silver bracelets with ocean scenes on the thin silver bangles, and matching earrings with a stone inset the color of the sea. The last in the set that my great grandmother had given me was a silver ring inlayed with the same blue stone. The small bands of silver holding the stone in were definitely artistic. I made a mental note as I put them on to ask my grandmother one day about the history of the jewelry. Oh well, nostalgia time was over, and I put the jewelry on, lacking a better place to stow it.

I quickly grabbed some underclothes, pajamas, a clean pair of pants and a few shirts, along with my running shoes and a pair of socks. I tossed them into the duffle bag, and put in a windbreaker, and closed the duffle bag. I then put my backpack on my shoulders and slung my duffle bag over my left shoulder.

Everything else in my apartment would have to be dealt with later, there was nothing else urgent or irreplaceable.

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of orange juice, I was chugging down the last of the orange juice when my security monitors showed that there was an unknown man in a dark suit coming to the door. He knocked at the door, calling my name. I didn't answer, and he knocked again. Looking at the monitor, I was certain that I had never seen this man before, yet here he was on the other side of the door insisting that he knew I was in there. That was just creepy. One of the few times that my grandmother talked about my mother, she told me that my mom had nerves of steel, and that I must have inherited the trait from her. I had no memories of my mother, she abandoned me with my extended family when I was small.

The man on the door raised his voice, telling me to open the door or that he was going to break the door in. Looking at the man, I doubted the extra locks would have been much of a problem for this man. "I'm coming" I hollered back, "Just finishing my orange juice".

Phew. That had come off sounding nearly nonchalant. I realized I had mere seconds to act. I went out the fire escape and climbed down, moving as fast as I could. When I reached the bottom, I had to jump the last several feet, landing heavy on my feet. When I stood up, my eyes widened as I found myself face to face with the same man who had been at my door just moments before.

"Isabella, haven't you been raised to let a guest inside?" the man asked, grabbing my forearm and holding it tightly.

"Io Scuso signore," I said, lapsing back into Italian as my surprise and anger had overrun my brain momentarily. "I'm sorry, but the classification of guest typically is understood to mean that the guest is someone welcome as a guest." I looked at him squarely in the eye, while my words were polite, my emotions were anything but.

The man grabbed my arm tighter. "You're just as spirited as your own mother, Isabella. She would have been proud of you."

"My mother is none of your business", I hissed, hitting him hard with a left hook. He gasped and moved his free hand to his face. I was a little surprised because he looked like a solid guy who could handle some punches. He moved his hand and I was surprised that instead of a welt from the ring, there were nasty blisters in its place. He went to slap me, and I blocked it with my forearm. The assailant screeched in pain, the bangle bracelets had stung, being slammed into my arm so forcefully, but this guy was starting to act like a sissy. He looked back over at me, his pale skin nearly glowing from the nearby streetlamp, blisters forming on his hands. When I looked at his face, I nearly shrieked myself. What had originally looked normal for a man, was now anything but. His eyes turned very light and he growled, lunging at me. I turned, expecting the blow from some human animal, and to my astonishment, another creature leapt from the shadows and attacked the man before he could touch me again.

"Run, Bella!!" The creature yelled, and in that moment, I realized the attacking creature was none other than my friend Marcus.

As I ran out of the alley, I said a quick prayer for the safety of Marcus, then I got the hell away from my apartment. I kept running until I found a cab to hail. I got in, and asked the driver to take me to JFK. The cabbie was a kind middle aged middle-eastern looking gentleman. I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for the monster to be following us in a car.

"Ma'am, is there anything wrong?" The cabbie asked me. "You're very much pale, Ma'am"

I took a slow breath to try an even myself out. "No," I lied, "everything is going to be okay".

I was still trying to understand how Marcus managed to be at my apartment, how he knew what was happening, but mostly how he leapt and attacked like such an animal.

I suddenly didn't feel safe taking the flight Marcus had arranged somehow. What if there was someone expecting me on the flight, someone like the man who knocked on my door. At that realization, I thought I was going to throw up.

I rolled down the window, hoping a breeze would help me think more clearly.

At the next light, the cabbie turned to look at me. "I very much worried about you, May I take you to hospital ma'am?"

I had a dawning realization. If it was me against the world, I better take charge of me. At 21 in America, children are fully adults. But this was different. It was no longer cultures and customs and education I needed to learn, I needed to learn how to survive against whatever it was chasing me. Whatever it was that made Marcus so fearful. Whatever it was that Marcus had attacked. Taking charge of me meant that I needed to out-wit whatever may be lurking in the shadows.

"Sir?" I addressed the cabbie, "Do you ever take customers out of the city of New York?"

"Yes," he responded, looking quizzically at me in the rear view mirror. "But fares, they become much larger."

I took out a few hundred American dollars from the stash that Marcus had given me, and handed them to the cabbie.

"This is to show you that I am serious. Can you please take me to Philadelphia?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the cabbie said, and looked concernedly at me as I swiveled my head around, reassuring myself that we weren't being followed.

As we left the city, I my heart rate finally calmed down. I closed my window, no longer needing the fresh air to calm my nerves. The cabbie had to stop for fuel, and he kindly asked me if he could get anything for me. The caring tone in his voice caught me by surprise. In NY, they always tell you that the taxi drivers are very rude. This one gentleman forever changed my opinion on the compassion of other people.

"Just a bottle of water, please" I told the driver, handing him some small bills to cover the cost.

Shortly afterward, we were on our way. I looked out the window and let my mind wander. Never in a million years would I have imagined myself, a virtual orphan who grew up in a small town in Italy, moving to New York City for university, and then, in the span of two hours, learn just how much of a friend Marcus was, learn that someone knew my mother, fight for my life, and abandon everything I ever had here in the USA, to disappear under an alias back to Europe. The weight of everything was starting to catch up to me. This was definitely a major turning point in my life, and I had yet to figure out the reasons behind it.

I sighed softly, and the driver looked over at me with a worried look, but didn't say anything.

Opening my backpack, I took out the envelope Marcus had thrust at me earlier. He had said there was more information inside the envelope. Maybe there would be an explanation on what the hell was going on.

Groveling and begging for feedback is going to become a habit of mine, but these first chapters mean a lot to me because I sometimes feel like the beginnings of my stories are something rocky and less than clear. If its the case, it would mean a lot to me to hear it from other people, plus any suggestions on how I could improve for future reference. If my story is a hunk of shit, I would rather eighteen thousand people let me know about it. Thank you again, for taking the time to read my story.