This story is rated M for adult themes about drugs and suicide. Please be prepared for possibly disturbing subject matter.

Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter 1 – Visions of Death

Alice POV

"Ahhhh! I can't do this anymore!"

My teeth were clenched tight, my jaw rigid with emotional pain. My head had been filled for months with increasingly disturbing visions, in the last week something shifted; they had become crippling. I resorted to hiding in my bed, my head buried under the fluffy, goose down comforter from which I drew no actual comfort. I had isolated myself from Jasper and the rest of my family for a week, trying to hide my anguish from them, but I knew it was impossible to continue. The visions were unblockable. Something had to change, or I would lose my mind. I flipped onto my back and stared at the ceiling for one calm moment, before visions of the darkness and the broken girl flooded my brain with lightning streaks of pain. I threw the covers back and rose from my exile, finally deciding enough was enough.

A glance in the mirror over the dresser as I passed showed the toll my visions had taken on my physical appearance. My hair was sticking up all over my head, where I had grasped it tightly in my hands, trying to pull the pictures out of my brain. My eyes were pitch black, no distinction between the iris and pupil, and beneath my eyes were bruises that would take numerous feedings to dispel. My lips were pale, and they shook with emotion.

Visions of Bella consumed me. It had been four years since we left Forks and since Edward left Bella. The tragedy of their loss, the loss of my best friend, and the pain Jasper had continued to carry with him for his part in things had weighed heavily on my mind. For the longest time, I didn't see her. I had no visions of her at all. I was able to imagine her happy and moving on in her life, the absence of the danger we posed to her a relief in her soul. Then about six months ago, I began to see her again.

I slammed out of the dark bedroom into the brightness of the hallway and leaned over the railing above the great room to look down on my family gathered there. The sun, shining through the floor to ceiling windows, reflected off my skin and sent diamond sparkles throughout the room. Esme was sketching plans for a series of outbuildings that would hold a woodworking shop, a pottery studio, and a new, larger, garage. Carlisle had his nose buried in a book, and Jasper was on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. He could feel my pain so deeply and had been suffering right alongside me. I brought a hand up to my lips to block out my cry at seeing him that way. Emmett and Rosalie were absent, but I knew they would come when I called.

"Everyone! Family meeting. Now," I said in a normal voice even though I needed to scream. My body was coiled with tension, and deep breaths were not helping to calm me.

I took the stairs at a human pace, not to drag out the inevitable, but to prevent myself from breaking something in my haste. I entered the dining room, not taking time to notice the new rustic chandelier Esme and Carlisle had hung earlier that day, the deer antlers a wry statement above a table where no meals were ever served. I sat at the head of the table, staring at the striations in the polished wood. I waited impatiently for my family to arrive with my fist clenched tightly to keep from smashing Esme's favorite table into sawdust. It only took seconds for them to gather but felt like hours.

Even though Jasper wholly felt my suffering, I hadn't shared with him what I'd seen. As they came into the room, each person touched me, except Rosalie. She rarely showed affection to anyone other than Emmett. Esme kissed me softly on the cheek and brushed my hair from my eyes, frowning at the pain I was sure she saw there. Emmett patted my head, and Carlisle clasped my hand in his as he sat in the chair next to me. Jasper came up behind me to rub my shoulders gently. He projected calmness, and I felt it rolling over me. The feeling was so welcomed. I took a deep breath and let him rub my tension away.

I needed the ultimate courage to get it out. I would also need the courage to stand by the decisions that needed to be made, whether I agreed with them or not. I had promised Edward, before he left, that I wouldn't look for her future. We had all promised Edward we wouldn't interfere, and I was going to ask them to break that promise. Everyone looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to tell them what I saw. They had no clue what horrendous news was coming.

Carlisle looked into my eyes, his face filled with concern. He squeezed my hand and grounded me the slightest bit more. These five people surrounding me were my family, and together we would make the right decision. I took one last bracing breath and began to explain the horror I had watched unfold in my mind.

"You all know that I have been having visions." I was glad Rosalie didn't make any sarcastic comments about me stating the obvious. "The thing is, the visions that I've been having are disturbing, and I'm not sure we can do anything to stop them."

I hesitated again, finding it hard to put what I'd seen into words. In doing so it would be like admitting it was truly happening, and I didn't want to do that.

"Alice, we can't help you if you don't tell us what you're seeing." Carlisle, as always, was right.

I continued, staring at the tiny scratches in the table and repeated myself. "I've been having these horrible visions. We need to do something fast." I waited for their reaction, and when no one said anything immediately I looked up. They were waiting for me to continue. I hadn't explained a thing. A tearless sob stuck in my throat.

"I can't watch her kill herself anymore. The drugs, the wandering… She has nothing. She doesn't eat. She doesn't sleep. She's going to die."

I pulled my hand away from Carlisle's, put my head down into my crossed arms, and began to tell them of my last disturbing premonition. Describing what I'd seen was like someone reading a comic strip out loud to a blind person, overly descriptive and stilting in cadence.

There is no moon, and the streetlight is flickering on and off. There is a crumbling stoop, pieces of concrete litter the ground like gravel. The metal railing leading up to the doorway used to be black, but the paint is peeling; rust is showing through. The door to the building is large with one broken pane of glass, boarded up with silver duct tape and cardboard. The others are too filthy to see through. The door handle is missing, and the sagging door doesn't close properly. The building, in the worst slum outside New York City, is leaning and looks to be abandoned. The smell of garbage, unwashed bodies, and the scent of marijuana fill the air. The clouds over the city have released the rain, and the rank air is moistened by a fine drizzle.

She steps out of the door and slips on the gravelly stairs, catching herself on the rusted rail. She doesn't seem to notice the cut she has received, rust from the railing mingling with the rust colored blood on her palm, but holds her palm against her chest, smudging the blood across her already stained sweatshirt. Her long hair is stringy and is hanging in her dull, dead eyes. The only thing distracting away from those eyes and the bags underneath them are the cracked lips. They will bleed at the slightest touch.

She pulls herself up from her almost fall and stumbles down the uneven sidewalk. The drizzle has wet her hair. She should be freezing, but she pulls up the sleeves of her hoodie in an attempt to cool herself. As she exposes her limbs, the horrible bruises all over her arms are visible; track marks, some new and by the looks of the green and yellow shadows on her inner arms, some days old.

Esme gasped but said nothing as I continued. I couldn't look at her without losing it. My voice was monotone and without emotion. I continued relating each detail I had seen.

An old car pulls up, and the window rolls down. The occupant calls the girl over. She hesitates, wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach, but gets close and peers into the car. "How much, Sweetheart?" The man leers at the girl as she shakes her head. I can't see what she says. The man speaks, licking his thick lips and making them disgustingly wet. "You know you want what I have, and I just want a few minutes of your time in return." The filthy man pulls a packet of white powder out of his pocket—it's heroin. The girl, already high, desperately reaches for the drugs, but he pulls it back before she can touch it. "Get in." She grabs the door handle and then changes her mind. She steps away and falls backwards over the curb onto her butt. The man gets out of the car and grabs the girl roughly under her bruised arms. He swings her around to face him in a move that puts her even more off balance, and she stumbles again almost falling. He slams her into the door of the car.

Her eyes flutter, half-open, and she struggles with what little strength she has against the average sized man. His hands pull open the hoodie and roughly grope at her breasts. The girl struggles harder, and barely audible words whisper from her cracked lips.

"A hit first-give me a hit first."

The man pulls her away from the car, locks the car with a beep, and heads up the stairs of the building she just left. The door swings open and slams against the outer wall. The girl winces at the bang, but limply leads him into the building. He drags her up the rotting staircase to an empty room. The rooms around them are filled with other lost people. Their faces are all blank. They are nobodies. I don't even see them.

He lets go of her arm and pushes her into the dilapidated room, and she falls to the moldy mattress on the floor. She sits up on the edge of the bed and sets her backpack next to her leg. Tears are gathering in the girl's heavy-lidded eyes, when he sits down next to her and begins preparing the drug. He pulls a syringe out of his pocket, and the girl shakes her head. Reaching into her bag she hands him a sealed syringe. He fills it and hands it to her, kissing her neck. She shrugs him off. Her face is filled with disgust as she pulls a tourniquet from the bag at her feet. She prepares to inject herself as the guy caresses her inner thigh. She doesn't even flinch from his touch this time; she doesn't even care. She pulls the cap off the syringe with her teeth and spits it out onto the floor, cluttered with trash and filth. As the needle goes into her most recently abused vein, a tear falls off her chin onto her bruised arm.

She pushes the plunger in, her eyes roll back in her head, and with a small smile on her cracked lips, she whispers, "Edward. I love you," and she falls forward, the syringe still in her arm, her face hidden by her hair. The man jumps up and flips her over as she begins convulsing. He screams, "Fucking bitch!" He viciously kicks her in the back, gathers his drugs, and leaves her there to die. He smacks the door to the room next to him and yells "OD!" The occupants of the house scatter like the vermin they are, leaving the girl to die alone.

I looked up and the room was silent. Esme looked like she could cry. Rosalie was playing with her hair, totally bored. Emmett was probably not even listening. Carlisle was the first to speak, the compassion he felt evident in his amber eyes.

"Alice, humans destroy themselves all the time. What's so different about this girl that has you so upset?"

I was incredulous. I wanted to ask them what the hell was wrong with them, and then I realized I hadn't told them who the girl was. I choked a little bit, and then in barely a whisper said, "It's Bella."

xoxoxo-

This is my first story and has taken me a year to gather enough courage to actually post. I have to say THANK YOU to Jessypt, who is my amazing beta. She is always there. She is the stick supporting my backbone. Thanks, Jess.