"Ms. Ellison," the reporter is a woman in her late forties, her hair just beginning to grey, her lips luminescent with too much make up. I taste just a hint of resentment, a deal of jealousy, and mostly an urgency to get this story over with.

"Ms. Ellison, you have been described as the Jacques Cousteau of North American forests." I blush furiously.

I'm standing in front of, get this, another several hundred acres of land that I of all people have made into another national reserve, and it includes where my house used to be. That same pine-needle smell is here, that teasing hint of Maybe-Adventure and Almost-Magic that taunted me so much when I'd walk around here, that quivering hope that maybe a big wolf will just show up with a hole that I can fix. It's exactly the same. I haven't been back here since I left eighteen years ago, and it's completely the same.

"Well," I start awkwardly. "I really don't think I've done nearly as much as he did in his lifetime. But I am honored by the comparison; even as a teenager he was one of my idols."

She smiles blandly, adjusting her top. The cameraman behind her looks bored. You'd think that in the last couple of decades they might have made a super-magical video camera that films all on its own. Nope. It just has wicked-accurate zooming and adjustment settings that require almost no work on your part, so this guy is basically doing nothing at all.

The reporter woman smiles at me with perfect teeth. "Speaking of your earlier years," she begins. At least, I think that's what she said. I'm mostly looking at the way that her hair seems to be made of clay, and her skin is made of wax or rubber, and the rest of her is plastic. Not literally, we're not that advanced, it's just that it's obvious that she's under several layers of applied beauty.

"What influenced you to choose this career path?"

There's quite a crowd here. Did I mention that I'm on a stand? Like, a little platform, just so I could make a speech I just made? I'm like a wicked famous environmentalist! As much as an environmentalist can be famous. Which basically means that at one point a five-minute segment of one of the more popular online news pundit shows. Well, I say online like there's another option, but you know what I mean. I guess at thirty I'm getting all nostalgic. Whoo?

Anyways. Back to the crowd. There are a few trees in it all, and people have actually crowded around - to see me! - a hundred that I can see.

And...and way back there, way in the back...a flash of-

Never mind. Ahem.

"Influences?" I repeat, slightly flustered.

She flashes me some bright white teeth again. "Yes, childhood experiences, anything you'd say?"

"Well...as you know, I did grow up in the forests of Montana. And when my family moved to Idaho..." I cough. "I, uh, I had a friend who was extremely...impassioned about wildlife, wolves especially. I suppose he rubbed off on me."

She laughs, and it's a plastic laugh. "You were friends with him...when you were in your early teens?"

"Yes."

"First love?"

I snort, and cover my mouth to smother laughter. First love?! Are you kidding?!

"Uh, no." I smile.

"No, I...I can't even recall his name anymore," I lie quietly, looking back out into the crowd.

There it is again, dammit! That flash of...

These stupid woods. I'm never going to stop imagining things. Maybe I should have just been a dime novel writer.

"Well," she continues. "You are a young, single, attractive woman," Let me stop you right there and accuse you of lying, lady. But fine.

"You are considered one of the country's finest environmental bachelorettes!" Is that- is that a word? Whatever.

"Actually, speaking of this country," I say. "I just want to mention as publicly as I can how grateful I am to President Lensington for listening to me. She even met with me privately to discuss what I and the public I represent wanted."

"Indeed," the woman smiles at me again. "Would you say you know Regina Lensington well?"

"Well, I'm no politician, to be sure," I begin.

She laughs. "Of course not, you're honest!"

I laugh too, and try to make it look forced. Because it is. So, I don't really have to try, you see.

Hang on, I definitely see something back there. Yes, I do, I do see something, several somethings, and I swear I can almost make out-

"Back to what we were speaking of before: would you say you are eligible for dating?"

What?! Ugh. I mean, at least it isn't Fox Online News, but this webpage doesn't have a heckuva lot of integrity anyways.

"You know, Tina," I say, speaking through my teeth. "I really couldn't...say."

Eyes. That's what they are. Eyes. Big ones, reflecting light. And I'd say there are six or eight of them, twinkling like earth bound stars just beyond everyone else's vision.

"Well, that's it for Channel 6 Web News in environment," says the woman, turning back to the camera and smiling the biggest fake smile yet.

"I'm Tina Arangino, back to you Chuck."

XXX

And when everybody's packed up and gone home, I'm glad as hell that I always have camping gear in the back of my truck (oh, it's all electric, you silly nillies), because I am not going home tonight.

The soft little blue of night is already here. You know how when it's night, nothing really has color anymore? It's all just a different shade of dark. I wonder what shade I am. Color me night, and all that.

After setting up my tent, I'm walking around aimlessly. Maybe I expect one of them to show up, I don't know. I can't tell for myself.

I cross my arms, leaning up against a tree, a big oak, pressing my forehead into the bark.

I laugh bitterly, because maybe that'll make the little lump go away. "We're all mad here. I'm mad, you're mad..."

I hear a twig snap somewhere.

And for ten...

Fifteen...

Twenty...

Thirty seconds, I don't move, and I'm the color of the night and just part of the tree, waiting for just one more magic moment to happen, just one, just a little bit of closure...

No. No more noises.

I've had my moment, and it's over.

I make a quiet little sobbing sound that nobody can hear. "Thanks, Jacob Black. Thanks for coming into my life and screwing it up immensely."

Now, I don't swear. Not when I can help it. I'm not really religious, but I do believe in God, and I don't feel like He appreciates constant cussing.

But sometimes, you just gotta let go.

"Fuck you, Jacob Black," I say in a normal speaking voice.

Then, louder. "Fuck you, Jacob Black!"

Louder still. "Fuck you, Jacob Black!"

Now, shouting! "FUCK YOU, JACOB BLACK!"

-"ack-ack-ack-ak..."

It's the most satisfying echo I've ever heard.

Come on, I just insulted you, why won't you - why won't you at least acknowledge that?

"Excuse me?" A feather-soft voice. A guy, broad-shouldered and in his late twenties, and - get this - fricking shirtless, peeks out at me from behind some trees.

"Yes?" I say, my voice tinged with anger.

He's...let me see...plenty of trepidation, a little bit of fear, some hope, and...wait, what? Oh, love, gotcha. (Yeah, THAT emotion.) He's camping with his girlfriend, wants me to stop shouting obscenities at the top of my lungs. Prude. I just saved your stinking forest.

"You're...Sarah Ellison, right? The environmentalist...?"

"Yes."

"Well, I was here with my girlfriend," I TOLD YOU. Didn't I tell you? I told you. "And I thought...well, I know him pretty well, and...uh..."

I sigh.

I'm not really mad at him. I'm not broken up about anything, really. He changed my life real quick, set me on a career path I love, and I'm thankful. I'm just feeling lonely and bitter, mmkay? Oh, listen to me.

"And...uh...?"

"Listen, we all know about you. Kind of a legend. Emotion thief, right?"

"Hm?"

"Jake says you took away all his shitty emotions. So, emotion thief. That's what everybody calls you."

"Oh, joy of the world, how I shall now rejoice in the fact that people I barely know have a nickname for me."

"Actually," he grins. "You've kind of become part of one of the new legends."

"What?"

"Anyways," he continues. It's like when my dog Lorenzinii just 'happens' to not hear me calling him at the dog park. "I...feel like maybe you two should get in touch. Uh. You know."

I stare at this boy for a minute. "Uh huh."

"So..." he scratches his head. "Uh, I just wrote down his cell number for you."

"Yeah."

"Here." He shoves some paper towards me. I take it dumbly. Is it silly that I feel like he's trespassing?

"Were a bunch of you here today?"

He blushes. "Yeah..." he rubs the nape of his neck. "Yeah, but Jake...he said he didn't think you'd want to see him."

Typical.

"Oh. Well, thank you...?"

"Seth."

"Seth. Thank you, for this. Maybe I'll see you again."

"Yeah. I hope so. You seem like a nice person. With the exception of..."

Most of the time. "Of the screaming fit of rage just now in which I brutally cursed your second-in-command for annoying me at age fourteen?"

"Yeah." You really like that word, don't you, buddy?

"Well," he says again. "Bye."

"Goodbye, Seth," I say quietly, heading back towards my tent.

Maybe tonight I'll sleep well. Maybe tonight I'll stop thinking that if this is the real world, I don't want to be sane.

Hell, who am I kidding, I'll be up until two a.m. listening to music and reading Sandman comics, but it's nice to think I'll get peace of mind from this one little fixed fragment of my life, huh?

A/N: THE END! No, seriously. In case you didn't get it, it's eighteen years later, she's thirty, and...yeah. Any questions, children? I have more figured out, but it seemed too epilogue-y if I added in all the actual love life stuff. So I could tell you about that, if you're curious, but...yeah. Woo-hoo! (For the...one person, I think, who's also reading Hapless Darklings, you remember who Liam had a crush on? Heheheh...)