Hello!

I took about a 10 year hiatus from fanfiction writing, and now that I've swung back around I'm making some serious updates to what I have written. At least to the stuff that I've found interesting enough to revisit and revamp.

So, if you read this before - you'll get to read it again from a different point of view (quite literally - I'm switchng from 1st to 3rd person) and hopefully enjoy some changes in the narrative to clarify and enrich what all was going on.

Updates may be a slow proces due to adult responsibilities and all, however I'll denote which chapters have been updated clearly. And it'll be pretty easy to tell which chapters have and haven't been given the point of view shifts.

I hope any of y'all that choose to read this enjoy my pet project of seeing if I can successfully refine this story. And maybe also enjoy watching that process go down.

Heads up - some bits may still be a bit clunky as I am trying to keep content similar and/or identical but dressed up a bit better. Kind of like someone that's figured out eyeliner and mascara, but not so much eyeshadow.

Enjoy the read, and the day. Thanks!

The whims of time always move us at a pace we are not prepared for. Perhaps for things to pass by slowly, so we can savor the sweet moments. Perhaps for things to pass by quickly, like the pain of loss and mourning loved ones that had to leave us. It is a temperamental beast, master to none, and subjects us all to its whims. And what is yet better about this beast, is it operates differently for every individual at any given moment.

Time is simply a construct created as a means to control our lives, is it not? To pigeon hole us into one very specific routine to lean back into when things seem to spiral out of control. To organize ourselves in relation to the activities of others and societal expectations. Or perhaps that is simply pessimistic to be pondering.

Or, is it by a means by which we can measure ourselves – harshly or otherwise. Do we need time to shape us, to draw us to others and create bonds between each other? Ones that we desire to hold on to with everything we have, every single ounce of our strength, and as such we value them all the more. Or, are driven to make grave mistakes due to such a pressure.

"Isabella Swan. What, exactly, are you doing?" Her teacher's voice snapped her daydreaming and pondering in two and pulled her attention back to reality instead of one of her varying thought experiments. Which, ironically, she used to pass the time.

"Thinking," she responded slowly. It appeared to her that this authority figure was trying to frighten her into paying more attention – or maybe make an example for the other students that tended to do the same. But instead of thinking were napping. Like one does in a boring class.

"Oh, excellent. Would you share with the class what you were thinking about? It appears you have some notes and drawings there," Miss Jennings said to me.

Bella's eyes moved down to her paper as a bit of a bright red blush spread across her cheeks. As much as she didn't mind sharing her wandering thoughts to those that wanted to listen, she wasn't sure she wanted to do that in front of her classmates. She was already thought of as odd enough, there was no reason that she should alienate herself further by sharing her musings on the temperance of time.

"Um," she led with. Always a strong start. "I don't mind but, um, I was just kind of … day dreaming? Nothing spectacular. I'll try and focus better, honest," she said hoping to shift away the uncomfortable level of attention. There was a reason, after all, she aimed to sit near the center and back of the classroom. Easier to blend in and not get singled out to answer things that way.

"Day dreaming? Well, then why don't you share your day dream if it was so much more interesting than the subject matter we are covering, I'm sure everyone else would be delighted to know," she said, raising an eyebrow. Bella was not comfortable with this degree of judgement and the intense look that she was getting from her teacher. It was almost like Miss Jennings had it out for her – wanted her to back down and submit in some strange way. Of course, she now absolutely couldn't give her the satisfaction.

She cleared her throat.

"Well, I was just thinking about time, is all. And kind of how it is so fickle. How it makes us who we are – and … you know … mortality. I guess." Bella cringed. Being asked to share her thoughts like this certainly was more than a little uncomfortable and caused her to sink down a little bit in her highly uncomfortable desk chair.

Miss Jennings simply huffed. (Truth be told, if Bella could have read thoughts she would have found that she was miffed as it was a more interesting line of thought than fractions.)

"Well, Miss Swan. Regardless of the daydream, you need to be focused in this classroom. It is disrespectful to myself and to your classmates when you do not focus on the subject matter like everyone else here. I expect you to stay firmly engaged with us the rest of the hour and I would like to talk to you on your way out today."

A round of "ooos" and "she's in trouble" echoed about the room, which Miss Jennings promptly shut down. Just because she need to have a discussion with one of her students didn't mean it was okay for the remaining students to taunt her. Bella pouted slightly, but otherwise sunk into her chair and paid attention to the best of her ability for the duration of the class.

BEEP

The bell's toll practically rattled their brains as the classroom simultaneously rose and began to gather their things before heading on to their next course. However the ever lucky Bella got to slide on up to the teacher and wait for an unpleasant confrontation.

"Isabella. What AM I going to do with you?"

"I … don't … know?" she answered, even though the statement was clearly rhetorical.

Miss Jennings forged onward like she hadn't heard her at all. "Isabella, you need to start paying more attention. Your grades are beginning to slip and you continue to space out more and more. You aren't completing assignments on time, and you're always somewhere else. What is going on? I'm concerned for you. You are such a bright young woman. I am sorry I put you on the spot in class, but I felt that it may help you recognize when you're getting disengaged more easily. Please, talk to me," she said.

Bella blinked a few times. She hadn't been expecting something so earnest. "I mean, there isn't anything wrong. Not really. I guess this just isn't a subject that interests me a lot so it's hard to stay focused," she said with a bit of a shrug.

"I am sorry, Isabella, but I do not think that's true. Now, I don't mean to pry. And I don't expect you to respond to this. But it's something to think about: might it have something to do with your father's passing? I know it was a couple of years ago now, but I've been your math teacher since before that day and you never seemed to get this disengaged before. And it's just been getting worse. I know you probably think I'm just picking on you, or being nosey, but perhaps you should consider talking to someone. It might help you get centered again," she suggested.

Phil had died about two and a half years prior. When Bella was about 13 – almost 14. Her mother was never good at coping with tragedy. Heck, she couldn't watch most TV shows that had even an ounce of drama as it would stress her out. So it was no surprise that when he passed, she didn't handle it well. And she lived in the Denial stage of grieving for much longer than she should have. She pretended for a stint that they had just separated due to "martial issues" (of which they had none) and he had left for some unknown place.

Reality was, he had been killed in a lightning storm on his way home late from a friend's house. His car had stopped working and he had gotten out to check under the hood when he was struck by lightning several times. It was an incredible, freak, accident.

Bella had found out about this since it was broadcast all over the news. It was such a strange way for someone to go, that they couldn't help but hype it up. Bella ... did not handle it well. She was a wreck for a good week. But, she had gone through all the stages and made peace with that. Though storms were still something that gave her the chills.

"It's not because of my father's death, Miss Jennings," she told her teacher, "I've dealt with that already. Maybe this just isn't something I'm interested in, simple as that."

Miss Jennings frowned and sighed. "Well, I am just disappointed that someone as bright as you is so close to failing just because you can't bother to pay attention. Know that I will be following up with you more so than other students. I want you to be successful, and I'm willing to put in extra time to help make that happen. So, if you don't want me overly involved in checking up on your assignments you'd do well to get back on top of them. Now, I won't keep you any longer. Have a lovely day, Isabella," she finished and turned away to let her leave.

Bella let out a huge sigh of relief and quickly scurried out of the room. She could not stand that woman. Once upon a time she had been her favorite teacher, but over the past few years she had just become a nuisance. Always following up like that. But this certainly had been the worst day. Maybe Miss Jennings had just been feeling particularly feisty for some reason, though.

She powerwalked outside of the building and darted across the parking lot to reach my car. Bella hopped into her comfy old truck (which some may or may not have referred to as a death trap) started its obnoxiously loud engine up and headed on off to work.

The commute took next to no time as the grocery store was pretty much two blocks from the school, but it was generally starting to get dark when she left after her shift so it was best if she was actually parked in their lot and not the school's. It was a mindless job, which was fantastic after a long day. And the pay wasn't bad which was always a bonus for a high school student. So, she stocked some shelves. FIFOed some milks in the milk fridge, spent an hour standing at a cash register ringing through produce and other odd items, and then walked on out the door.

As soon as her shift was over she sped on out of work, too, eager to get home and throw together the evening meal. Cooking was one of her favorite pastimes. She enjoyed the challenge of cooking new things, and the satisfaction of something turning out well. Even if it was a meal she had made a thousand times, she enjoyed the process. And that it was something she was able to share with those in her life that she cared about. So, today she was whipping up a chicken pot pie. The weather was starting to turn cool out and she felt it was a perfect day for some comfort food. She had already gathered ingredients for the meal over the weekend, so it would be a relatively quick process to pull it all together.

The roaring engine of her car turned off with a sputter as she had pulled into her driveway, slung her backpack over one shoulder, and headed on inside. "Mom! I'm home!" she bellowed as she shed her jacket and shoes by the door. She waited for a response but go none. Odd. Her mom's car had been in the driveway already.

"Mom? I'm home!"

Once again, no response. So, Bella shrugged and moved on into the kitchen. She figured her mom might be napping in her bedroom or taking a bath and just couldn't hear her. So she turned on the oven, pulled out the prepped ingredients, grabbed a glass of water, and headed upstairs to check her mom's bedroom.

No dice. Not there.

Bathroom(s)? Neither.

Exceptionally strange. So, naturally, she was on high alert now. Something was off, something was wrong and she felt it in her bones. But what – she wasn't quite clear on. Bella climbed down the stairs cautiously. She walked past their home office, though the kitchen, and straight on into the living room.

Nothing was odd when she first stepped in. But that was because she was looking straight ahead (so directly out a window) and from the kitchen you could only see the TV stand and a side table. It wasn't until you were in the room that you could see the couch. And it was there that she saw her mother.

Her mother wasn't moving and there was so, much … red. Or burgundy maybe? But … some spots had a little shine to it like it was wet with a viscous substance.

Her mother was dead. Murdered. In their living room. Her knees buckled in shock and she fell to the floor – dropping the glass of water she had been carrying as it spilled over the carpet, and luckily did not shatter.

She had to remember to breathe. And then call the police. She observed the body in terror, unsure of how she was even going to report this. There were three, large knives still left in her mother's body. They seemed to have been shoved entirely through her mother's body to pin her corpse to the couch. They tethered her through her heart, her head, and throat. She had to fight back vomit that wanted to sneak up her throat.

Her mother's eyes were open but there were was nothing in the sockets. The sick bastard that did this had taken her freaking eyes with them. And, to top it off, her limbs had been cut open, all the way to the bone. It was the main source of all the red that surround the body. Bella let out a sob as her shaking hand began to move to her back pocket. She had to call someone. She had to get the police here so they could help figure out who did this.

Someone deeply disturbed would have had to be the one that did this. Some serial killer, some sick individual. And she needed to call it in so this couldn't happen to anyone else. So no one else had to find a loved one brutalized in this horrific fashion. This was something straight out of Criminal Minds it was almost surreal.

As she reached for her phone, she felt something behind her. Someone, probably, someone's leg. Cause she was feeling a shoe. Her whole body froze and stiffened in fear. Her breath was caught in her throat and all she could think was that it was about to happen to her, too. Perhaps she should just get up and run, maybe that way it would be quick. So … she shivered and prepared herself to run. Maybe, just maybe, she'd get lucky.