I don't own Twilight.

Chapter I — "As I Wait"

We prowl the night.

That must be why they call us children of the night, because it is the safest time for us. As we walk through the woods, the humans of the world don't notice us. They are tucked "safely" into their beds, as we watch and we wait for the right moment to strike.

They are all so predictable. They get up, make breakfast, go to work, come home, eat dinner, and sleep. Every day is repetitive here. The future is something I look forward to. Perhaps, in the future, something will finally be interesting again.

"Do you want to wait, or go now?" I look over to see her, standing there in the flames, watching the house with hungry black eyes. She is hungry and so am I. I look over to the other side of me. Black as night, he watches the house with distain.

He is like me.

"It's time," I say quietly, and we approach the small house with wooden sides. It's dark and there are no sounds anywhere except for our light footsteps. Everything is dead in the world. I can hear the breathing of the corpses. Their breath is the same as it always is. If I didn't know any better, I would swear we were killing the same humans.

As I wait, nothing changes.

Alice

"I had the dream again," a voice says, echoing dulling off of the blank walls; blank walls like canvases yet to be painted on. How an artist would thrive in here. How I am dying in here.

Surely the voice that had spoken — a voice void of all emotions, a voice so dull it is nearly lifeless — could not possibly be my voice. Indeed, I think, watching as the dark head of my doctor nods indicating that it was the voice of a mad girl speaking.

Indeed, I think again, the voice is that of a crazy girl's. The voice belongs to me. I stare straight ahead, feeling my eyes burn from not blinking, and I do so, just so I can feel a little relief in this hell. I glance over to the wall, seeing the lines totaling the days I had been kept here. Absentmindedly, I count the days. I count the days every day. Was it really three months and two days prior that I had been normal?

Three months and two days prior had been a normal day, much like any other day. I was younger then than I was now, much younger. My mother and I were relaxing behind our house when the monsters attacked. I remember clutching my head in pain, trying to make the images stop.

Blood and monsters and beauty are in the depth of existence, I remember clearly, though everything is blurred now. The visions come so frequently, it's hard to keep track of them all.

The dreams never stop coming. After that first day, I was taken away to this place. While I was used to seeing the vibrant greens of pine trees and the cool blue of the river behind my home, here the only color I ever see is white. Anticipating, waiting, and longing, white.

It's only when the beautiful dark hair of William Pierce, did my world suddenly feel full of light and color again. Besides my dreams, he is the only thing that lets me see color; lets me see the world outside of these white walls.

"Miss Brandon," he says, bathing me with his voice, as beautiful as angel's singing atop the highest peaks of Heaven, "you have many dreams. Please be a little more specific." Through his lashes and unruly bangs, he looks at me with dark eyes.

I swallow hard though I know he doesn't notice. William, Will, never notices what affect he has on me. He only sits there, asks me questions, and awaits my answers.

To him, everything that goes on in this room is only business, his job he must wish to escape from. But to me, the time we spend together in this room is personal; after all, William is the only sane person I ever come in contact with every day besides the man who brings and takes my uneaten food.

"The soldier," I reply, seeing past him, because that is what they expect of me.

He nods and jots down my response in his little notebook. I have come to hate that stupid little notebook. When he looks down at it, I can't see his eyes. That brilliant shade of brown was the only thing I live for now. I've lost my mother, the only family I have, and I'm stuck here.

Just seeing him, someone considered "normal", is more than enough to want to see him all the time.

"You seem to dream about that man a lot," he observes, setting his pen down atop his notebook. As I stare ahead, to the window outside of my little cell, he looks at me with chocolate eyes. I watch him, though he doesn't notice. He never notices.

"Why do you think you see him the most?" he asks.

His sharp jaw, his blood eyes, his beautiful yellow and wavy hair all appears in my mind like a painting. He looks at me with calm eyes and I know, despite that he may seem cold and uncaring, he is very dear and loves me very much. I can see that he wants to help me and he is not afraid of what he is or what I am.

He loves me for me. Not for what people label me as or who I am supposed to be. He seems past the image I put up and the reputation I have. He loves me because he knows who I am. He's the only one who knows who I am, completely.

"I'm not sure," I reply flatly.

He nods and scribbles down a few more words. His writing looks like that of a baby's drawings. I'm sure no one other than himself can read his pen. Chicken-scratch, I decide to call it and smile to myself. Will notices this time. "What are you smiling about?" he asks, a little interested in me but not enough to try and catch my eye.

"I was thinking," I say, resting my eyes upon his, though he doesn't meet mine, "that you write like a chicken walks on paper, with ink on his claws. Chicken-scratch." I chuckle lightly then go back to the crazy girl I am supposed to play.

Will stops writing and looks up at me. His eyes burn my skin but I don't look at him. It would be very normal of me to look at him. And I am not normal.

"I suppose," he replies quietly and then looks back at his notebook. No more words leave his lips as he stands and turns around. He does not say goodbye ever to me. Instead he says, "Have a good day, Miss Brandon." I watch him as he leaves.

For a long while, I sit in silence. There is a small, envelope-shaped window on my door, near the top by the ceiling. I am too short to see through it but there sunlight shines through it and heightens the white color of my room.

I sit and remember my past. My mother always taught me that it was good to remember where you come from because the people from your past will always be the people of your future. She always said that but, somehow, now it doesn't seem true.

After all, she left me, just like my normality, my home, and my life.

There is a small knock on my door. "Alice," I hear a soft voice say. Grandfather walks inside and leaves his cart behind him, like he always does. I pull up my knees and give him space to sit down. He is an old man after all and it seems that it takes him longer to sit down and stand up every single day.

"Hello, Grandfather," I smile and look at him.

John "Old Man" Pierce is a cook that has been working here for more than forty years. He was eighteen when he got a job as a cook here and he's never left. He had a wife, who died about three years before, and has one wonderful son and one wonderful grandson.

That grandson happens to be William Pierce, the angel who sees me every day.

"How are you today?" he asks, setting a small tray with a bowl in front of me. I examine it and see that it is a cloudy broth and a thick piece of bread. I pick up the bread absentmindedly but I don't eat right away. I hardly eat here and Grandfather always tries to get me to every day during our daily meetings.

"I am well, thank you," I reply quietly. "And yourself?"

He smiles brightly, the lines on his forehead and cheeks more pronounced as he does so. "Another day, I get a day older, but wiser than I was a day before," he says, just like he always does. He is a bit strange but I always enjoy his company.

We sit in silence for a long while. I nibble a little on the bread crust but hardly any of it goes down my throat. It's dry and not good at all, but I don't care. I don't want Grandfather to be upset. If there's anything I don't want, that's Grandfather mad at me.

"How did your session go today?" he asks me.

I smile. "I made a joke," I reply, letting my teeth show. I look up from my bread crust and into his black eyes, the same eyes as William's. He's smiling brightly at me, his laugh wrinkles compressing. "I think he finally notices that I'm not as crazy as they think I am."

He chuckles for a moment. "I should hope so! He's only been visiting you since you came here. I remember, as soon as I saw you, I knew you weren't crazy. You have a gift sent to you for a reason. Something bigger than this life is waiting for you, Alice."

I look away, my cheeks reddening slightly. "I know," I mumble.

He reaches forward and pats my knee with a soft hand. I bite my lip and look up at him. He smiles at me, letting his abnormally white teeth show. I gaze into his eyes, knowing that, ten, twenty, years from now those eyes will still be the same.

I know, because Grandfather never changes.

He's from the Great Beyond, an Angel from Heaven, with a thirst from Hell. As William grows old, his grandfather will never change. Sooner or later, Grandfather will have to leave but right now he can pass off for an old man. And, for now, he can stay with me and help me.

Because he knows I'm not crazy.

He's one of them. He's the same as the soldier I constantly think about, dream about, the same as the family I will stay live with in the future, the same as the monsters everyone fears.

He is a vampire.

William

This is bloody useless, I think, pacing down the hallways of the mental institute. An older woman by the name of Mrs. Turner reaches out at me from her bedroom. She's in here because she swears her husband was killed by demons, though clearly, realistically, that isn't possible.

I brush by her, and she cries out at me. I don't respond because I don't like her. But then again, I don't like anyone here at this bloody institute. Well, I don't like any of the patients. There are a couple of nurses, however, I do enjoy quite a lot.

And when I say a lot, I mean a lot.

Of course, my grandfather works here too. I love him an all, but it's only because I can't change my family. He's a strange man with … unique habits. After losing my grandma two years ago, he's gotten even stranger than before.

"Hello, Will," Mary, a first year here, says to me as she passes by. Her long, red locks bounce off of her shoulders as she walks. I turn my head and watch her retreat, watch the twist of her clothes around her waist, the muscles of her arms release and retract as she grips her medical book to her chest.

I approach the lobby of the institute and notice that it is unusually quiet today. Usually, they let two or three of the patients out into the lobby to walk around for ten minutes or so. The staff does it in shifts because there is only so much we can handle if all the crazies came out at the same time.

"William!" a male voice calls after me. I turn around to see Robert, one of the only other male staff members, come up to me. He is out of breath, like he just came running from the other end of the institute. He takes a few deep breathes before continuing.

"There's a meeting in the cafeteria, starting in a few minutes. I saw that you were heading out, so I thought I'd tell you. Mrs. Brinkmen says she has some big news and wants all employees there as soon as possible."

Mrs. Brinkmen is the head of the institute; technically, Mr. Brinkmen is, however, he's always gone on business trips, Mrs. Brinkmen is boss-man. She's the mother of the institute. Everyone, including myself and all the patients, love Mrs. Brinkmen. What she says goes.

"Then I guess we should get down there, shouldn't we?" I laugh and slap him on the shoulder. He chuckles alongside me and then we walk down to the cafeteria.

The hallways are very plain in the institute. Every door is metal with a small, envelope-sized opening at the top. On my right, there is a wall of windows. On my left, the patients' rooms are located. Every door looks the same; the only difference being a small printed number right by the door, indicating what room belongs to who.

There are cries in some of the rooms, and others there is dead silence.

When we enter, Mrs. Brinkmen is standing in front of the staff, looking back at us. "Sorry for being late, Mrs. Brinkmen," I apologize, giving her a small smile. She rolls her eyes and smiles back, nodding toward two empty chairs in the back of the group.

Robert and I quickly sit down, and sigh with relief as she continues. "As I was saying before," she repeats herself for our benefit, "we are going to hold a small party for the best patients of the institute next Friday for Halloween. It won't be a big deal, but the patients that have improved or have always been very good shall be rewarded.

She looks at me directly in the eye. "I know that many of you think this will be a hassle but please remember that these patients are very sick people. People just like you and me. So, we will be planning the party all of this week. If you have any old suits or dresses, it would be nice if you let the patients borrow them for the event. I want this to be a good time."

She claps her hands together once and says, "Sound good?" She looks nearly every employee in the eye and we all know that there is no way we could ever say no to her. She knows it too.

"Sounds bloody great," I murmur while everyone else says something along the same lines.

A/N — The first chapter of my pre-Twilight, Alice-centric story! This is more of a prologue than an actual first chapter, but I just want everyone to get a feel of how this story is going to be set up. I have pictures of Alice, William, Grandfather, and Alice's mother all up on my site. A link to that is on my profile, under my penname.

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-Liz