Chapter 1

Running. Again. Because the killer was chasing me. Again. The same theme runs through all my dreams, not exactly recurring but similar enough that I recognize the signs. I know I'm dreaming. I know that no matter how hard I run it won't be fast enough, no matter how I try to scream no one will hear me. Not so dissimilar from my waking life. I was used to these dreams. Nightmares were the only kind of dreams I had. I knew what to expect and once I realized it was a dream I would just wait for the killer to catch me so I could die and wake up. Psychologically I know I should probably be concerned that I just give up and let the killer have at me, but I was just so tired of running, even in my dreams. It did no good anyway. If my dreams had taught me anything it was that you can't escape the inevitable. You can't outrun the monster. He will always find you.

I was spared from the bleak ending of another nightmare by the shrill screeching of my alarm clock. I thrashed at my bedside blindly trying to silence it before finally ceding defeat and opening my eyes to turn off the clock. Most people would probably be happy to get out of that dream but I couldn't really bring myself to care. I was never really scared of the dreams. Real life was another story.

I dragged my body out of bed and took a moment to get my bearings. My bedroom was still mostly dark, dim early morning light barely filtering in through my curtains. I knew I had to move carefully or I would injure myself. I was quite clumsy, especially in my barely awake state. I held my breath for a moment and listened to the sounds of the house. I couldn't hear anything except for the soft pattering of the rain on the roof. That was to be expected. In the small town of Forks, Washington rain was the rule rather than the exception. There were no sounds of movement in the house, no snoring coming from Charlie's room

Thank God, he's gone.

I let out my breath and made my way to the window to make sure. Sure enough, the driveway was empty. The only vehicle in sight was my ancient red truck parked by the curb.

Ah, the instrument of my independence. Such as it is.

I went to grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from my dresser, along with a bra and underwear and made my way to the bathroom for my morning shower. I turned on the hot water, waiting until the room filled with steam before stepping under the spray. My skin almost immediately started to redden so I turned the temperature down slightly and started to wash, doing my usual morning inventory. I hadn't done it for the 2 weeks of winter break so I decided I needed a full body check. I checked my arms as I washed, first the fronts and then as much of the backs as I could see. There was one new bruise, wrapped around my left elbow.

No short sleeves for you today.

Normally I could put bruises off to my gravity control issues but this one had distinct finger-shaped impressions along the inside curve of my arm. Nothing more on my torso that I could see, not that anyone else would be looking there but it was always good to know. A few more bruises on my legs, mostly old and yellowing but one large new one on my thigh still showed black and purple.

Must remember to move faster. Maybe I can survive the next 6 months relatively unscathed if I learn to dodge better. Yeah, right. Dodging makes it worse.

I quickly finished washing and turned off the water, stepping out into the steamy bathroom and wrapping a towel around myself. I wiped the condensation from the mirror and looked at my reflection as I ran my brush through my hair. My normally dark mahogany hair looked black as it flowed halfway down my back. It was thick and had a very slight curl. It was my mother's hair. My favorite memory of her came back to me then, temporarily blotting out the sight of the bathroom in front of me. I was 4 years old, lying on my back on her big bed. She was tickling my sides, hovering over me on her knees while we laughed. Her long dark hair fell forward, creating a curtain around us and all I could see was her beautiful smiling face. I knew in that moment that I loved her more than anything in the world, and in her eyes I saw that she felt the same. I wish I could have frozen us right there, kept safe in that warm alcove of her hair and her love. Then maybe my mother wouldn't have been lost to me. Maybe she wouldn't have betrayed me. I drew myself back to the present, still staring at my reflection with my brush halfway through my hair.

Stop thinking about her or you'll be late for school. Can't have that, they could call Charlie.

I continued to hurry through my morning routine, casting distracted glances at my reflection while I brushed my teeth. I still saw bits of my mother throughout my face. My pale, clear skin was hers. The heart shape of my face and my high cheekbones were hers. The eyes…I looked away quickly and spit out my toothpaste before starting to get dressed. The eyes were his.

Kind of a blow to the self-esteem when you can't look yourself in the eye without seeing someone you hate. Good thing I didn't have any to begin with.

I put on my underwear and bra, then my jeans and a plain black t-shirt. I went back to my room and put on my favorite black hoodie, my socks and my Docs. They were a little heavy but steel-toes could really help someone like me. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, grabbed my backpack and made my way down the stairs. I felt a little like a lamb walking into the lion's den.

Hope I don't get eaten.