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Deja Vu

Edward never came back after he left Bella in New Moon. Bella went to college, married Jacob, had a daughter. When Bella's grandaughter and Edward find each other in Forks, can Edward overcome his memories and devote himself to a new love?

It's a tired old plot, but this is the first time I've ever written Twilight fanfiction, so please indulge me.

9. Chapter 9

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1714   Review this Chapter


School, Edward, dinner with my father, they fly past. I am happy – joyful, ecstatic, bubbling over – about finally getting Edward to kiss me properly, but something is distracting me. Something important is going to happen, soon. I don’t know what it is, but it will happen, and it will happen at night.

I finish all the homework I can concentrate on and change into my pajamas. It’s late, past midnight. I’m tired up until the minute I slip between the sheets, when suddenly I’m wide-awake and restless and bored.

This is stupid. As soon as you turn on the lamp and start the homework, you’ll be tired again.

But I’m awake now!

Well, can’t you try counting sheep, or something? Recite the multiplication table. Go running.

What do you mean, ‘go running’?

You know what I mean. You did it last night, and the night before that.

That was a dream.

It was real. You know it was real too, you’ve just been denying it because it’s just too impossible by the light of day.

It’s not real. It can’t be.

Can’t be for most, maybe. Can’t be during the day, in the open sun, but it’s night now and many things are possible in deepy-darkness. There’s more to the world than the bright things, and some say the dark-time things are the most real at all, they are what’s real when the hard edges have faded. In the forest, in the shadows, that’s where these shifty things are real, where vampires can lurk, where you can run…

The strange feeling of being hypnotized was back. I floated to the window and was out of it and onto the cold ground without even thinking about it. Distantly noted how the snow melted instantly under my feet. Running, running, running…

But somehow, I went farther than I’d ever gone before. This wasn’t the right shape for running, and my body begged to be allowed to change to the shape that was. It knew how to do it, changing so smoothly, so naturally, still running, but somehow on four legs instead of two. My mouth was open, sensitive tongue draped over fangs like razors. I slowed to halt, dreamily, sat back on my haunches and howled to moon, howled out all the conflict and frustration and anxiety that my life had so recently been filled with.

And when I finished, I was awake. I had been awake before, of course, but only in the most generous sense of the word. My brain had been temporarily suspended while my body took over. No more. The trance was over, the hypnosis was gone. I was awake, and I was a wolf.

In other circumstances, this would have been pretty cool, but just then I was so panicked, wondering if I might be stuck like this, that I ordered myself, frantically, to change back.

A rush of wind, and I was human again. Not to mention naked. This was also worrying. I wasn’t cold or anything, and it wasn’t like there was anyone around to see, but there is something hardwired into the human brain that doesn’t like being naked. It’s so vulnerable. Also, I was now faced with two choices. One, I could walk all the way home naked. I had no idea how far I was from the house. Or, two, I could turn back into a wolf and run it.

The second choice appealed to me. Now, how do I turn into a wolf, I wondered, but while my mind was wondering, my body had already taken care of it. I wagged my tail a little.

I ran just as fast this time, but while I ran my awakened mind was paying attention to other things. It was marveling how fast I was going, how the scenery was blur, how I somehow felt much bigger as a wolf, even though I was, in fact, shorter.

Ahead of me, the blurred trees were thinning. A burst of speed, and I was standing on the edge of the lawn. A new problem occurred to me. My window was open, but I couldn’t get up to it as a wolf. Well, I hadn’t come all this way just to be defeated by twenty feet in the open. I took a deep breath, changed to human, sprinted across the lawn, vaulted onto the roof, and dove through my window. Breathing a sigh of relief, I shut my window and closed the curtains quickly. That was relief.

It was past two, but I was wide awake, like, well basically like I’d just run a marathon. It was undeniable fact that I had just turned into a wolf. This wasn’t like last night, when I had awoken with vague impressions of too many legs and a tail. I was fairly certain that this was the first time I’d ever made the change. Last night had just been my brain preparing itself for tonight.

I was, in fact, a werewolf. For some reason, I could accept this with no trouble whatsoever. After all, my boyfriend was a vampire. What could be more appropriate than me being a werewolf?

I hesitated a moment, but I was nowhere near sleep, so I started up my laptop. When it was fully functional I opened the internet. The homepage displayed my favorite search engine. I typed in ‘werewolf’.

There were a lot of hits. I opened a page called ‘werewolf superstitions’ and scanned the list. Silver figured largely, especially silver bullets. Curious, I went to my jewelry box and took out a pair of pearl studs with pure silver posts. They felt fine in my ears. I put them away again.

There were a plethora of pages listing werewolf superstitions, but I couldn’t find any reports of modern werewolves. Hours ticked away. My eyes began to grow slightly heavy, but I kept up the search, clicking on any page even slightly promising.

Around four, I found myself on a page labeled “Werewolf Legends of the Quileute”, because the name ‘Quileute’ had seemed vaguely familiar.

The page told the story of the Quileute tribe, and how they had been spirit warriors, then supposedly gained the ability to become wolves, and their fight with the “cold woman”. Not actually very interesting, but the last paragraph made all the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“The Quileute claim the ability to become wolves – the werewolf gene, one might say – has been passed through the generations and to this day lies dormant in their blood, awakening in the descendants of the original pack only when the proximity of ‘cold ones’ calls these young people to defend their tribe from an ancient predator.”

I read this sentence twice, then clicked to my homepage and typed “Quileute” into the search box, racking my brains to remember where I had heard the name before. I clicked on the very first result, and was presented with a banner reading “Welcome to La Push, the Quileute reservation near Forks, Washington!”

That was all I needed. I had remembered. My grandfather had been a Quileute, a full blood too. Jacob Black. I had a picture of him somewhere, taken at least ten years ago. A tall, lean man, his hair silver, tan face lined and pockmarked. I hadn’t inherited any of his features, including, sadly, skin pigment.

We had never been as close as Grandma and I had, and I hadn’t seen him since her funeral. All the same, he was my grandfather. I hesitated, then opened up my mail service, found his e-mail in my address book, and typed out a quick message reading: Granddad, I need to talk to you about something. A Quileute thing. Can I call you tomorrow, around seven? – Love, Izzie.


I pull up outside her house, hoping fervently that Izzie’s okay, but an inexplicable sinking feeling inside tells me it’s too late. Izzie opens her front door and runs toward my car, and for a split second my heart lifts. Then she opens the door, the scent hits me, and I bend in two, shaking with the effort of controlling the instincts that are shrieking attack!

Izzie backs away from the car, but leaves the door open. I can still smell her, but it’s easier to behave myself if she’s farther away. I glance at her face. She looks confused, angry, miserable, and excited all at the same time. For once, I am glad I can’t hear her thoughts.

“What’s going on?” she asks, hand over her mouth, pinching her nose shut. I wonder what is the best way to explain, a task made difficult by the part of my brain that is jumping up and down, screaming at me to attack her.

“Have you changed?” I ask. My voice sounds unusually rough and strained.

“What? – oh, yes, last night.”

“That’s what’s going on. Our two – species – do not mix well. In fact, they usually hate each other. The smell is a species thing.”

Izzie is silent. Now that the initial shock is over, my senses are slowly recovering. In a way, it reminds me painfully over how I felt when I first met Bella. The immediate reaction in overwhelming, but as you grow accustomed, it is easier to resist. I risk picking my head up, but I don’t inhale.

“Does this mean…,” she says. I can hear the rest of the sentence coming, and rush to keep it unsaid.

“No,” I say firmly. “We can overcome it. I resisted killing you when I met you even though your blood was positively calling to me, I can overcome this too.”

“But I don’t know if I can,” she whispers, near tears. I long to reach out and comfort her, hold her safe in my arms, but I don’t dare. Neither of us is ready for that. It may be years before I can touch her again, if ever.

“I love you,” I say softly. “We’ll just have to work with this, alright?”

“I love you too,” she says. The first time she has ever said that to me. I only wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.

Izzie pulls herself together visibly. “You need to go,” she says. “I’ll take the truck to school. See you in chemistry.”

“Yes,” I say. “We’ll get to start working on it soon.” I smile at my beautiful, heartbroken, werewolf, and she smiles back bravely, still holding back tears.