Forever and Again
*chapter 3:Until Then is up!* Everything's planned. The wedding date is set, the move, the changing. Bella is ready to become part of Edward's world; Alice is trying not to go overboard on the wedding; and the Cullens are packing for the move. The only thing left for anyone to do was just wait. But then, just as soon as everything is perfect, Carlisle discovers a girl, already in the middle of changing into a vampire. This girl may be the key to everything, and she also helps the Cullens realize, not everything's what it seems...
2. Another Tear
Rating 5/5 Word Count 1592 Review this Chapter
March 16th, 2006
“Liz! Time to go, hon!”
Sarah Loraine Walker. Age thirty-six; dark brown, curly hair; tall; thin; hobbies—playing the piano, collecting stamps, and singing; favorite food—macaroni and cheese; married to Hunter Guy Walker; maiden name—Smith. The most likely person to confront you in a crime. The least likely person to stop you doing something bad as long as it benefited her.
Also, my mother.
“Coming,” I said, barely over a whisper, even though I didn’t move from where I was laying down reading. It probably wasn’t loud enough for my mother to hear, but when was I ever really loud enough?
It was time for my monthly doctor’s appointment. Dr. David Harold Grey—dark hair, dark eyes, tall, mysterious and handsome—was the only person besides my mother and father who knew my secret…and the only person to not freak out once he discovered it.
Sighing, I trudged myself down the hallway. Hurry up, Lizzie. We’re going to be late. I entered the room, and—seeing my dark expression—Sarah quickly drove her thoughts away from me and on to something pointless about taxes and rising honey prices.
“Grab your coat; its cold outside,” Sarah suggested out loud. That’s what I called her—Sarah. Not mom, mother, mommy, or any of the other things regular people with regular lives call their regular parents, but by her real, pretty name: Sarah.
“No, thanks. I like the cold,” I replied. Sarah sighed, which she did a lot these days. I figured I was to blame. Without another word, both of us went out to the car and drove to the doctor’s office in this town of Charlotte, North Carolina. It was about thirty five degrees outside, but I word no coat. In fact, I had a tank top and short shorts on. But I didn’t mind the cold—it felt good against my inhuman skin.
We didn’t speak the whole drive. Her mind was filled with her same usual thoughts on drives to the handsome doctor. I was sickened by her and wondered how she didn’t feel remorse for what she was doing. I felt dirty after I listened to her and wished I could turn it off, but I couldn’t.
We don’t speak on any other drive. Not since…but I couldn’t even think my mother’s sin.
After pulling into the parking lot, my mom sighed and got out of the car. She walked towards the doctor’s office without me, which was what I wanted. I stayed in the car and rested my head back on the headrest, savoring the split second of my own peace.
I don’t know how I was able to read minds; I was born with this ability. Some days I think of it as a curse. Others…it’s manageable. My whole life I knew that no one would ever understand me. I knew I was different. My father, Hunter Walker, was probably the only person that has looked upon me with no trace of fear in his eyes.
Of course, there were only three people that had reason to look at me with fear. After all, I was a freak. And even the people who don’t know about me…they still treat me like I’m an alien. I guess it must be my personality—my silence, my dark humor, my whole…look. I know what everybody thinks about me. Literally. And what most of them think isn’t good.
But why should I care, right? I mean, I’ve got an ability some people in the world would kill to have. They don’t know what it’s like, having a thousand people in your head at once. That’s why they want it—because they don’t know what it’s like. Suddenly, but expected, an image formed in my head. All the voices disappeared, and the current situation didn’t matter. What mattered was what I was seeing…
An elderly woman with wispy white hair. A middle-aged man, sitting beside her hospital bed on a metal chair. His name is Henry. He has a pillow. Henry is holding it with a nervous, regretful grip. Slowly but surely, he places the pillow against Margaret’s face. The heart monitor went beeeeeeeep.
I shuddered to a wake, the sour feeling of death still lingering in my brain and body (system). God I hate hospitals.
That was another thing—I can see the future. But not everything that was going to happen. Just deaths.
The visions come randomly—I have no control over them. There was no way to trigger them; they just…come. The time my visions happen varies from a couple minutes to a couple days, but it never matters if I have long enough to stop them because they always end up happening. There’s no way to prevent these; I’ve tried. It ends up being a complete disappointment afterwards, when I can’t stop them. Because it’s the pain and suffering of the person and their loved ones that I can’t stop, but know about ahead of time. It was all so confusing…
It’s like when you’re reading a book, and you imagine the scene in your head so clearly that it’s like a movie. It’s like I’m reading about a death. A horrible, gruesome murder, usually.
Maybe that was where my dark looks and personality came from, having to deal with my pain plus the pain of hundreds of others. To tell the truth, what with my abilities and family and nonexistent friends, there was no reason for me to be happy. At all.
So why was I happy on most days? There was nothing to explain that. Sometimes I even felt bad for being happy, when a lot of people were losing their loved ones.
The only time I wasn’t happy was on days like these, when I had to go to the hospital. It was completely unnecessary, for I wasn’t ill. My room could be exchanged for another person who actually needed it. On days like these, I was especially grumpy.
Usually I stayed in the hospital for a couple nights, so Dr. Grey could run more tests. How he ran these tests without anyone finding out my secret or getting suspicious is a complete mystery to me. Why? you ask. Why can’t you just read his mind and find out why?
Well, my poor, uninformed friend, I’ll tell you why. Because I can’t read his mind.
I don’t know why. I don’t know how. What I do know is it’s extremely annoying. I’ve always known what people’s next actions would be, or what they think about my mom’s new hair, and it sucks to be left in the dark like I am with Harold Grey. He could be a stalker, a murderer, a liar! He could be plotting an innocent girl’s death for all I know! I felt like I was letting down everyone by not knowing what he was thinking. I felt like I was letting people die by not knowing what he was thinking….
The actual, embarrassing truth was that…I’ve always known everyone’s deepest, darkest secrets, and—I was ashamed to say—I hated not knowing his.
What are your secrets…? I would think to him through narrowed eyes every time I saw him. Come one, just a hint…a word? Anything?
But I never got what I wanted, because when do I ever get what I want?
Finally, I just decided to get up and go inside. After all, I’d have to face it sometime today. I rolled my eyes to no one and opened the door.
My mom was in the front entrance, waiting for me. I was surprised; she usually goes ahead to the dreamy doctor, waiting for our arrival. The reason, however, was in her thoughts.
Just do it, Sarah, come on. Just go and comfort her. You’re her mother—you should be able to do something. Anything. Just do it.
Sarah usually only had these kinds of thoughts when she was on her period. I had no idea why. She never actually did it, though. Never went up to me and hugged me and whispered reassurances in my ear.
That was okay, though. I was used to it. I usually found comforting in my father, the only loyal one. He always hugged me when I felt bad. Another way I found comfort was in my music. I loved listening to pop and rock. It always excites me when I hear about a new band. I also enjoy playing musical instruments—the French horn, the cello, the drums, and—most of all—the piano. That was a magical instrument.
Walking down the hallways, past occupied rooms and now-vacant rooms, I clutched my stomach with my arm—there were too many broken minds here. The pain and sorrow had me sick to my stomach.
My mother looked at me for a millisecond, and then looked away. Hey, it was a nanosecond more than last time. I knew her mind. Sarah didn’t like seeing me hurt—that’s the most she could give me, after all, at a time like this—but she also felt uncomfortable in situations like these, where I was having a “personal moment”.
We passed a room, and I suddenly got de ja vu. I looked inside—but never stopped walking—at Henry and Margaret. At him placing the pillow on her face. At the line of her heart beat suddenly going straight. At the tears, slowly falling down his torn face.
The doctors quickly rushed in there right as soon as we passed the door. Well, like I always sigh when I’m too late—another vision, another death.