Chapter Text
Embarking off the plane at Port Angeles airport the flight attendant wishes us all safe travels and thanks us for choosing their airline. I felt my apprehension growing as I slung my rucksack over my shoulder. Never, ever, in a million years did I think I’d be moving to Forks Washington. I hadn’t even been to Forks since I was ten. Despite there being clouds of gray cast overhead I clumsily put my oversized sunglasses on. It’s far too early in the afternoon to be this sober. I spot the police cruiser easily enough parked on the tarmac. I guess there are some perks to your father being a Chief of Police. Charlie gives me an awkward wave from where he’s leaning up against the car before he comes up to help me with my bags, well more like bag in the singular. The facility I just got springed from, Sunny Brooke Youth Psychiatric and Rehabilitation Ward, didn’t let you bring much in the way of possessions. They had a firm philosophy that minimalism was the key to limiting outside distractions and reconnecting with your inner self. They also thought that equine therapy would somehow solve all of life’s turmoils so I didn’t put too much stock in their philosophy. At this point though I’ve been to enough “facilities” to know what to say and how to behave for them to deem me competent to mix with the public again. It was a trick, learning how to con the con man. Just comes with years of practice.
Charlie approached me hesitantly. “Hey kiddo...how uh, how are things?”
I gave him a reproachful stare, that thankfully he couldn’t see through the sunglasses, as he picked up my duffel bag. “Peachy.”
“You hungry? I thought maybe we could stop and grab a burger on the way home. I uh...I can’t imagine the food where you were at was all that great.” He murmurs with a guilty wince. Why he feels guilty I have no idea. It’s not exactly like Charlie and I are close. In fact I can count on one hand the number of days I have seen him in the past three years. Not that I resented him for it, really, I’m sure that sounds like teenage resentment at it’s finest but I truly didn’t. He had his life and I had mine and that’s just how things were.
“Can’t eat burgers remember, I'm allergic to meat.” I remind him.
His face flushes with embarrassment. “Oh...right, sorry I forgot about that. How about something else then?”
I shrug. “I could go for a milkshake. I’ll need something to wash down my meds with.”
Charlie seems like he just remembered that he’s technically responsible for me staying on track and taking all of my medications and going to teen delinquent therapy. He tosses my duffel in the trunk and closes it before fishing around in his pocket for his police officers notepad. Flipping through a few pages he starts reading off my list of antipsychotics, antidepressants, anti-anxiolytics, and sleep aids. “Did I miss any?”
“Nope.” I respond popping the ‘p’ while already moving to slide into the passenger seat. He gives me a slight frown but gets in the driver’s seat and starts back to Forks. We stop for burgers and he orders me a strawberry milkshake. I’m surprised he actually remembered my favorite flavor. I mutter a small thanks as I sip on the thick creamy beverage while shooting back my nighttime meds. He can’t hide his slightly disturbed expression by my action though. The one nice thing about Charlie is that he doesn’t comment or hover. He knows what needs to be done and just grits his teeth and bares it.
He tries to coax me into eating some fries but after the second time I tell him I’m not hungry he lets it drop. It’s a good thing he’s a cop because he’d make a terrible orderly. Only giving up after two tries? Amateur hour where I’m from.
We pull up to the old house halfway between town and the La Push beach. I spot an ancient goliath of a rusted red truck in the driveway. I can only presume that it belongs to his perfect angel daughter Bella. Looks sturdy enough for her - I’ll give the truck that much.
Charlie kills the engine before turning to me, his expression even more serious than usual. Augh, time for the talk. I can’t exactly read his thoughts the same way I can everyone else’s but I still get a tiny glimmer of intent from his mind - significantly dulled by the antipsychotics but still there nonetheless.
“Listen we um...we didn’t get to talk much before your mom agreed to this arrangement. Not that I ain’t happy you’re here Fiona. I really am but uh - a lot has changed since you were here last. Things are, well, they are going pretty good with Bella right now. We’re back to a good place and I want you to join us in that good place...does that make any sense?”
“Good place with Bella, want me to join, got it.” I summarize succinctly.
He shifts a bit uncomfortably in his seat. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him try to talk this much. “Right, yes, well...it’s just with everything you’ve got, you know, going on I just wanted to review some ground rules before we go inside.”
I wait patiently for him to continue. I expected this. “First rule: no drinking or drugs that aren’t prescriptions...your prescriptions that is.”
“Sort of figured that one.”
He pauses to give me a ‘don’t push it kid’ look. I gesture for him to go on before folding my hands in my lap. “Second rule: curfew is at nine on weeknights and ten on weekends unless expression permission is given. Third rule: absolutely no boys, not even as friends. No dating of any kind. Fourth rule: all outings that aren’t directly school related need to be run by me. Fifth and most important rule: you will take all medications prescribed by your doctor and attend all mandated therapy sessions. Are these rules clear?”
“Crystal.”
He doesn’t seem at all convinced by my curt reply. “Fiona...I really, really want this to work for all of us. Please meet me halfway here.”
I raise my hand to my forehead and give him a mock salute. “Sir yes sir. Is that better?”
He just stares at me until finally I murmur a very quiet “yes I understand.”
Seemingly more pleased with my final retort he gets out of the cruiser and pops the trunk to get my duffel. I fling my knitted rucksack over my shoulder and follow him inside. Bella is sitting on the couch with an absurdly handsome but absurdly pale young man. Must be her boyfriend. I’m trying to remember the last time I even saw my half sister...seven, no wait, eight years ago?
They both stand up while Charlie trudges to the back of the house to put my things in his office that overlooks the backyard. My makeshift bedroom while I reside here I can only assume.
The young man smiles at me. He has a devastating smile, but there’s something about it that sets off danger alarms in the back of my head. It takes a lot to set those alarms off these days, especially with how drugged up I am ninety percent of the time. The second thing I notice is that I can’t read his thoughts, just like Bella’s. My internal alarm system starts to reach critical levels. There’s something seriously off about him. He’s too perfect, inhumanly symmetrical...like a marble statue or something.
Despite not being able to read his thoughts I could swear there’s a sliver of weariness on his face as he looks at me. Why on earth he would be weary of me I have no idea. Maybe I look too suspicious right now. I quickly school over my features again into my usual placid facade.
Bella gives me a timid smile. Causing dimples to form on her heart shaped face. It was strange seeing her now after all of these years. In some ways it’s like looking in a mirror, in other ways it only seems to highlight the stark contrast between us as sisters. We had an almost identical facial shape but while her brown eyes were bright and warm and encompassing I knew mine looked nothing like that. Mine were so dark they were practically black, more onyx in color than anything else. Most described them as making me look cold and unapproachable. It didn’t help that my hair was a shocking shade of platinum white compared to her glossy brown chestnut tresses. My white hair only caused my already translucent skin to appear more pale, sickly I’d heard it said numerous times, and made my already too dark eyes look even darker and sallow like some fucking cartoon character.
“Hi Fiona. It’s good to see you.” She greets me, hiding halfway behind her boyfriend. Despite his outwardly charming appearance he almost takes up a defensive position in front of her. Like he expects me to suddenly lunge at my older sister.
“Yeah uh, it’s good to see you to Bella...I’m presuming he’s the boyfriend then?” I ask while gesturing towards the man standing in front of her.
He nods at me. “I’m Edward. Pleasure to meet you Fiona. Your sister has told me so much about you.”
“Yikes, don’t believe a word of it.” I try to say jokingly but neither of them laugh. Tough crowd.
His smile seems tighter, more strained now. “I hope that your recovery is going well.”
I’m a bit taken aback by his comment. He just met me ten seconds ago. No need to go for underhanded digs right off the bat. I match his strained smile with one of my own. “It’s going.”
Just then Charlie comes back into the room. He must sense the awkward tension in the air. “Well uh, Bells did you get dinner yet? Your sister and I ate on the drive in.” He asks trying to veer the conversation back to safer territory.
“Yeah dad I already ate. Don’t worry about me.” She tells him in her soft quiet voice.
Charlie turns to look at me instead. “Bella here, she is just an excellent cook. Don’t know where she got it from. Do you like to cook at all Fiona?” He inquires, obviously trying to find some common ground between us.
“No, I don’t cook.” It takes everything in me not to snort. I couldn’t fry an egg to save my life. Back in Los Angeles Theresa, my mother unfortunately, went through maids and cooks like a box of thin mints and the rest of the time I spent in various institutions that provided “food” or something vaguely akin to it.
“Oh, that’s totally fine. I love to cook. I don’t mind doing the cooking at all.” Bella interjects trying to smooth things over.
“Thanks…” I trail off unsure what she wants me to say. It’s not like I really eat much anyways. I primarily subside off of coffee and cereal these days. “Well uh, this has been a really long day. You know, travel and all that. I think I’m going to turn in for the night.” I say while already moving towards the office.
“Oh, okay, well good night.” I hear Charlie call out after me. I wave in his general direction but don’t turn back around.
As I close the door behind me I can hear them whispering in the living room. It’s not exactly like the walls in the house are sound proof. I don’t need my telepathy to hear them. Although it doesn’t appear I can hear Bella’s mind or her new boyfriend’s. I already knew my little ‘gift’ didn’t work on her but I never knew there were others. Maybe the medications are frying my brain.
Glancing around my new bedroom I take in the surroundings. There’s a twin cot shoved up against the wall right underneath the window. I can see the indentations in the carpet from where Charlie must have moved the desk that used to be there. I wonder idly where he put it in the small house. The other wall is lined with filing cabinets and bookshelves that would be far too cumbersome to move. I spotted several photos of Charlie and Bella and even a few of his ex-wife Rene posed throughout the shelves. I suppose they will just have to be part of my new bedroom decor. There’s a small wooden dresser wedged into the corner at the top of the bed. Close enough to put my phone and a glass of water on if I wanted. Unzipping my duffel bag I unpack my meager possessions into the petite wardrobe. My things don’t even fill it up. I contemplate momentarily about calling Theresa to see if she would ship me a box of my clothes and other knick knacks. Knowing my mother though she’d be more likely to toss said box onto the freeway to get run over by a semi. I grab the standard issue hygiene bag graciously gifted by the psych ward along with the pair of PJ’s they gave me while at Sunny Brooke and wait until I hear the boyfriend, Edward, leave before quietly sneaking upstairs to use the bathroom and get ready for bed.
I don’t sleep much that night. Keep tossing and turning. The same vivid horrible nightmare has been plaguing me for the past few weeks. A young blonde boy walking outside of a coffee shop. It’s raining outside. He hears something that spooks him. It sounds like trash cans being knocked over. He decides to walk the opposite direction from the alarming noise. When he reaches the boardwalk there’s a flash of movement. All I can ever make out is bright red hair then the boy is screaming. Writhing in agony as the creature attacks him, ripping into the flesh of his throat. I wake up with a start. Heart pounding. Pajamas drenched in sweat. I close my eyes and count backwards from ten. Waiting for my heart to slow down and my ragged breathing to get under better control.
I pick up my phone and glance at the time, letting out a long drawn out groan when I see it’s only 5:30. There’s no point in trying to get back to sleep. I’m not going to. Slowly I pull myself out of bed. Shivering as the chilly morning air hits me in the office space. Downside to having your bed right next to a window I realize ruefully. Wrapping the worn plaid blanket around me I shuffle out into the dining room. I’m surprised to see Charlie up this early given it’s a Saturday. He looks equally surprised to see me.
I notice the steaming mug sitting next to his paper. “Is that coffee?” I grumble.
“Uh, yeah, would you like a cup?”
I nod while bleary eyes search the kitchen for the source of the caffeine kick I’ve been craving. I swear it should be considered torture what they do in those psych wards depriving mad people of coffee. I haven’t had a cup in four months. I spot the black liquid sitting on the countertop and it feels like angels are singing in that moment. “Blessed day.” I mutter more to myself as I pour a cup, inhaling the bitter aroma gratefully before taking a sip. “Wow, good coffee chief.”
Charlie actually smiles at me a little. “Glad you like it. Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”
“Don’t sleep much.” I comment while taking a seat in one of the mismatched chairs around the oak table.
“Oh, sorry...was it too cold? Too warm?”
I wave him off. “No, no, the room is fine. It’s a nice change, trust me. Much better than the broom closet they kept in at Sunny Brooke.”
I don’t know if he expects me to elaborate on why I don’t sleep much but if he does he’s going to be disappointed. He returns to his own cup and ruffles the paper a bit as he keeps reading.