I have adopted this story from the wonderful XDCaramel and I hope to improve it and add to it as best I can. I truly hope you appreciate my version, and do not mind the editing I have done. I plan to update regularly and wish you all happy reading. :)

~Hayden

A Vision Stained with Red

Prologue

They say that we should always "Live every day as if it were our last". You never know when you're going to die, they say, so you might as well enjoy every moment of your life to its fullest.

You may not know when you will die, how you will die, or where you will die, but I do.

They also say knowledge is power, and I am living proof that this is true. I can add years onto the clock hovering blood red over the top of your head.

If I wish, that is. Fate has a funny way of repaying us for saving lives. They often take one in return. Most likely our own.

I'd given a lot of thought to how I would die, and I never would have guessed it'd be by fate's revenge.

But I never would have guessed I'd meet them, either.

Or him.

And I regret nothing.

Chapter 1: Somewhere I Belong

My head snapped up from my book when they called my flight.

Sighing, I put away my book and stood up, picking up my backpack. The terminal was flooded with people, all heading towards different flights, Blurry red streaks counting down till the exact second they would die. Years:Days:Hours:Minutes:Seconds. Five simple numbers that told me when you would die, and a vivid vision of how if I saw you within 24 hours of your death. Don't ask me why the big man in the sky skipped months and weeks, you may as well ask me why I see numbers.

A man who looked to be in his mid twenties boarded the plane in front of me. 0:6:21:48:23. I wondered if the man knew he had just under a week to live. Who was I kidding? Of course he didn't. I considered telling him for a split second, but he'd probably have me thrown in a mental asylum.

There weren't many people on my flight, which was nice. I was always a loner. Being around a lot of people made me feel uneasy. I hated death.

I was always a loner back in my old school in Phoenix. That was where I used to live with my mother and stepfather, Phil.

My fellow students avoided me, labeling me a freak. I was quiet and reserved. I didn't have many friends, if any at all. I think it was due to my curse that people stayed away from me. No one knew about it of course, but it was as if they sensed something was off about me, and stayed away.

Not even my own mother, Renee, knew about these numbers. Well, not really knew about them.

When I was four, I spoke to her about them. I was born like this so I didn't know as a child that normal people didn't see numbers. Renee got worried and a little annoyed I was 'making up' things and told me not to speak of it again. I never did.

The numbers I could handle. What I could never get used to were the flash visions I saw upon seeing someone who would die in the next 24 hours. I remembered my first experience with these visions when I was seven. I saw my neighbor, Dylan. He came to my front door to ask if I could play and in a blink of an eye he was burning, covered with smoke and engulfed in flames. I started screaming and crying, and Renee couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. He died in a house fire that night.

I was partly thankful that Forks would be my new home. I was moving there to be with my biological father, Charlie Swan, police chief of Forks, Washington. The town population was just over 3000 people, so it was a bit of a relief that I wouldn't see as many numbers and visions.

It was nice to get a rreprieve from the madness of my life in Phoenix. Forks seemed, although dreary and boring, peaceful.

I didn't think I'd run into anything exciting there.

Once settled in my seat and the plane was in the air, I took out my black iPod. Call me 'emo', but almost everything I owned, from mere objects to clothing, was in black or white. Sometimes gray. Why you ask?

They are the colours of death.

Always being surrounded by and knowledgeable of other people's death was getting to me. It was actually kind of sad, being such a doom and gloom kid. I wasn't depressed or anything, but neither was I incredibly cheerful. I'm better in the happy department now, but as I said before, all this death stuff gets to you after a while.

Renee always wanted a pretty little girl who would wear bright colours and summer dresses. Keep dreaming, Mom. With everything I see, you just don't do 'happy-go-lucky'.

Gluing my eyes out the window, I headed towards my new life. Renee wanted to spend time with Phil. She didn't like getting tied down with me, especially since I wasn't her 'ideal' daughter, although she'd never say that out loud. I knew she loved me, but I also knew that I was a disappointment.

I hadn't been to Forks much in the past. I used to spend a month in the summer there as a kid, but that stopped a few years ago. Now, I barely saw Charlie at all.

I eventually fell asleep in my seat. I must have been sleeping for a long time, because when I woke up, the plane was about to land. Once it landed, I grabbed my backpack and went to meet Charlie.

I searched around the terminal, my eyes scanning the crowd for a middle-aged man with curly dark hair. There were too many dark-haired men around here. Instead, I looked at the numbers. I remembered Charlie's death age was 79, so all I had to do was find a time that started with 42 and match it with the right guy.

I finally spotted him. "Charlie!" I called. I said his first name since I knew that if I said 'dad', half the men in the terminal would've turned around.

"Bella!" he said, giving me an awkward one-armed hug when he reached me. Charlie was never one to show or voice his emotions much. It was just fine with me.

"Hi, Dad," I said.

And that was pretty much the highlight of our conversation.

Charlie wasn't a talkative guy, which was great for me. I mean, what was there to talk about with him anyway? I didn't remember anyone in Forks to talk about, and it wasn't like he really wanted to hear about Renee and her fantastic new husband Phil.

He pulled up to his, or rather, our house and helped me carry my stuff inside. My room was small… really small. The bed took up a majority of the floor space and a decrepit old computer sat on a wooden desk on the opposite side of the room. Ah, home, sweet home.

"So…" Charlie said, obviously searching for something to talk about. Finding nothing, he said, "I'll, uh, I'll leave you to unpack." And left the room.

Okay, then. This was exciting.

Having nothing else to do, I unpacked, but that didn't take very long and I was left once again, doing nothing. I knew Forks wasn't going to be exciting, but this was just overkill. The only good thing about this place was the lack of people.

For that sole reason alone, Forks seemed like somewhere I belonged. I liked solitude. Since I couldn't see my own numbers, even when I looked in the mirror, I felt normal when I was alone.

Was I destined to become a hermit?

"Bella!" I jumped when I heard Charlie calling my name.

"Yeah?" I called back, coming down the stairs. My foot caught on thin air and I stumbled on the last step, nearly falling flat on my face. That was another thing about me; put me in an empty room with a flat, stable surface, and I will most definitely find something or another to trip on. I was beyond clumsy. I was practically disabled.

"Whoa," Charlie said, grabbing my arm to steady me.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Come outside, I have something to show you. My friend just dropped it off a second ago." Charlie led me outdoors. I was puzzled; what did he want me to see?

Outside on the driveway was an old red truck. I was even more confused. Was there a reason Charlie wanted me to see this…?

"Call it a homecoming gift," Charlie said, putting his hand on the side of the truck. All of the sudden, it clicked in my head.

"Th-that's for me?" I stuttered. The truck may not have been modern, but it was most certainly different. Surprisingly, I really liked it. It had personality; something other cars nowadays sorely lacked. I smiled as I examined the vehicle. How old was this thing?

"Yup. It's a 1950's Chevy. Is it okay?" he asked nervously.

I nodded vigorously. "Of course it's okay! I love it! Thanks, Dad," I said sincerely. I really did like it.

Charlie nodded, satisfied, before going back inside.

Okay, that was exciting for about all of five minutes. Now what?

I then remembered that Charlie couldn't cook at all and decided to entertain myself with cooking for the next couple of hours. I sighed.

This was going to be a long day.

The next morning was foggy and dreary, not that I expected any different. It had rained last night. The spattering of the raindrops against the glass of my window gave me no comfort as I tried to sleep. It was so unfamiliar and different from Arizona. It made me miss Phoenix ten times more.

Stop it, Bella. Forks and Forks' tiny population is far better for your sanity.

It was the middle of the semester at Forks Highschool and I would be the new girl. In a town this small, I doubted the school got a lot of new people. Great. I'd probably be like a new fascinating shiny object. I didn't like being the center of attention. Me, plus spotlight, plus a lot of people, didn't mix.

Gulping down a granola bar and a glass of milk, I left for school. Charlie had already left for work before I even came downstairs.

To my relief, the rest of the cars in the school parking lot were relatively old, like mine. It's not that I was ashamed of my truck. I just didn't want to stick out more than I already did. The only car in the lot that didn't look quite as junky as the rest of them was a shiny silver Volvo.

I found my way to the main office, where I asked the secretary for my schedule.

"Hi," I said as the woman at the front desk looked up. "I'm Isabella Swan." I saw the recognition of my name in her eyes and suspected, without a doubt, that I had been the topic of gossip among the women around here.

She dug through the piles of papers and files on her desk, producing the ones she was looking for. "Here's your schedule and a map of the school." She helped me a bit with the directions to each of my classes and gave me a slip for each of my teachers to sign. I was supposed to bring it back by the end of the day.

While she was explaining all this to me, I very subtly and quickly glanced at the numbers above her head. It was a habit I had developed long ago. I was always curious to know when other people would die. I know that sounded slightly psychotic, but if you had the means to find out, wouldn't you use them?

I could tell a person had numbers, through my peripheral vision, but I needed to actually look straight at the numbers in order to tell which numbers they were. It only took one glance to see and calculate the date of their death, since I'd been doing this ever since I learned to subtract. I had this weird inner eye that also told me how old someone currently was; no numbers though. Glancing at the spaces above peoples' heads was simply an automatic thing. I always did it when looking at a person I didn't see on a regular basis. I did it so quickly though, with such speed, that no one really noticed, which was good. I mean, what the hell would I say to them if they asked? That would be one awkward situation.

My first class was English with some guy called Mr. Mason. I tucked my head deeper into the hood of my black jacket as I approached Building 3. As I walked by various strangers in their similar dark raincoats, I couldn't help but hear their whispers.

"Look, it's the new girl. Something Swan."

"Isabella Swan. I heard she's a goth.

"She does look kinda depressed…"

"That's not gothic, that's emo, genius."

I rolled my eyes, but their words did get me thinking. Did I look depressed?

"I heard back in Arizona, she got pregnant… twice!"

"No way!"

"Yeah. Left the babies with her mom."

"Where did you hear this?"

"…"

She made it up herself, obviously. This was why I was dreading starting a new school. In a town so small, everyone knew each other. A new person from the sunny state of Arizona was the highlight of the gossip surrounding Forks. I had no doubts that a dozen different rumors were already surrounding me. I already heard two. Well, one and a half. The first one about me being gothic was, I guess, partially true. I did where a lot of black. At least I didn't use black lipstick or thick, slightly scary, eyeliner.

English passed without incident, except for the gawking of the other students. Seriously! Even when they knew that I knew they were staring at me, they kept at it. What ever happened to manners?

At the end of the class, a guy with black hair and unhealthy skin came over to me.

"You're Isabella Swan, right?" he asked.

"Just Bella," I corrected. As usual, my eyes flickered at lightning speed to the space above his head. Nothing out of the norm there, at least not for me. This habit was really something I couldn't control.

"I'm Eric. Do you want me to help you find your way to your next class?" he asked, sounding overly-eager.

"Uh, sure," I said, with a small smile. He seemed like a nice guy.

The rest of the morning went without trouble. Walking around the school and through the pitifully thin crowds made me really notice the difference in population here. I didn't have the usual headache from seeing all the jumbled numbers and visions in the huge crowds back home. It was actually kind of nice.

After the first couple of classes, I started recognizing half of the faces around me. I guess it wasn't uncommon to have a few people who shared an almost exact copy of your schedule here. I also noticed that a lot of the people, most of them actually, had pale skin, like me. Must have been from the lack of sun exposure. At least, in terms of skin, I fit right in here like a glove.

I met a girl in my Trig and Spanish classes. She was several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but the difference in our heights was mostly made up through her incredibly curly dark hair. She was very talkative. She didn't even need you to listen closely to her; I certainly wasn't. Her name was Jennifer or Jessica or something beginning with J.

The J-girl had me sit with her and her friends at lunch. That was certainly new.

Back in Phoenix, I was used to sitting by myself at lunch. Everyone else knew it too. In fact, there was a table reserved just for my solitude. When you thought about it, it was kind of sad, in the pathetic sense anyway. I had trouble relating to people because of my… 'ability' that no one knew about. I shied away from others, not wanting to form an unnecessary bond. It was unnerving to talk and laugh and be friends with someone, knowing when they would die. Even possibly how they would die.

In reality, it slightly scared me.

You'd think after seventeen years of seeing these numbers and visions, it wouldn't affect me very often, but, it did.

The table was full of the J-girl's friends. I forgot all their names at once. I usually had an excellent memory, but if I didn't care about something, like those students' names, I didn't even put an effort into remembering it.

I sat down, only half listening to the rambles the other teenagers at the table were telling me. My eyes very briefly scanned the spaces above their heads as usual before starting to wander about the rest of the cafeteria. Lunch had to be the only time I felt crowded. Suddenly, what seemed like such a small number of people before, was now much bigger when being stuffed in one room.

You'd think with over three hundred and fifty people in one room, I wouldn't be able to individualize whose numbers were whose, but I had no problem.

You'd also think that with the big heap of numbers in the room, someone different would have been able to blend in without difficulty. But it was as if everyone was wearing a black hat and I was a bird flying over the cafeteria. You'd be able to pick out any red hats in seconds. It was that simple.

So that's why, when I saw something new, something I've never seen before, I was able to immediately differentiate them from everyone else.

And I saw the different ones.

I saw them.

And I also saw what was above their heads.

Or rather… the lack thereof.