A/N: Hey, guys. Here's a Halloween 'Trick or Treat' – it's up to you guys which one you find it to be, lol – that popped into my head. It'll be short and quick. Read the A/N at the end for a little more info.

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. Storyline belongs to me. Mistakes belong to me.

In the Mist - Chapter 1

October 31, 1959

There are so many ways the story could've ended differently. Yet, it never does…

The backhand he gave me left behind a white, intense flash of light. It was joined by a whirring ring in my ears.

"I brought you here to impress my associates. Instead, you disappear into the mist and to the middle of nowhere and make me look like an asshole. I-"

He cut off.

At first, too bewildered by my rattled brain and the force of impact, I confused the flash of light and the ringing in my ears with the reason I was standing out here in the first place, in awe of the unusual view.

You see, the San Francisco Yacht Club's pristine windows provided a clear view of the harbor; though the bay's nightly fog and mist usually swallowed up the Golden Gate and Marin County at its other end. Dilapidated Angel Island, once an immigrant processing station, then during the Second World War, a detention center for POWs, stood mostly forgotten and practically nonexistent through the murky clouds. Most of all, the treacherous nebula made a valiant, nightly attempt at erasing from the minds of most San Franciscans the fact that the worst of the worst were housed just a hair's breadth from our homes – housed in Alcatraz.

That night, however, while Elvis crooned through the supper club's radios about rocking in jailhouses, and my mind haplessly wandered beyond Michael and his associates' dull, monotone voices, through those pristine Yacht Club's windows, the clouds dispersed over Alcatraz. The massive rock formation suddenly became visible, as if materialized out of thin air. Atop the Rock, the pale, white penitentiary glowed through its somberly dark frame, as if heralded by something otherworldly. It was then I noted the lights in the sky, the whirring in the air. It was then I excused myself.

"Please excuse me, gentlemen."

At no one in particular, I smiled as demurely as possible. Dabbing my mouth with my napkin, I stood and smoothed down the fitted bodice of my pale blue taffeta dress, all to avoid Michael's murderous glare. Then, wiping away imaginary crumbs from in between my dress panels, I walked away.

I wonder…perhaps had I claimed I was headed to the restroom.

Perhaps had I met his cold, blue-eyed gaze and smiled reassuringly.

Instead, I made my way out of the supper club, my wide skirt rustling in my wake.

OOOOO

Outside, the bay's perpetually cold, evening air nipped at my bared arms. I hugged myself as I gazed out at the sparkling, black Pacific, it's whitewater waves crashing against treacherous rocks, a deceitful body of water which had sunk its fair share of boats and ships throughout history. To my left, only the Golden Gate's lights were visible; the rest of the bridge lay inundated by the vaporous gloom. The Rock, however, rose front and center, illuminated by the searchlights of a handful of helicopters and boats; surrounded by insidious cliffs and by a deep, dark abyss.

Voices rose in the air, full of desperation and bewilderment. Only a mile and a quarter away, the prisoners' howls carried in the bay's wind; fury so clear that the hairs on my arms stood on end. The guards' responding shouts sent a cold shiver up my spine. Only a mile and a quarter away. Who first thought of the idea of housing the worst of the criminals only a mile and a quarter away?

It was as I thought this, as my gaze focused through the darkness to the confusion occurring a mile and a quarter away, that Michael set himself in my field of vision. He was tall, his tuxedo perfectly starched, shoes perfectly shined, face perfectly groomed, slicked-back hair in place, all for one cowlick that always fell in between his glacial eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

I kept my gaze on the whirring helicopters, which zig-zagged back and forth in the ebony sky, searching, shining their powerful beams.

"Michael, what do you think has happened? Do you think an inmate's escaped?"

"Don't be so fucking stupid, Bella. No one escapes Alcatraz. It's why they send the worst of the scum there."

If that was true, I vaguely wondered why he wasn't there.

"I just spent fifteen minutes walking around and looking for you. My business partners have probably left, and now that fucking deal is going to fall through, and it's all your goddamn fault. I brought you along to impress with your face at least, and instead, you've cost me the entire deal. What the fuck are you doing out here?"

The entire time, I focused on the helicopters. Then, I took in the boats, who shone their searchlights on the murky abyss below, creating concentric white circles that spiraled around and around. Foghorn moans cut through the night. Muffled voices through loudspeakers joined the melee. I hugged myself tighter.

"Something is definitely going on. I think someone's-"

He grabbed the sheer, lace cowl at my dress's neckline and fisted it tightly, jerking me toward him.

Perhaps, had I allowed Michael to lead me away then.

"You don't think, Bella. That's your fucking problem. You don't think, and when you try to think, you just fuck things up. Now, let's go." He tugged hard on my neckline. "You're going to apologize. We're going to go back to the supper club, and you're going to apologize to Mr. Marcus and to Mr. Aro, and then-"

"No."

His eyes narrowed into slits.

"What do you mean, no?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"It's a simple word, Michael. No. I want to stay out here. I want to see what's going on over there. So…no."

Michael released my neckline and took a step back. It wasn't until I saw the bright lights appear even closer than they'd been, until the whirring ring rose by more than a few octaves and consumed my entire world…until I felt the stinging burn on the entire right half of my face that I realized he'd backhanded me.

"I brought you here to impress my associates. Instead, you disappear into the mist and to the middle of nowhere and make me look like an asshole. I-"

Perhaps, had I dropped the obstructing hand away from my throbbing face, had I looked up as soon as I heard the sudden wheezing, gurgling sounds emanating from Michael.

Perhaps had I screamed.

Perhaps had I yelled for help.

Perhaps had I tried to help.

But…I didn't.

Instead, I waited.

I waited until the sounds of his choking became fewer, until his shallow attempts to breathe decreased and the moments of silence in between increased. With my head down, I waited until I saw his legs give, and he fell to the damp ground – not in a heap, the way a man who'd just choked on a wishbone would, or the way a man who'd just suffered cardiac arrest might. No. He fell with slow, controlled movements, the way someone who was being held up, whose fall was being guided, would fall.

Then, I drew in a deep breath, and I looked up and into a set of fierce, green eyes framed by the murky mist and by the dead of night. Too dark to see his face, the only other fact I could discern was that he wore a pair of wet, government-issued pajamas with a set of letters and numbers imprinted on a pocket patch.

I offered him a languid smile.

"Thank you."

A/N: I've got a few things going on. Usually, when I say this, it's mostly good stuff. This time, not so much. But I won't complain (too much). I'll focus on the good, and instead, I'll try to write through my stress here and there.

No update schedule this time, loves. But this is meant to be a really short, Halloween tale, so…it should be quick. ;)

As for Uprising…it'll continue at some point, but I need focus for that one, which I honestly don't have too much of at the moment. Sorry. :)

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