Insomnia

Chapter 1

Crying wouldn't help me, I knew. But watching the clouds fly by underneath me - clouds that covered the home I was leaving behind - would push me over the edge soon. I wanted some sort of physical outlet, and crying seemed the perfect way to fulfill that desire. My body thought so, at least.

Instead of allowing myself to shed the tears, I pulled the cover over the window I sat beside, concealing the arial view of Biloxi, Mississippi. The pain I felt dulled only slightly the moment it slid shut.

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the music blaring from the earphones the preteen boy next to me had jammed into his ears, though I knew my efforts would be in vain. I didn't think he would have heard me if I had asked him to turn it down, anyways.

The minutes dragged by, and the boy's music seemed to be all that I could hear. Perhaps it was because I was making it that way, not allowing myself to think the unpleasant thoughts threatening to surface from the darkest depths of my mind. My focus was completely on the loud rock music. It was all the more irritating because the sound was slightly muffled, making it impossible for me to understand the beat properly, or decipher the lyrics. If I could have, it was probable that I would be able to lull myself into some sort of trance, letting the music consume me.

I couldn't, and so it was pointless to wish otherwise. Where had wishing gotten me, anyways? On a plane, flying to the worst place I could possibly imagine. Forks, Washington, one of the rainiest places in the United States, if not the rainiest of them all. I hated the rain.

Forks also happened to be the home of a world-class psychiatrist. That was the one and only reason that I had been shipped off to the tiny little town. If not for Dr. Campbell, I would be content and happy at home, maybe taking a trip to the park with my fourteen-year-old sister, Cynthia.

With a sigh, I leaned against the wall next to me, allowing my eyes to open to slits. The plane was rather ugly, even here in first class. The ceiling was a horrible beige color, with little marks of brownish dirt smeared randomly across its surface. It looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in several months.

Forcing myself not to shudder in revulsion, I turned my attention to the carpet, which wasn't much better. The pattern didn't have any reason or rhyme to it, and that irritated me even more than the stupid music that the boy wasn't even listening to anymore, for he had fallen asleep quite some time ago. I envied him somewhat; at least he could properly enjoy sleep. I was an insomniac. It was rather silly, really, seeing as sleeping was what had landed me on this plane in the first place.

Growing bored of the nonsensical carpet, I reached under my seat and grabbed my carry-on bag. The airline provided cheap earphones, so I figured I could get a good hour of music out of my ancient Macbook. Its battery life was pathetic, but my parents had insisted that we didn't destroy the environment by throwing out a computer that still had the ability to perform the tasks I required it to perform.

We could have donated it to charity or something, but no, my parents were determined to make my schoolwork even more miserable than it always was by forcing me to do it on the world's slowest computer. As if to add to my fantastic home-schooling experience, our teacher was a miserable old hag. I had the sneaking suspicion that she made our work much more dull than necessary, just for the fun of watching myself and my sister struggle to complete the overwhelmingly boring worksheets she gave us. Why my mother couldn't have taught us, I wasn't entirely sure, seeing as she had gone through teacher's college and all. But she had always said her calling was to public schools, and that teaching us would only cause problems in the future.

I said that it was a load of crap. Both of my parents were in it for the money - they had made that much obvious. My father was always working extra hours at the hospital, coming home late at night and leaving far earlier in the morning than he should be if he wanted to get a good night's sleep.

However, their efforts did not go to waste, for we were practically rolling in money. My parents refused to tell me exactly how much money, but I was sure it was much more than they let on. If we weren't wealthy, my little habit of shopping whenever things got to be too much at home would have us in the poorhouse within days.

I still couldn't find it in me to think of them without bitterness - a part of me wanted to disown them completely, pretend I had never had anything to do with them. They both claimed that sending me to Forks was going to be a good thing for me in the long run, but I failed to see how that could possibly be true, seeing as I wasn't mentally ill in the first place. A part of me wanted to curl up into a little ball and cry until they saw sense. I somehow doubted they ever would, because I guess people don't do well with life walking up to them and going, "Oh, by the way, your oldest daughter is a psychic. Surprise!"

My parents don't do so well with surprises, as it so turns out, so here I sat, on my way to the Seattle airport, where my aunt, uncle, and three cousins (two of which I'd never met, Joshua and Isaac, twins, and one I hadn't seen since I was ten, Angela) were waiting to pick me up. I didn't understand how my parents had gotten them to take me in - as far as I knew, my mother and aunt weren't on speaking terms. Ah, well. What did it matter now?

Lost in my own thoughts as I tended to be, I hadn't noticed that my Macbook had long since started up, and that my lap was heating up from the warmth emanating from the computer.

Pushing all of my thoughts aside, I reached into the small compartment in front of me that held the airline's cheap headphones. The wire looked like it had been chewed on by someone or something, and I resisted the almost overwhelming desire to smash open my concealed window and toss them out into the air, letting someone else deal with them. Unfortunately, I knew that they were the key to the only release from reality that I would be able to find on this plane, so I had to make the best of what I was given.

I bit my lip so that I wouldn't make a face as I grabbed them and unzipped my bag, rummaging through the various items I had brought with me in vain hopes of finding my own pair of earbuds. My inhaler hit the side of the bag, the cap popping off loudly. Several heads turned in my direction. I blushed, and hurriedly snapped the cap back on, praying that I wouldn't need to use the inhaler on the plane; I was, after all, feeling quite stressed, and my father had once boasted that he was sure that psychological strain was a trigger of asthma attacks. The last thing I needed were random flight attendants fussing over me because my face had gone totally red and I sounded like I was dying.

My rummaging accomplished nothing, much to my dismay, and I zipped my bag back up and stuffed it under my chair once more.

It was awfully quiet. So quiet, in fact, that I felt compelled to turn down my music to the second lowest volume so that I wouldn't disturb anyone.

For the second time that afternoon, I closed my eyes, this time allowing my music to take over me, rather than my annoyance at a silly little boy. I didn't pay attention when a voice appeared on the PA, announcing that we were experiencing turbulence, or when the mother of the preteen boy escorted her child to the bathroom, his embarrassed complaints almost breaking into my trance.

Almost.

Only did I open my eyes when I felt a hand gently shaking my shoulder. Peeking through my right eye, I was shocked to see that the plane was almost completely deserted. It would appear that we had landed.

I nodded at the flight attendant, who left to do another quick sweep of the plane, looking for stragglers such as myself. Slowly, I packed up my laptop and returned the horrific headphones to their compartment. And then I was being hurried out of the plane by a person whose name I didn't even bother learning.

My escort didn't bother trying to make friendly conversation. He struck me as a rather surly young man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties. It was obvious that he had better things to do than guide a quiet eighteen-year-old girl (why did I need an escort, anyways?) around the airport, so after we got through customs I pretended that a middle-aged couple several yards in front of us were my aunt and uncle. He bought my story and turned on his heel the moment I assured him that I'd be fine, power walking back towards the plane without a word of farewell.

Pleasant, that one.

I felt much more comfortable now that I was alone, free to meander about and look for the Weber family at my own pace. I had been informed that the entire family was to be picking me up. I had been shown pictures of each family member, and had a good idea as to what I was looking for. Although, the airport was rather big, and I wasn't entirely sure if I'd be able to find them among the masses of people. Perhaps they would become visible once the majority of the people had cleared out.

Not one to be easily deterred, I continued my search for my temporary family, my sharp eyes combing through the throngs of people that I wandered amongst. Each pair of eyes were focused in the distance, all searching for that familiar face in the crowd.

Suddenly, two young boys ran in front of me. Only seconds later, a girl with brown hair came running after them, calling out names that I immediately recognized from the various pictures my parents had shown me before I'd left.

"Angela?" I called out, causing her to stop in her tracks. She stared at me for a few long moments before realization dawned in her eyes.

"Oh! Alice! ...oh, god, Joshua, Isaac, come back!" She glanced from me, to the retreating forms of her giggling little brothers, and back to me again, her eyes apologetic. "I'm so sorry - wait here. Get back here, you two!" she called frustratedly, dashing off into the throng of people.

With an amused grin, I stood on my tip-toes to watch her head bobbing through the mass of people. It was obvious that she was struggling to push her way through the crowd, and I knew that with my tinier size that I could easily slip between people. So, ignoring her instructions to stay put, I darted off into the crowd, lifting my small suitcase off of the ground so that I could go faster. It only took a few seconds to reach her, and when I did I tapped her shoulder.

"Allow me."

When she opened her mouth to protest, I held up a hand to silence her. "I'm smaller than you are. If you'll stay with my suitcase, I can probably catch up to them." I jerked my head in the general direction of the twins. Not waiting for a response, I let go of my bag and ducked under the arms of what appeared to be a reuniting couple. They shouted after me angrily, but I completely blanked them out, my eyes focused on the two tiny boys just a few feet ahead of me.

"Oy!" I yelled, jumping over top of a small pile of backpacks that belonged to god-knows-who. My voice was surprisingly loud and firm, and the suddenness of my words caused both of the boys' concentration on running to lapse for just a moment. That moment was all I needed.

I sprang forward, placing one hand on each of their shoulders. "You shouldn't run away from your sister like that. Come back to her. She's waiting," I said, trying to hide my breathlessness. The pair of nine-year-olds looked down, abashed, allowing me to guide them back to Angela, who waited with a worried and slightly guilty expression.

"Here you go." I gently pushed the twins towards her. She bent down to hug them to her chest, whispering something that I didn't quite catch into their ears. They both nodded, their heads still hanging shamefully. I resisted the urge to laugh at their obvious remorse, having seen the same expression on Cynthia quite some time ago. How easy those days had been... I closed my eyes briefly, trying to dispel my thoughts of longing.

"They got away from my parents, and then we couldn't see them... Alice, you shouldn't have to have done that. Thank you." She smiled appreciatively at me, releasing the twins and straightening up as she did so. "My parents are this way."

After a long pause, she began to walk in the direction that I had seen her come from. I hadn't noticed, but in the time that I had been searching for the Webers and chasing the twins, the crowd had begun to thin out, making the Weber family far easier to spot.

And there they stood. My family.

The rising sun took my breath away. Dawn was one of the rare times that you could see the sun in Forks, and I was determined to enjoy every last second of it. Staring at the sun, I felt like I wasn't really that far from home after all. The sun was rising in Mississippi just the same as it was here in Washington, and someone, somewhere, was watching it just like I was. What had Cynthia done last night, I wondered? I hoped that she didn't miss me too much.

I very nearly fell off of the window seat in surprise as my uncle's voice broke through the silence. I had forgotten that he left at 4:00AM for work.

"Alice? Is your asthma bothering you?" he asked, glancing from me and to the dresser where my inhaler lay.

My heart stuttering, I hurriedly rearranged my shocked expression into a warm smile. "No, Uncle Josh, my lungs are feeling great. I'm just an insomniac," I explained, my cheeks turning a light pink as I did so. Why did he have to find out that I was different on my first night here? "Thank you for your concern, though," I added hastily, not wanting to appear rude.

He nodded, the concern fading from his face, replaced by a genuine smile. "Alright, then. Let me know if you need anything in the future, okay? I'll be up," he said. And with that, he tromped off down the hallway, his footsteps resounding off of the walls, the only sound in the silent house.

I sighed, wishing for the thousandth time that week that I could just sleep, like a normal person, without any dreams of the future. No matter how useful they could be, I knew that I would have been happier without them. Perhaps if I had lived many a year in the future, I wouldn't be considered insane for my ability.

Scowling at the thought, I slipped off of the seat and tip-toed over to the queen sized bed that Aunt Kathy had ordered only one week earlier. I had tried to pay her for it, but she had assured me that it was no trouble. I had vowed to get a job of some sort and pay her for it someday, whether she was aware of the fact or not.

Taking my sweet time, I unzipped my still-unpacked suitcase and rummaged through my clothes, debating with myself on what to wear. Keep it simple with jeans and a t-shirt ensemble, or something more personalized? I had tons of time to kill, so I ended up making a pros and cons list in my head, and I modeled about twenty different outfits. The choice had been obvious from the beginning, but I had always enjoyed playing dress-up with myself. In the end, I decided to play it safe with the jeans option.

After glancing at the clock, I groaned aloud. Had it really been only thirty minutes? What was I supposed to do for the next two hours?

I could try to sleep, I supposed, but I had a terrible feeling that if I closed my eyes I would see things I didn't want to. I loathed my precognitive dreams when they came, which was almost every time I slept. It was always either that, or a nightmare these days.

But what else was there to do this early in the morning in a strange house? With a quiet sigh, I moved my suitcase a bit to the left and curled up under the duvet, forcing my eyes shut.

I waited.

When I reopened my eyes, I was no longer in the guest bedroom at the Weber household. No, I recognized the blurriness of the scene around me. I had begun to dream.

The boy's eyes are a terrifying, vibrant red. He stares blankly ahead of him, not looking at anything in particular. Suddenly, he comes back to earth. Blinking once, pain twists his once-handsome features and he stands, glancing behind him once at a blur behind him. He disappears into the surrounding trees.

I jerked awake and once the shock of waking so abruptly had worn off, I leaned back into my pillows, sighing and running a hand through my hair. Once more, I had dreamt of the same boy. The dreams were few and far between, but these dreams were always the ones that stuck in my head, front and center. Ever since I was about fifteen, I'd had these dreams of this blonde boy. To this day, I still hadn't a clue who he was or why I dreamt of him.

Refusing to allow myself to think about it too deeply only to be snapped from my trance by my alarm clock, I jumped out of bed, landing awkwardly on the side of my left foot. Cursing under my breath, I snatched my outfit for the day off of the dresser, or, as I would come to call it, my dresser, and hobbled into the guest bathroom, flicking on the lights. It was rather small, but it was nice to have my own bathroom, like I had at home.

It took me a while to figure out the knobs that operated the shower, but once I did I made sure that my shower was quick. Wasting water was not a good way to show that I appreciated the Webers' hospitality. I didn't bother blow drying my short, spiky hair, knowing that it would dry just as quickly on its own. That, and the fact that I had left my blow dryer in my suitcase, and I was sure that it was near the bottom; I didn't feel particularly up to rooting through my things again.

On my way downstairs, I was pleased to notice that I had only spent twenty minutes getting ready. A new personal record.

"Morning, Alice!" Angela greeted cheerily as I entered the kitchen. Well, at least I wasn't the only one up. Now I wouldn't feel as awkward as I rooted through their cupboards in search of cereal.

"Mornin'. Hey, where do you keep the cereal again?" My words came out sounding much less coherent than they had in my head. Seeming not to notice, Angela jumped out of her seat and led me over to a pantry that I had completely overlooked upon arriving at their house. Goes to show how observant I was.

After thanking my helpful housemate, I managed to fill an empty bowl with milk-less Fruit Loops without any further help.

Angela didn't seem to notice my lack of milk or a spoon. Instead, she chatted about Forks High, covering everything from who taught what subject, and to what they served for lunch. I noticed that she avoided the topic of her peers. Obviously, she wasn't the gossipy type. Good. I didn't think I could have stood it if she was one of those girls who was constantly looking for the flaws of others, determined to make herself feel better about who she was by putting others down. I had no firsthand experience with that kind of thing, but I had overheard enough conversations of teenage girls at the mall to get the gist of it all.

"Ready to go?" she asked after I had swallowed my last mouthful of cereal. I nodded slowly, standing up from the chair I had been occupying.

"Yep. Just let me grab my bag." I sprinted upstairs and grabbed my book bag, double and triple checking that I had everything I needed. I did, or at least I had everything that I thought I would need. My books, pencils, pens, highlighters... it was all there.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I hurried back down the stairs and followed Angela out of the front door.