Forks , Book Three

preface

Amber…

I was almost a hundred percent sure I was dreaming. I knew this because I could swear I heard Viktor’s melodic voice. I squeezed my eyes tighter, hoping to see his face too. I always saw him in my dreams, so why would this time be different …right?

Except, I wasn’t dreaming. I was hiding in my head, away from reality, away from the things that could hurt me most. Nightmares may scare you, but they couldn’t hurt you… reality did.

Amber…

There it was again—his beautiful voice.

Great. I shook my head. Now I’m going crazy. I fisted my hands over my eyes and hugged my legs tighter.

Are you… crazy? the soft melodic voice asked.

My body stiffened. Was that in my head?

Granted, I had a lot of crazy dreams but not waking ones. Well, except that one time in my room…but not like this…

Just a dream. A very lucid dream, I told myself. And even as I told myself this, I heard a movement to my left.

Preparing myself for the harsh reality that I could never really be prepared for…which was to see nothing…

I forced my eyes opened and lifted my head.

But that isn’t what I saw.

Someone was standing beside me. His face, even in the shadows of night, unmistakable.

My heart stopped.

Viktor?

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain. ~ Lord Byron

one

A giant weight was pressing against my chest and I couldn’t breathe.

Was I dying?

I had to be.

Not literally mind you, but more figuratively…I think.

I guess this is what death feels like.

Not when it happens to you but rather when someone you love dies. Which is weird. I didn’t know I loved Viktor. I knew I liked him, a lot, a crush, more so than I ever did Jake Langford.

Readjusting my position on the bed, I pulled my journal up on my lap and stared blankly down at the pages.

Three weeks had passed since Viktor’s accident and my mind kept replaying the night he died. How he looked, every move he made. The sadness in his eyes. But also, the expectancy about what the future may bring for us both.

So why did he do it?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Nothing made sense.

There was no funeral, either.

No candlelight vigil.

No closure.

Nothing.

I didn’t have any answers and even if I did, I couldn’t help but wonder if it would change how I felt.

Amber!

My body tensed.

Coming! I yelled back to my mom.

I quickly shut my journal and tossed it onto my nightstand. Tinkerbell wobbled briefly on the top and then settled back down.

Jumping off my bed, I looked in the mirror at the face of a stranger. My face pale and my eyes absent of any spark. I looked like I felt—terrible.

I practiced a smile but it only made me look worse because it was fake.

Would it always be this way? I couldn’t help but wonder.

When I got downstairs, Ken was sitting with Mom on the couch in the living room. They were both in deep discussion about something and didn’t even hear me come down.

More out of habit than curiosity, I strained to hear what they were talking about but their voices were too low and came out muffled. I didn’t even want to be downstairs but I figured since she called, I wouldn’t get away with not letting them know I had actually answered by showing up.

Hey, Mom, I finally called from across the room.

They both turned and stared at me with the same look they had given me since the night of the party when they told me Viktor was gone.

I couldn’t stand the sympathy on their faces and I almost turned back around and ran to my room, but that would only be a short reprieve.

Shoving my hands into my hoodie pockets, I walked forward. What’s up?

Again, that concerned look came over their faces and I felt like screaming.

How you holding up, Kiddo? Ken asked.

Good. I mean, uh, as well as can be expected…I guess. I shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

Seemingly accepting my half-hearted answer, Ken nodded and turned his attention back to the table where a big poster board was laid out with little cut out circles and squares on top.

A half-filled bottle of red wine and two nearly empty glasses teetered on each side, precariously close to falling off the edge. Two black Sharpie Markers flanked both sides like sentinels standing guard to the blood bath that was about to ensue if either moved an inch.

Suddenly, as if in response to my peculiar observation, Ken nudged the board with his knee and Mom’s hand went straight for her glass, neither noticing what the other was doing until they clashed and then like dominoes, everything fell off the table onto the carpet.

The carefully placed circles and squares scattered like ashes to the wind and wine coated everything in the general vicinity in red.

Mom gasped, which was more of a choked scream.

Ken swore like a sailor.

And then all hell broke loose as the argument turned tantamount of who was to blame for the massacre.

Before they dragged me into the fray, I headed off to the kitchen to get some paper towels and club soda for the wine-soaked carpet.

Grabbing the Brawny paper towels with assorted leaves printed on top and a bottle of club soda, I headed back out to the war zone.

Ignoring their bickering, I got down on all fours and started cleaning up the mess. It wasn’t as bad as I originally thought and only one of the white flowers on the rug was now a pinkish color. The rest blended pretty well into the black. Cracking open the bottle of club soda, I poured it out on a paper towel and methodically dabbed the carpet like Jessica Rabbit, my dad’s new wife had instructed me to do the last time I was at their house. Little Humphrey, their proclaimed Angel, aka. Demon-child had made a mess with his Pop-Rock infused cherry soda after he combined the two and made a volcanic eruption. Their five-thousand-dollar white carpet made ours look like a swap meet special, which it was, but still.

Dad chirped in with his two cents informing me that although it wasn’t my fault, it was my responsibility to look after Humphrey so therefore it was still my fault.

Jessica had used it as a learning experience, well, not for her, but for me. Using her squeakiest high-pitched chipmunk voice, she said, At least you now know how to get stains out of carpet. Like she thought my sole aspiration in life was to be a freaking carpet cleaner. Give me a break.

In hindsight, she was right, although it killed me to say it, because I now knew the proper way to remove stains from carpet.

"Greeeat."

Two hours later; after a truce was called, and the poster board and little circles and squares were back in place, I was finally allowed to go back to my room.

Walking into my closet, I pulled out my dad’s sweater (the one I saved from a good-will box) and climbed outside my window.

Only after I was seated outside on my little lawn chair with the umbrella fastened on the top did I feel like I could finally take a breath.

The poster board with circles and squares that bore the brunt of the massacre were for the seating arrangements for Mom and Ken’s wedding. They both seemed pretty excited about it and were trying to figure out who to, and who not to, invite.

They even asked me what I thought. Like how the heck was I supposed to know—it was their wedding, not mine.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the way I was acting. Guilt trips did that to me and Mom was an expert at those. Glinda offered to do my mom’s hair, so, obviously, she was invited. As for the rest of my friends, which were on the slim side, they wouldn’t have been invited anyway. So, I wasn’t really sure why I was expected to pick people to come or know where to seat them.

Ken said he wanted to make sure I was included so I didn’t feel left out. I felt like telling Ken I would be ecstatic to be left out, but that was mean. And besides, their drama did help me keep my mind off my own problems, even if it was only for a little while. So, for that, I was glad.

Once I was done helping, and after Mom snapped off a few pictures in the event there was another mishap, I was able to slip away for a while before dinner.

It was only a little after six but it was pretty dark already. Ken was making his famous homemade sloppy joes, baked beans, and Dragon Fries, that he swore were the best across the western seaboard. Not sure how he would know that but they did smell pretty good. I asked him what a Dragon Fry was and he informed me I would know the moment I took a bite.

With my great deductive abilities as they were, I figured they were probably going to be hotter than…H. E. double toothpicks, no doubt, hence the name, Dragon Fries.

Pulling my hands inside the sleeves of my sweater, I hunkered down in the chair trying to get warm as birds…or were they bats? Totally bats, I figured, as I watched them dive down and take out their unsuspecting prey.

I didn’t know bats came out this early in the night, but I guess this was another learning moment as I’m sure Jessica Rabbit would say.

"Greeeat."

Long after dinner was over, I was back outside sitting in my little chair. Ken was right and the Dragon Fries were really hot and surprisingly good. So, in retrospect, maybe he was right about them being the best across the western seaboard. I wouldn’t make a bet on that or anything, but they were tasty. Too bad I couldn’t enjoy them more. Being sad really put a damper on my appetite.

It was a chilly night and the yellow haze from the streetlights shifted against the worn pavement as something moved across the road.

From my vantage point I couldn’t see what it was, nor did I really care. The pine trees on the side of our house made a whistling sound as the wind moved through the furry branches.

Looking down at my phone, I saw that Glinda had called, again. I knew it was nothing dire, she was only calling to tell me, Goodnight, sleep tight, and don’t let the bed bugs bite. It was her new ritual, I supposed, to cheer me up or try to, but it wasn’t working very well. Although, I did appreciate her effort.

In truth, Glinda had been great trying to help me get past the big empty void I had inside of myself from Viktor being gone. She kept saying things like, Who knows, you may see him again. Like he took a trip or something and had not died that night. I came to realize she was having a hard time too and she didn’t know what to say to make it better. Well, neither did I, so I guess we were even on that count.

School was another matter. I didn’t go for two weeks. Glinda was great about getting my homework for me and even helped me with some of my Algebra papers that I couldn’t figure out. But other than that, I hadn’t done much but write in my journal, and watch ‘I Love Lucy’ reruns because they helped quiet my brain briefly and dispel the sadness that seemed to be suffocating me daily.

Glinda also told me that Vincent and Viola were absent from school, which was no surprise. But weirdly enough, I hadn’t heard anything from Vincent. I called him a few times but he never picked up and then after the first time, each call I made went straight to his voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. Not because I didn’t want to but because I had no idea what to say. I thought he would at least call me back, but he didn’t.

A week after the accident, I overheard Ken telling Mom that they pulled Viktor’s truck out of the water, but they couldn’t find his body. Ken also said that the tide may have taken it and that recovering his body probably wasn’t going to be an option, so they had stopped looking.

That made me angry.

How could they just give up on finding him? Maybe he was hurt and needed help but couldn’t find his way back. Or maybe, he had amnesia.

It was possible because I would know if he was dead, right?

Right?

I said as much to Mom after Ken left, but she gave me the same look she and Ken had given me tonight, the one filled with sympathy and without words told me that I was only putting off the inevitable.

After two weeks of mixed emotions spanning from anger to debilitating sadness, I went back to school but that was even worse because when I felt like crying, I had no place to go to hide from the curious stares, except the bathroom. I had gotten into the habit of excusing myself from class and sitting in the handicap stall on the floor until my urge to cry passed.

Problem was, I felt like crying all the time, but, strangely enough, I never really cried at all. Instead, after my initial anger, and sadness passed, a chilling numbness settled over me, which was worse than both. At least if I cried or got angry, I would have some relief from feeling nothing.

Standing up, I put my phone in my pocket and turned to crawl back in my window to get some shut eye. Even though tomorrow was Saturday, with the wedding just a few short weeks away Mom had tons of stuff she needed me to help her do. So that meant that I couldn’t sleep in.

School was out on break for the Thanksgiving holiday so at least I had another week off to help Mom get stuff done. I still had a little bit of homework to catch up on from being out of school but even the Turtle, i.e. Ms. Campbell, didn’t give out the normal work load to the class because of Viktor. For some reason I couldn’t help thinking that if he knew that he was the cause, it would amuse him.

Pushing my chair back against the house, I bent down and grabbed my water bottle. I stood back up and looked at the tree near my balcony, the one Vincent swore he climbed up. I still wasn’t too sure about that one, but how else could he have gotten up here?

A dog howled in the distance which was creepy sounding, and it wouldn’t have bothered much but it was accompanied by a sudden stillness in the air.

Shivering, I rubbed my arm with my free hand and looked back towards the tree line.

What the? I leaned forward to take a better look.

Two yellow eyes were staring back at me and it immediately reminded me of the time Viktor showed me the mama bear with its cubs in his truck and how the eyes had looked with the lights shining on them…but, there were no lights shining on that part of the woods, so how was that…

The chorus of ‘Get the funk out’ blared from my phone.

Fumbling, I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out my phone. A number popped up on the screen—one I knew by heart. My pulse kicked up a notch and a cold sweat broke out on my skin.

It was Viktor.

two

Amber…

With a jolt I sat upright in bed, and blinked against the bright morning light.

Coming… Automatically, I pushed my comforter off and swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and was surprised to see it was after already after ten.

Hurry up! Mom screeched from below.

I could tell by the tone of Mom’s voice she was in a snit about something. Perfect.

Last night after Viktor’s number flashed up on my screen, I answered it as fast as I could but when I did, there was nothing but dead air. I called it back so many times that I lost count but it only rang. When I finally remembered the glowing eyes in the woods, I leaned over the railing for about ten minutes but I didn’t see anything out of the normal.

I had finally given up and climbed back inside my room. It was well after two in the morning so I didn’t want to bother Mom and Ken about the call I received from Viktor.

I guessed I fell asleep at some point because now, even in the light of day, I remembered my strange dream. It was filled with disjointed images of the time I had spent with Viktor and some other people that I had never seen before who were wearing dated clothing. From a simpler time, I guessed. But it was still really weird.

With shaking hands, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, wondering if I imagined the whole thing and scrolled through the call numbers. Once again, my heart picked up pace because very clearly at 11:33 pm there was a number that called my phone and that number did belong to Viktor.

Jumping up, I threw on my hoodie and ran downstairs to show Mom and Ken. Maybe, I was right all along. Maybe, Viktor was fine and had just lost his memory or something.

Amber, Ken said in a placating tone, this doesn’t prove much. He handed the phone off to Mom.

What? I gaped at him. Of course, it does. He’s alive. He has to be. How else did his number get on my phone?

Now, sweetheart, Mom said, giving me a doubtful look. Are you sure it’s his number?

Well, of course it is. I know his number, I argued.

Ken took the phone from Moms outstretched hand and stared at the screen again.

See… I pointed at the number. It’s his number, right there.

Ken’s brows creased and he gave Mom a sideways look.

Mom put her arm over my shoulders, I guessed trying to give me comfort but I couldn’t help wanting to shrug it off. It’s his number. I know it is, I repeated.

Why doesn’t it show his name? he asked.

Ken was using his official police officer voice again and it was driving me crazy.

"Because I didn’t program it yet and besides, I didn’t need to. I know his number."

Are you sure he had his phone the night of the…

I was about to read Ken the riot act but then I tried to remember if Viktor actually had his phone that night and I couldn’t. But…but… I’m sure he did. I’m sure he would have… I trailed off because I could tell by the look on Ken and Mom’s faces, they had already come to the conclusion that I just come to myself.

You think someone else called me from his phone?

Ken exhaled and handed the phone back to me.

It’s a possibility, he said.

It’s also a possibility that he called me. I shook my phone in the air to emphasize my point. You didn’t find a body. You said so yourself. I heard you.

The look of sympathy I was getting used to was clearly etched on Ken and Mom’s faces.

Now, sweetheart, Mom said. Try to be reasonable…

I am. I didn’t call myself. Someone else did and that person is Viktor. Ken, you have to reopen the investigation, have your men look for him. He is probably hurt...

Ken cut another look at Mom and she merely gave him a noncommittal shake of her head.

You know, I can see you don’t believe me.

I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, that’s all, Mom said.

It is possible, I repeated but this time my voice came out sounding the same way I felt…defeated.

After what seemed like an hour of debate, Ken finally conceded with my urging and told me he would check into the call but that was only after I admitted that maybe…just maybe…they were right. That Viktor might not have called me.

Still, I couldn’t stop the glimmer of hope from taking root inside of me. I knew they didn’t believe me, regardless of my arguments to the contrary, but deep down even I knew I was reaching, really reaching, but what else did I have to hold onto?

Besides, someone did call me with his number, so it was possible…right?

Cradling my phone between my shoulder and my ear, I shoved my wallet from my messenger bag and into a small hippie beaded crossbody purse that Mom had given me for my 16th birthday. It looked like one of her rejects from her clubbing days but it would do for shopping. I will be there in a few minutes.

How long is a few? Glinda asked, sounding put out.

I took a breath. Fine. I will be there in an hour.

I knew it.

What did you know? I exhaled.

I knew you wouldn’t be ready on time. You never are.

Well, neither are you, I snapped.

The other end of the phone went silent and for a minute I thought Glinda hung up on me.

What is wrong with you? she finally asked.

I didn’t sleep well.

Oh. There was a pause. Do you want to go another time then?

No. I need to get out of the house.

Okay.

I’ll meet you at the Visitor Center at two, okay?

Yeah, that’s fine.

Thanks Glinda and sorry for being short.

Hey, I get it. It’s okay.

You’re the best.

Glinda giggled. I know.

I waited for her to tell me that she thought I was the best but instead, all I got was dead air. Figures.

three

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, to the point my fingers were turning white, I sat behind the wheel while Peggy Sue idled in the drive as I stared bleakly up at the rusted gates with a letter ‘R’ tangled with vines. It was the gate to the Roth Mansion. It no longer looked regal and majestic, but instead, abandoned and empty. It looked the same way I felt.

I was supposed to be meeting Glinda, to pick up magazines that she had marked for different hairstyles for my mom to look over and also go to Port Angeles to check out some dresses for the wedding. I was going to be Mom’s, Maid of Honor and Glinda got to be a Bridesmaid because Mom was horrified people would think she didn’t have friends. Which, of course, she didn’t, at least not female ones.

All of my mom’s previous friends since her divorce consisted of men and that was the way she wanted it. She said women were catty b’s and would try to steal her men if she brought them around any man she was dating. Granted, she was right on that count because one already did. While Mom and me were off at camp for my three-day school trip, Dad had gotten busy with her bestie. Hence, why she and my dad had gotten divorced to begin with.

Thankfully Glinda had saved the day before Mom got all emotional again, and told her that no one expected her to have girlfriends in her wedding since she was new in town. That seemed to calm Mom down and she gave Glinda a huge hug and told her she was the best.

A bout of jealously assailed me then and even though it was nice to see my mom happy and relieved about something that was obviously upsetting her, it would have been nice if my mom said that to me for once.

After the call from Viktor’s phone last night, I felt like I should at least check his house. Granted, I wasn’t invited or anything so I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say when I got here but I assured myself that I would think of something. Not that it mattered anymore since it was obvious no one was home. At least I didn’t think they were because the gates were shut tight with a large chain and padlock, which hung askew, was fastened between the two massive gates.

Taking a breath, I glanced at the clock. It was quarter of two. Even though I knew Glinda would have fit if I was late, I couldn’t seem to turn around yet, either. Against my better judgement, which where Viktor was concerned, dead or alive, I didn’t seem to have any.

Peggy Sue’s door creaked ominously, as I pushed it open and got out. Towering trees surrounded me on either side, and two big ruts were still embedded in the grass where I tried to turn around the last time I drove here unannounced.

The sound of rushing water was prevalent as was the musty smell of leaves and damp earth filling the air.

Keeping the door open, I walked around the front of the car to the gates. I pushed some tangled vines out of the way and looked through the bars. There was a bend in the road, just beyond, but I couldn’t see the house, only the imposing rooftop with spires and chimneys that looked even gloomier than I remembered against the dismal gray afternoon sky.

Clearing a few weeds out of the way, I gripped hold of the wrought iron. It was cold against my fingers as I shook it.

The gate let out a waning groan as though it was already protesting against my intrusion.

Oh, shut up.

I pushed the gate hard, but it didn’t move enough for me to slip past the chain. Still, I was determined to get inside though. Placing my foot on one of the bars, I pulled myself up just as a crunch of leaves sounded over to my left.

Dropping back down, I listened intently.

The crunching became louder, and louder…

"Oh cr…ap!"

Someone or something was coming.

Not wanting to chance getting caught trespassing or being eaten by a bear, I raced back around my car and jumped inside.

Without waiting to see who or what it was, I slammed the door shut, put the car in gear and backed up. Knowing there was no place to turn around near the bridge, I backed into approximately the same spot I had turned around before. Luckily the ground wasn’t as wet as before and I was able to get back onto the road without leaving another set of ruts in the grass.

Punching the gas, I sped back to the one lane bridge, slowed enough to get across, and then sped the rest of the way up the long drive. The car bounced and squeaked as the tires hit potholes, but I didn’t slow down until I came to the main road.

I stopped long enough to look both ways.

No cars were coming.

I turned onto the main road and then took off towards the Visitor Center to meet Glinda.

By the time I made it to the Visitor Center, I was already fifteen minutes late. Even though the lot was kind of crowded by the entrance, I didn’t see Glinda’s car. Turning around, I pulled over closer to the Timber Museum and backed into a space so I could see the main road. Putting the car in park, I killed the engine and waited for Glinda.

Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my phone and texted Glinda.

Me: I’m here

A few people that looked like hikers, rambled out of the Visitor’s Center with brochures and trail maps. They were probably planning on hiking on the path behind the center. At least that was the direction they were headed in or maybe they were going down to the ‘Free Library’ to get some books.

I fiddled with the radio to listen to some music while I waited but all I got was fuzz. Irritated with the crappy reception, I gave up and turned off the radio and pushed Mom’s cassette tape of Elvis in instead.

With an annoying cracking sound Jailhouse Rock warbled out of the blown speakers. Giving up on listening to anything, I turned that off too. What was the point in listening to music when it all sounded bad.

Not having anything better to do, I stared out the window and watched the cars pass. I even started counting them. I was at twenty when Glinda finally pulled into the lot.

Pressing the horn, I hit it a few times to let her know where I was.

She didn’t seem to hear or notice. Instead, she pulled over to the Visitors Center and then drove around the lot.

When she finally saw me, she waved and then slammed down on her horn, like somehow waving to me wasn’t enough to let me know she saw me.

Sheesh.

A few people turned to look at the commotion.

Embarrassed, I slouched down in my seat.

It took Glinda a few tries to back her car up next to mine as loud music blared out of her open window without annoying crackles. "Must be nice," I muttered.

Turning down the music, Glinda poked her head out the window. You driving?

I glanced down at my gas gauge. There was half a tank, which was more than enough to get to Port Angeles. I can if you want.

Glinda looked at Peggy Sue and scrunched up her face. I’ll drive but I need gas.

I can give you some money. It was the least I could do since she was helping with the wedding and besides, I really didn’t want to drive.

Sounds good. She pulled her head back in the window and turned up the music.

After rolling up both windows, I grabbed my purse, and keys and climbed out of the car. Locking the door, I headed over to the passenger side of the car and climbed in.

Glinda was belting out Wrecking Ball clutching her chest, I assumed, for the most theatric effect.

Once she was done the chorus, she turned down the radio. Sorry, that’s my favorite song.

I smiled because it was impossible not to. She looked so cute. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail with corkscrew curls framing her cherubic face. She had on dark blue skinny jeans, a pair of black boots and a black zip up hoodie with a white t-shirt underneath. As usual, she looked great and really put together, unlike me. I can tell.

Glinda frowned. What happened to you?

What? I looked down at my crappy outfit that consisted of regular jeans, cuffed at the bottom, my converse and Sunshine hoodie that I wore to bed most days.

Leaning forward, Glinda pulled something from my hair. This, she said, holding up a leaf.

Oh. I ran my fingers through my hair and pulled out three more leaves. Stupid tree.

Were you climbing a tree or something? She put the car in gear.

No. It’s just shedding leaves and I guess some got in my hair.

Shedding? Glinda lifted her brows in disbelief. Looks more like you were rolling in them.

Well, I wasn’t. Pulling my hair back, I used the band on my wrist and tossed my hair up into a messy bun.

Um. Okay.

I could tell she didn’t really believe me. Honestly, who would?

Glinda pulled out of the parking lot.

Noticing the stacks of magazines in the backseat and wanting to change the subject from my crappy appearance, I asked, So, did you find any cool hairstyles for my mom?

Yeah, I did. I think she will like them. Well, she amended, I hope she will.

I’m sure she will love them. Thanks again for doing that.

No problem.

Cool air wafted in through the open windows, and trees blurred in my peripheral from the side window as we passed by them.

The turned down music muffled from the speakers and I couldn’t