Chapter 4: Quiet Places and Quieter Lies
"Some ghosts don't need to die to start haunting you. Some just put on a mask and forget who they were."
It was another wet and quiet morning when the sun rose on Wednesday. The rain hadn't stopped in days it was like the sky was trying to erase the town under pools of swirling waves.
Charlie was already in the kitchen when I came down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, half a grapefruit in one hand and a fork in the other.
"Morning, Bells. You sleep okay?" he asked without looking up from the sports section. "Cocoa or coffee?"
"Cocoa please." I took a seat. "I slept fine, though I did have a weird dream again."
He slid a mug my way like a seasoned barista and grunted in agreement. "We've all been there. Was it the same raccoon one from when you were little?"
"No," I blushed. "This was different. It was about a guy and he was way less furry. Not to mention he was definitely more charming than the racoon."
Charlie blinked at me.
"In the dream, I mean."
"Right."
He set down the paper. "Do I need to worry?"
"Only if he shows up with a bayonet."
Charlie scratched his jaw. "...I can't tell if you're kidding."
"Good. I like to keep you on your toes."
We fell into an easy silence after that, punctuated only by the low murmur of the news playing in the background. Forks hadn't made headlines at least not yet.
"You heading in early?" Charlie asked.
I nodded. "Gonna warm up the truck for half an hour so it doesn't scream at me the whole way."
"Way to think ahead Bells," he said, sounding proud.
I sipped my cocoa and decided not to mention that I also needed to arrive early to recalibrate myself after last night's dream because it wasn't as light hearted as I made it out to be.
Not that Charlie would judge me, he was far too steady for that. But there are some things a girl keeps to herself. Like just how real a stranger's hand can feel in a dream.
The Cullen's were already in the parking lot when I pulled in.
Rosalie looked like a runway model slumming it in a small-town fever dream. Emmett was laughing at something Alice said, it was a big rolling sound that echoed across the lot. While Jasper hovered nearby like he was avoiding sudden movements.
But there was still no Edward.
Which was good. That meant the canon plot was holding.
I kept my head down and made a show of fumbling with my locker combo. I was the very picture of awkward new girl energy.
Inside, my classes blurred together.
Angela asked if I wanted to hang out this weekend. Mike invited me to a movie night I had no intention of attending. Jessica gave me a sideways glance every time someone male spoke to me for more than three seconds.
Just like in the books or was it the movie.
But under the mask, I kept watching the Cullen's. I studied the subtle glances, the way Alice always seemed to know when someone was about to round a corner, or how Jasper walked like he was pretending to be used to gravity.
None of them paid any attention to me really, except for one of them.
Alice.
During third period, I caught her watching me from across the quad, not with suspicion. It felt more like... curiosity. Like something about me didn't sit quite right in her visions.
I smiled at her.
She blinked.
Then turned away.
I slipped into the Biology lab after lunch and took my seat at the table I now occupied alone. Mr. Banner greeted me with a nod, then launched into a speech about mitosis and cell structure.
All in all my school day ended with little fanfare.
After school, I headed straight home. Charlie was off shift early and had defrosted a pizza, which we shared in comfortable silence while watching a documentary about Bigfoot sightings in Oregon.
"You think he's real?" I asked between bites.
Charlie didn't look away from the screen. "I think people see what they want to see."
I chewed that over, both the pizza and the philosophy.
"Do you see what you want to see?"
Charlie finally glanced at me, a flicker of something behind his eyes. "I see you. That's enough."
I had to blink hard at that one.
"You're not supposed to be so good at this," I muttered.
"At what?"
"Being a dad."
He smirked. "I guess practice makes perfect."
I smiled into my soda.
That night, I went to bed early again not because I was exhausted, but because something in me felt restless.
Like I was being pulled back into a chapter that hadn't finished turning its page.
When I opened my eyes, the world smelled like dust, sweat, and iron.
The Virginia sun was dimming, casting a long golden haze across the field.
Damon stood at the edge of a training camp. His coat was half-buttoned, sleeves rolled. A musket leaned against the tent beside him. His hands were wrapped in cloth, one of them smudged with dirt.
He didn't look injured this time which was good.
But he did look tired.
Tired in the way a man looks when he's been trying to convince himself this is all worth it.
I stepped into the clearing, with no hesitation.
He looked up the second I moved.
"You again," he said. He wasn't startled this time. Just resigned.
"You sound disappointed."
He cracked a smile. "Only in myself. I'm pretty sure I dreamed you up to keep from going insane."
"You didn't."
"So you're real?"
"As real as dreams get."
He nodded once, like that settled something.
Then he turned his face toward the sky, eyes squinting against the fading light.
"My brother wrote," he said after a long pause. "Says Father's proud. Says I've made the family name shine."
"Does that matter to you?"
He shrugged, but it was all in the tension of his jaw. "It used to. I think I just wanted to belong somewhere."
I walked closer. The camp smelled like gun oil and sweat.
"Do you?" I asked.
"Belong?" He scoffed. "No... but I wear the uniform better than most. Makes people forget I'm not a believer."
"In the cause?"
"In anything about this bloody war."
I didn't say anything. I just stepped beside him and let the quiet settle between us.
He looked at me thoughtfully.
"You always show up when I'm at my worst."
"Maybe that's the only time you'll let someone see you."
That earned me a real laugh, it was low and honest. It was the type of laugh that sent a shiver through me.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Someone who's seen enough to know when a man's lying to himself."
"And am I?"
"Every time you smile at everyone but me."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he stepped forward, a little closer, and looked out over the hills beyond the camp.
"I keep thinking if I bleed enough for them, they'll let me come home as myself and not who they want me to be."
"They won't."
He closed his eyes. "I know."
I moved beside him. Let my fingers graze his sleeve.
He flinched, not from me necessarily, but from the contact itself. Like my touch had a meaning to it that I didn't know about yet.
"Whatever you're becoming," I whispered, "it doesn't have to be the end of you."
He didn't look at me.
But he didn't step away either.
"I don't even know your name," he said.
"You will." I promised.
The dream blurred at the edges. Like time was trying to reclaim him.
Causing me to slip away again.
His voice followed me like an echo:
"Next time you come back... don't go so fast."
I woke in the dark, breath caught in my throat.
I remembered the dust on his collar.
The weariness in his spine.
The part of him that still wanted to be loved even if he didn't believe he deserved it.
Charlie was in the kitchen, pouring himself cereal at midnight.
"Trouble sleeping?" he asked without turning around.
"Dreams again."
He handed me a bowl wordlessly.
"You ever feel like you're watching someone fall, and you can't do anything to stop it?" I asked.
Charlie blinked.
"Every day I wear a badge," he said.
We sat in silence.
And for once, I didn't feel like I was falling alone.