Ｗａｖｅｓ ▶ JASPER HALE (HEAVY EDITING)

Home, sweet, home.

Edited, 2024.

Home, sweet, home.

Thunder jolted Dema awake.

Her eyes snapped open, and she blinked in confusion. As her vision cleared, she realized she was in a car, the scenery blurring past like a film on fast-forward.

Raindrops began to tap on the windshield, and the trees swayed under the wind's force. Thunder rumbled periodically from the storm above, though the lightning remained hidden. The dense trees blocked most of the light from reaching the road.

Dema, disoriented from her long sleep, sat in silence, absorbing the scene. Her mother hummed along to a song on the car stereo, unaware that her daughter had awakened. They drove through a forest—or at least Dema assumed as much. It was too dark to be certain, with the sun already swallowed by the night's shadows.

"Are we close?" Dema asked, glancing at her mother as she straightened up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Almost there," Eliza replied with a small smile. Dark circles under her eyes revealed her exhaustion. She had been driving from Seattle for hours.

Dema looked away, unamused. Unlike Eliza, she wasn't thrilled about moving to another town.

Eliza had been born in a small town in Washington called Forks. She left after discovering her pregnancy, leaving behind family, friends, and secrets. As a young single mother, she raised Dema in the bustling city of Seattle, offering her as many opportunities as she could while shielding her from a foreboding future.

They had built a life in Seattle, creating a home and a family of their own. But everything changed when Eliza received a call from Billy, Dema's uncle. After that, Eliza began suggesting a move back to Forks. Dema had visited the small town only a few times and had never found it appealing. The small town had never charmed her, not even for a quick visit.

But when people started disappearing or turning up dead, Eliza quickly packed their things and decided to head to Forks, even if it meant Dema couldn't finish high school with the friends she had grown up with.

Eliza ignored her daughter's complaints, fearful of the consequences if these deaths were caused by what—or who—she suspected.

Dema turned away from Eliza, gazing out the window with mild disinterest.

She pressed a hand against the cold, thin glass.

She liked this weather.

Rain, cold, darkness.

The sound of raindrops against the windshield, the distant rumble of thunder, and the wind that made the trees sway—this chaos brought her peace.

She felt at home in the storm, in the darkness.

As lightning flashed in the distance, Dema was momentarily startled. The sudden burst of light illuminated the surroundings, revealing a cliff to her right, about 20 feet from the highway.

Her eyes locked onto the chaotic waves crashing below. Then she noticed a group of young men, slightly older than her, standing at the cliff's edge.

In the brief flash of light, she saw some of them leap into the pitch-black ocean, their bare chests and familiar tattoos barely visible in the dim light of the full moon.

Then darkness returned, obscuring the men from view. A loud clap of thunder followed, but Dema was too captivated by the extreme act she had just witnessed to acknowledge her own discomfort from the bright light.