Now You See Me [Jasper Hale story]

XX. Bad Gwyneth!

"A letter is always better than a phone call. People write things in letters they would never say in person. They permit themselves to write down feelings and observations using emotional syntax far more intimate and powerful than speech will allow." ― Alice Steinbach

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On Friday, we were released from school much earlier than normally. There was some disorder in the central heating, for as much as I knew and cared. All of us soon let the information professor Young told us faded away from our brains, because in some point of the school life, we all learnt, that anything that shortened our torture in the classrooms, was a good news to accept. Even when speaking about defects in central heating.
It was barely twelve p.m. when Young decided to put our miserable lives in our own hands and ordered us to go home. After school, Angela, Eric and I decided to have a lunch at The Lodge restaurant. Angela and I ordered roasted chicken breasts with salad, while Eric chose two cheeseburgers with an extra portion of chips. Both Ang and I watched him in disgust, as he fulfilled his mouth with a bun, meat and three pieces of fried potatos.

"Oh my god, I'm not sure if there's something more repulsive in this world," Ang wrinkled her nose at the sight of her boyfriend.

"Hardly," I replied sincerely, "Do you think he will choke?"

"Definitely. I won't help him if he does though," Weber tilted her head to the side, furrowing her eyebrows at him. "Have you ever seen something like that, Gwyn?"

"Not until now," after I poked Eric with my index finger, the boy finally took a notice of our presence, "How is it that he's still so slim?"

"I've no idea, trust me..." Angela breathed out blankly.

Eric frowned at us. "Hey! I'm still here," stated Yorkie, his mouth full of the cheesburger. "I was just hungry. Besides, I don't get it either, how you two can survive from one steak and a bunch of tomatoes." He was hard to understand, talking through the food. When a piece of potato fired from his mouth, and landed on the table right in front of me, it was the right time for me to turn my head away from him.

"You are unpalatable. Goodness, stop guzzling, or I'll break up with you!" Angela hissed reproachfully.

"I told you I was hungry!" Eric threw his hands into the air expressively, and I rolled my eyes. Pushing the last bit of the steak into my mouth, I looked around our table, trying to ignore their argument. To understand, I was used to their arguing, since they always argued. In the cinema, at school, on the walk, at shops, even when Eric was cooking and Angela watched him. Shortly, under any imaginable circumstances. Every little dissension of theirs ended up with the two of them, snogging as if their lives depended on it though. Now you know why I rather directed my look away in advance...
Stealing a peek at the door, I noticed our postman, entering the restaurant. His name was Stan. He was a chubby, elderly man in his early 60's, with a huge, beer belly. Because of his physical condition, he always had a handkerchief at hand, to wipe his sweaty forhead. Nevertheless, Stan had a heart of gold. Since I had started going running, I was often meeting him in front of the post office in the centre, in early morning. Sometimes, he gave me our post and we exchanged a few words, before I returned home.

The moment he noticed me, he waved at me, offering me a huge smile. I smiled back at him and wanted to get back to my happily arguing friends; but Stan beckoned at me, as he sat down at the table with his friends, fishing in his huge, leather holdall. Curious about what the postman might want from me, I stood up and walked towards him. Slowly, I recognized the faces of Chief Swan, Harry Clearwater (Seth's father), Michael Clearwater (Harry's brother) or Billy Black, father of Bella's Indian friend (the name of whom I had forgotten). I stood next to Stan's chair, lifting the corners of my lips up shyly.

"Good morning," greeting politely, all the men replied, more or less kindly.

"Ms. Callaghan," Sheriff Swan said cautiously, "How is your car? I hope you've finally grew close to our speed limits."

"Charlie, let the poor girl live," Stan admonished his friend, amused, "I am sure Gwyneth learnt from her mistake. Besides that, she is the only person I can talk to at six in the morning."

"You can always talk to George, the baker," Michael Clearwater suggested with a smirk on his face.

"That penny pincher? Never!" Stan looked at him, horrified. In his right hand, he was holding a letter.

"Stan has a point," Harry Black spoke up merrily, taking a sip of beer. "Gwyn is a hundred times better companion. And I'm not saying that only because she does wonders with my son's will to study!"

"Thank you, Mr. Clearwater," I wasn't sure what to say, so there, I thanked him. Stan stretched his hand with the envelope to me then, handing it to me.

"Here, I got this for you," the postman stated seriously, "It came a few hours ago, as a registered letter with high importance of delivery. There's your address written on it, however, someone confused the names. It is addressed to the woman that lived in the house before you and your aunt moved in. Do you remember her, Charlie?"

"I do. Valeria, Vanda, or Vivianne..." Chief Swan thought aloud, "She was weird, that's the truth. Never leaving the house. I don't think I've ever spotted her in the city."

Afterwards, all the men went silent. Billy Black exchanged odd looks with Harry Clearwater and Michael Clearwater looked down, at his entangled fingers. Stan became the first one to talk again: "Well, whatever was the woman up to, she's no longer living here. For that, the letter belongs to the current owner of the house. And that is Hayden O'Leary," the man looked at me attentively. "Can I rely on you with delivering this envelope to your aunt?"

I nodded silently, my goddamned curiosity dancing tango with the urge to come up with new conspiracy theories. I said my good-byes to all the men at the table, feeling their gazes on my back. Meeting Angela and Eric at the bar, I paid for the steak and drink, before my eyes travelled to the envelope once again. Victoria Hamilton- that was the name written on the top. My thoughts immediately landed on the vampire woman Alice told me about the night she left.
It couldn't have been a coincidence, that there came a letter adressed to the former owner of the house we were living in, who was known to have moved away from the town as quickly as morning mist. Moreover, Charlie Swan said she was odd and antisocial - the brief characteristics of her behavior told me, that Victoria Hamilton must have been the vampire who was pretty determined to take her revenge on Bella.
The only question of mine, that was left unanswered, was the one about the Rasta vampire from yesterday. Was he connected to Victoria? And what about the good, big wolves? Were they really good, or did their animal instincts just order them to take care of the vampire at first, and then come back to me? Well, there was still plenty of things for me to figure out.

"Gwyn, do ya wanna go to Port Angels with us, this evening?" Eric's voice dragged me out of my thoughts, "We're going shooting."

"Shooting?" I almost choked on my water.

"That's what we do every Friday," Angela remarked, much less excitedly, "We go to a shooting range, for that we could practice an activity that none of us will ever use."

"Love, please. We've discussed that already," Eric reminded her patiently, "You need to know how to protect yourself. Especially when-"

"I know there are dangerous animals in the woods, Eric," Angela snapped at him. "Normal couples go on dates to botanic gardens, or cafes, but not us. We have to go on dates to shooting range, every damned Friday! Fuck, I'm not a self-murderer to ever go into the woods alone, like Bella!"

In that point, I tensed. If Bella was going into the woods, then she might have seen the beasts as well. Or perhaps, she could even provide some more information about them to me.

"But Sweetie, I thought you liked skeet shooting," the boy furrowed his eyebrows, "Last time, you said it was fun!"

"No! I said it was more funny than everything else in the shooting range. That's a big differece, you-"

"Alright!" I exclaimed, cutting off another one of their endless arguments, "If I say I'll go, will you two stop doing this for at least an hour?"

At first, Angela glanced at me in shock, her eyes were soon followed by Eric's. "Y-you... really?! Voluntarily?!"

"If you call being forced by your arguing volunteering, then..." I smirked at her, while Angela squeaked out in excitement. She jumped into my arms happily, and she wouldn't have let go of me, if Eric hadn't pulled her away. We then agreed on that Eric would pick us up at my home, at half past five p.m. After we parted, each of us went towards appropriate cars. During the drive home, I hadn't even switched on the radio, enjoying the utter silence. Don't take me wrong - I loved both Eric and Angela, yet, after a longer time spent in their presence, I was ready to see a psychologist.


When I came home, nice surprise was waiting for me on the kitchen counter. Hayden must have stopped by, before she drove off to the parent's meeting at school, because she left a piece of chocolate cake, next to a note, through which she asked me to take care of dinner. I sighed over my aunt's undisguised calculation, opening the cupboard, in order to check what ingredients were available for me to cook dinner of. In the end, I picked a pack of pasta, a can of tomato puree and two sausages, as I decided to make baked pasta. It was the easiest meal to prepare and since I never liked cooking, it turned out to be the best option.
As soon as the pan was in the oven, I took a teaspoon, the plate with the cake and the letter Stan had given to me. Enjoying the delicious taste of chocolate, spreading over my tongue, I was just going to pull the mysterious sheet out of the envelope, when I felt my phone vibring in the pocket of my jeans. This time, though, I was determined to disappoint the person on the other side. Considering what happened yesterday, after I took Angela's call, it would be natural for me not to take any calls for at least the rest of my life. Yet, after five minutes of the phone's dreary ringing, my right hand slipped down against my will, pressing the damned, green button.

"What?!" I spat out peevishly.

"Finally!" Seth's urgent voice met my right ear, "Bella is injured. She jumped off a cliff. We need you here immediately." The boy blurted out inattentively. The only words I caught in his speech, were Bella, injury, cliff and immediately. Even due to the little Clearwater gave me, I started to panic.

"For fuck's sake! Where are you, Seth?" I threw the letter into the nearest drawer with knives (where I knew Hayden would never look in), switched off the oven and pulled the pan away as fast as I could. Rushing into the hall, I took my car keys from the peg under the mirror. Grabbing my coat and boots, I ran out of the house, with one last look at the piece of chocolate cake. Even though it hurt me to admit, Isabella Swan was more important than the cake, which wouldn't be eaten by me any time soon. Yeah. Shit was happening in my precious life, since we moved into Forks...

"At Black's house. Do you know where it is?"
I told him I had no idea, for that, Seth shouted at someone to give him the address. Once I got it, I revived my GPS, typing the address in furiously.
"Hurry up, Gwyn! S-she wouldn't speak to any of us. Jacob tried to make her talk, but the only thing she said to him, was your name."

It was wrong time to feel flattered, wasn't it? Bad Gwyneth... bad, bad Gwyneth!