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the zombie stupor？ Had I turned masochistic—developed a taste for torture？ I should have gone straight
down to La Push I felt much； much healthier around Jacob This was not a healthy thing to do。
But I continued to drive slowly down the overgrown lane； twisting through the trees that arched over me
like a green； living tunnel My hands were shaking； so I tightened my grip on the steering wheel。
I knew that part of the reason I did this was the nightmare； now that I was really awake； the nothingness
of the dream gnawed on my nerves； a dog worrying a bone。
There was something to search for。 Unattainable and impossible； uncaring and distracted… but he was
out there； somewhere。 I had to believe that。
The other part was the strange sense of repetition I'd felt at school today； the coincidence of the date。
The feeling that I was starting over—perhaps the way my first day would have gone if I'd really been the
most unusual person in the cafeteria that afternoon。
The words ran through my head； tonelessly； like I was reading them rather than hearing them spoken：
It will be as if I'd never existed。
I was lying to myself by splitting my reason for ing here into just two parts。 I didn't want to admit the
strongest motivation。 Because it was mentally unsound。
The truth was that I wanted to hear his voice again； like I had in the strange delusion Friday night。 For
that brief moment； when his voice came from some other part of me than my conscious memory； when
his voice was perfect and honey smooth rather than the pale echo my memories usually produced； I was
able to remember without pain。 It hadn't lasted； the pain had caught up with me； as I was sure it would
for this fool's errand。 But those precious moments when I could hear him again were an irresistible lure。 I
had to find some way to repeat the experience… or maybe the better word was episode。
I was hoping that déjà vu was the key。 So I was going to his home； a place I hadn't been since my
illfated birthday party； so many months ago。
The thick； almost junglelike growth crawled slowly past my windows。 The drive wound on and on。 I
started to go faster； getting edgy。 How long had I been driving？ Shouldn't I have reached the house yet？
The lane was so overgrown that it did not look familiar。
What if I couldn't find it？ I shivered。 What if there was no tangible proof at all？
Then there was the break in the trees that I was looking for； only it was not so pronounced as before。
The flora here did not wait long to reclaim any land that was left unguarded。 The tall ferns had infiltrated
the meadow around the house； crowding against the trunks of the cedars； even the wide porch。 It was
like the lawn had been flooded—waisthigh—with green； feathery waves。
And the house was there； but it was not the same。 Though nothing had changed on the outside； the
emptiness screamed from the blank windows。 It was creepy。 For the first time since I'd seen the beautiful
house； it looked like a fitting haunt for vampires。
I hit the brakes； looking away。 I was afraid to go farther。
But nothing happened。 No voice in my head。
So I left the engine running and jumped out into the fern sea。 Maybe； like Friday night； if I walked
forward…
I approached the barren； vacant face slowly； my truck rumbling out a forting roar behind me。 I
stopped when I got to the porch stairs； because there was nothing here。 No lingering sense of their
presence… of his presence。 The house was solidly here； but it meant little。 Its concrete reality would not
counteract the nothingness of the nightmares。
I didn't go any closer。 I didn't want to look in the windows。 I wasn't sure which would be harder to see。
If the rooms were bare； echoing empty from floor to ceiling； that would certainly hurt。 Like my
grandmother's funeral； when my mother had insisted that I stay outside during the viewing。 She had said
that I didn't need to see Gran that way； to remember her that way； rather than alive。
But wouldn't it be worse if there were no change？ If the couches sat just as I'd last seen them； the
paintings on the walls—worse still； the piano on its low platform？ It would be second only to the house
disappearing all together； to see that there was no physical possession that tied them in anyway。 That
everything remained； untouched and forgotten； behind them。
Just like me。
I turned my back on the gaping emptiness and hurried to my truck。 I nearly ran。 I was anxious to be
gone； to get back to the human world。 I felt hideously empty； and I wanted to see Jacob。 Maybe I was
developing a new kind of sickness； another addiction； like the numbness before。 I didn't care。 I pushed
my truck as fast as it would go as I barreled toward my fix。
Jacob was waiting for me。 My chest seemed to relax as soon as I saw him； making it easier to breathe。
〃Hey； Bella；〃 he called。
I smiled in relief。 〃Hey； Jacob；〃 I waved at Billy； who was looking out the window。
〃Let's get to work；〃 Jacob said in a low but eager voice。
I was somehow able to laugh。 〃You seriously aren't sick of me yet？〃 I wondered。 He must be starting to
ask himself how desperate I was for pany。
Jacob led the way around the house to his garage。
〃Nope。 Not yet。〃
〃Please let me know when I start getting on your nerves。 I don't want to be a pain。〃
〃Okay。〃 He laughed； a throaty sound。 〃I wouldn't hold your breath for that； though。〃
When I walked into the garage； I was shocked to see the red bike standing up； looking like a motorcycle
rather than a pile of jagged metal。
〃Jake； you're amazing；〃 I breathed。
He laughed again。 〃I get obsessive when I have a project。〃 He shrugged。 〃If I had any brains I'd drag it
out a little bit。〃
〃Why？〃
He looked down； pausing for so long that I wondered if he hadn't heard my question。 Finally； he asked
me； 〃Bella； if I told you that I couldn't fix these bikes； what would you say？〃
I didn't answer right away； either； and he glanced up to check my expression。
〃I would say… that's too bad； but I'll bet we could figure out something else to do。 If we got real