AUTHORS NOTE: I'm posting this because fuck it and I'm stressed because idk if it's good so pls be nice to me or just bully me gently I guess idk

She didn't sleep at all as they drove through California. For a long time, she just stared out at the paved streets and hoards of traffic as they went by.

The traffic lights stung her tired eyes, flares of green, red and amber altering the perspective of her surroundings. The driver made four stops; two so everyone could get food, and two the other two for bathroom breaks. While the others who got on and off at their various locations, Rosemary only ducked down in her seat at the back of the bus and kept a grip on the hood of her jacket.

Once they were in Oregon, she began to relax a little bit. Only a handful of people were awake now, and none made any movement towards her. They all sat near the front. Though the coastline was beautiful, and the moon glinting off the water was enough to light up her immediate surroundings, Rosemary didn't lower her guard.

Somewhere near the halfway point of the seven and a half hour drive through Oregon, she began dozing. On and off, and only for a few minutes each, but it was the best she could do.

It was in Port Angles that she allowed herself to get off the bus as that was where it ended.

Rosemary stayed in the bus terminal for an hour, drinking hot chocolate and eating her cup-of-noodles while trying to gather her thoughts. She would be the first one to admit that this plan wasn't remotely thought out.

Peter Clearwater could have reasons to hate Gran, or maybe had Dementia or Alzheimer's and wouldn't recognize the name at all.

Or maybe there was some kind of feud with their families; the Eyton side of her was incredibly stubborn and quick to anger, which was most obvious in her mother and grandmother. When she used to spend time with her father, he would always blame their divorce on that.

Or, as he was the same age as Gran and she was nearing 86, Peter Clearwater could be dead. This could be completely pointless.

But this person knew where her mother lived as well as her mothers boyfriend, where her grandmother was, all of her fathers homes and his girlfriend, and he had easily found her new apartment. Both her paternal grandparents died ages ago, and she didn't believe for a second anyone else related to her father would help her. Apparently, she was too much like her marriage-ruining mother.

So as useless as this may be, it was her last option.

With this decision made, Rosemary made her way up to the purchasing counter and asked the lady to get her a ticket on the bus that would take her directly to La Push. The best offer they could do was a bus straight to Forks and she would have to find a way from there herself.

It was better than nothing, so she would take it.

The bus ride to Forks was much shorter than any of the time between stops, just a little over an hour.

She was dropped off outside of a store just off the highway called Newton's Sporting Goods, which seemed to be one of the only large buildings in town. A dozen of old cars were parked in the lot outside, most of the occupants were older than her mother. Closer to Gran's age.

A gentle drizzle of rain fell, creating puddles on the pavement and a general dampness in the air. It was beautiful, just as Gran had said. Beautiful, quiet, and seemingly nowhere.

He couldn't possibly find her here.

Not when she left everything behind, paid everything in cash, and got rid of all the easy alterations she made to her body to strengthen the difference between herself and Aster. She had foregone the green contacts Aster wore and simply had her brown eyes. Her bleached hair had been dyed back to its normal brown in the small bathroom on the bus. All of her cards, her belongings, were left in her mother's house in Los Angeles.

The police were right, truthfully. There was nothing they could do until they were able to identify the man haunting the shadows of her life. But Rosemary would be damned if she sat around and waited for that to happen.

If she stayed at her home and continued her life as her agent wanted, several things could happen. Another home invasion could be successful and injure her. Another person could be killed for being seen with her. Her mother could be injured.

Or, she could be fine.

Rosemary wasn't going to take that chance.

Uneasily, she crossed parking lot to an old couple putting their groceries in the trunk and asked her where she could find the police station. The woman immediately offered to have them drive her there, as the walk would be more than an hour as Forks was so spaced out. She originally said she was fine, but the old man looked at her with a faint smile and said there's no point in arguing with her, hun, she's far too stubborn to listen to that.

In order to keep her comfortable, the woman — Lynn — had her husband — Gerry — sit in the back seat while she drove and Rosemary took the passenger seat. Lynn pointed out a few places to her on the way; the hospital, a diner, and a general store where she could find toiletries and other supplies.

All in all it was a twenty minute drive to the police station, and Gerry was sweet enough to open the door for her while Lynn wrote down their phone number. If you need somewhere to go you call us, alright? Gerry will come and get you, we've got a spare room beside our granddaughter's...oh I think you'd like Mia. Maybe you two should go for coffee.

Rosemary laughed quietly as she thanked her, and then thanked Gerry as well. The Forks police department was much smaller than what she had expected, but that was because she was used to the stations in LA. This one seemed to be one step up from a ranger station.

It was on a small piece of property that was surrounded by trees, the gravel parking lot connecting to a paved road just a few over from the highway. The concrete steps leading up to the door were aged, stained by the weather and cracking to make room for moss. They would slippery when wet.

Rosemary took one last glance back at Lynn and Gerry, whom were waiting for her to go inside before she left, and waved her thanks and goodbye. Then she jogged up the steps and shouldered the heavy door open.

It was much warmer inside than it was outdoors, as the heat was on and the rain had become heavier. She could count the number of deputies working on one hand — four — along with a middle aged man at the back who would be the chief and the woman at the front desk. The name tag read Darlene. She looked to be in her fifties, and had that gossiping mother look to her. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you...do have a phone and a phone book I could use?" Rosemary asked quietly.

She'd left her own cellular at home, dropped in the bowl of the toilet. She was taking no chances.

"Yeah of course, just over here."

The phone book was much thicker than she had expected it to be, and grimaced. "There's a number I'm looking for down in La Push," Rosemary then said softly to the clerk. "Would you be able to help me find it? I only know the last name."

Marlene's eyes narrowed a fraction, suspicious, but she nodded. "I'll do my best; what's the name?"

"Um, Clearwater."

"Clearwater?" A gruff voice cut through the peacefulness.

The man sitting at the back of the bullpen, the chief, had stood up from his desk and was now walking over. He looked kind enough, if awkwardly stern, and was brushing toast crumbs off his shirt.

"Yes," she nodded quietly. She sounded much smaller than she meant to, but she was still terrified. It had been a long few days. "They're...they're old family friends that we haven't seen in a long time, my grandmother is very sick so I wanted to contact them in person."

The man extended a hand out to her. "Chief Swan," he introduced himself, giving her a nod. "I can take you down to the reservation myself, he's a good friend of mine."

"Thank you, chief," she smiled faintly. "I'm Rose — um...Charlie Clarke."

She wasn't willing to give out her real name until she was sure she was safe.

The Chief offered her a gruff smile. "That's funny, I'm also Charlie."

It was enough to make her smile.

Though she was willing to bet he'd caught her slip up, he made no comment on it and Chief Charlie Swan escorted her down to La Push in his own police cruiser. He had the heat turned up for her, and had gotten Darlene to make her a tea before they left. He had a few thing to finish up and then was going to go home anyway.

The road down was another highway, with only forest on one side and a short walk to the ocean on the other. Every once in a while she caught a glimpse of the crashing surf between gaps in the trees. Rosemary was grateful for the ride, as the sun was beginning to set and she would be walking well into the night if she that was her only option. A sixteen year old girl walking down an empty highway in the middle of nowhere was a bad idea during the day, let alone at night.

Chief Swan asked her the occasional question — where are you from? where are your parents? do you have any other baggage coming? — and she answered them all honestly.

I'm from California.

My parents are at home.

No, this is all I have with me.

It was obvious he found that strange, but he didn't voice any suspicions.

When they turned off the highway and onto a much smaller paved road, Rosemary began to feel anxious again. The road brought them through the centre of another small town, a series of shops on each side before they took a left halfway down.

I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't be here. I should've stayed home and let the police—

Let them do what? Wait for someone to attack her?

No. Running away was her best option. Maybe she shouldn't have run here, but she couldn't think of anywhere else to go.

Now it was the houses. Many were wooden with tin roofs, all of varying sizes and colours. Others were larger on greater pieces of land, all with compact dirt driveways.

I just need them to listen, that's all. I just need him to listen to what I have to say.

"You okay, kid?" Chief Swan asked as he turned down a long driveway. A soft yellow light told her a house was a few yards ahead of them.

Rosemary swallowed nervously. "Yes, I'm just...I'm not sure how this will go."

"They're family friends, yeah?" He hummed. "They'll recognize you."

"They've never met me," she admitted quietly. "My grandma used to come here all the time growing up and she knew the Clearwater family and I didn't have anywhere el—"

"—Charlie?"

The man who called was coming towards them down the front wall, a hand over his eyes to block the cruiser lights. Plump with longer grey hair, he was on the shorter side. He was older, but not old enough to have known her Gran.

"Hey, Harry," Chief Swan called back. He stepped out of the cruiser and shut the door, leaving her in the cruiser by herself.

"What're you doing here? I thought we were heading out in the morning?"

Her heart hammered.

It made breathing difficult.

"We are," Chief Swan confirmed, taking a glance over at her with a small sigh. "I'm dropping someone off with you; an old family friend, she says."

The man — Harry — looked confused. "I'm not expecting anyone," he frowned.

Chief Swan merely shrugged, and brought him over to her door that she hesitantly opened. Up close, Harry looked a lot like Peter Clearwater. A son, maybe?

"I'm looking for Peter Clearwater," Rosemary said, sounding much more frantic than she had intended.

He was the only one who could possibly know her; know her, believe her, and help her.

The two men exchanged looks. "I wish you'd told me that earlier, kiddo, I'd have saved you a lot of time," Chief Swan said. "Pete's been dead for almost twenty years now."

No.

Her stomach dropped.

It had always been a possibility. A faint option in the back of her mind that she refused to accept. Rosemary had been so desperate that she hadn't considered it being anything beyond an option. "Twenty years?" She asked quietly, voice thick with tears.

I can't cry.

I cannot cry.

Absolutely not.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, all-knowing brown eyes studying her closely. "Ol' dad had a heart attack. Dead before he hit the bathroom floor."

Fuck, she thought.

They won't know who I am.

They won't know who Gran is.

No one can help me.

I have nowhere to go.

No one to go to.

No one.

No one.

No one.

Despite her determination, a few tears fell from her eyes that she furiously wiped away. "Crap," she choked. "Crap, okay, um..."

I can't leave the country, I don't have my passport. That's in a safety deposit box in California.

Montana or Colorado, maybe?

I could try to find somewhere in the mountains...

"What're you looking for him for?" Harry asked gently, bending down slightly to look at her.

Now with her mind frantic, and her entire body trembling, Rosemary tried to keep herself from going into full blown panic. "I needed to go somewhere, somewhere they couldn't find me and — had all my my families addresses and knew everything about us I didn't — I couldn't think of anywhere else to go but now I can't go back—"

"—you need to slow down, then we can try to help," Chief Swan cut her off. Clearly he had understood enough to know that a police officer was needed.

With shaking breaths and trembling hands, Rosemary did her best to explain her situation in order of events.

Harry Clearwater seemed more concerned than stunned, which was odd. Chief Swan remained stoic, not interrupting her once.

Her real name being Rosemary Eyton-Watts, then why she was afraid.

Her music becoming somewhat popular, and her doing several public performances; four of which were in actual concert halls.

The gifts.

The notes.

The murders.

The break-in.

She didn't mention anything related to Aster Blane as small towns often gossiped and she didn't want anyone knowing her whereabouts. When she was eventually done talking, she closed her eyes and took in deep breaths.

"What made you think Peter Clearwater could help you?" Chief Swan asked finally.

Rosemary looked up at them, biting down harshly on her bottom lip. "My Gran had talked about him a lot over the last couple years. She's — she's really sick, cancer, and the pain meds she's on make her pretty delirious so she talks and—" Chief Swan motioned for her to take a long breath, so she did. "She talked about him a lot, and how there were so few people who knew where this place was. "In a lot of books I read, a lot of the victims are told to pick a location to go to and tell no one. He already had all this information on me, and this was the smallest, far away place I could think of."

"I'm not sure we're talking about the same Peter Clearwater," Harry told her gently. "He wasn't very fond of people, didn't have many friends. My grandma used to say it was a miracle he was able to meet my mother at all. I can try to help you find the right one, but—"

Without saying anything else, Rosemary used her last resort and pulled the photos out of her backpack. There was two or three dozen of them in the bag, all found loose in a well-hidden box in Grans closet.

She handed Harry the first one, then brought her knees up to her chest and hugged her legs tightly, as if she could hold herself together. She waited.

Harry studied it silently, holding it inside the car so it was out of the rain and more visible in the faint interior lights. Harry flipped it over and inhaled sharply.

For a long time he didn't say anything. Then; "sonovabitch," he muttered. "I think we should take this conversation inside."