Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Thanks to my betas Aecarlso and Tiffanyanne03 for their work on this chapter and patience with my comma-stupidity.

Some citrus to start off this chapter… so if that offends you, scroll down to the x-x to skip it.

All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

- Edgar Allan Poe

Chapter 2 – Of Corsets and Confusion

I dreamed of Edward.

I knew it was a dream, but I didn't care… because of the delicious things Edward was doing to me.

It was pathetic, but since Edward had left, the dreams were all I had of him… so I clung to them - every wispy image, every ghostly touch.

Every tingling orgasm.

Oh, yeah. There were orgasms.

In the first days and weeks of my solitude, the dreams were less satisfying. The troubling, chasing-him-but-not-catching-him nightmares left me breathless and I would awake feeling bereft, fingers clenching the drenched sheets. But slowly they began to change and evolve.

I remember the first time I chased him… and caught him. I grasped at his arm and he twisted to face me, surprise lighting his amber eyes.

I was so shocked, I awoke sitting up in bed, my arm outstretched and reaching for him.

Then, night after night, I gained more control of the dreams, at least to a limited extent. He no longer eluded me, but came to me willingly with caresses and kisses… and increasing intensity.

The first time I climaxed he was fingering me against the hood of his Volvo.

God, I loved that Volvo.

So, instead of questioning why I was walking down the hall of Forks High gripping Edward's hand tightly, I gave myself over to the fantasy.

Did I mention that I'm pathetic?

He quickened his step, pulling me around a corner, then spun me quickly, pressing me back against a dented locker with the full length of his body.

Ah, the against-the-locker dream. I loved this one.

I looked up at his beautiful face, my eyes trailing over his hooded ones, then down his nose to his slightly open mouth. My hands pressed flat against the locker at my sides and I could feel every inch of his hardened frame.

His tongue flicked out, moistening his lips before he pressed them softly to mine. He pulled back a bit, smiling slightly before moving in again more insistently.

Of course, I responded as I always do. My hands left the locker, trailing up his chest, under his jacket and clutching desperately to his shoulders. His tongue lapped at my mouth and I opened to him, tilting my head and devouring him.

Allowing him to devour me.

He pressed his knee between my legs and I moaned.

"Shh…" He broke away from the kiss and whispered in my ear, nibbling lightly on my lobe. "They'll hear us."

He knew that just turned me on even more.

He trailed his lips down my neck, licking, sucking and nibbling his way to the hollow at the base of my throat, as his fingers expertly released the buttons on my shirt, then stroked gently along the top edge of my bra, dipping slightly under the lace cups. He released the clasp and dragged the straps down my shoulders in one languid motion. My shirt slipped off with the same movement.

His teeth grazed lightly against my right nipple and I moaned his name as heat pooled between my thighs, radiating outward until every hair stood on end, every inch of me tingling… burning… craving.

I don't know how the sensations could be so vivid, since in reality Edward and I had never proceeded much past first base.

Guess I had one hell of an imagination.

His attention diverted by my other breast, he circled my nipple with his pointed tongue before sucking it lightly and blowing on the puckered flesh. He continued his ministrations on my heated breasts, first one, then the other. His hands trailed up under my skirt, hitching my left leg around his hips and running one long finger along my dampened panties.

"God, Edward… I can't…"

"Can't what?" he asked offhandedly, still nipping at my breast as that one finger trailed lightly up and down my underwear.

My hips thrust forward involuntarily. He was driving me insane.

"Can't what, Bella?" he repeated, finally slipping his finger in the waistband of my panties, dragging them slowly down my trembling thighs.

"Please…" All I could do was beg. For more… for everything.

Edward's mouth left my breast and my eyes fluttered open to see him looking at me steadily, his pupils dilated with lust. He didn't break eye contact as he slowly dropped to his knees, shifting the leg I had clenched around his waist down so he could remove my panties, then back up and over his shoulder.

Oh. My. God.

He pushed my skirt up around my waist and parted me with both hands before running his tongue slowly up my moistened flesh, leaving behind a burning trail of desire.

His eyes closed and he moaned as if enjoying a particularly tantalizing morsel.

"I love to taste you," he said quietly, before returning his mouth to my heated center.

He consumed me greedily, first plunging deeply with his tongue, then retreating to circle around my swollen nub… kissing, sucking, gently biting until I was writhing, pounding my head back against the locker and clutching his hair in my hands.

He plunged one, then two fingers deep inside of me… in and out, twisting, curling, thrusting… and with one last draw on my clit, I came apart. Tingling and burning rushed through my body from my core outward until every fingertip trembled with my release.

The bell rang.

Edward's eyes flicked up to meet mine and I watched as the ochre dissolved to a verdant green.

I screamed.

I awoke still quivering from my earth-shattering climax and the dream's disturbing ending, my breath escaping in short gasps.

x-x

"Miss? Miss, are you all right?"

My eyes focused on the face of a young man in front of me eyeing me with concern.

"What?" I realized I was lying not on my bed, but something hard.

Where did I fall asleep?

I shook my head to focus my confused mind.

The young man was still looking at me.

"Did you hit your head?" he asked.

What the hell was going on? Where was I?

"Miss?" the man repeated. "Can you hear me?" he said a little louder.

"Yes," I rasped, then I cleared my throat. "Yes, I'm all right, I think."

"Can you sit up?" he asked, extending a hand.

I looked at his hand skeptically, then deciding he didn't look like a serial killer, I grasped it lightly and sat up.

Why couldn't I take a breath? It felt like steel bands were wrapped around my ribs.

"Who are you?" I gasped, "Where am I?"

"You were lying here when I came out," the man answered. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

Then it all came flooding back to me… Jake… the fire… the ritual… the mushrooms.

Oh God. I was hallucinating.

"Miss?"

I studied the man before me. He was cute - brown hair brushed neatly, blue eyes, dark brown suit and tie, although the style was a little like something my grandfather might wear.

"Are you my guide?" I asked him.

The man looked at me blankly.

"I'm Tom," he said, "Tom Jacobsen. I live here."

I pondered the significance of his name. Was there a hidden message? Tom…. Tom…nope, nothing came to mind.

"You look a little pale," he observed. "Maybe you should come inside. Mrs. Oleson will know what to do."

I let him help me up and turned to realize I had been lying on a concrete porch in front of a three-story brownstone. I swayed a little on my feet and Tom wrapped an arm around my waist to steady me.

"Easy there, are you going to faint?" he asked, a panicked look on his face.

"Of course I'm not going to faint. I never faint," I scoffed. "I'm just a little short of breath." I gasped and my head swam, forcing me to lean heavily against Tom.

He swept me up into his arms and carried me quickly to the worn green door, kicking it a few times and calling out to Mrs. Oleson, whoever that was.

I found out a few seconds later when the woman in question opened the door with a scowl.

"What are you doing kickin' my door - " she began, then abruptly swung the door wide open as she saw me in Tom's arms. "What happened? Who's this?" she asked, her voice a mingling of concern and Irish brogue.

"I don't know," Tom replied, brushing by her to set me on a small couch inside the door. "I found her on the front stoop passed out cold."

"I wasn't passed out," I argued, "I never faint." I stood up to prove my point and once again fought a wave of dizziness. I leaned on the arm of the couch to steady myself. "I just can't seem to catch my breath."

Mrs. Oleson watched me steadily for a moment as I panted and wheezed, then she abruptly turned to Tom.

"Pick her up and follow me," she commanded, then muttered something that sounded like, "…not fashion… it's foolishness."

"What?" I gasped as Tom suddenly swept me up again, following Mrs. Oleson up a flight of stairs and into a small bedroom.

"Set her down here Tom, then off with you," she ordered, pointing at a spot on the floor.

The young man did as he was told and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. I said nothing, still shocked and unsure of what was going on.

"Take off your dress," she demanded.

"What? My dress?"

The woman waved her hands in exasperation and moved behind me, unfastening my dress as she continued muttering about "damn fool girls." I was frozen with shock as she pushed the dress off my shoulders, then set about tugging at something else on my back.

The steel bands tightened for a moment…

And then… sweet relief.

I drew in a deep breath… then another… and my head cleared.

"Thank you," I moaned, turning to face Mrs. Oleson, then stopping in confusion at the mass of fabric and strings in her hand.

"What's that?" I asked.

Mrs. Oleson threw it on the bed in contempt. "Damned fool contraption!" she exclaimed. "You girls are willing to sacrifice anything for fashion – but a corset is nothing but a torture device!"

Corset?

"My dear Henry, God rest his soul, believed 'em unnatural. So once he up and married me, I burned every last one of mine!" She wandered over, picking up the offending garment with a look of distaste.

"Of course this one is nothing compared to the likes of corsets when I was a girl," she observed with a musical lilt to her voice. "They'd cinch us up good and tight… you thought you couldn't breathe." She eyed me briefly, and her eyes sparkled with laughter. "I don't think I took a full breath from the day I first bled to the day I wed!"

For the first time, I observed the woman before me. She was petite, slightly shorter than me, with vivid red hair pulled back in a tight bun and bright blue eyes now creased with humor. I frowned at her odd costume, a long, reddish-brown wool skirt and serviceable white button-down blouse with the sleeves rolled up. A white apron with a smudge of something was tied around her waist, and she pulled up a corner to dab at her eyes. In a way, she reminded me of Alice with her lively energy and infectious smile.

Her laughter subsided and she returned my stare.

"So now," she said, "can you tell me why you were lyin' on my front stoop?"

Now that was a good question. I pondered it for a while, contemplating what meaning all of this could have. What kind of vision was this, anyway? Granted, there were no gigantic phalluses walking around, but this wasn't really what I expected. Where were the screaming falcons and full moons and… I don't know… symbolic stuff?

I eyed Mrs. Oleson speculatively. "Are you my guide?"

"Guide to what, dear?"

I sighed. Figures it wouldn't be that easy.

"Never mind."

Mrs. Oleson cast me an odd look which took a moment for me to place.

Geez. She thought I was nuts.

I should have gotten more information about this whole Spirit Walk thing from Jacob before I swallowed those stupid mushrooms. Now that I was here, what the hell was I supposed to do?

I opted for playing along.

"I guess it was just the corset," I said quietly, sparing a glance for the stupid thing. What idiot invented those anyway? I'm sure it was some misogynist with mommy issues. "I'm really feeling much better now."

Despite my assurances, a yawn escaped before I could stifle it. Mrs. Oleson approached me briskly and ran a firm hand down my arm.

"You're exhausted," she proclaimed. "What's your name?"

"Bella… Bella Swan."

"Well, I'm Maggie," she smiled. "I just make Young Tom call me Mrs. Oleson 'cause he gets a bit full of himself and needs to be taken down a peg or two on occasion.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

My mind raced, trying to think of a logical answer.

"I'm new in town," I said slowly. "Just arrived. I haven't found a place yet."

"Well," she replied, grasping her hands together at her waist. "This room's empty at the moment. You take a nice rest and join us all for supper. I insist."

I smiled thankfully, then the smile dropped. "I'm afraid I don't have any money."

Mrs. Oleson observed me quietly for a moment; she took my hand and looked deeply into my eyes, as if she was searching for something. She appeared to have found it, because she blinked, then squeezed my hand once gently before releasing it.

"We'll talk about that later," she said on her way out the door. "Just get some rest and I'll see you at supper." She smiled and shut the door tightly.

My eyes wandered around the room, from the door to a worn desk and chair, around to a small window with a sheer curtain, the iron bed with a soft quilt in blues and greens, to a small vase of wildflowers, and a basin and pitcher sitting on a low dresser. I walked over and peeked into the pitcher.

Empty.

I looked up and jumped at my reflection in the oval mirror above the dresser.

My features were the same, but my hair was swept up into a loose bun on top of my head, topped by a pale blue hat with a broad brim and a wide lace band. My fingers touched the brim lightly and I looked over at the dress lying on the bed, noting that the hat matched the small sprigs of flowers on the rumpled fabric.

I dragged my eyes back to the mirror and stepped back a bit so I could see more of myself in the reflection. I wore a kind of two-piece slip made of white cotton with thin straps. I fingered the fabric and noted I wasn't wearing a bra. Lifting the bottom of the slip I saw white stockings, garters clipped on when they ended mid-thigh, and on my feet, black, low-heeled boots.

This hallucination was so not what I was expecting.

I knew that in order to understand what my vision was trying to tell me, I had to first understand where – and, acknowledging my strange attire - when I was. I had yet to give myself entirely over to this whole destiny thing, but I had to admit, the vision… dream… hallucination… whatever, was real enough that it had me wondering if maybe the shaman was right. Maybe being here could help me find Edward.

Or get over him.

I shivered a little at that thought, because despite the pain that he caused when he walked away just a few days after my disastrous birthday party, I didn't really want to get over him. In the months following his abrupt departure, I fluctuated from despair to frustration to red-hot anger, but deep down I always hoped and wished that he'd miss me… want me… come back to me.

I never once even tried to stop wishing it.

I took a few tentative steps over to the window, peering through the sheer curtain. I was on a busy street, paved with sidewalks on either side. A streetcar rolled by, and I noticed old-fashioned cars as well as a few horse-drawn buggies. The people on the streets were dressed similarly to Tom and Mrs. Oleson – Longer skirts and dresses and hats like mine on the women… suits and ties on the men and a few wore dark bowler hats or fedoras.

I backed away from the window, a trickle of panic running down my spine. This was all so vivid, and to be honest, it was starting to freak me out a little. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself and picked up the torturous corset, running my fingers along the boning as I considered what I was seeing.

History was not my best subject, but I'd guess I was somewhere in the early 20th century. I was obviously in a city in the United States, given the lack of accent in the voices I'd heard around me, Mrs. Oleson excluded. The question was why?

Why?

What was I supposed to get out of this trip to America's past? An appreciation for modern undergarments?

I threw the corset back on the bed in frustration.

Well, whatever the point of this little venture was, I was getting a little tired of it. I was ready for it to end.

I paused for a moment, wondering how a person actually stopped hallucinating.

I imagined it would stop on its own once the mushrooms were out of my system, but figured I could at least try to help things along. After all, it had been more than half an hour since I got here. Jake had to be getting worried since I hadn't come out of my trance yet.

I figured I'd try just thinking about going back. I sat on the bed and closed my eyes, breathed deeply, my hands resting lightly in my lap, and focused my thoughts on the bonfire back in La Push. I visualized the snapping logs, the sparks flying into the darkness, my amber stone on the ground before me. I imagined Jake to my left, the shaman to my right, just as they were when I entered the trance. I reached out to take Jacob's hand and opened my eyes.

Nothing. I was still in the empty room, the curtain fluttering lightly at the window.

Aggravated, I decided to try again, re-enacting the ritual that got me here.

I didn't have a totem, though. I knew it had to be something natural, so I scanned the room and settled on a sprig of the wildflowers in the vase on the dresser. I looked skeptically at the dried yellow bud, but shrugged. It was all I had. I sat cross-legged on the bed, setting the flower in front of me and closing my eyes. I tried to remember the words of the shaman.

"May our eyes and hearts be opened and may the spirits reveal themselves this night… I mean day," I intoned, feeling stupid saying the words aloud and squinting one eye open just to make sure no one was listening.

Yeah, like a hallucination was going to judge.

"May our eyes and hearts be opened and may the spirits reveal themselves this day," I repeated a little louder. Then I focused on the flower before me, imagining a path in the forest leading to…

Where was the path leading to again?

Frustrated, I flopped back on the bed. This was getting me nowhere. I reached over and picked up the flower, twisting it between my fingers. A yawn escaped my lips.

Weird. I really was tired.

Standing up, I picked up my dress, draped it over the chair and placed my hat on the desk. I sat on the bed to remove my boots, then slid under the soft quilt. Tugging it up to my chin, I turned and curled up with my knees to my chest.

I'd go to sleep, the mushrooms would wear off, and I'd wake up back home.

I'd tell Jake I hallucinated a giant vagina, just to make him laugh.

It was as good a plan as any, I thought.

x-x

I was wrong, however.

Because when I awoke, I was still in the little room, the sun low in the sky and a light knocking at the door.

"Yes?" I called out.

Mrs. Oleson popped her head in the doorway. "Supper's just about ready dear," she said. "Are you feeling better?"

I sat up in the bed, rubbing my eyes, irritated that I was still here but relieved that food was nearby. My stomach rumbled in agreement.

"Yes, actually," I admitted, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

Mrs. Oleson walked over, eyeing me speculatively.

"Well, you look better, I'll say," she agreed. "Your color's back and you don't look so tired. You just need something to eat and you'll be right as rain. My dear Henry, God rest his soul, used to say 'Nothin's so bad after shuteye and supper'." She paused a moment, considering. "Are you ready to tell me what you're really doing here?"

I started at her bluntness, then reddened as I looked away.

"I can't really explain it," I said quietly.

Mrs. Oleson nodded knowingly. "No matter," she said, "I'm here when you're ready." She walked toward the door but stopped with her hand on the knob and turned back toward me when I called her name.

"Thank you," I said. "You don't even know me and you've been so… wonderful."

"Oh, I know more than you think," she said, looking at me with a strange look on her face… was it… sympathy? "I could see it in your eyes before. You've been left behind. I've been there too, dear. You're lost… lookin' for something, but not sure how to find it… am I right?"

I nodded.

She tapped her forehead with a finger. "Got a bit o' the sight, I do. My dear Henry, God rest his soul, used to say I knew more about people than they knew about themselves. "Don't worry dear, you can stay here 'til you find what you're looking for."

"Thank you," I repeated. As she turned to leave, I called out, "Mrs. Oleson… Maggie, I'm really sorry for your loss."

"My loss?" she asked, confused.

"Your husband?" I explained.

"Oh," she laughed, "Henry isn't dead. He ran off with a tramp from down at the dance hall."

I gasped. "But… you keep saying, 'God rest his soul'." Now I was the one confused.

"Oh, that," she smiled, her eyes crinkling once again. "Just wishful thinking," she said as she turned to walk out the door.

I sat gaping at the closed door for a full minute before I burst out laughing. I didn't think I ever wanted to get on Maggie Oleson's bad side.

I stood and walked over to the desk, picking up my dress and stepping into it carefully. I pulled it up and realized there was no way I could button it – the dress was too small.

I'd have to put on the stupid corset.

Dropping the dress to the floor, I picked up the corset and eyed it suspiciously. I managed to slide it on and cinch the ties – not as tight as before, but tight enough so that with a few twists and turns I could button up the back of my dress. I took a tentative breath, then a deeper one. This wasn't so bad. I eyed the hat but figured I didn't have to wear it inside. Turning to the mirror, I straightened my hair and repositioned a few pins, then grabbed the boots and quickly laced them up.

I could do this.

Then I realized I had to go to the bathroom.

Dear God, did they have indoor plumbing? I didn't know if I could deal with an outhouse.

Mentally kicking myself in the ass for my wimpiness, I opened the door and scanned the hallway. It was quiet so I tiptoed out, glancing through the open doorways as I walked toward the stairs. A sigh of relief escaped my lips when I spotted white tile, a spacious tub, and an old-fashioned but recognizable toilet in a small room at the top of the stairs.

I did my business quickly, and I have to admit I held my breath as I pulled the chain on the toilet, only releasing it when it flushed easily. I washed my hands in the pedestal sink, splashing a little water on my face before walking out of the bathroom and down the stairs, following the delicious aromas luring me to the dining room.

Maggie was putting a large platter on the table and she looked up and smiled at me as I entered the room.

"Have a seat, dear," she said, motioning to an empty chair. She turned to address the people already seated around the gleaming dining room table.

"This is Bella Swan, a new boarder," she said, then looking back at me, she indicated a young couple across the table. "This is Jared and Liza Johannes. They're newlyweds."

She winked, then pointed to an older man with dark hair graying at the temples and somber dark eyes.

"That's Alistair Jenkins. He's a writer. And of course you know young Tom."

Tom smiled from his seat next to me.

"Good to see you again, Miss Swan. Feeling better, I hope?"

"Yes," I smiled back, "much better, thanks."

"Were you ill?" Liza Johannes asked, concern creasing her brow.

"She just fainted," Tom replied and I bristled, about to argue that I didn't faint, then decided to go the more diplomatic route.

"I'm fine, really," I said instead. "Everything looks delicious." I gestured to the food on the table, changing the subject.

And it really did. Maggie had prepared a large roast, circled by potatoes and carrots, a large bowl of biscuits, peas glistening with butter, and I could see a pie through the doorway into the kitchen. My mouth watered and I tried to remember the last time I ate. Sandwiches at Jake's house… but was that last night… or this morning? I shrugged internally and, at Maggie's insistence, loaded up my plate.

The meal was amazing and the conversation quiet but friendly. I learned Jared and Liza met at the local school where they were both teachers. Tom had just started a new job as a typesetter at a newspaper called the Tribune.

"It's a start," he said, "but my goal is to see my name on a byline someday."

The Johanneses and Tom asked the usual questions about me and my past, and I answered honestly but vaguely. I told them I came from Washington State, that I had no family – I didn't here – that I was new in town and trying to make a fresh start.

Alistair Jenkins ate silently, only looking up occasionally to regard me with unreadable eyes. Maggie also observed, only offering up a comment when I appeared uncomfortable. She was quick to change the subject and divert attention away from me, and I smiled at her in appreciation.

"Well, Bella," Tom began after his second piece of pie. "Since you're new in town, I was wondering if you'd like me to show you around a bit." He shot a glance at the window.

"It's still light out. Would you like to go for a little walk?"

I hesitated, not knowing if I should leave the house, but very curious about the world outside these walls. Then I realized that maybe this was what I was looking for. Maybe Tom was my spirit guide after all, and this walk would give me my answers.

"Sure," I agreed, standing up and taking my plate to the kitchen.

"Now, just leave that," Maggie scolded. "I don't like the boarders in my kitchen." She smiled to lessen the sting of her reprimand.

"Just go and take your walk, and have a good time."

So I trailed behind Tom out the front door and blinked when he offered his bent elbow to me, an eyebrow arched expectantly. I hesitated briefly, then looped my arm through his. He tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and patted my hand with a smile.

Uh oh. Gotta nip this one in the bud. This relationship needed to stay strictly spirit guide/spirit… follower? I bit my lip, contemplating the correct terminology for a moment, then mentally shook myself to focus on the issue at hand.

"It's so nice of you to do this for me, Tom," I began slowly. "It's comforting to have a friend since I'm new around here. Between you and Maggie, and now the Johanneses I feel like I already have some great friends." I emphasized the 'F' word both times I said it, hoping he'd get my not-so-subtle message.

His step faltered a bit and he looked away, tightening his jaw slightly, and I knew he understood what I was saying. Straightening, he turned back to me with a forced smile.

"Of course, it's the least I can do," he said brightly. "We're neighbors now, after all." He swallowed, then added conspiratorially, "I noticed you didn't mention Alistair as one of your new friends."

"Yeah, what's the deal with him anyway?" I laughed, glad we'd moved quickly beyond the awkwardness. "Does he ever smile?"

"I think he did once," he said thoughtfully, tapping his lip with one finger. "Or maybe it was just gas."

Grinning, I turned to survey my surroundings. We walked past several brownstones similar to Maggie's, then a dress shop, a drug store, and a bookstore. The street was still bustling with cars swerving around horse drawn carriages ,and every now and then a streetcar whizzed by. The sidewalk was full as well, but the people were polite, nodding as they passed by.

I couldn't believe how real it all was.

I could smell the exhaust from the cars, the perfume of the women walking by, the less attractive aroma of horse manure. The sights and sounds surrounded me, enveloped me. We neared a small café where a few people sat on tables outside, sipping coffee and nibbling on sandwiches. I could see a leaf of lettuce peeking out between the bread and meat. The detail was amazing.

I kicked ass at hallucinating.

I turned back to Tom and hesitated only briefly before asking, "What's the date?"

Tom thought a moment, then replied, "Um, March 11th, I think."

"I know this is going to sound weird…" I took a breath. "What year?"

Tom looked at me curiously but responded anyway.

"1918. Are you sure you're all right, Bella?"

1918.

1918.

Like a tumbler on a combination lock, I felt pieces start to fall into place.

1918. Edward's time.

I saw a newsstand ahead and quickened my steps, dragging Tom along with me.

"Bella? What's wrong?"

I just walked faster, nearing a run as I approached the stand, then stopped shortly, my eyes scanning the shelves and focusing on the stack of newspapers front and center.

Chicago Tribune.

Of course.

"You work for the Chicago Tribune," I said accusingly.

"Yes," Tom answered, confused.

"I'm in Chicago," I breathed.

"Of course, you're in Chicago." I heard Tom's voice but couldn't focus on his words. My head was spinning as I considered where and when I was.

Edward was here. Somewhere in this time, in this place. Edward was here. I looked up and scanned the faces around me, searching for his familiar smile. I released Tom's arm and rushed down the sidewalk, frantically looking for that tousled shock of bronze hair.

Where was he?

I was lost in my obsession. No longer acknowledging that none of this was real, I took on the attitude of my dreams.

I didn't care if it wasn't real. All I cared about was finding Edward.

I heard a voice calling his name hysterically and realized it was my own. I spotted an auburn-haired man walking away from me and grabbed his arm. He spun to face me and I realized it wasn't him. Tears rolled down my face. How could I come all this way and not see him? I stood sobbing in the middle of the street as the crowd milled around me. Through my tears each face was distorted, a twisted mask of concern or confusion.

My breath escaped in short gasps yet again and my head began to swim.

"Bella? Bella? Are you okay?" Tom ran up to me, grasping me by both arms and lightly shaking me.

"He's not here," I said, my knees buckling as Tom held me up. Dizziness swept through me yet again as I repeated, "He's not here."

"Who, Bella? Who's not here?"

I didn't answer.

Instead, I did something I never did.

I fainted.

A/N: Yeah, I know… Bella spends a lot of time unconscious. She'll get a handle on it, I promise!