Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns the characters. I'm borrowing them.

Hiiiiii. *waves* I know, I know, I said that I was gonna work on A Lot and Pieces once Fourteen was finished…

And to be fair, Fourteen is finished. I'm just attempting the outtakes, which aren't a real part of the story. Therefore, I'm in the clear, right?

Okay, yeah, it's coming. I promise. Slowly, but it's getting there.

Moving on.

I couldn't not write this story. It was yelling at me and I had everything I wanted with it set up and planned out within an hour. The writing may be slow going at times, but it's a little faster than Fourteen and A Lot are coming along, so I'm hoping that this makes up for the whole fail thing I'm in the middle of. I'm aiming to update this story once a week on Tuesday's. That's my goal and I'm hoping that I can stick with it.

Thanks to my lovely girls who don't kill me when I'm thinking they want to; Angie, Meg, Shae, Shelley and Tiffany. You girls are amazing and I fucking love all of you.

Now, onward!

It was official. I was going to be bored out of my freaking mind within ten minutes of being here. The entire time we'd been in Washington State, the only thing I'd seen that seemed remotely interesting in this tiny town was a video store connected to a laundromat. I'd seen about six different guys standing around outside as we drove past and given the state of the town, it seemed like that must've been the hot place to be on a Friday night.

My parents were trying to torture me, I was sure of it. Just because the state-of-the-art hospital had thrown more money at my father than we really knew what to do with, and my mother had found a house that was supposedly haunted, they thought they could just uproot my life and we could move to a completely different state.

More like a completely different universe. This was nothing like California and I already missed all of my friends and the rest of our family. We had landed in the middle of freaking nowhere with no one familiar even remotely close to us. At the beginning of my senior year in high school, no less.

I sighed heavily and rested my chin in my hand as I stared out the window in the backseat of my father's Mercedes. We'd sold my car. My baby was in the hands of some other owner that didn't have the first clue as to how to really take care of it. She'd just gotten her license a month before they bought Victoria – yes, I named my car. Victoria the Volvo – and I'd cringed when she'd backed out of the driveway, nearly running into our mailbox. I guess it was a good thing that I wouldn't be around the state to watch her ruin everything I'd put into it.

That didn't make me feel any better, though.

"There it is!" my mother squealed, clapping her hands together as she bounced up and down in the front seat.

I rolled my eyes and sat forward, looking up at the house that we'd be living in. Well, it wasn't anything like I thought it would be, that's for sure. For someone who'd just had more money than Bill Gates thrown at them to move their entire family out here, this house sure as fuck didn't show it.

It was a modest two-story brick house with a small porch and maybe a two-car driveway. If I got a VW bug, it just might be able to fit in the driveway with the Mercedes. There was a house across the street, one to the left and that was it for the entire street. We were the last house on a dead end street and I was willing to bet money that the other two homes housed a couple of spinsters that bitched at each other over whose turn it was to feed the cat that died six years ago.

"Here? Really?" I asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, really!" she exclaimed, turning and laughing at me, gently slapping my shoulder. "Isn't it just perfect?"

"It's grand," I grumbled, sitting back and pushing out of the car once my father had parked it.

"I can't wait to set up my crystals!" my mother continued as she popped out of the car, dancing over to the porch steps before turning to look at us. "We need to get these flowerbeds fixed ASAP, Carlisle. I need to start my herb garden!"

I reached up and slapped my forehead, shaking my head and breathing deeply as I listened to my father's non-committal grunt.

"Yes, dear!" he called back before popping the trunk. "Why don't we work on setting up our things for tonight first?"

"Oh, right, right," she laughed airily, dancing back to us.

Her purple dress moved with her and the tinkling of her bracelets and necklaces accompanied her as she hummed and I ran my hand down my face, looking up at the house and directly into the large window facing us. I saw something flicker there for just a minute – something that looked suspiciously like a face – before it was gone.

I rolled my eyes at myself and shook my head once more before walking to the back of the car and grabbing as many of our bags as I could in one shot.

My mother must be rubbing off on me. Ghosts didn't exist. No matter how many times my mother had claimed to see one, or talk to one, or claim to help one cross over, I knew that there was no such thing as ghosts. I loved my mother, but she was a little nuts when it came to the other-worldly shit she was so damn fond of.

I blame my grandmother. She wasn't much better and she'd bragged time and time again that she'd taught my mother everything she knows.

I wish she hadn't.

"Our stuff is here, right dad?" I asked, grunting slightly as I walked up the porch stairs and waited for him to open the front door.

"Yeah," he grunted back, awkwardly sticking the key in the lock and pushing the door open with his foot.

"Oh my two manly men," my mom giggled as she followed me into the house.

I looked behind me briefly to find that she was carrying one little bag and blinked at her, shaking my head once more before walking into the house behind my father and dropping the bags on the hardwood floor. I wandered into the living room, sighing as I saw all the boxes piled up in the middle. The bigger stuff was pushed out against the walls, our entertainment cabinet torn apart and looking sad without all of my school pictures and mother's knickknacks on the shelves.

"Everything should be in the rooms already," my dad announced, walking up behind me and standing awkwardly at my side. "Yours faces the front."

Ah, so the window was mine. Maybe I could convince him to build a balcony or something so that I'd be able to escape the tiny house if I wanted to.


"It won't be that bad here, son. You'll see."

He awkwardly patted my back before turning on his heel and walking out of the room. I rolled my eyes before walking out of the living room and grabbing the bags from the floor that were mine. I could hear my parents in the kitchen, my mother's high-pitched, excited voice telling my father all about what she'd be able to do with the kitchen, and made my way up the stairs. I found the room that belonged to me, comforted only slightly by the fact that my bed, couch, nightstand and desk were already in there. Boxes that had my messy handwriting on the side were piled near what I assumed was the closet and I dropped the bags from my shoulder before walking over to them.

"Edward! Sweetie! Come on down here for a minute!"

I grunted and sighed, looking longingly at the boxes full of my stuff before turning on my heel and walking back down the stairs.

"We're gonna find someplace to eat before we start unpacking," my dad sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair and staring at my mother's back as she continued to dance around the kitchen.

That's what she did when she was excited; she danced. It's like she forgot that the world didn't know there was a constant stream of harps and bells and whatever other musical instruments she adored playing on a loop in her head. I found it interesting when I was a little boy. Now, I just found it slightly embarrassing. Especially when she did it out in public.

"Okay," I said slowly. "Why didn't we do that before we got here?"

"Don't… question things," he sighed, shaking his head and jingling the keys in his hand. "Come on, Esme! It'll be dark soon and we need to get back to set up the lamps!"

"There are these things, dad, called lights." I pointed to the ceiling and looked up, my eyes widening when I saw a smooth surface. "What the hell…?"

"It's an old house, Edward. There aren't many overhead lights."

Well if that wasn't just fucking perfect, I didn't know what was. I sure as hell hoped that we at least had running water and that the toilet in the bathroom I'd spotted briefly wasn't just for show. I was not traipsing through the backyard in the middle of the night when I needed to use the damn bathroom.

"Perfect," I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back against the banister.

"You'll adjust," he grumbled. "You don't have a choice."

"Never do, do I?" I shot back, narrowing my eyes at him.

His head snapped in my direction and we locked eyes for a minute before he looked away and bellowed for my mother.

Classic Carlisle avoidance technique. Call for mom when he doesn't want to answer something.

"Esme!" he yelled, stomping into the kitchen. "Come on!"

I sighed heavily and stood up straight, running my hands through my always unruly dark brown hair. I heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up, my heart beating a little faster than normal when they immediately stopped.

There wasn't anyone there.

I looked at every step carefully before gently bouncing from foot-to-foot, listening carefully to see if maybe my movement had somehow made the sound.

They didn't.

"All right, let's go," my father grumbled, waving an impatient hand at me as he walked back into the foyer.

I gave one more suspicious look to the stairs before walking over to the door and holding it open to let my mother dance out ahead of me. She reached behind her, cupped my cheek and leaned up to kiss my nose.

"My boy," she whispered.

I shot her a tight smile and nodded, turning briefly to lock the door.

She was sitting on the stairs, her chin in her hand and long brown hair cascading over her shoulders. She had big brown eyes and was relatively thin, wearing a dark green sweater and a pair of light blue jeans. She had white socks on her feet and she looked… curious.

"What the…?" I breathed, staring at her. Her eyes widened and she sat up straight, slowly, her hand falling down into her lap. "Who are…?"

"Edward!" my father shouted.

I looked away from the girl and over my shoulder, finding that my parents were standing by their open doors. My mother's head was cocked to the side and my father just looked… enraged.

Well, that really wasn't anything new when he was around me anyway.

I looked back towards the stairs to see that they were empty. I blinked a few times, shaking my head in an attempt to clear it before I closed the door and started back towards the car.

"There was no one else in the house, right?" I asked, pointing over my shoulder as I walked towards them.

"No, Edward, we are the only people that have set foot in this house since the Swan's left three years ago," my father grumbled. "Why?"

"Why'd they move?"

"Their daughter died," my mother answered, shrugging her shoulders as if it were no big thing.

A cold chill ran up my spine and I shook my head, wrapping my arms around my waist and turning to look up at the window into my room.

"Did you see something, sweetie?"

She sounded way too excited.

"No," I mumbled, shaking my head again before walking to my mother's side of the car and opening up the back door. "Just tired."

"Aw, well, we'll get something to eat and then come home to relax a little, all right?"

She cupped my cheek again before turning and falling gracefully into the front seat. My father grunted his agreement before disappearing into the car as well.

"Yeah, fine," I grumbled, sliding into the car and slamming the door closed.

Home. My home was back in California with my friends and the rest of my family. This place would never be home. Nothing my parents did or didn't do would ever be able to change that.

It was too damn quiet. I was used to noise at night - cars speeding by my window, car alarms going off and dogs barking well into the night.

There was absolutely nothing going on at night in Forks, Washington and it was driving me insane.

I turned over in my bed, staring at the curtains in my window. I'd had enough time to make my bed and find my alarm clock from the pile of boxes in the corner before my father had yelled for me to help out with setting up the lights.

Apparently, plugging a few lamps into the right sockets to make them work with the light switches was just way too much for him to handle on his own. When that was finished, I'd been roped into setting up the entertainment cabinet and helping him hook up the cable so that he could watch his precious CNN before going to bed like he always did. My mother, on the other hand, had gotten all of her precious crystals set up around the house and had then started turning every corner of every room into her little plant shrines as she always did.

I'd hoped that our new house wouldn't resemble as much of a greenhouse as it had before, but alas, I was wrong.

When I was finally released from the foolish things my father couldn't figure out on his own, I'd managed to find my curtains and had spent twenty minutes fighting to get them on the rod. Then, I spent another half an hour trying to hang it up without one end of the curtains coming off. The window was a lot wider than I'd originally thought and the curtains I had hanging there now barely covered the glass.

They'd do for now. Mom had already mentioned something about going into the next town over – because God knows, there wasn't a mall in this tiny-ass town – to get some essentials over the weekend. I'd have to remember to tell her that I needed new curtains.

After the window incident, I'd given up on trying to get anything else done. If it took me that long to get the damn curtains hung up, I didn't want to think about how long it would take me to try hooking up my computer or stereo system. So I'd plugged in my alarm clock, set the time, made my bed and got ready to get into it. My parents were downstairs and I could hear them on the couch, sounding more like teenagers on their third or fourth date as opposed to grown adults with a teenage son right upstairs, when I walked out of my room and into the only bathroom in the entire house.

This was gonna get old quick.

And after lying in bed for the past three hours, the last thing I could actually do was sleep. I huffed and turned on my other side, sitting up slightly to punch my pillow a few times in hopes that it would make me sleep a little better before I collapsed onto it again. I closed my eyes, sighing and bringing my knees up to my chest.

I was almost asleep when I heard a rustling noise coming from the corner of the room where all my boxes were. I opened one eye and looked around, waiting to see if I heard it again. When I didn't, I shook my head, pulled my pillow over my head and attempted sleep once more.

Stupid new house with new sounds that I wasn't familiar with.

It was only when I heard a scoff – a human scoff – that I shot up in bed, my pillow flying to the floor as I stared at the stack of boxes in the corner. My eyes widened when I saw the same girl I'd seen sitting on the staircase earlier standing there with her head stuffed inside one of my boxes.

"Who the fuck are you?" I exclaimed, quickly climbing out of bed and wishing I knew where I'd put my damn baseball bat.

Woman or not, she was in my house, looking through my things. She could've been completely insane, for all I knew. There had to be an asylum around here or something. Of course my parents would pick a town with no mall, no nothing, but oh, it had a freaking mental hospital pretty damn close to the house.

She squeaked and turned around quickly, her hands up in the air and a look of pure surprise on her face.

"What?" she asked.

"Why are you asking me what? Who are you?"

I inched towards the door, keeping my eyes on her as she let her hands fall to her sides.

"You can see me."

"Of course I can see you! Answer me!"

"Huh." She placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head at me. "That's weird."

"Who. Are. You?" I asked through my teeth, still inching towards the door.

"Doesn't matter." She waved a hand at me before reaching up and tapping the end of her nose with her pointer finger. "Well, this changes things."

"What are you talking about? Why are you in my house? How did you get here?"

She laughed loudly, throwing her head back and gripping her sides. Well, apparently, I was a fucking riot.

"Oh, honey, you have no idea," she stated, shaking her head when she'd calmed down. "You should go back to sleep."

"You're… what are you doing here? I don't have anything!"

"That is not true." She pointed and took a step towards me. "You have everything."

"What do you want? Take it. You can have it."

Keep her calm, Edward. You're almost at the door and your parents are right down the hallway. One hysterical, girlie scream and they'll come running. You hope.

She tilted her head at me and crossed her arms over her chest, almost seeming to be contemplating something.

"I'll let you know."

"You'll what?"

"I'll let you know," she repeated, nodding once and grinning at me. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

She walked around me and opened the door, disappearing into the hallway. I shook my head, my mouth hanging open as I quickly followed her.

Well, tried to follow her. There was no one there. The hallway was completely silent. There were no footsteps on the stairs and as I waited, I didn't hear the front door close. Shaking my head, I made a beeline towards my parent's bedroom and burst in through the door, flicking on the lights. My father grumbled, my mother screeched and I braced my hands on the end of their king-sized sleigh bed.

"There's someone in the house," I said evenly.

"Edward," my dad sighed heavily.

"There's someone here!" I insisted, shaking the bed frame.

"Honey, go look," my mother yawned, placing her hand on my father's shoulder.

Well, I'm glad the fact that someone had managed to break into our house and then fucking disappear seemed to worry them.

My father grumbled as he stood up and slid his feet into his worn-out slippers, grabbing his robe from the end of the bed and glaring at me as he walked out of the room. I stayed with my mother, sitting down on the antique trunk that had been my great-grandmother's and rubbed my hands over my face.

"Who do you think you saw, honey?"

"I don't know. It was a girl," I grumbled, peeking through my fingers at the wooden floorboards.

"Was she nice?"

I blinked and groaned, running my hands up my face and tangling them in my hair. Only my mother would ask if the person in our house, looking through my things and probably aiming to steal something, was nice.

Sometimes, I was positive that I was adopted.

My father came back in then, still glaring at me as he slid the robe from his shoulders and threw it on the end of the bed frame.

"There's no one here, Edward. Go back to bed."

He flicked the lights off and I glared at his retreating form, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I saw someone. I talked to her."

"Honey, do you wanna sleep with us?" my mother asked sleepily, and I saw her raise her arm, taking the blankets with her.

I blinked at her form and shook my head, standing up and waving my hands at the both of them before walking out of the room and back towards my own. I glared at the stack of boxes in the corner and firmly shut the door behind me before I grabbed my pillow from the floor and crawled back into bed.

I wanted to go home.