Wayward ➳ Edward Cullen

4. Coincidences

After a night spent in a light doze to make sure no shadowy figures made an appearance in my room, I was tired as I forced myself out of bed an hour later than usual. My morning shower didn't help much. Settling for throwing my hair up into a ponytail, I was still drowsy as I made my way downstairs to the kitchen. I didn't even feel up to microwaving oatmeal and chose the lazier path of untoasted poptarts for breakfast.

"Hey, Sarah," Sam called.

Poptart in hand, I meandered into the living room. Sam stood in front of the sectional, remote pointed at the tv. The volume increased as soon as he saw me.

"...attack at the Grisham Mill in Mason County..."

The banner beneath the reporter's serious portrait read, 'Man Killed in Animal Attack.' As if I'd mainlined a pot of coffee, I felt considerably more awake after reading the ominous headline.

Sam and I glanced at each other. "You see that place?" Sam questioned, indicating the arial view of buildings and large tanks on the screen. "What animal big enough to take down a person is going to be roaming around with all that noise?"

He was right. "Definitely suspicious," I agreed, staring at the overhead shot of the facility. "Hold on." I passed my poptart to Sam—who took it with an incredulous shift of his brows—and hurried for the front door. I paused long enough to shove my feet into shoes and rushed outside.

Without a jacket or coat, the morning chill finished the job that the news had started. My breath steamed in front of me as I hurried down the steps. The sky remained that omnipresent gray that seemed to perpetually hover over Forks, but the cold lent a certain sharpness to the trees and the houses. Small clumps of snow leftover from the day before clung to the roadside and edge of the driveway.

I was halfway down the sidewalk when my foot suddenly lost traction. Sliding forward, I tried to right myself, but there was too much momentum working against me and nothing to grab onto. I fell hard on my ass, bruising my tailbone and my pride. Groaning, I rolled to the side and felt the telling slickness of ice beneath my hand as I pressed myself up. A brief glance around to see if there were any witnesses, and I noticed the way the light gleamed off the branches of the trees and patches of what I'd taken for water on the street. "Fantastic," I muttered, realizing ice was everywhere.

Back on my feet, I was considerably more mindful of where I stepped. Reaching the truck, I rounded to the passenger side and pulled open the creaking door. I went right for the glove compartment, revealing dozens of folded maps as soon as it dropped open. Following a brief shuffle, I found the latest one we'd used for the state of Washington. I grabbed it, shut the door, and made my way back into the house.

Sam was still holding the poptart and remote as I stepped inside. "Careful. It's, um," I breathed out a laugh as I unfolded the map onto the coffee table. A laugh that ended in a wince as I crouched down. "It's slippery outside."

"Yeah," Sam said as he sat on the couch and leaned forward. "Weather report said there's ice on the roads."

Lips pressed together, I nodded. Refocusing on the map, I spread my hands across it to flatten the creases. "Mason County is here." I pointed to the county line in question before sliding my finger west, till I hit Forks. I tapped the dot that stood for the town. "And we're here."

Sam shuffled closer. His brows knit together as he traced the route with his eyes. "What is that? Half an hour?"

"In the truck?" I scoffed.

Brows puckered, Sam lifted his head. "Think we should take a look?"

"We'll have to wait till school's out." At Sam's look, I said, "They've got Bobby's number, remember? A place that small will definitely notice if we ditch."