October 1994

Seven Years Old

The night was dark and still. Rowan was alone in the house, curled up on her bed underneath her comforter, eyes wide as she tried to see through the dark. She was young and still wary of the shadows that blanketed the night, but not quite afraid. It had hidden her before in plain sight, made her invisible, and though she had no idea how she had done it she had wished to be unseen again ever since it had happened.

The slammed door rattled the house as Curtis Ailes arrived home, stumbling drunk and furious. Rowan's eyes widened and she shrank even smaller, terrified, because the arrival of her father only meant pain.

"Rowan!" His voice was a loud roar, echoing throughout the house.

Silently, with tears already running down her face, Rowan slipped out of her bed and opened the door to her small closet. She could hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears as she pulled the door shut and curled up in the corner, shaking.

"Where are you?" Her father's voice was just as loud as he slammed open the door to her bedroom. Rowan pressed herself farther into the wall, wishing to melt away into the shadows and disappear as he stumbled around her room, raging and cursing the day she was born.

"Get out here you useless little brat! You didn't save your mother, you deserve this!" he slurred, the closet door abruptly pulled open.

Rowan stared up at her father through frightened blue eyes, her small hands in a death grip on the carpet. He looked around the dim closet as if staring right through her, like he hadn't seen her at all, and eventually cursed and turned away. "You better come out, girl! Or I swear you'll regret it! You'll regret ever being born!"

Rowan squeezed her eyes shut, tears still leaking from her eyelids, and did her best to not make a sound. He couldn't see her. The light was dangerous, but the shadows... the shadows were safe.

The shadows were the only thing that would protect her.

May 1996

Eight Years Old

Rowan had a stitch in her side from running for so long. Everything ached, from her feet to her still-tender ribs that were still healing despite the obvious absence of a bruise. She followed the road, staying out of sight by use of the trees and the shadows that surrounded her. She flinched as an ambulance screamed by, the flashing lights briefly illuminating her scared face.

She kept going and prayed she would finally be free. This hope was what propelled her through the night, and she was walking slowly by the time the sun dipped up over the horizon, filtering warm rays through the trees. Rowan knew that she wouldn't be able to hide within the shadow now that the sun was out, as she couldn't quite grasp invisibility within the shade that the trees provided.

The cops found her as the sun was reaching its highest point. Rowan's stomach was growling loudly but she had learned to ignore the hunger that often gnawed at her insides.

"Hey, kid!" An older policeman, perhaps fifty, called for her.

Rowan's eyes widened, and for a moment their eyes met. The she bolted, running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. It didn't get her very far - the officer's partner grabbed her around the midsection and easily lifted her, taking her slight cry of pain to be one of panic instead.

"What are you doing out here all alone, huh?" The other police officer asked, once they had gotten her to calm down. He was younger, and his tag read Field. "Where are your parents?"

"I ran away," Rowan said.

"Why?" The older officer, whose name tag read Harris, asked.

Rowan was quiet, refusing to answer. She had learned a long time ago that no grown up would help - these police officers, however well-meaning, were no different in her eyes. Rowan's stomach growled.

"Alright," Officer Harris sighed, clapping his hands together. "We'll get you some food and drive you home, I'm sure your folks are worried sick."

Rowan gave a small nod, tears building up in her eyes as she sat in the back of their cruiser. The McDonald's happy meal they bought her was her only meal for several days after she was returned to her father, and she didn't try to run again for a long time.

December 2000

12 Years Old

The city was packed with activity. Twelve-year-old Rowan Ailes walked alongside Ben Marks, one of the few friends she had in school. They were in the awkward age between childhood and adolescence, their gangly, too-big limbs enough to display this.

They had been friends for a very long time, since before the accident that killed her mother and ruined her life, and he was one of the very few that had been with her through everything. She wondered sometimes if he suspected something was off about her father. If he did, Ben never mentioned it.

"Are you traveling over Christmas break?" he asked her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his thick winter jacket. Alternatively, Rowan's thin windbreaker did little to ward off the biting winter air.

"No, we're staying in town as always," she said with a shrug.

Ben hummed in response. "Not even for vacation? That's lame. We're going to a ski resort for Christmas along with my aunt and uncle and cousins."

"That sounds awesome." Rowan tried not to let jealousy seep into her voice. She knew she shouldn't be bitter - plenty of kids probably had it much worse - but she couldn't help it. Ben had the perfect family, and Rowan... didn't.

"You and your dad should come out with us. It would be fun! None of my cousins are close to my age anyway, it'll be really boring," he said with a crooked smile.

"Maybe next year," Rowan said awkwardly. "It's probably too short notice now."

"Yeah, you're right." Ben paused as he spotted his father. "That's my dad, I have to go. See you later?"

"Yeah, I'll catch you later," Rowan agreed. She would have to walk home, despite her father's words to Ben's dad that he would pick her up. Curtis Ailes had cornered her before they had left to tell her she could walk or hitchhike. There was no way in hell that he was picking her up.

She waved at Ben and his dad before stuffing her chilled hands into her pockets. She was in a busier part of the city, and she'd have to cross to follow this section of the sidewalk to her home.

A car flew by every few seconds, buffeting her with wind. Rowan stepped onto the asphalt, walking little over normal pace as she crossed the road. She was incredibly fortunate to not be hit, but Rowan felt the disappointment that coiled in her stomach as she arrived safely on the other side.

She didn't care if she died. She just wanted the pain to end.

January 2003

Fourteen Years Old

Rowan wheezed, her lungs freezing within her as her father's foot connected once more with her ribs. She coughed, tasting blood in her mouth. She didn't dare spit it out, instead swallowing it and cringing at the harsh tang of iron that remained.

"Just remember, Rowan. You deserve this." Curtis Ailes had knelt to where his daughter curled in a futile attempt to protect herself. He was close enough that his breath stirred her matted hair. "You deserve this."

Rowan didn't even have the strength to cry out as he kicked her again, and she knew for certain that several of her ribs were broken.

"Say something!" He roared, infuriated by her silence and unappeased by the tears that ran in rivulets down her face, which was the only thing that remained untouched by his fury.

There was a loud snap, and for a moment Rowan was confused as to where it came from, before realizing that it came from her. Her arm had broken from where he had forcefully tread on it, and a fiery pain spread up her forearm. This time, she screamed.

"Get out of my sight. Now!" he snarled, and Rowan weakly pushed herself backwards. Everything was pain, and black rimmed the edge of her vision. She screamed again as he pulled her up by her injured arm and shoved her away. It was only by a miracle that she kept her feet long enough to reach her room and collapse there on the floor.

The black that surrounded her vision took over, and she knew nothing again for a long time.

When Rowan woke it was pitch dark, and the house was silent. The glowing red numbers on her clock told her it was well past midnight. Rowan could acutely feel the pain that spread through her, radiating from every orifice. She let out a ragged breath, screwing her eyes shut to blink back the tears, and clumsily pushed herself to her feet.

She couldn't stand upright.

Rowan moved as quietly as possible towards the back door. It opened only to forest, and if she could lock it with the spare key her father would be none the wiser as to where she had went. Rowan knew that this time, she could not be caught by the police or anyone. It would be her death sentence.

She couldn't move very quickly, and had to stop every few minutes to rest and regain her breath. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep it. It was bitingly cold out, but eventually she became numb to it. At any rate, it seemed to sooth her wounds much like an ice pack.

As much as she wished to simply curl up and sleep, Rowan knew that she had to keep going for as long as possible. It was the best shot she had at escape. She traveled perhaps two hours before knowing she could go no further - black was once again rimming her vision.

She curled into the sheltered roots of a large, uprooted tree, her head dropping onto her chest as she cradled her injured arm. Breathing was difficult, and there was a searing pain whenever she drew breath. She was close to unconsciousness when she saw the angel and knew it was the end, the end of everything.

Rowan didn't mind.

The angel had an equally angelic voice, like wind chimes, though Rowan didn't understand why she called for an Emmett. Emmett wasn't her name.

"Stay with me, sweetheart. Okay? Just stay with me. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Rose, who is- oh, hell." There was a man's voice this time, lower but equally pleasing. Rowan couldn't quite keep her eyes open to see him, but she felt him as he picked her up from the ground. She whimpered, and he apologized. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. We're going to take you somewhere safe. We need Carlisle and Edward."

"I'll call them, take her back to the house," she said and cold wind whipped against her already chilled skin for several seconds. Rowan found this odd, in an amusing sort of way, as it hadn't been windy when she had stopped to rest.

"Hey, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me," he said, slipping his hand into hers. She was able to give it a weak, barely discernible squeeze. "Good, good. Can you talk? What's your name?"

Rowan opened her mouth, attempting to speak. A cough went through her instead, and Rowan swallowed back the blood. "Okay, you can't talk. That's okay, just try and stay awake. My dad and brother are doctors, they're going to help you, but you have to hang in there until then. Okay, sport? Squeeze my hand if you'll try, c'mon."

Rowan squeezed his hand. She was set, carefully, onto something soft. She forced her eyes open, and was met with a bear-like man who was just as perfect as the woman, with warm honey eyes and a grave expression. He gave her a strained smile. "Hey, there. I'm Emmett. My wife, you saw her, right? Yeah, her name is Rose. We're going to help you."

"They're on their way," the angelic blonde woman, Rose, said as she walked into the room. "They'll be here by morning, they're running. Alice says that's the only way they'll make it in time."

"What do we do in the meantime? She can't even speak," Emmett said, patting Rowan's shoulder gently.

"I can set her arm, it's broken," Rose said. "But so are her ribs, and I can't do those, especially if one punctured her lungs."

"If it comes to it, we can't change her. We're not strong enough, and she's practically a kid. Couldn't be more than twelve."

Rowan frowned and lifted a thumb upwards. Rose was now gently handling her injured arm. "You're older than that? Thirteen?" Again, Rowan lifted her thumb. "Fourteen?"

At this, she gave a tiny nod. Emmett still looked troubled. "Still, we can't. We're not strong enough."

"If Carlisle gets here, he can do it," Rose said. "But we should explain to her, let her make her own choice, if we can."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Hey, hey, eyes open kiddo," Emmett said, nudging Rowen's shoulder gently. "Let's stay awake. I know it's hard, believe me I know. But you gotta keep those eyes open. You want some water?"

Rowan would have taken vinegar if it had been offered. She would take anything to chase away the blood that coated her mouth. Emmett stood gracefully at her nod and went to grab a cup, filling it with water and placing a straw in it before returning. Rowan was able to take several gulps before she had to pull back. The taste of blood remained, but it wasn't as strong as before.

"Did you find out her name?" Rose asked Emmett.

He shook his head. "No, she couldn't speak. Too weak, she tried and started coughing."

"What are we supposed to do, Em? I don't have a medical degree, I can't do much for her past what I've already done." She motioned towards the splint that she had used to set Rowan's arm. "We can't let her die, Em. She's just a kid. We can't."

"We won't," Emmett said firmly.

Their voices were lulling, and while they held their conversation Rowan's eyes had dipped shut, exhaustion overwhelming her. Finally, she slipped into merciful darkness.

Edited 4/16/2021