I am not what you would call ‘nice’. 17 Years growing up in a British suburb saw to that. When my Dad moved to Forks, Washington, it would’ve been very easy to describe me as a bastard.
Before we left on the plane, we went to visit Mum’s grave. I knelt down beside her; emotionally hammered once again; before leaving my Dad to cry his eyes out.
You see, my Mum was killed by a teenager. She was stabbed 4 times, 3 times in the kidneys.  You can’t contemplate the crap my Dad went through because of it. It’s been 18 months and he’s just recovered.
The middle-class neighbourhood we lived in was near a rather rich estate. The kid got off scot free. That’s why we decided to leave

I stood on the edge of the graveyard, dressed in a solemn set of black drainpipes and a quaint white shirt. My meticulous leather boots are polished to my Dad’s standards: I essentially use them as mirrors.
I heard Dad before I saw him. He was clad in dress Uniform, as if it could be a shield against his grief. He smiled solemnly. He's a reasonably big guy, with cropped hair and glasses. He could kick my ass.
"Let's go, Matt." He breathed, before moving towards the Taxi.
The Gatwick was crowded, and the terminal was run-down, but we got a first-class seat. All my pap's army buddies were there. Sergeants, Corporals, Colonels, Leiutenants, all sorts. Even a General. My Dad took an hour to even start to head to departures. It wasn't bad, I said goodbye to a few of my cadet mates, and that's it. I wasn't well-liked, except in the army.

The journey from London to Forks is horribly boring; I didn't write this manuscript to chatter on how crappy it was. It was very long, my dad got searched 6 times by Americans and he had to flash his Visa for both of us 9 times. I got drunk on the plane, then fell asleep. That's about it
 He took a very long Taxi ride to Forks. It was lush, green, pure. But the horrible whirring of the Taxi hammered at my head, and I barely took it in.
We had been assigned a decent house; a bit better then our old one in fact; and were greeted by a no-nonsense Police Chief. He wasn't incredibly friendly, but he wasn't bad.
As my Dad stepped out of the car, the Chief smiled (little more then pursing his lips) and shook my Dad's hand.
"Colonel Potter, it's good to meet you again."
"I'm your Sergeant, now, Sir. Best not to go calling me Colonel."
The bluntness of my Dad brought a slightly less-reluctant grin to the Chief.
"I'm sure it'll catch on as a nickname." He looked at me and held out his hand
"This must be Matt."
I glared slightly at him, but shook the hand
"Matthew Ryan Potter, Former Cadet Corporal. Sir." My habits kicked in and I saluted.
My Dad and the Chief laughed, but it was clear that it was more to defuse the situation then anything. I admit, I can be very aggressive sometimes.
"Well, I'm Police Chief Charlie Swan. Your Dad's going to be a fine Sergeant. Well, I'll come back in an hour or so to take you to your station. Matt should have enough time to get to School if he wants. I've been taking care of Jerry, Milly and Rusty for the last few weeks, I'll bring them with me" It was 4:00 AM and I had a perfect excuse to skip my first day.
"I'm tired and need a rest. I think I'll skip today." A second after my Dad presented me with his "D'ya think you have a choice?" glare, I mumbled darkly. My Dad had already set up the house from a previous visit – Very quiet. Noone had known he was there, except Charlie. That's how my Dad commonly worked. He had also managed to ship my Dogs over, which is harder then you think.