A/N:Yo readers!
Okay, so, as you know, I've been writing this Edward and Bella based fic for a while now, and FINALLY it's finished. It's been a journey writing it as The Disappeared was something I had to study for my Drama GCSE. It was as I was doing the topic that I heard some horrific accounts from women, even pregnant women, who were tortured and to near-death, some to their death, by the torturers in Argentina during the Cold War in the 70s. The accounts were so powerful that I decided to channel them into a fictional piece so that more people may no about the tragedies that happened not so long ago at all.
I was just so surprised that something like this happened and yet before my Drama GCSE I had no idea it existed!
So, here it is. And though I appreciate that a lot of my reviewers and favouriters so far are Troyella fans, but I'm hoping to gain some more Twilight based readers from this, because Edward & Bella are another passion of mine. :')
Happy reading you guys! Here's the Prologue. The whole thing should be in either 3 or 4 big parts... :)
Ask questions/comments don't hesitate to contact me!
PLEASE review if you approve - I need reviews before I can post the next section! So get to it! :)
EDWARD & BELLA FOREVER. WOO 3

PEACE & LOVE!
x x x STARSWalkBACKWARD x x x

This is for the innocent torture victims of the Cold War; for 'The Disappeared.' May you now, finally, rest in peace.

Also my fellow lovers of Bella and Edward, like my Beta & great friend Emily; for my fellow writers, for my friends, and for many inspirations in life;
God Blessed The Broken Road, That Led Me Straight To You.

God Bless The Broken Road

"Hey Mr. Pinochet,
You've sown a bitter crop.
It's foreign money that supports you,
One day the money's going to stop.
No wages for your torturers.
No budget for your guns.
Can you think of your own mother,
Dancin' with her invisible son?
They're dancing with the missing,
They're dancing with the dead.
They dance with the invisible ones,
They're anguish is unsaid.
They're dancing with their fathers,
They're dancing with their sons,
They're dancing with their husbands,
They dance alone,
They dance alone."

––'They Dance Alone' - Sting, 1987. (For the Cold War victims of Argentina and Chile.)

––– Prologue –––

I had never given much thought to how I would die.

As I lay here, it is all I can do to ignore the terror that chokes me. So instead, I get to thinking.

I suddenly realise how different my life is now compared to only a few days ago. At the beginning of this very week, I was still agonisingly frustrated and confused by Edward Cullen, who had seemed determined to protect me from himself. I never got to tell him how ridiculous this was, because there was no way that protection from him was necessary.

Now that I know my life is going to end very soon, I lay here and I realise that there is only thing I regret not accomplishing in my lifetime, and that is never being able to tell Edward that I hadn't been exaggerating at all when I told him I trusted him with my life. I really did.

Ironic considering here I lay at what is most likely going to be the last few hours of my life.

Not that I will ever blame Edward for that. In my mind, he will never be at fault for anything. I can only thank him for saving every other part of me––for brightening every essence of my life––even if it was just for a short while.

Here, where ever it is that I am, there doesn't seem to be any measure of time.

I've been lying here, waiting for my kidnappers to return for the questioning they threateningly promised to deliver; but still there's nothing.

Who did they think I was? Some kind of spy? Or was it what I had said about the Argentinean regime at the plaza with Edward––Was it all because I had broken the most feared Argentinean law after all, and just not realised that they had in fact heard?

I lay, trying to regulate my breathing, that is still ragged, even after what feels like a long time.

Suddenly, my mind begins to rewind over all the facts I had learnt over the last few days.

Everyone in the main South American countries knew the disappearances were happening, but no one, especially in Chile and Argentina, could or would speak of it out loud, unless in absolute private.

Everywhere was guarded, watched. Everyone was traceable.

Even vampires.

Not only did I learn that my theory of Edward being a vampire was true during this trip, but also what a huge influence their kind did in fact have over the world I thought I knew.

I was relieved by learning this, because it meant I finally was able to put a stop to the endless theories of who or what Edward Cullen was.

Not only did I realise what a magnificent and powerful creature he was, but also that he was a man I could never have envisaged even in my wildest dreams; of which there were many.

It was during my time in South America that I learnt things about life that I never even knew existed. I also experienced situations I'll never forget, and others that will haunt me forever; however long that is.

It is with this thought that I take in my surroundings again.

I'm lying on cold slabs in what, before they re-covered my eyes, I could see appeared to be an old classroom. It is with the nauseating fear growing inside me that I realise this is in fact one of those haunting moments that will never leave me in the unlikely event they let me live through this. I'm shackled and barely clothed, blindfolded and gagged, and can hear nothing but silence and the occasional muffled yell or scream of another captured stranger from though the walls.

I don't where I am now––or if I'm even still in Argentina. I realise it makes no difference to me now.

It didn't matter anymore, what had been, because as I lay waiting for whichever 'interrogator' was to come in and most likely end my life, I realised I didn't care. I didn't care what I'd done, or hadn't done, or what they had captured me for, so I didn't dwell on it. Instead, I chose to focus on my memories, both the happy and the sad, because they were reality, and were in no way connected to this abyss of pain and misery that I was experiencing now.

I tried my best to picture them all; those back home who may only just be receiving a phone call to say I'm missing; Charlie, Renée, Phil, Billy, Jacob; And those on the trip who may be in a state of confusion and panic now having returned to our hotel to find me gone; Angela, Marc, Jessica, Mike... Edward.

I held onto the images in my mind, for fear of forever losing them; along with my sanity.

One wrong word in public was all it took for a person's world to spin into chaos in Argentina. For example, the laws of the Argentina dictatorship stated thatevery female had to give up her job if it was considered a 'high paid' one, such as one in teaching or a medical position. All health care had to be paid for and was far too expensive for the average Argentinean. Child well-fare benefits were given to anyone with one child, but no one else, and emigration out of the country was extremely limited, to the point where no one except holiday-makers ever really arrived or left.

However, the most important law that the military regime enforced, was that no wrong word was to be said against them, ever.

Anyone who disobeyed any of these rules, disappeared, literally, never to be seen again. Everyone knew the disappearances were happening, but no one could do anything about it, nor would they by choice either, for fear of being next in line.

There was never any evidence left behind. No one knew anything, and if they did, they would never say. The police were all a part of the disappearances too. They claimed to know nothing; as though a disappearance was nothing to react over.

This is why those who had been taken became known as 'The Disappeared' to the people of Argentina.

Now, I was one of them. I had disappeared, too.

I hadn't known this when I first arrived in Argentina, but being alone with nothing but your thoughts and pain really did give a person a lot to think about.

As usual, I figured everything out on my own.

One thing struck me though as exceedingly odd.

How could modern civilizations such as America not act on what was happening here? Surely their intelligence agencies knew about it all...

Why had they not put a stop to it?

As to why I was here, well, I let my mind run my mouth by accident; at least, that was my guess––though, the regime officials must have other ideas if they had resorted in capturing a visiting American, which was bound to draw unwanted attention towards the country and it's rule. After all, I wasn't a resident, or in any way connected to South America...so, why me?

Although, I suppose I am part of it now.

I'm a Disappeared.

I had never given much thought to how I would die.

Now, though, it is all I can seem to think about, as I am running out of thoughts, still shackled on the cold floor, the taste of blood on my tongue.

Yes, my mistakes may have brought me face-to-face with my inevitable death - but I know I can never bring myself to regret them.

Because they also brought me to Edward.

Instead, I close my eyes, and continue to recall the trip––my limited moments with Edward––before a torturer comes to try to get 'answers' from me––answers I didn't have.

I held onto my memories so tightly that my body was filled with desperation and tension. I was suddenly filled with a bitter, sickening fear, not because of the impending torturous fate that was closing in on me, but because I suddenly realised that I couldn't allow myself to lose my mind. It was my one tool; my sanity. My memories.

I immerse myself in the images playing vividly in my mind, desperate that the torturers will not take my mind from me, because that would mean taking all memory of Edward––of my last hope––with them too.

––– ℬ&ℰ –––