Part One: Seeking Edward

-ONE-

Oo The Girl Who Fell Into The Well oO

As soon as my eyes snapped open, voices bombarded my ears.

"Who are you?" "Are you a spy sent by those bloodsuckers?" "How did you manage to get so far out into the forest?" "Are you a part of the rebellion faction?" "Were you sent here to slay us?"

As those questions repeated themselves over in different ways, I placed my shaking head in-between my knees. I did not know why I was in a sitting-up position. My hands were quivering as well, and when I lifted my trembling fingers to touch my cheeks, a sense of wetness hit them. Tears.

The noises that had assaulted me mysteriously quietened, but I still did not look up. I was afraid if I did, it would be confirming the theory that I had reached only a few minutes ago. However, someone decided that I should not resettle my muddled thoughts. A stranger's fingers grasped hold of my arm, and pulled me abruptly forward, causing me to stumble. Though he did release his grip, it was only to flatten both his hands tight onto my shoulders, and so I was forced to look at him.

His dark eyes narrowed, and angrily he demanded through clenched teeth: "Tell. Me. Who. You. Are."

Too frightened to disobey, I quietly began the tale that had transpired within the past twelve hours.

It had been my decision to leave Phoenix. I had made up my mind a month ago, when Renée's marriage had taken place. I had not wanted to burden her relationship with her new husband Phil, so that was how I came to my decision. I did not expect Renée and Phil to take the news so well, but it was probably then that I should have expected something was a bit 'off'. Not from Phil, obviously, as he was probably pleased I was about to get out of his hair, but I had predicted more resistance from my own mother. Of course, I should have known that Renée was just biding her time.

Her Big Plan – yes, it is that important that it needs capitalization - came into fruition a week before I was planning to leave. Without my knowing, and, apparently, her own husband's, my mother booked us –me and her – plane tickets. She did not inform either Phil or me until it was too late – two days before the plane left. The tickets were non-refundable, and therefore it closed the Renée-cannot-come-with-me debate. However, that did not mean Phil was happy with it.

I had heard them arguing about it last night. Even if Renée was only going to stay over Charlie's for a weekend, Phil's inferiority complex towards my father got the better of him. The words he had yelled at my mother – my fists clenched at the memory. It was understandable why that man was furious, but that did not excuse what he had screamed in his fit of rage. I turned to stare outside the window. I was slowly regretting leaving. After all, I had wanted to give Phil and Renée more space, and not for them to be parted. Up above, the sky turned dark. It started to rain, and I watched it as it began slowly at first, a light drizzle, before it hurried down into a torrent, splashing and hissing furiously down my windowpane. This was another reason why I was beginning to regret giving up Phoenix: for its warmth, brightness and sunshine, a complete contrast to Forks' wet, depressing nature. Forks had to be the total opposite of Phoenix, a fact that I did not like. From what I remembered since I visited three years previously, Forks was dull, boring and dreary. Not like the bustling live wire Phoenix is.

"Now we're back in this hell-hole," Renée muttered beside me. I silently agreed with her. It was then that I wanted to bring up what had happened this morning. I know Renée had been upset, and had hid her tears away from me on the plane. At the airport, when we had waved Phil off, he had not disguised his frustration. He gave me the cold shoulder, and had acted even cooler to my mother, although he had hugged her goodbye. He had been stiff, though, I had noted, when he had been in her arms.

"Mom," I began, a little nervously. Like with Charlie, I never called Renée her first name to her face.

"What, sweetie?"

"Why – why are you coming with me?"

I heard her sigh. "Isn't it obvious, honey? Though you like to act all independent, I know this whole ordeal is a big change for you. I just want to help you settle in well. That was what the whole argument between Phil and me has been about. He just didn't understand."

Oh, I thought to myself. That was when the cab pulled to the curve, and we reached our destination.

It was night. The whole of Forks had been cast into unrelenting shadows and in a state of sleep. Of course that most likely applied to everyone except me. I was staring up at the ceiling, trying to get comfortable in my old bed. I had been in this position for over an hour now, and I was not getting any sleepier. I suppose the cause of that was the excitement, you know, speculating what my life would now be like in Forks, and if there had been any huge differences since I last visited. Has the house changed at all? Will I get along fine with Charlie? Will Renée and Charlie act normally around each other? What about school? Will I make lots of new friends?

At the thought of school, the bottom of my stomach clenched painfully. I rolled onto my stomach, so now I faced my bed rest, and I propped my elbows onto my pillow as I placed my chin on top of my palms. Do not think about school, I thought to myself. However, when you are often told to do one thing, you are bound to do the opposite – like I was doing now.

I thought of all the different people I would meet this coming Monday. Will they like me? Will I be accepted into any of their groups? Will I be on my own? Will I find any of my studies hard? Will my teachers dislike me?

I shook my head, trying to clear all the thoughts that were crashing down on me, and froze, when I heard a noise.

Creak.

It could not be either Charlie or Renée. Charlie, in a rare display of astonishingly gentlemanly behaviour, had offered Renée his bed, so she did not have to sleep on Charlie's raggedy torn sofa downstairs. They were both fast asleep, and I knew them well enough that neither sleepwalked.

Creak.

It was like a scene from a horror movie coming to life. Like when you know someone is there, but you dare not to face up to the intruder. You know, like the scene in the Sixth Sense, when that little boy had been using the toilet, and someone ran across the floorboards outside the room. Except this was real and the tension and suspense was a whole lot worse.

Creak.

A plan was forming in my mind: Element of Surprise. Attack, when the intruder least expected it. At least, that's what I tried to tell myself later on – that I had not simply weaselled my way out of matters by behaving like a coward.

Then everything happened too quickly. A hand clamped on my right shoulder blade, and I screamed – except, I did not. No piercing shriek escaped my lips, despite the fact I was screaming inside. My throat became hot, unbearably hot, that it made my eyes water.

"Do not resist," the voice commanded me. It sounded surprisingly young.

"Why," I tried to say, but once again I mouthed nothingness, resembling a goldfish. And once again, my throat burned.

"For if you resist," the person went on, as if they were answering the question which I was not able to voice, "your oesophagus will be afflicted with so much pain whenever you talk – that eventually it will stop working altogether, rendering you speechless."

I clammed up at that. Even if I was struggling to take this all in, I was not that stupid not to understand a potential threat to myself when I heard one. Yeah, so perhaps it sounded unrealistic and unbelievable, but come on, I just experienced the whole-throat-heating-up-thing myself. And I was pretty sure it was not caused by a fever.

"You will only nod or shake your head. I will ask you three questions. Nod for yes, shake for no. Got that?"

I remained silent. Other than being young, I now knew another fact about my trespasser: they were female.

"Your name is Isabella Swan, correct?"

I frowned at that. How did she know? I nodded my head. Yes, that is my name.

"Good, I am glad you are cooperating like a mature adult. Now, you are seventeen, that is true?"

Again, I nodded, while I felt more and more perplexed. Why did this person want to know my name and age? If they were just going to kidnap me, should they not have acted first, and asked questions later, was that not how it was normally done? Then why are they waiting to complete this silly little interrogation? Why does this set up feel oh-so-wrong?

"Now, here is my last question: have you met Edward Cullen yet?"

Edward…Cullen? That was what her last inquiry was about? Not, oh, do you go to this so-and-so school, or, oh, your parents are called Renée and Charlie, or, oh, are you still a virgin? But it was do to with a guy who I had never met, let alone spoken to? And why was it phrased like that? Have you met Edward Cullen…yet? Why was it not are you going to meet Edward Cullen or have you seen Edward Cullen before? Not have you met Edward Cullen yet, which suggested if I had not already got acquainted with the guy, that was about to change.

I finally shook my head. I thought I heard a relieved sigh, but it might have just been my imagination, because a second later the girl was talking again.

"Remain quiet, if you wish not to hurt yourself. We are leaving now."

She pulled me roughly off my bed – what strength! – and before I could even defend myself, she had both my arms behind my back. I tried to wriggle, I tried to writhe, but my arms felt weak, powerless, underneath her grasp. So strong…

"I thought I told you," she growled, "not to resist?"

I stopped struggling at that. She manoeuvred me towards the door. We left my bedroom, and headed down the stairs. As we went along the hallway I faltered when we reached the lounge. The door was slightly ajar, and I saw Charlie there on that infamous sofa, sprawled out, the blanket barely covering him, and I did not need to see if there was any drool dribbling from the side of his mouth. If I could only wake him up, then maybe –

I was roughly pushed forward. "I am not stupid, you idiotic fool," my captor hissed in a menacing whisper, "I know what I am doing – as well as what you are thinking. Do not even bother to attempt that ridiculous idea of yours: your father is under dreamless sleep, just like your pathetic mother, and only my words will waken them."

But that is not possible, I thought to myself frantically, how could one put another under dreamless sleep? That was under the hand of magic, and magic did not exist –

"Move, you imbecile."

I had not realised the girl had opened the front door. Swallowing nervously, I left the house with the girl. Please, please let Charlie and Renée be safe…

"They will be," my kidnapper remarked, almost idly, "if you stay good and cooperate."

My eyebrows knitted together. I had not spoken that, even in the faintest of whispers, so that must mean…Can you read my mind?

"Yes."

Instead of being led to a car, which I had predicted, we went into the front garden. She steered in the direction of – of the well?

It stood there, big and grey yet I knew that this well held some significance to the girl. After all, why would I be directed there, to the well that was in my garden, of all things? Perhaps this was the meeting place for the rest of the kidnappers. But I felt that reason was becoming more and more implausible as the girl forced me to bend over the well, and as the seconds passed by, no one else came.

I sucked in a breath as I was forced to stare down at the well. I wanted to ask, why, but I stopped myself speaking out loud just in time. But if I was going to die today, I wanted to know the reason why.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Then –

"Now you will never meet Edward Cullen."

– she made me topple down the well, head-first, and as I spiralled downwards, everything went wonderfully, mercifully, black. Except one thought plagued my mind: I will never meet Edward Cullen.

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A/n: I consider this a 'second prologue', but I did not want to put this into the first prologue because I thought the first prologue finished of at a good spot. This will explain this chapter's shortness. Thanks for the reviwes.