A/N: Before I forget to say this, all publicly recognisable characters, scenes and locations are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter Three
I was expecting someone more... intimidating.
This small figure emerged from the shadows, obviously female.
"You just don't seem to add up."
'Neither do you,' I thought in response.
Even in the meagre amount of light that was coming from the lamp, I could tell her features were familiar.
"What's your name?" She asked, her voice a mellow soprano.
"Isabella." I responded honestly. They could find out as much from any ID that was in my purse.
"Why are you here?"
Maybe it was a rhetorical question. She had to know why I was here. She had to know how I got here.
"I mean, you don't look anything like the others. No telltale bruises, no old second-hand clothing, no seductive flimsy attire..."
To say I was lost was an understatement.
"I mean, you were even wearing my shoes! "
Wearing her shoes?
"Why would you need to come here? Why would you need to be in the position that you were in?"
She came closer to me, and I became more aware of my attire.
I wore sheer white lace shorts that went to the centre of my thighs, and a vest of the same gauzy lace material, cups built in.
She was walking up to me, appraising me now, it seemed.
"No tattoos. No knife marks." She paced around the bed. "Manicured nails."
She gave me a long look in the eye.
"I'm confused."
'So am I,' I thought dryly.
"Your hair, it's long." She picked it up from where it hung over my shoulder. "Soft, almost shiny."
She walked down to the foot of the bed and looked up at me.
"Perhaps this is what you want? Surely, you could have found other methods..."
She shook her head, frowning slightly, "I shouldn't jump to conclusions. But, then, you haven't answered any of my questions."
She gave me a pleading look, and I almost spoke, except I wasn't sure what to say.
"If you didn't talk so much in your sleep," she chuckled, "I'd assume you were mute! Well, if we are going to be friends, Bella," She arched an eyebrow at me, "then I will have to introduce myself."
She walked closer to me, standing at my side, directly in the light of the lamp.
"My name is Alice."
That's when it clicked.
"Alice Cullen?" I croaked, my voice still crack from sleep.
She nodded, smiling back at me, "It speaks!" she joked, "Yes, Alice Cullen."
Alice Cullen. She was the Alice Cullen.
She was on half the boxes of shoes, and three quarters of the tags of unused clothing in my closet. Her name was scribbled elegantly in the sole of most of the shoes I slipped my foot into everyday.
She was my guilty pleasure when it came to spending. Designer Alice Cullen created some of the most beautiful clothes, undergarments, shoes, bags and dresses.
She was, apparently, also involved in my kidnapping.
And she was talking. I had zoned out while I digested the information.
"-to meet you. I think you'll be one of the few I actually talk to!" She smiled again, flashing her perfect white teeth.
She seemed so genuine, and she was so bubbly and friendly that I was wondering if I was hallucinating. Nothing made sense, so I allowed myself to factor the drugs into the situation.
"Well, my time is up. Don't worry; you've definitely gotten the highest marks I've ever given!" She laughed to herself, to a joke I believed I was supposed to understand.
"Come in, Eric."
She stepped out, once again a shadow in the dimly lit hallway.
Another person stepped into the room, coming to the end of the bed.
I sat up onto my elbows carefully, feeling vulnerable under his stare.
He was very tall and intimidating, and it was easy to tell from the shape of his cheekbones and the arch of his brow that he was of Asian descent.
He paced around the bed, observing my body. He looked as though he was searching for something. I couldn't guess what.
He adjusted his glasses, and looked down at me like I had done something vile and inexcusable. His fist were balled, and his arms full of tension.
He suddenly looked up, straight into my eyes, and gave me a long threatening glare. His gaze suddenly changed though, it was not remorseful, it was... regretful?
He abruptly turned and left the room, never uttering a word to me.
I wasn't sure what to make of his actions, so instead, I thought about what Alice said, analyzing it.
She had walked in, appraising me, but not in the way the man had.
Her words were clues- clues I would gladly follow if it shed some light on my current situation.
If I were the opposite of everything she told me, what would I be?
"No telltale bruises, no old second-hand clothing, no seductive flimsy attire,"
""No tattoos. No knife marks..."
"You don't look anything like the others,"
The others?
The others had bruises, knife marks, seductive attire...
Then I realised what should have been obvious.
If my assumptions were correct, then she thought I was one of the women.
The women who usually were bruised, poor and had few opportunities left. Who had lived lives warranting knife marks and tattoos.
The women that left their homes, their friends and their families, the women that disappeared and went to the ghost mob.
The ghost mob.
But some had hope; some had been through my program and had a chance at new life. Those few still went; they still ran after the opportunity and the obvious financial benefit they reaped.
Perhaps that was why Alice was so confused. I did not fit the 'stereotype'.
If I really did plan to stay in here, I needed to come up with a story. I needed to give them reason to keep me here just as they had others.
If I was right, that is, and this was truly a ghost mob.
Where would I come from? How old would I be?
I paused, now realising that I could not lie.
Perhaps if I was someone else, I could re-invent myself. I could come up with a back story after I got to know the place, the people and what they wanted. I could play a role, gather information like a spy they dragged in themselves- they would be none the wiser, and then I would get out.
But I was Isabella Swan, world famous chef and entrepreneur. As much as I liked to think of myself as a normal person, I was not.
Bree must have missed me by now; I was probably on news today, whatever today was.
That was when I rethought the wording in my note,
'If I'm not back soon, I'm gone to relax a bit. Don't worry about it,'
What if she thought I left on purpose? What if she never came looking for me?
I thought of Alice's words, Alice's attitude.
But what if Alice was simply a good actress? How could I trust her? She was, after all, somehow involved in my kidnapping.
What if this place was worse than I could handle, and no one ever found me?
That was the one thing I was sure of though.
If this was the ghost mob, nobody was going to find me.
My fear and contemplation was short-lived, though, as yet another figure appeared in the doorway.
It was a strange silhouette; the shape of a man, muscular body, strong angular jaw.
Most intriguing of all: his hair, in organised disarray, like a living tongue of fire lain atop his head.
A/N: Feedback of any kind is appreciated. EPOV?