Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Edited by Sjdavis84 and StillDreaming85.

WARNING: This story contains mature themes and is intended for mature readers.

WARNING: This chapter contains mention of rape and violence.

CHARLES SWAN

I felt as if I was standing close to the edge of insanity. For a brief moment, I wondered if this is what those poor souls locked away in padded cells felt like.

It had been seven weeks, seven long agonizing weeks since...Since she was taken.

Seven weeks of hell.

Seven weeks of only pain.

Renee, she handled things better than me, she coped better. She was able to talk to another person, she was able to hold a TV interview. But even as strong as Renee was, she wasn't able to keep her mind on our daughter for too long without breaking down.

I've lost people in my life before, my mother, my father, but the pain I felt over their loss was incomparable to this, this was a pain that words could not describe. I wanted to scream, to shout at the top of my lungs, yet I didn't want to make a sound.

I wanted to throw the blame at the NYPD for not doing more. I wanted to blame the FBI for being incapable of finding any sign of my ballerina, or for not being able to connect the Cullen's with her kidnapping. But deep down I knew I only had myself to blame.

Renee, she blames me too, even though she won't admit it out loud, I can see it in her eyes.

Uley has been giving me the same response, every time I ask him, every time I tell him Anthony is involved, Anthony took her, I know he did. Uley always shuts me down, he says they have done everything they can, they have looked everywhere, everything that the Cullen name was attached to, homes, businesses, property, but they had found nothing, no sign of her, not even a strand of her hair. They have been watching them for the past five weeks now, Sam has kept me up to date with every detail, but the news I have received this morning was...They have officially ruled out the Cullen's involvement, no matter how much I protested, how much I insisted, Uley wouldn't hear me out.

In the back of my mind, there was a little voice filling me with doubt though. What if none of this was Carlisle's fault, what if my ballerina's disappearance had nothing to do with the Cullen's or their associates?

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe I was looking to make something out of nothing.

That's why for weeks now, I have closed myself off in my office. If Cullen didn't take my Isabella, someone else did.

I opened all of my recent cases, I took out the archives of old cases from drug lords, rapists, high profile cases, people with the means to make someone disappear without a trace. The more I dug in, the deeper I looked, the more disappointed I became. Every time I came up empty handed, there was never a lead, never a connection.

I slumped my head down on my desk, hitting my head with force, but I couldn't feel any pain, I've been numb for a long time now.

I closed my eyes only for a moment and my mind wandered off, wandered off to that dangerous place, that place that held my pain, my heartache.

"Daddy," she laughed. "You look silly."

My little girl, only five years old and like every child

she was not friends with vegetables.

Renee and I had tried a hundred different ways to disguise them

in her food, but sometimes, Isabella was too smart for her own good.

Her mother and I couldn't get away with anything.

"Try it. I bet you'll love it, sweetheart," I said.

I picked up two pieces of broccoli and put them in under my

upper lip, pretending I was a vampire.

"Daddy." Her laughter rang out.

"I am the big broccoli vampire and I come to eat your carrots," I said, putting on my best Count ascent.

"The count likes numbers, daddy, not vegetables," she said, with her little arms folded across her chest.

There was a knock at my door, that snapped me out of my daydream. I sat up and straightened myself, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"Come in," I called out.

"Mr. Swan?" A young boy asked nervously. He stepped into my office, with an envelope in his hand and a FedX uniform.

"Yes."

"This is for you, sir. Have a good day," he said, putting the envelope on my desk. He was quick to leave after that.

I picked up the small white envelope that only had my name on it, there was no sender, not even a company stamp.

I flipped it over and tore it open, pulling out the small piece of paper inside.

Charles,

11pm tonight, 73rd and 188th street, Queens.

A black ford will collect you and take you to your daughter.

If you show anyone this letter, she dies.

If you wear a wire, she dies.

If you do not show, she dies.

If you are late, she dies.

Do not make a mistake Charles, I am watching your every move.

Go to the window and burn this note, or she dies.

I look forward to seeing you tonight.

Regards,

A friend.

I read the note and reread it again. I looked out my window, looking out in a frantic panic. Someone was watching me. I looked down at the street, at the people walking, at the cars driving by. It was a typical busy day. The building across, my eyes scanned the place, the rooftop, every window, trying to find something, someone that may be watching me. There was nothing, nothing out of the usual.

My daughter, my ballerina was alive, I knew she was.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and retrieved a lighter I had in my desk. I stood in front of the window and burned the note. I watched the piece of paper become nothing but ash on the windowsill.

The only thought that was running through my mind was that I would soon see my baby.

DINY

10:59pm. I was checking my watch every five seconds. I was here on time, so where the hell were they?

I did exactly what that note said. I was here on time, so where the hell were they?

I didn't tell Uley about the note, he saw me acting funny, he said he knew I was up to something. I told him he was overreacting and I was only sleep deprived. I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. If whoever this person was saw me burn their note, then they would see Uley sitting in my office. They threatened to kill my baby girl and I would not take that sort of risk.

Truth be told, I had no idea what I was about to be dragged into or what I would see. I wasn't stupid, I knew that there was a chance that I would not see my ballerina tonight, but I would not give up, no matter what, I would try and I would fight with everything that I had in me, I will fight until I have my baby back in my arms where she belongs.

11pm on the dot, a black ford stopped in front of me. The driver didn't get out, he let the passenger window down halfway and told me to get into the passenger seat. I opened the door and climbed in.

"Put your hands in your lap," he said. His face was covered with a balaclava, he had on a thick leather jacket and gloves. The only recognizable feature was his blue eyes.

I did as he said, I put my hands on lap. He slapped the cold metal cuffs around my wrists.

"That isn't necessary," I said.

"Shh."

He leaned over me and took a black blindfold out of the glove box.

"Please," I begged.

"I told you to keep your mouth shut or I will kick your ass out of this car and then…" He said, running his thumb across his neck.

We drove for twenty, maybe thirty minutes, it could have been more, it could have been less. I kept my mouth shut the whole ride. When the car came to a stop, he removed my blindfold, and undid the cuffs. He climbed out of the car and opened my door.

"Get out," he said, pointing a gun at me. I'd be stupid to say I wasn't afraid. I was afraid of death, but I had a reason to live, I was not ready to die now.

I did as he said, I climbed out and noticed that we were under the Manhattan bridge, it was a section of the bridge that was dark, not a single ray of light touched this one spot.

I looked around, expecting to see someone else here, another car, Isabella, but it was only me and him.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Take your clothes off," he said, as he threw a duffle bag at me.

"What?"

"Take your clothes off, your underwear too."

I swallowed all my pride, there was no room and no time for embarrassment. I had worked enough time and had done enough RICO cases to know how these people operated. He thought I was possibly wearing a device.

"I don't have anything on me. I did exactly as you said," I said, now standing naked in the freezing cold.

He stepped behind me and put his hand on my back. "Bend forward," he said.

"What?" My voice shook.

"Don't worry, you're not my type," he said. "Now bend the fuck forward." He pushed the gun into my kidney.

I bit the inside of my cheek, not wanting to scream, not wanting to make a sound. I did it, I bent forward until my fingers touched my toes. He stood there behind me for a brief moment and then he stepped in front of me and put his free hand in my hair, ruffling it, seeing if something dropped out.

"There are clothes in that bag, put them on, and hurry the fuck up, we don't have all night," he said.

Twenty minutes later, I was blindfolded once more and handcuffed. He left the Ford under the bridge and picked up another car from a nearby parking lot.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked.

"To see your daughter," he said.

"Is she okay? How is she? What have you done to her?" I rushed out. But he said nothing more after that.

"We're here," he finally spoke after a long silence. I felt the car come to a stop and felt myself being yanked out.

He dragged me around. We were no longer outside, I was sure of that, but it was still cold.

"Yes boss," I heard two voices say in unison.

"Oh look who we have here," someone else said. I recognized that voice. I was right, I had been right all along.

"His clothes and everything else are back at the location," the one behind me said. He pushed me down onto a chair and left me there, taking the blindfold off.

"Where's my daughter," I said, turning my head to get a glimpse of Anthony.

"What, no hello, no nothing?" He pouted. He was a sick person. This was all a joke to him, as if my daughter's life was nothing but a game for him to play with. That's what this was to him though, it was a game.

"Where is she, Anthony?" I yelled.

"I did promise you could see her, didn't I."

"Anthony, let's get this over with, I've skipped dinner, I'm hungry," Edward said, stepping into my line of view.

"What have you two done to my daughter?" I yelled louder, fighting against the cuffs, hoping maybe somehow I would break free of them.

"Oh come on now Charles, we haven't done anything to her, in fact, we have been nothing but nice to her, isn't that right, brother," Anthony said, looking down at me with a sinister smirk on his face.

"You know," Edward said, stepping in front of me, he grabbed my chin roughly and forced me to look him in the eye. "I should put a bullet in between your eyes. You are nothing but a traitor, scum. The dirt on the bottom of my shoe hold more value than you."

This was all my fault. My greed and my betrayal. I had caused all this. I had brought my ballerina into this. If I would have been a smart man, I would have walked away from Carlisle Cullen's offer all those years ago. But I wasn't a smart man, I was greedy and selfish and now I was paying the ultimate price, a price that was worse than death.

"Kill me, kill me Edward, please. But please let my daughter go, she's not a part of any of this," I begged. I would take death for her, I would take it all if they let her go.

"I am not going to kill you Charles. I will not show that sort of mercy," Edward said, snapping his fingers. He stood up and hit something on the wall in front. The black window now clear. There stood my little girl looking frantically around, as two men walked in.

"Oh, what do we have here," Anthony smiled. "Isn't that your little girl," he mocked.

"What the hell are you doing to her?" I yelled.

"Shh, watch and enjoy the show."

One of them grabbed Isabella from behind, dragging her back with him until his back touched the wall. The other one that was in the room, licked his lips as he stalked towards my little girl. He stood in front of her, grabbing her leg roughly and throwing it around his waist. She cried, I could hear her screaming pleas, yet all Anthony and his brother did was stand there watching, watching my baby hurt, watching those animals attack her.

I screamed as loud as I could until I felt my throat close up but I didn't stop.

I closed my eyes, I wasn't able to watch this anymore, I couldn't see my little ballerina in that much pain.

"Look Charles, look at that," Anthony said, forcing his head to look back towards the window.

"Anthony please, please Anthony stop this," I cried. "Do what you want to me. Leave my baby alone, I'm begging you."

"Shh, watch," he said. "Watch your precious little girl become a whore. Look at that Charles."

I fell out of the chair and onto my knees, a sharp pain shot through me, but it was nothing compared to the pain I was watching. My little ballerina, she was so close to me, yet I couldn't help her, I couldn't protect her. They hurt her, they tore her apart and when they were done, they threw her on the floor like a used piece of meat.

"Get him out of here," I heard one of them say. No, no, no I wasn't leaving, I would not leave here without my baby.

Anthony towered over me, he grabbed my hair and looked me dead in the eyes.

"You see that Charles, you see your little girl. This is all your fault, remember that," he said. "Jasper, take this piece of crap away," he called out.

I felt myself being dragged away. No matter how hard I fought, it was no use. The blindfold, it did nothing now, no matter what I could never erase the image of my little ballerina, her pain, her suffering and knowing it was all my fault.

When the car stopped, he dragged me out. He took the cuffs and blindfold off. I changed back into my clothes, it was a robotic action because I was numb, I couldn't feel a thing, only the pain in my heart and in my head.

He got back in his car and drove away, leaving me under the bridge. I fell to my knees and screamed as loud as my lungs would let me. I cried banging my fist on the solid ground, breaking my fingers as I did so, but I didn't feel them break.

I wanted to claw my eyes out, to wash my mind out with bleach, anything that would get that image out of my head.

"My ballerina," I cried.