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Games of Fate

Summary:
There are those that want to use her.
There are those that want to protect her.
Why is a seven year old girl so important? Vampires, werewolves, military men, and a small child all will come together and their choices will either save or kill them all.


Notes:
I do not own nor do I make money from the twilight world. I do however play in that playground.


1. Chapter 1: The Game Begins/Meet Isabella

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Chapter 1: THE GAME BEGINS

?POV
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In the halls of a dark castle two figures make their plans.

“Demetri, it’s been a long time between reports. Have you found the one we’ve been searching for?”

“Yes, Master, the one who will bring about the change is a nine-year-old American girl. She was very difficult to find as my power does not work on her.”

“REALLY! Well, she is obviously an exceptional child indeed. Who do you have watching her? I wouldn’t want her to slip away from us, or have an unfortunate accident.”

“I have a nomad by the name of James in charge of her for now. He knows that nothing permanently damaging is to happen to the girl until we are ready to collect her.”

“Is that safe?”

“The girl’s scent is intoxicatingly appetizing. I do not think even the strongest of us would have an easy time being around her, so she will stay with her parents. They are drug addicts, and James is using that to his advantage. He will keep them supplied and pay all their bills, and in return James will be allowed a weekly visit with the girl.”

“A weekly visit?”

“These parents were using the child as a sort of currency for their habit. This was James will be able to check on her without suspicion. He has made it quite clear that he is the only one to be spending any sort of private time with the girl.”

“I trust your judgment, Demetri, but if this James should upset our plans, or ruin the girl in anyway, YOU will be paying for his mistake after I deal with him.”

“I understand, Master.”

“You may go, Demetri. I am sure Heidi is eager to see that you have returned.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Oh, Demetri?”

“Yes, Master?”

“What is the child’s name?”

“Isabella Swan.”

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Chapter 2: Meet Isabella

Bella

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She comes in the mist of shadows, a dream with midnight hair and ivory skin. She stands over me with crimson lips as I lay in my bed. She brushes my hair back from my face, wipes the tears from my cheeks, and calms my tortured crying.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh"

She gently coos into my swollen bruised ear.

"You will survive. You will stay alive."

Her words make me forget my aches as I drift off to sleep.

"You are alive; you will survive; you will thrive".

Her gentle words paint happy pictures in my seven-year-old mind. They make me forget about my drunk parents. They make me forget about being used as a frustration toy. I dream of the ghost lady. I dream she is my mother. Her golden eyes smile as we play checkers on the kitchen table in my dream. As I win the game she hugs me. Warm soft arms hold me. Happiness, joy, love, all foreign concepts attack me. I want to stay with her.

"It's not real."

Her words of reality invade my fantasy.

I don't want to hear this.

"But one day, some day..."

Hope, a glance, a chance

"Remember you are a live; you will survive; you will thrive."

Sunlight slaps me with morning light, another day with nothing to look forward to. Peeling off the blankets I force myself to my feet. Poking my head out of my room, I scan the hall for my parents. No one in sight. Walking cautiously toward the bathroom, I peek into their room. They look dead. If only I were that lucky. They're just passed out. If I stay quiet my morning should be uneventful. I cross my fingers. Here is for hoping. I finish making my way to the bathroom, and carefully click the door shut. Gazing at myself in the mirror I survey the damage. I look like a human Dalmatian.

1 - fat cut lip
1 - eye swollen shut
2 - unrecognizable swollen ears
Too many bruises to count

But worst of all ten very distinct finger bruises around my neck. Luckily he stopped. Then again not so lucky I suppose. If they would just kill me, and get it over with, I wouldn't have to worry about dying anymore. I start to clean myself up. The world hasn't stopped. I have got to go to school.

“You are alive; you will survive; you will thrive.”

Yes, I will, and I'll make them sorry. Crying with each rub of the wash cloth, I try to wash my face the best I can. I have to figure out a way to hide these bruises from my teachers. I don't want another parent-teacher conference. After the last one I spit blood for two days.

Brushing my hair I find a clump matted with blood. So much for not taking a shower. Maybe if I make it a really fast one I can still get out of the house , and halfway to school before my parents wake up. Naw, the shower would definitely wake them up. I better do the best I can in the sink. Bits of hair and skin rinse out with the blood. The water drains dark red, and slowly changes to dull pink until it finally runs clear. I can't risk the blow dryer. I better just braid it and get out of here.

Quietly I make my way to the kitchen. Mindful of every squeak from the floor, every clap of my shoes, and every creak and groan of the house I sneakingly enter the kitchen. Aware of every noise that surrounds me I open the refrigerator door.

No milk
No juice
No food
Just beer, and vodka

It doesn't look much better in the cupboard.

Oil
Salt
Pepper
Southern Comfort

Nothing for breakfast. Maybe I can grab something out of the donut shop dumpster. Now the tricky part, how to escape from the house without being noticed, and not waking my parents? I can't even reach the door lock without a chair. I can't relock the door when I leave either. I'll try the bedroom window. Going into my bedroom, I quietly click the door behind me. Stepping onto my single mattress on the floor, I stretch to unlock the window.

I am too short. Maybe if I bunch up my blankets and pillow I will be tall enough. Not even close. Maybe I can pull myself on to the frame of the window. Digging my fingers and nails into the wooden window frame I pull myself up. Knees on the bottom of the frame start to give a little as I move my hands to the top of the frame.

I am a gifted acrobat. I won't fall. I won't fall. Teetering on the edge of doom I flip the window lock. Now I just need to pull the window up - owwww. My body lands on the mattress; my head lands on the floor. That hurt. Looking at my hand I find a splinter. At least I didn't break the window. Breaking the window would have only caused me a world of hurt. That I am sure of.

My head hurts.
My body hurts.
My spirit hurts.
Why do I bother?
Is life worth putting up with all this pain?

“No it's not.” The voice of doubt hisses through my ears.

Give up
Give in
Why try to hold onto something that you are not worthy enough to have?
Don't you think your parents would treat you better if you were worth the breath you breathe?

Where was that voice coming from? And why was he saying these awful things? Taking the splinter from my finger, I look around the room in an effort to find the owner of the voice. No one is there. I don't care though. I am out of here.

Getting up I head back to the window. Thin limber arms pull my skinny body up until I can get my knee into the window. Throwing my leg through the opening I straddle the window. I consider the drop - not too far - not too close either. But I can't hurt myself anymore than I already am. Closing my eyes I let go and fly.

Falling from the window, I wish the wind would take me. I wish the air would leave me in a happier place - a safer place. Unfortunately reality hits me as soon as I hit the ground. Temporarily free from my home-prison it is time to turn to the matter at hand, finding something to eat and getting to school.