Fraudulently steeling my composure, I take my first few steps from the concerned stranger.

I can't help experiencing the feeling of being hemmed in; a suffocation of sorts; as if the gated walls of the cemetery are closing in around me, ensuring I stand wholly accountable for my unforgivable remark.

It's not him ...

A curtain of treacherous betrayal follows me through the winding path as I make haste towards the exit. It slowly meanders through each twist and turn until eventually creeping up and enveloping me fully, washing me with the guilt of denying this man, and the impact he had on my life.

Blurry eyed and still shaken from passing out, I whisper out in the hope of a little clemency.

"I didn't mean it like that, I ... I'm sorry"

The guilt I was harboring, was all my own creation. I had built up a wall of solace surrounding my saviour; a wall that allowed me the freedom to release my inner thoughts and feelings of negativity. It generated an elaborate sense of purpose in the travesty of that fateful night, where this young man lost his life and unwittingly permitted me to live mine. He had a name, a mark etched in gold signifying an acknowledgment, and at the very least he could be addressed as I lay my flowers at his alter.

Yet now ... that wall has been shattered with the knowledge that Edward Cullen was not lying in this cemetery.

He was but a mere, twenty minutes away at the local police station.

Alive.

And obviously enraged by this ghastly error of judgment that had been bequeathed upon him ... unlike the poor soul who lays stoically resigned, deep within the calm enclosure of eternal rest.

Passing through the massive metal gates, I inhale deeply and allow myself a brief respite in a bid to gather my thoughts before setting of in the direction of the station. I swallow hard and make a conscious decision to introduce myself, maybe even try to strike up a conversation, and share how this awful experience has affected the lives of three strangers in an odd kind of way. Of course, there's no denying the truth that the man lying in an unmarked grave, who is indeed the protagonist in this tragedy, will never be able to air his views.

Hi there ... I'm Bella

(Too casual )

Mr. Cullen, please to meet you ...

Am I pleased to meet him?

I'm PLEASED to meet him?

What the fuck does that say about me?

May as well just high five the man adding Hey Eddy glad you're not dead ...

shit

shit

shit ...

Nope, face it Bella ... you're just going to have to wing it on this one.

Turning the corner into the car park of the local station, I'm met with the sight of a blacked-out SUV and the hustle and bustle of a small group of photographers.

It is there I stop in my tracks.

A young man exits the building flanked by what looks like two, burly body guards to a sea of flashing cameras and incoherent gabble of questions from the group in a desperate attempt to get his attention.

Is that ... No ... Surely not

As I step forward a little to get a closer look, I'm speechless.

The young man is bundled into the waiting car and driven off at great speed; it's clear the driver has no consideration for the safety of the bustling crowd gathered around the vehicle, flashing their cameras into the blacked-out windows. The car whizzes past me leaving the furor of the excited news reporters to gather their equipment and disperse.

Charlie comes out to meet me as I enter the station; he looks even more sombre than usual as he points towards his office and kindly opens the door.

"Bella you shouldn't be here, if that mob had realised who you were, they would've had a field day!"

"Who was ... I mean was that?"

My father sat in his chair and exhaled loudly. He looked older than when I had last seen him.

"That was Edward Mason ... i.e. Edward Cullen"

Charlie raised his hands, pettily displaying the exaggeration sign with his fingers as he finished his sentence, before ending with another sigh.

"What ... I don't understand ..."

Edward Mason is a big-time player on the party scene, a socialite, and filthy rich. His antics have caught the eye of the media in the past. They have glorified him to celebrity status of sorts. He's often seen in the most exclusive nightclubs with the latest top models or upcoming actresses, creating a media frenzy wherever he goes.

"Charlie what exactly is going on?"

"Your Edward Cullen is none other than a body-double for the elusive Mr. Mason ... His real name was James Witherdale, a two-bit stripper who resembled Mason. He was on his payroll to draw the media attention away from whatever that spoiled man was up to ... His lawyer is coming in soon to clear this up ... You really shouldn't be here Bells ... "

"But ... "

"Go home Bella!"

I am furious with Charlie right now and storm out his office, ceremoniously slamming his door for the full affect.

"Oh, Miss Swan."

I turned to see one of the suited security that flanked Mr Mason as he left earlier. He motioned for me to come closer, leaning over and producing a card, which he placed it in my hand before whispering ...

" Mason would really like to meet the girl he gave his heart to."