For one second I thought I might be in Hell. What had I done? I asked myself. Surely I must have done something unforgivable to deserve this dreadful afterlife. My flesh was burning from the muscle slowly. I could feel my bones beginning to heat, preparing to burn, too. My whole body was going to slowly turn to ash, I thought. Along with my thoughts were others; voices I did not control. They clouded my view of coherency. The voices and the burning together was too much. The pain was unexplainable. Like bathing in a tub full of hot lava? Like having my face being forced against a hot stove? Like being drowned in boiling water? Like smothering a battle wound with acid and salt and then setting in on fire?
No, worse. Much, much worse.
I could feel my heart flying, like it was somehow fighting to free itself from my fiery chest. My veins were filled with magma, circulating the flames that filled my body.
Time was incomprehensible. I could have been here, in this hell, for hours, months, years. I prayed to God that it was not for eternity. God. Where was He? Where was my Judgment Day? I yearned for forgiveness. This pain was too much.
Suddenly I heard His voice. It was calm, methodical, and to my surprise, faintly British.Edward Masen. I heard my name. I opened my eyes instinctively to behold Him, to ask for forgiveness. Without meaning to, I screamed a painful, bloodcurdling scream. It was not in surprise to my environment, but to the pain that filled my eyes when I let my eyelids back. The fire had reached my eyes, too.
I was in a small, dimmed room. Wood paneled the floor and a floral print covered the walls. A small table was placed next to me with a large black bag placed upon it. I tried to remember how I'd gotten to this place. My memories were frighteningly dim. I scratched and clawed in the deepest corners of my mind for answers, but none came, and voices buried any progress I was making. I was being smothered.
As my eyes burned, I skimmed the room. I noticed that my eyesight was almost magnified in intensity. My peripheral vision was just as clear as my central view. My baking eyes swiveled around, taking everything in within a tenth of a second. I could see dust particles floating through the air, and I was undeniably certain the exact point in time at which they would reach the wooden floor. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled in every window.
Voices still invaded my brain, but I ignored them as my eyes found God. He was beautiful, as I had predicted. But to my utter surprise, he was man-like. He sat next to me in an overstuffed leather chair, a book in his lap. His hair was honey blond and his eyes were a frightening crimson color. I could see every plane of his face in exact detail. His having a human appearance might have been even comical if it weren't so extraordinary. He almost glowed. It was like looking at the sun.
I was surprised I could take in his visage at all, because the pain was still excruciating and the voices still invaded me. Yet with lack of memory, my head felt almost empty, even with the hum. I looked at this god-like man with pleading eyes. As I opened my mouth to speak, I screamed in pain again. I struggled to keep from shrieking again, clamping my teeth together and trying to focus on the voices instead, to see if they could explain this insanity.
…needs her hooves trimmed in a few days. Maybe I'll shoe her, too…
…How am I going to come up with that? I can't earn enough for…
…He should be waking soon. His screaming has lessened, at least. His heart is quicker. Only a little while now, yes. How shall I explain?
There was that voice again. I was sure it was His. I concentrated on keeping my voice even. "Is this hell?" I managed to stutter in a high, breathless cry. I searched the man's face with frantic eyes. He looked up then. His brow was furrowed in shame. He gripped my hand then, and I would have been grateful for the coolness of it, but the pain was too overwhelming. If it could worsen, it did. The fire was directed to my upper body now. It was leaving my appendages, but multiplying in my chest. I screamed again.
"No, this is not hell. I'm so sorry, Edward," the man said to me in a soothing tone. You'll never understand how sorry I am. The two voices were the same. He was inside my head as well. "My name is Carlisle, Edward," he continued. How did he know my name?
So this was not God. And I could not be saved now. The thought made me cry out in longing. If this was not Hell, then what? Surely death would be better than this.
"Please," I begged. "Please kill me," I shrieked. I tried to reach for him, and found myself restrained by leather straps around my torso and shins. The searing pain intensified even more and I could hear my heart pounding relentlessly in my chest. It would surely explode soon. My hope was rekindled for that moment. I would die soon, and I could have the real reckoning of my faith. In that, at least, I was confident.
"No, no, Edward. The pain won't last. Soon you will be new. You will be saved," he breathed reassuringly, looking into my blistering eyes.
I could not understand how my heart was beating so furiously in my ashy chest. Surely I was charred from the vigorous flames that had enveloped me for this endless amount of time. I closed my eyes and returned to the blackness for a long while. The man named Carlisle continued to try and soothe me. It was in vain. I could barely hear him over the incredible beating of my heart. It thrummed so quickly it felt like one drawn out beat. It became a violent hum, until it stammered with one more beat. And then it was still. My heart was dead. So why wasn't I?
The transformation is complete. I heard the man's voice in my head. He's ready.
I began to understand what he meant, though, as the fire was extinguished. I felt solid, like rock. That surprised me, and I opened my eyes to see if my appearance matched my imagination.
I leaned upward and the leather straps restraining me snapped as if they were hair. The man called Carlisle stood slowly, putting his leather bound book on the table beside him. He took a two centimeter step toward me, and I heard the oddest sound. A ferocious growl vibrated through my chest, into my throat, and came out between us, menacing and evil. I gasped in shock, but the passage of air brought no relief to me at all. What was I, a shell?
"What is going on?" I heard escape my lips, and my voice was like liquid. It was like this man took me apart and polished the pieces, then gave them back, scrambled and out of order.
What to say, a voice chuckled in my head.
"Just sit a minute, Edward. I'll explain everything," Carlisle said to me. I looked down to see myself standing opposite him, the hospital bed I had been lying on between us. My movements were jerky, yet fluid. I started to sit, but noticed I was already sitting. I hadn't an idea how I got there but I was somehow aware of every second. He needs to stay calm. Otherwise this could turn ugly very quickly.
"Who does? What could?" I tried to understand. Why wasn't his mouth moving?
"Sorry?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. Then understanding flickered on his face. Edward? Can you hear me?
"Stop!" I cried, and another snarl came between my lips. I willed myself not to launch myself at him, like I wished to. To do what, I did not know.
You can hear me. You can read minds, he said inside my head with fascination. I knew you'd be special.
"Stop it! Speak aloud, will you! I can't read minds!" I told him indignantly, though I realized that's exactly what I could do. I had been hearing them all this time. Others around me had found ways inside my head, and I had the crushing feeling that I would have this burden forever.
"Alright then, aloud," Carlisle replied soothingly again, with his hands raised. I took a deep breath, though I didn't need to. I waited for him to speak. He clasped his hands together and looked at them before raising his face to me. "Do you remember me, Edward?" I took my time, sifting through the few memories I could see clearly to try and remember this man.
White rooms. Cold, sweat-drenched sheets. Struggling. Crying. Cold metal on my chest, testing my weak heart. I saw it through a fog. "Dr. Cullen," I exclaimed, looking at him closer now. He looked different with these eyes. He was tinted with the lights, making him glow slightly. He had a scent, like the perfect, sunny weather of summer. And those eyes.
"Yes. You remember then," he responded, though he seemed a little resigned. Like he was holding something back.
"Of course." Dr. Cullen cared for me every day, much longer than a normal doctor should. He never seemed to get tired, barely ever went home. The only sign of exhaustion was the slight purple under his eyes. "So where are we?" I asked him, feeling a little better, now that someone I trusted was with me. I looked around, taking everything in again. It all seemed to be getting older before my eyes. The single rose had wilted infinitesimally upon the side table. The vase had collected more dust than it had when I looked at it earlier. The water was just a little greener.
"This is my home," he looked around, too, waving a hand towards the bookshelves surrounding us. "I took this," he patted the hospital bed, "from the clinic. When I brought you here." He eyed me cautiously.
"Why?" I asked, hesitantly watching him.
"You were dying," he said quietly. He was nodding his head, looking down at the hardwood like he was trying to convince it of something. "Your mother," he looked into my eyes now, "she made me promise to do what I had to, to keep you alive."
"My mother," I breathed. "Where is-"
He put a hand up. "Please. I'll explain." I wanted to slash his throat with impatience, so I gripped the leather armchair so tightly that it busted under my fingers. It's alright, he added in his head before I could apologize. "I know your memories are very blurry. You were in the hospital, with the Spanish influenza. Your father had already passed," he paused as I felt the pain returning. This was a different pain. It was an aching in the pit of my stomach. The aching of loss. He continued quietly, sympathetically. "Your mother, was very sick. As were you." Dread crept up my spine. My father was dead. I had seen him being carted to the morgue. I had heard my mother's screaming, weak as she was. We were all going to die. "Where is my mother?" Though I already knew.
Dr. Cullen's face fell. I'm sorry, he whispered.
"She's dead, isn't she?" I asked through numb lips. She had struggled so hard. For her life, for mine. Well, at least I was sure of one thing. She had been delivered. She was with God now. Mine was a different story, though.
"Why did you do this?" I whispered, devastated.
Edward, he began. That's when I snapped. I launched myself at him, across the bed. The chair he was sitting in was overturned and we tumbled across the small room. I slammed him into the only empty wall, but the books flew off the bookcases from the impact, sending waves of them toppling to the ground. The wall was cracked and he was pressed into it, with my elbow and forearm pressed against his chest and my right hand gripping his throat.
Not three seconds had passed since I was sitting in that chair, listening to him. This new strength, this new body infuriated me. "What am I?" I growled at him, squeezing his throat tighter.
You're a vampire, he yelled at me. His eyes were wide. Please, Edward, please try to understand. He didn't try to fight back, though I knew he could. His arms were stone. He was holding back. Even with this new, advanced brain, the word only registered then.
"What?" I scoffed, unbelieving. Though, after everything that had happened, part of my brain accepted it easily.
The strength, the speed, the enhanced vision. Everything has a scent. You're a vampire, Edward. This is your life now. He rushed the information on me, quick and nervous. I shoved him away, which only created a bigger hole in the wall. I turned from him and started to pace. Again, before I took a step I was already there. My movements were being copied, and I looked up to see a rusted mirror hanging by the door. I flew to it, to watch the boy I saw there. But he wasn't a boy. His skin was chalky pale and thick with muscles. His jawline was sharp. But he had the same odd, bronze hair, combed to lay on either side of his head smoothly. I looked directly at this creature, and saw the same terrifyingly bright, red eyes staring back at me just as intensely. He was glorious. He was deadly.
"I'm sorry," Carlisle murmured. And he was. I could tell by the tenor of his voice.
A vampire. I had heard about those. Horror stories. Drinking blood and being confined to the safety of night. Never aging, never dying. Immortal and soulless.
I stopped. "Do you regret it?" I asked bitterly over my shoulder. He didn't answer. "Do you regret dooming me?" I turned to look at him. His smooth forehead was creased. He raised his face to mine slowly, with something like conviction painting his features.
No. It rang in my ears, doubtless and confident.
"You will," I hissed, and threw open the door.
Alright homedawgs. Hope you enjoyed it. I reaaaaally don't think I'm going to continue with this. It was really hard. haha Not even gonna lie. I think my backspace key is like erroded now from being pushed so much. The only way is groveling! (; So review review review, and maybe I'll continue! Love and thanks!