So I was rereading the saga (I don't even want to talk about how many times this is now), and I started wondering what Edward's life was like before Twilight. Of course, the natural place to start seemed to be with his change. I think he got shortchanged on the backstory (well, I think several Cullens did, actually), and I thoroughly enjoy writing from Edward's POV.
I don't know how long this fic will be. If I only tell this one story from E's life, then it will be at least one or two more chapters, but your response to it might mean I extend it. Anyway, I'll let you get on with it. Meet me on the flip side.
*****
For a long time, all I felt was pain. I wasn't entirely certain of where I was. The doctor was here. He had spoken to me frequently the last few days. The doctor, he told me that my mother succumbed to the disease. The reason I had been in the hospital too. He seemed almost always to be in the room. Watching my progress. Still expecting me to die, I supposed.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, of course. If I had to die at 17, I hoped it would be in The War, fighting the enemies of my country. But I looked to young to enlist early.
And that wasn't going to happen now anyway.
The doctor had been saying unfathomable things. I didn't take him for superstitious this way. It was one thing, perhaps, to believe in spirits, but he'd been talking about strange creatures—vampires— as though that was typical dinner conversation. He even talked about these things in the same sentence as God, as though it wasn't perfectly profane of him. At least he seemed concerned about God's forgiveness. He prayed almost constantly that God would forgive him for whatever it was he'd done.
What was more unfathomable though was when he said I wasn't going to die. But, I guess, what would he tell a 17 year old recent orphan whose own mother just died of this disease? He had to lie to me.
My memories from just a week before seemed fuzzy, but I thought the doctor was calmer then. More guarded, perhaps?
That was what made me think that he expected me to die. He seemed to be hiding none of his thoughts from me now. He just said everything aloud. He had started talking far too much. My only serenity was that his voice was quite calming. He'd have to be a good doctor, with a voice like that.
I hadn't opened my eyes in a while. For so long, the pain was too much. It was all I could do to hold back the screaming. I cried for some time in front of him. I'd managed to stop a while ago, but I was still ashamed that he was there for such a weak moment of mine. Some soldier I would have been.
At least the pain seemed to have gone now. As suddenly, in fact, as it began. It hadn't lessened the last time I gauged it, but now, it seemed to have disappeared entirely. Odd. Maybe I wasn't going to die after all.
Or I already had.
I heard someone walk into the room. I thought, if I'm alive, I suppose it's the doctor and if not, perhaps it's Saint Peter.
"I wonder how the patient is doing today," the doctor said, as though I wasn't here to answer. Mind, I hadn't spoken to him in days, so I suppose he'd grown tired of speaking to me without reply. He'd been such a brick* so far, it was all I could do to start responding, now that I wasn't in pain.
"Better. It doesn't hurt so much now." I opened my eyes, looking toward where I heard him a moment ago, but all I could see was the door, closed.
The entire house sounded still. Did I imagine him then? Dream he was here while I was delirious with pain?
I could have sworn he'd just spoken.
Then I heard swift, soft footfalls and the door swung open to reveal the doctor, as I remembered him, but he seemed to be in sharper focus. Keeping my eyes closed for so long must have made my vision seem more brilliant by comparison.
"Did you say something?"
I didn't know how he could have heard me from the other room. And then I must have been responding to a question that wasn't even posed to me. How could I have heard him speak from the other room either? The walls must be thinner than normal. Strange.
"I did," I responded, hoping he would forgive any disrespect at my casual tone. "I'm sorry. I must have dreamt that you asked me a question. I could have sworn I heard you ask how 'the patient' was doing today, and I'm feeling much better, so I said as much."
I heard him say "How could...I didn't say..." but his mouth never moved. He must be able to throw his voice, I thought. How curious that I never noticed it or that he'd never done it in front of me before.
"How are you doing that?" I asked, sitting up. The movement felt strange. I must have sat up too fast.
"Doing what?" This time his mouth moved just as anyone else's would.
"A moment ago, you threw your voice? Your mouth never moved."
"What is he talking about? Is it possible that the change has done something to his mind? Oh God, I pray forgiveness for what I've done to this boy." His mouth wasn't moving, but before he could much continue his prayer, I cut him off.
"There! That! How are you doing that? Your throat doesn't even move. I've never seen anything like it."
"You can hear this?" Again, his mouth didn't move.
"Of course I can hear it. I'm not deaf. Did you think the fever had damaged my ears?"
"Edward," his mouth moved now. "I didn't say that out loud."
He closed his mouth and added "I only thought it."
"What on earth do you mean you only thought it? I heard it just the same as when your mouth moves. Your voice is exactly the same. I only want to know how you're doing it. You could probably perform that in the theatres and make quite a load of pocket money for it. I'm certain people would pay. It's impressive."
"Edward," this time his mouth was still as he said my name. "I swear to you, I'm not speaking out loud now. How can I prove it?" he said, almost as if to himself. "I could take him out...but no, of course, I can't take him out. He'll kill someone."
"Me?" I asked incredulously. "How would I kill someone? Unless...oh, I see. You think I can make others sick like I've been? But honestly, I'm feeling much better. My throat's only a little sore now." And truthfully, it was. I hadn't noticed it at first, but it was. When I thought on it, it flared painfully.
"No, you can't make others sick, Edward. Actually, that sore throat is what I mean though. Remember what I've told you the last few days? That you're...you were...you have changed into something else. I saved you—God forgive me, by killing you—from certain death, but in the process, your body had to change a little. Did you ever learn about vampires, Edward?" His mouth moved most of the time, though not when he spoke of killing me. Incomprehensible. But I thought I understood now. I hadn't lost my mind, but he'd certainly lost his. I would humour him, I supposed. Probably safer that way.
"Yes, I've heard about vampires before, and I remember you talking about them a little."
"What do you know about them, then?"
"Well," I considered for a moment. I had to think hard to remember anything. When I was young, before father died, the family had been well enough off that I'd gone to a rather nice academy for several years. I'd learned to read—English, Latin and French, of course—but I'd been terrible at Latin. I'd read a book about vampires once...boring business, that.
"They're dead. So they're cold. And they are only around at night. And they drink blood." As I said the last word, my throat felt like it caught fire, and I thought certainly I would cough and sputter, but I didn't. Maybe I should be resting my throat, not talking so much, I thought.
My face must have shown that I felt pain though because the doctor's face became sympathetic.
"Poor boy. You must be in pain now. We've got to wait a little longer before I can risk taking you out somewhere. But Edward, first, you've got to start understanding this. I can't prove it to you without risking lives, but Edward, your throat hurts when you think about blood because you crave it."
I'm sure my face turned green. Now he was just getting vulgar and I felt perhaps that I could actually be in danger from him. I'd thought him a benevolent doctor, but maybe it was all an act.
I was no longer in the hospital. This must be his home. What sort of doctor brings a dying 17-year-old orphan to his home? I didn't like any of the answers I could imagine. A fiend, a grifter, or at best, maybe he was on a bash*. I get sick and end up infirmed, only to wind up with a loon. Maybe that was just my luck.
"Look, doc. I don't know what you're playing at. I don't know much about blood, but I've never cared for it. Nevermind that anytime I've seen it, it's probably been my own bloody nose from getting popped by some schoolyard kid. I sure don't 'crave' it for anything." But just as he said, my throat stung now, thinking about blood. He'd put the stupid idea there and now I couldn't ignore it.
"Edward, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise, I'm no threat to you." He held his hands up like he was afraid of me. Sure, I was a little taller than him, but I wasn't exactly filled out yet. I'd lost just about every fist fight I'd ever been in. And Doctor Cullen was pretty young, not some geezer who wouldn't be able to throw a punch.
"What makes you think I'm scared of you anyway?" But as I said it, I realized I was crouching slightly, unconsciously ready to throw myself at him if I had to. I straightened.
"That," his mouth didn't move.
"Fine. You're no threat. But there's something not quite right going on here. I don't feel like me. And you with that weird talking you're doing. And what is that awful humming sound?"
"Humming? I don't hear a thing. Describe it to me."
"That...I don't know...it's a hum. Droning. Like...one summer I was out on the countryside and we saw a beehive and it sounded sort of like this."
"Focus on it. Can you pick out anything specific about it?"
I listened, closing my eyes to shut out everything else.
It was just a buzzing, buzzing. And then I caught a snip of words. First it was like a conversation was happening too close to the humming, so I could only hear the occasional word. Then I caught some that weren't English. And I started to split the sounds off in my mind as I made sense of them. And suddenly it was two conversations over the hum, then three, then five, then a dozen.
The entire humming was made of voices. Like the buzz in a theatre before the show, or church after everyone stood at the end to talk to other parishioners. Dozens, maybe hundreds of voices. But there was no one in sight.
I opened my eyes and the doctor was watching me intently.
"It sounds like voices," I whispered, feeling horrified all of a sudden. There was no way I could be hearing that. There couldn't be a hundred people in the front room and I couldn't be hearing them any further away than that. I'd lost my mind after all.
"Like hundreds of voices. Overlapping. I couldn't even make sense that they were voices, but they are."
"That must be this talent he's got. Hearing thoughts outside. Every person in the streets, he can hear them thinking."
"I'm right here; you don't have to talk about me like I'm not." I paused then, considering how out of turn I'd spoken. The doctor didn't really deserve my nastiness. "I'm sorry doctor Cullen. That was disrespectful of me. I just don't understand. It's like you're talking to someone else, but I'm the only one here."
"Edward, grasp this, please. I was thinking that. To myself. Not out loud."
Impossible. But...I couldn't explain any of this any other way. I would figure it out eventually. Best, maybe, to think about other things instead.
I asked the doctor about my mother. I found if I was focused on something else, the hum dropped away, low and easy to ignore if not forget.
We spoke about a number of things for the next few hours. He explained my mother's passing, that this influenza thing was killing off half the city. The fact that I was alive seemed more and more improbable.
I still didn't know what time it might have been when Doctor Cullen stood and said it was time for us to go out.
He strode to the door and we stepped out into the night. It was totally dark, probably after midnight, and snow drifted down softly. I realized with a start that neither of us wore a jacket.
"It's cold out." I said, feeling rather stupid for saying it.
"But you don't feel it, do you?"
It dawned slowly, but he was right. I wasn't cold at all, or uncomfortable, despite the humid chill I knew was there. This was Chicago, after all, in November.
"No. I don't."
I knew, then, that he was right. I wasn't what I'd been. I couldn't be. I walked slowly, feeling out of place, trying not to think about it. I could smell just the faintest scent in the air here. Something edible. It didn't smell like a food I could remember having tasted, but I felt instinctively that I would find it delicious.
The doctor put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me along, walking quickly. He kept his hand curled tight around my upper arm, as if I might make a break for it.
He lived near the edge of the city and pulled me along side streets as they thinned, until we were walking into forested areas.
"Time to run, Edward. Follow me. Try holding your breath and run. Just trust me, please?"
His face was sincere. I had no choice but to trust him now. He was the only person who might be able to give me answers.
He took off, running faster than a person could possibly run. I'd never catch up. But I had to trust him.
I took a deep breath and started running.
And suddenly trees were moving past me much faster than was possible. It was exhilarating. I ran, silent and graceful, avoiding trees without any concern.
I'd never felt so alive. I'd had a bicycle when I was a little younger, and though I'd thought it was pretty grand riding around with the wind through my hair, this was so much better. I felt like I had to be going almost as fast as I could on my bicycle, but I was able to jump over fallen trees and rocks where my bicycle never could have gone.
"Edward, come back!"
I stopped immediately. It was Doctor Cullen.
"Come back." His disembodied voice floated through the woods. I ran in the direction it came from. Without having to think about it, I ran precisely to him, as though I knew exactly where he would be.
"Boy, you're fast Edward. You make me feel like a slow old man." He laughed.
I didn't know how to respond, so I said nothing, but shook some drops of water from my hair, gathered from the humid air and dew collected on trees.
"I thought we were running somewhere, but we only ran for a second. I can slow down if you want me to."
"No, we're here. As I said Edward, you're fast. We're several miles outside the city now."
Again, another fact that was impossible, but I had no choice now but to accept it. The evening was starting to feel like maybe a dream that would end soon. Perhaps if I just gave up on fighting against it, I would wake sooner. With any luck, in my own bed, and my mother would be making breakfast in the kitchen because neither of us ever got sick in the first place.
"Edward, focus." Doctor Cullen's voice forced me to drop the thoughts of my mother and live this dream night. "Listen to the forest here, smell the air, taste it. What do you feel?"
As I breathed in the air here, I realized why it felt foreign. I hadn't breathed once since he told me not to. I forced the thought away.
Sampling the air, I noted an earthy scent. It was more than just the smell of the leaves below my feet, the trees, the dirt. It was...warmer. Thick. I wanted to know where it was coming from.
My feet started to move beneath me and I stilled them, not sure what the doctor wanted from me.
"Doctor Cullen, I—"
"Edward, call me Carlisle, please?"
Well, if I was going along with the rest of this dream, I might as well call him by his Christian name. It had to be less strange than the rest of it all.
"Carlisle then. I smell something...warm. I want...What is it?"
"Go find out."
I looked at him and he nodded, saying "Go on, trust it," without moving his mouth.
I closed my eyes again, focusing in on the scent, singling it out from everything else in the forest. I wouldn't even have realized I was moving, but I opened my eyes, searching for the origin of the scent. My feet were moving in complete silence. I didn't even have to consider where I would place my foot to keep quiet, it was just there already as my other foot propelled me further forward.
I heard it before I actually saw it. Just a quick snapped twig in the forest ahead and instinctively I crouched, completely still on the balls of my feet. I could see it now if I looked; a large shape moving in the trees. A deer, male, big for its species. I'd never been this close to one, but I knew these things. I knew that it did not know I was watching it yet. I knew that it didn't sense any danger.
And I knew that's what I was to it: Dangerous.
It bowed its head, grazing and I could not stop the response in my body. I sprang forward, reaching its back in less than a second, landing lightly with my hands around its throat. My face was pressed to its neck before I could even consider what was happening, and then the scent was filling my throat and nose, soothing the ache that had intensified dramatically. It was like I hadn't drank in days and this animal, its blood—I shuddered slightly, thinking this as I drank—its blood was the water my body needed desperately. More than air, food, or any other thing, this was my need now.
When I pulled in through my mouth again and nothing came, I dropped the animal quickly. Suddenly, I was able to feel the horror at what had just happened. What had I just done? It was impossible, but it had happened.
With a shiver, terror gripped me hard. This was not a dream. This was really happening.
And perversely, as my human mind pushed away, screeching protest at what I had just done, my body was singing with the blood in my system. I could not deny the immediate relief I felt.
"Edward," Carlisle was standing beside a tree some ten feet away. "Surely you believe me now? You couldn't still doubt the truth of my words, could you?"
I warred internally with disgust and elation.
"No. I can't doubt you now."
"Edward, I didn't know how else to...how else to show you, how else to save you. I couldn't watch you die as I watched so many others. I don't know why you. I've been on my own for so many years, and I've never done this. I'd considered it, but I just didn't want to damn someone else to this life. I'm sorry. Half of me will never forgive me for what I've done to you."
"Then why did you do it?" I couldn't understand. He was saying this, but it was as if I could feel a hundred different things with the words he spoke.
"I don't know. I'd like to say I couldn't watch you die...that I saw too much potential life in you and that it just seemed to cruel to let you slip away from something I really think the human race will one day conquer.
"But I know that's not the only reason. Your mother was one of the most compelling individuals I've ever met. She begged me to find any way to keep you alive. I think she knew I wasn't like the other doctors. She was so...perceptive.
"And it was selfish, Edward, I must admit that too. I wanted, just once, to be able to share with someone. Please know that you would have died. I wouldn't have done this if there were even the smallest chance you would have survived. When I bit you, your mind was already damaged badly from the fever. I could hear your heart skipping and stuttering. You were going to die, it was only a matter of minutes. I didn't know what else to do. Please, I hope that given time you can forgive me."
He was silent. I didn't know what to say. I felt utter, hopeless sincerity in his words. I had absolutely no doubt of anything he said. Part of me felt anger well up at what he'd done to me, but I also felt the rush still of the fresh blood. I imagined this was what it must be to enter the opium dens. I'd heard people talk of them reverently, as though they'd seen the face of God in the smoke there. This had to be the rush, the heat and softness and blinding glory they felt. Or maybe this was better.
"It felt so...right. So good," I whispered. "I've never even been hunting before, but this was...perfect."
"As if you were made expressly to kill and drink. You are, Edward. We are. But now, I must explain the most difficult part to you."
He sighed, and as if he was whispering, though his mouth didn't move, I heard him begging God's forgiveness again.
"Edward, as perfect as that felt, there is something out there that will make that pale in comparison. And if you are to stay with me, and be in society at all, you must never, ever have it."
*****
A few notes on my slang usage. I tried to be accurate to the time period (Between 1901 and 1918, as we all know), which means a few of the terms aren't familiar nowadays. I starred a couple that I thought you might not get. Hopefully any other ones are clear from context (but if you want to ask, just hit that little review button! Or even if you don't have a question, do it anyway!)
*to call someone a 'brick' meant they were a good person. Modern equivalent; saint, nice guy (I can't think of a specific, masculine term that gets used this way, to be honest!)
*'on a bash' was slang for being drunk. Modern equivalents; on a bender, wasted.
So...What do you think? Please, please review. As you can see, this is my first attempt at multi-chaptered fic, so I really will thrive on your reviews. They are the best motivating force in the universe.
I'm also going to steal a cue from a few of my favoritest fics and ask a question to get you talking, even if you have nothing to say about the chapter. Ready?
Have you ever had a dream that you couldn't believe wasn't real when you woke? Or vice versa, have you ever really thought you were dreaming when you were actually awake?