Summery: Isabella Masen never expected to fall in love, at least not until she met Edward Swan. The only problem? Isabella Masen is a vampire. And Edward? Human.

Um…this is my first Twilight story, so I would really appreciate it if I got some feed back on the story. So, without further adieu…

Black Light

By:

Vixen Hood

Prologue:

Hospital

Chicago, Illinois—September 15, 1918

Isabella Marie Masen

"Mother…please…save your energy for getting better," I coughed weakly, trying to turn my head away from the soup that she was attempting to force-feed me.

"Nonsense, nonsense," she muttered, finally getting the thin broth down my throat. I coughed again.

I knew I was dying and the doctors knew it too. Mother was only hurting her chances of survival, for I knew that I had none. The hospital was filled with the sufferers of the influenza—both alive and dead, the latter more so than the former. When we had first been admitted, my father along with two other patients had been in this room. Now it was only Mother and I. I groaned and turned my head to the side after another spoonful of broth. I was purely exhausted and ready for sleep now, the simple task of swallowing broth too much for me.

Mother seemed to realize this and moved the tray away, leaning down to kiss my forehead and wish me well. Her green eyes, so much like my own, connected with mine as she brought her lips from my head. "You look so much like your father, my dear Bella. Only with my eyes." She sighed, and then the world went black as I finally succumbed to sleep.

When I woke, things weren't as clear as they were before. Everything was blurry and it was foggy around the edges of my vision. And God was standing over me! Had I died in my sleep? Was I in heaven now? No, I was still in the hospital, and it wasn't God who stood over me but the beautiful Dr. Cullen, so young and innocent looking but still somehow wise, too wise, for his years. His cold hand was on my feverish forehead, feeling my temperature. His face looked torn in despair.

He turned from me to Mother, and instantly looked taken aback. Mother's voice, weak and hoarse from the influenza, sounded still angry and harsh, and even though I couldn't see her, I knew she was using her famous glare that she used to intimidate people into doing what she wanted when she was upset. "Save her!" I heard her command. Save me? Save me? I was beyond saving, she must mean someone else. I moaned with the fever.

"I'll do everything in my power." I had closed my eyes again, to weak to keep them open, content to just listen vaguely.

"You must," Mother's voice insisted, upset. I could almost hear the tears. "You must do everything in your power. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Isabella."

What others cannot do, what others cannot do. What could Dr. Cullen do? I faded again, knowing that this was the last time I would ever be conscious. I just wish I could say goodbye, to Mother, to Father, to dear kind Dr. Cullen. But apparently not even God would allow that...

I was vaguely aware of a whooshing of air in my ears and the cold chest that I was held to, so much colder than the air itself. Where was I? More importantly, who was carrying me? I couldn't open my eyes to see, I had no strength to. Abruptly, the whooshing stopped and I felt myself being lowered onto a soft surface, though it felt as if it was not me being lowered, but someone else, and I was just watching, observing from afar. Dr. Cullen's voice floated over to me in the silence.

"Isabella? If you're awake, I'm so sorry."

Sorry? Sorry for what?

My answer was given to me as a fiery, burning pain pierced the flesh in my neck. It broke the skin of my neck again and again, moving to my shoulders and I felt my arm snap. A ragged gasp escaped my mouth. The pain…the pain… "The fire," I gasped. "The fire, stop the fire!" My voice was weak, just like Mother's. What had I done? I was in hell surely, the fire burned just like those the priest said in hell would.

And, as I lay gasping in pain, a loud, blood-curdling scream ripped from my lips, high enough to hurt even my ears.

I was in hell, I decided. And there was no way that I was ever getting out. And Dr. Cullen, the one that I had just previously thought of as God, was holding my hand; murmuring apologizes into my ear, telling me it would be over soon. The liar. He was not God but Lucifer, Satan, the Devil! Whatever you wished to call him—it was he that had sent me to this hell, and I hated him for it.