Authors Note: This is my first story so please be kind, the overall summary is that Edward is an orphan that has been passed around from foster home to foster home, each one worse than the last. No "flames" please, because my philosophy is that if you have something wrong with the story that you should just put it out of your mind and not read it at all. Since this point I have only read Fan Fiction stories, so I guess we'll just have to wait and see how this turns out. I re-did this chapter because I didn't like how it was the first time.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, it's all the beautiful work of Mrs. Stephenie Meyer.

Edward's point of view

My lungs have never hurt so badly in all of my life, but the hurt was good, it fueled me to push my legs faster like they had been shot with adrenalin. Most folks have a lucky number, I guess you could say I have an UN-lucky one. Very un-lucky number 5; it's the number of families that I have been dumped with over a duration of three years, its also the age was when my parents died, but most importantly, 5 is the amount of repulsive families it took for me to buck up the courage and run away.

5 families in three years, you try to do that and not go crazy. The worst part was that they weren't even the pleasant people that you see in the movies that rescue the poor, debilitated little orphans that were damned to the rat infested orphanages. Hell no, that dream crumpled up and was reduced to ash a long while back. These people came from my own personal hell.

Branches slapped my face, cutting gouges into my face and knotting up my hair, but that didn't stop me. It should have though. If was thinking clearly, like I had taught myself to over the years to, I wouldn't have run into the woods on this freezing, stormy night. When you live with someone who is abusive, you always have to be on your a-game. Always watching your back and mentally preparing yourself for the next set of punches. That brings me to my most recent family, the Pearsons, who were by far the worst family I have ever had the "privilege" to stay with. They were supposed to be old acquaintances of my parents, but I cant imagine them ever hanging around these people. Mrs. Pearson was a washed up old drug addict, wrinkly and didn't give a damn about me. She worked at gas station off of the main road in our small town, she was the least of my worries. Mr. Pearson was by far, the most vile being I have ever met. Whenever he came home from work (a.k.a the bar) it was as if I had punching bag written all over my face. When I first came to be with the Pearsons, the abuse was mostly verbal. As the weeks went by, he started to get physical. Usually it was just shoving and slaps to the face, then other times when he was especially wasted, it got to be punches to the gut and the face. John Pearson was about 6'1" and over 200 lbs., but that didn't mean I hadn't gotten a few punches of my own in on occasion.

That brings us to the story of how I escaped…

Flashback

The beat up ford truck pulled up to the gravel driveway. Mr. Pearson tripped out of the car, not even bothering to turn it off or shut the door. He dragged up the steps and busted through the front door, his eyes glazed over, utterly drunk. He stumbled in, removing his coat and dropping it randomly on the floor beside him. He was fumbling to loosen tie until he saw me, positioned on the mangy couch that was pushed hastily against the back wall in the tiny living room. Mr. Pearson's eyes kept trying unsuccessfully to focus on my face but they unintentionally flickered to the left, a no fail indicator that he was indeed drunk. Mr. Pearson being drunk is exactly what I had been counting on. He surged forward, with a stupid smile plastered on his face.

"What are you doing boy?", spit flakes came out of his mouth when he hissed his words at me, the overwhelming smell of alcohol surrounded my face. It stung my nose and made my thoughts swirl. I shrunk back into the couch, hoping that he would take my fake fear in like a fish to bait. He was to dunk to notice the tattered backpack that was half-heartedly hidden beneath the musty throw pillows on the mildewed couch. Mr. Pearson was also to drunk to react when I heaved my thin body towards him, wind my arm back and release my balled up fist to connect with the soft part of his nose, resounding with a satisfying crunch. He fell to the ground like a bag of sand, his head clipping the corner of the coffee table on the way down, knocking Mr. Pearson unconscious. I stood up, my breath heaving in my chest and adrenalin filling up my body.

That's when I panicked, thoughts rushing through my mind such as being sent to a new family, most likely a worse one if that's humanly possible. Seeing Mr. Pearson lay crookedly on the floor, blood pouring out of his nose and forehead, and being the juvenile 8 year old I am, I hauled butt out of there and into the woods near the house…

That's where it brings us now. Me, running through the woods, soaked to the bone in the middle of winter with a black band t-shirt, jeans and tattered tennis shoes on. A pretty sucky predicament eh? Oh yeah, one more thing, I am utterly lost and have been for about four hours. When I ran into the woods, I couldn't stop with the fear of Mr. Pearson waking up and coming after me with a vengeance. Not a good thing considering the only things I packed were a picture of my mom and dad, a pocket knife and a couple of ten dollar bills. No food, no jacket and the Pearsons wouldn't send a search party until well past I'm dead from starvation or hypothermia and my carcass is being devoured by a bear or some other carnivorous animal, if they were to send one at all. The fact that I have been running for approximately 5½ hours, as told to me by the time on my cheap watch didn't help my current situation either, it was just exhausting me to the point where I couldn't feel my legs pumping any more, just the wind blowing back my matted bronze hair.

My bag thumped on my back every time I took another bounding step. I checked the watch again to learn that it was early in the morning, about 3 a.m. I stumbled around, when I tripped on a branch or a tree root, I had half a minds idea to just lay there and let myself fall into deep, much wanted sleep. But to no avail, I pushed my tired body back up, telling myself that Mr. Pearson wasn't far behind. I couldn't see my hands in front of me it was so dark, and the tree tops blocked out any moonlight that might have spilled through before. It was so dark that I didn't notice the giant ditch right in front of the path I was running in.

When I got to the point where I was able to see the edge of the gaping hole, I was already going too fast to stop myself. Before I knew it, I was soaring through the air for a few seconds when gravity kicked in and slammed me unwillingly into the hard ground. My subconscious told me to stay awake but as pain blossomed across my brain and darkness started to spread across my pupils. A mix between my exhaustion and pain willed closer to sleep. The taste of raw medal ran into my mouth from a thick liquid that poured from my hair line. It took a couple of minutes for my breath to slow down, but before I slipped into darkness, I could have sworn I saw a white figure rush towards me from the depths of the dark woods.

Jasper point of view

I was crouched down in the brush, anticipating my next move to catch my prey. Emmett was somewhere near by, but I paid no attention to him, he was a big boy and could handle himself. My eyes were only for the Elk that I held, trapped in my gaze like a steel cage. It stood frozen in spot for a few seconds, stiff as a board, then it slowly started to back up, trying to distance itself from me, sensing it was in danger.

This made me chuckle. No matter how fast or how tough that deer was, it could never beat me. Venom seeped from my saliva glands, dripping off my teeth onto my tongue. It was like my body was egging me on to hurry up and catch the animal that had no chance, to stop playing with it and put it out of its misery. Already crouched down and ready to pounce, all I had to do was take that last fatal lunge. That's when the smell of blood hit me, human blood. The scent hit me like an 18-wheeler smacking me upside the face.

My instinct was to go hunt down the smell and take what was mine, but my conscience was nagging at me. Don't do it…think of Carlisle…of Alice…they would be so disappointed.

"But they would never know." Snapped the demon from the depths of my black soul. Before I could straighten out my thoughts, my feet were carrying me towards the scent. Just to investigate… I kept telling myself. Emmett was close by, he must have smelled it also, he'll be here soon to hold me back…if anything should happen.

As I neared, the smell got more potent. I was just thinking it must be a lot of blood when my statement was confirmed. Why would a human be out so deep into the bear infested woods so late at night? It was dark outside, but I could see the faint outline of a small, thin boy. His legs were gangly and covered in bruises and fresh cuts. He looked to be about 8 or 9, but there was so much blood covering his face and odd colored bronze hair that was tangled with leaves I couldn't be sure. He was laying in a ditch that would be undetectable to any human when it was so dark outside.

I felt something vibrate spastically in my back pocket. I took no notice to it, the boy was the only thing on my mind. Well…his blood was anyway. Its not that I wanted to drink his blood and suck him dry, no quite the opposite. There was so much blood that I was scared for him, I didn't want him to die, which is what would surely happen to him if I didn't take action soon. If not from blood loss, then from severe hypothermia. There was a primal instinct that rose from deep inside of me that forced my thirst down; it was the same feeling that Esme got when one of us were in danger. The feeling in my gut was strange, but it also warmed my un-beating heart. I felt as if the child down there in the crevasse was my own son. My own child was laying in the mud, crumpled and dying, but I was doing nothing to stop it.

Before I could comprehend what I was doing, I had scooped up the oddly colored hair boy and held him tightly in my arms. He was cold, too cold for a healthy human, and his lips were the nasty blue-purple color of the bruises that were placed randomly along his bare arms. I ran, faster than I have ever run, through the woods to Emmett's jeep that was parked on a small cleared patch of wood that led to a dirt road near the highway.

My phone was still buzzing hotly in my pocket, so I took it out and threw it into some unknown direction where it proceeded to smash against a tree. It was bothering me and I can't have distractions in a situation like this.

Slowly, so not to jostle the injured boy, I opened the door to the jeep and placed him gently in the backseat so he could lay down. After slamming the door, I ran vampire speed to the drivers seat and hopped in. The keys fell to my hand when I flipped down the mirror and I hastily jammed them into the ignition. When I turned the key, the jeep sprang to life growling like an angry animal. Without a second thought, I sped off to the Forks Hospital where Carlisle was working the night shift.

We were going about 125 mph, but it still didn't seem fast enough. Stores and houses whizzed by but I still pushed the gas harder. I sped down the main street and accidentally missed turn to the hospital because my mind was worrying about the boy in the backseat. Since I missed the entrance, I turned and crushed the hedges that lined the hospital parking lot with the grill of the jeep. I zoned in on the E.R. opening and made way over to it with no hesitation.

I was going so fast, and so recklessly, that when I slammed on the breaks in front of the entry way the car screeched to a stop, crashing into a potted plant that stood by the doors. I sped out of the car and gently grabbed the kid from the backseat, carrying him inside the Emergency room. The doors slid open and there was Carlisle, with a shocked expression on his face, next to me there was a young doctor who landed in a plastic tree to hastily get out of my way, with coffee spilt all over his front. Carlisle's eyes went from being transfixed on the bloody boy, to me, in all my bloody shirted, disheveled glory. That's when I opened my mouth and spoke one sentence that stunned Carlisle into action.

"Help him, please"