A/N: In this story, Carlisle and Esme were closer than they were in CANON, when Carlisle meets her at 16. He still leaves her though, and at 26, Esme dies jumping off the cliff. Carlisle is the attending physician in the morgue and, recognising Esme, goes mad with grief and seeks to find out why she committed suicide. When he discovers the abusive husband/ dead baby situation he captures and bites Charles Evenson, the abusive husband, and we go from there...
WARNING – Dark!Carlisle
~! READ A/N BEFORE READING THE STORY !~
Avenging Her – Draft 1
Late 1926, Ohio
A man dressed in a white lab coat strode briskly into the large room. He had white blond hair, and wore dark, smoked lenses on his face. His face was a hard, bitter mask. He had the air of grief, of a man who had lost everything, and had turned to madness to cope. He looked around the granite walled room, little more than a dungeon. It was heavily modernised, with equipment plugged into the wall sockets.
On the steel table in the centre of the room was a hand that seemed to be made of stone. It was restrained by tight bands made of thick steel. Even so, the hand seemed to be pulling and yanking on the restraints, trying to get free. Complicated equipment was positioned directly above the hand.
A head was set in a large steel cage bolted to the wall. It was wincing and twitching, as if trying to shake off some recent pain. The mop of lank, dark brown hair flopped over sunken, flat black eyes.
The man flipped a switch, directing a thin beam of solid white light at the dismembered creature's hand. The head in the steel cage on the wall squealed and screeched, obviously in agony. The rest of the body was disassembled in tiny cardboard boxes stacked across the wall. Each tiny box was no more than 3 inches square. They were rattling and trembling almost imperceptibly.
The hand writhed and twisted at its restraints. The man seemed to be unperturbed to the suffering of the body spread around the stone dungeon, merely muttering, "Hmm. Very interesting." His smooth voice was mild, but the tone was somehow cold and unmistakably cruel.
He continued the torture for thirty seconds in total, before he flipped the switch back off. The hand stopped writhing. The boxes stopped trembling. The head in the cage on the wall stopped screaming and panted.
The man bent his blond head very close to the hand, and examined the damage. "Fascinating. The concentrated volume seems to have had some low level damage. Not nearly as much damage as fire would, but certainly effectively slow. And painful. Good. That will do nicely." He was muttering to himself as he placed a microscope over the damaged hand to assess the damage further.
He put the microscope aside, and suddenly bent his head over the hand again. There was a horrible screeching sound, like nails on a blackboard, and the head on the wall screamed again, a piteous wail.
The man remained impassive as he came back up with a lone finger in his mouth, bitten off from the hand. He then proceeded to rip the finger to minute shreds, before placing each fragment in another tiny box.
Finally, the man completed his research. And then came the real torture. Every fragment of the body, each in a separate box, was burned slowly.
The torture went on for weeks. The blond man destroyed every fragment of the body, and the head on the wall screamed. Each moment was punctuated by fresh shrieks of pain when a new fragment was burned. Finally, after months had gone by, with no rest or respite from the destruction, just slow, constant, agonising pain; the man stopped. Not one box remained.
He slowly switched off the machine and slipped off the lab coat, revealing an ordinary black shirt and trousers. He turned to the head on the wall, his face set and dangerous, replacing the expression of perverse pleasure that had been dominant during the burning. The head was sobbing in pain, cursing between sobs.
"I have given you a taste of the agony you gave her. You killed her. You killed my mate. And I am now killing you. Slowly. With as much pain as I can possibly muster. I hunted you down as soon as I realized she was gone forever. I created you, changed you, for the sole purpose of your pain. Charles Evenson, this is my gift to her. This is infinitely more than revenge." The man's expression was harder, and the grief on his face was barely shadowed under the bitter, cruel mask.
"Is the thirst getting to you yet, I wonder? Let me give her one final gift."
The blond man, finally, stopped taunting the tortured head and walked to a cabinet against the wall. He pulled out a bag of human blood. He ripped off the top and poured it into a bowl, which he set on the table. The head started to writhe and scream again in acute thirst as the scent reached his nose. It rolled around in the steel cage and tried to get its teeth into the heavy mesh to escape, but it was futile.
"I'll be back in three days. And that will be your final demise. Enjoy your meal, Charles Evenson."
Carlisle Cullen smirked, and finally slipped off his dark glasses, revealing blood red eyes. His job was done. She was avenged.
A/N: Hope you liked it!
It won't make sense, however, if you don't know Esme's story and/or you don't read the A/N, so please do. It is there for a reason.
This had my skin crawling the entire time I wrote it. This isn't my usual stuff, but this plot bunny has been bouncing around in my head for about 6 months, so I decided to get it written.
Those who review will get a large virtual dish of the best (*enter favourite food here*) in the world!