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My name is-or used to be-Emmett McCarty. But before that I was Emmett Harthrop McCarty...and before that, I had another name...Henry Harthrop McCarty.

It was born on February 13, 1932 in Rochester, New York. I was born in what you would say, a low-class family. My father's name was James McCarty and he was merely a carpenter. My mother was Vera Harthrop and she was only a house-wife. She cared for me twenty-four hours a day with a never-ending love.

Although we were poor, we were very happy. I couldn't remember everything that happened to our family only that we lived in a house with whitewashed walls that was built by my father. My crib was a gift from my mother's closest friend, Rosalie Hale.

That name was famous in our town, or so said the archives that I read when I returned. But I'm getting too far, I have to backtrack and explain.

According to the old newspaper articles that I read, the Hales were very popular. John Hale was a banker who quickly ascended to high-ranking positions through hard-work, determination and mainly because of his close friendship with Royce King I who was then the owner of the bank where he worked in, and also the richest man back then in Rochester.

John had a wife, Rosemary who like my mother, was also a housewife. He had three children; Rosalie Hale, Robert Hale and Thomas Hale. Rosalie was eighteen by the time I was born while her brothers were thirteen and eight, respectively.

From the black and white pictures that I saw, Rosalie was very beautiful. Hair that reached her waist, a twinkle in her eyes and lips that were always curved up in a teasing smile. Back then, I didn't know what her hair color was or her complexion as it was the twentieth century. Colored photographs weren't invented until much later on.

I don't have many memories of my parents. Mostly laughter, teasing and dinner which I was always fed mashed-up vegetables like sweet potatoes and corn. Perhaps I should blame Rosalie Hale for this. You see, she was the reason why I was separated from my family...why my parents were killed.

It was March of 1933, just a few weeks after my first birthday which my parents and I celebrated with a small lunch. Don't ask me how I remembered this but I simply do. Maybe it was because I went back to this memory thousands of times, piecing together details and filling in the blanks. But anyway, like I said...it was March.

Rosalie Hale had gone to visit us. She was set to be married to Royce King II, the son of one of her father's friends and boss. I still remember how she played with me, tousled my dark curly hair, laughed with delight when I wobbled as I took my first steps. She stayed in our house longer than necessary, chatting with my mother over her extravagant wedding details and her plans for her new home. It was twilight when she finally turned to leave. During that time, girls her age were required to be escorted home by their fathers, brothers or fiancee as evil things lurked in the dark but Rosalie did not want to be escorted. Her reason was that her home was only a few blocks away and what wrong could possibly be done?

How I wish she was right.

Her arms encircled me one last time and I smiled cheekily at her. When she had her head turned, Father kissed Mother quickly on the cheek but I think that Rosalie had noticed it. Her eyes had a sort of wistfulness in them, as if she wished that she was loved the same way by her fiancee.

When she left, I settled in my mother's arms as she rocked me to sleep. I closed my eyes and drifted off, knowing that there was nothing in the world that could separate me from my perfect family and my perfect life.

Two days later, Rosalie Hale was reported missing.

From the little information I gathered from the city archives, it seemed that she disappeared between the time she went left from our house to the time she was walking towards her home. The Kings put up a search of course, with no results. The searches went on for weeks. Her parents lost hope of ever finding their daughter alive and so they settled for having her body back for a proper funeral.

But they never found a body. They only find the torn remains of her dress.

The once beautiful dress was dumped in the slums of our town. It was ruined, filled with holes and blood stains. Her mother wailed when the police presented them the dress. Even my mother stayed silent for many days afterward.

It was then my life started to fall apart.

Two weeks after they found her shredded dress, Royce King II took action. He accused my parents, especially my father, of raping her then of murder. His argument was that my father had an affair with her and when he found out that Rosalie was set to be married to him, he was furious and tried to elope with her. When she refused, he knocked her out and when he was done with her...killed her as he was afraid that she might report him to the authorities.

It was preposterous but the townsfolk didn't have the heart to question the King family's claims. After all with a snap of their fingers, they could easily take you away from your work and with the Great Depression looming over us, they didn't want to take the chances.

And so they organized a hearing and since we couldn't afford a lawyer, he was found guilty along with my mother of assisting him with the crime. They were sentenced to hanging in after a week. I would be set to die too since Royce wanted the McCarty line to be extinguished, in case we produced anymore petty criminals that were going to be a danger to the society.

But my mother did not want me to die. I was only a year old then and I hadn't lived my life to the fullest yet. But neither did she. She was only eighteen, not even twenty while my father was only nineteen. But they were adamant that I would live.

So secretly, they began to pack a few of my clothes in a valise. My parents spent the remaining of our meager savings to buy a coach ticket for me and a trusted friend of theirs, Edmund Gary, a worker at the local drugstore.

And so, a day before our execution, my parents bribed the butcher to sell us some pig bones. The bones were small enough to look as if they were mine. Then at dusk, they sent me away and Mr. Gary to Dallas, Texas where they had arranged a small apartment for us. With a last kiss and a farewell, I was cruelly separated from my parents.

The news of their execution was in an article days later.

Edmund found work as a messenger boy for an old doctor. He was paid well and we were able to get by. The apartment was small and dingy, and we had to share a bed. There was no fireplace and so the winters were often cold. I had to wear threadbare clothes that were castoffs by the old doctor's sons.

When I was fifteen, Edmund died after being hit by a car. I was forced to drop out of school and work for the old doctor who was kind enough to teach me how to read and write and also take me into his home, something which his sons were displeased by. I enjoyed two years of this luxury but good times did not last long for me. The doctor soon died and to avoid the cruelty and the punishment that was obviously waiting for me if I went back to the doctor's home, I escaped to Gatlinburg, Tennessee with my savings.

I lived uncomfortably, becoming the errand boy for various people in town. I carried sacks of flour and potatoes for the owner of a shop who delivered merchandise to the wealthy people in town. With this work, I was able to grow muscular. A lot of ladies eyed me but because the execution of my parents was still the hottest crime that had happened in America, I was not safe. The Kings and the Hales had still wanted to look for the missing son of the McCarty's. Especially after Royce King II and his group of rich friends had also mysteriously died.

So I changed my name to Emmett McCarty and became very mysterious about my past, always changing the subject whenever someone asked me about my family. It was a hard charade to keep up but I wanted still wanted to live, although for who I do not know.

It was then when I was born again...

It was November of 1935 and I was in the woods, chopping up some trees to use for firewood. Winter was usually around the time bears would hibernate but apparently, a certain bear didn't get the memo. When my back was turned, he attacked me from behind. Though I was muscular and was stronger than any of the men in town, I was in no match of a bear and a very angry one too.

I was close to death, I saw stars in front of me and bursts of colorful light. A blanket was suffocating me yet I fought harder to escape. I began to loose whatever grip I had on my life and ghostly apparitions of my parents appeared before my eyes. My mother was smiling, tears running down her cheeks with my father's arm around her waist. They were unchanged, still the same eighteen and nineteen adults that I had remembered. My mother held out her hands to me and I reached out to grab hers but the image suddenly flickered and disappeared. I screamed for them not to leave me, to offer some sort of protection during my last hours on Earth but...nothing. Only never-ending blackness and a cold wind that blew from every direction.

I felt arms encircle me and through the slits of my eyes, I made out a flash of blond hair, golden-colored eyes and pale white skin. There was a rush and I cried out in pain, screaming to the figure that held me to kill me. The pain never stopped and I finally surrendered to it, closing my eyes and preparing to leave the world.

But I never did...There was three days of the feeling of being burned where I made out two females and two males. All of them were very beautiful but nothing compared to the girl that had carried me to this heaven. The girl never left my side, smoothing out my dark curls and murmuring words of encouragement and comfort whenever I stopped screaming.

And when I finally opened my eyes to this new world, Rosalie Hale was sitting by my bed, looking at me with such wonder and love.

"Henry?" her voice was musical yet it hurt me as this was the girl that had ruined my family. I wanted to kill her, make her suffer but a big part of me held me back. And I did.

I shook my head, feeling a dryness at the back of my throat. "My name is Emmett McCarty."

Her eyes widened in amazement. "My friend Vera had a son named Henry. His last name was also McCarty. You look so much like him,"

I shook my head again, wondering how long I could keep up my pretending. "McCarty is a common name,"

She nodded gracefully. "Of course...where are your family? How old are you?"

"I am twenty," I said after a lengthy pause, "And I have no family. They died in a fire last year and I live alone."

She lowered her head sadly. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely

Rosalie became my constant companion. She told me that I was a vampire, taught me how to hunt and how to fight. There were three other vampires in our coven. Carlisle, the doctor who saved me; Esme, his mate and Edward who was like the older brother I never had.

I never did tell them about my true form. When Rosalie went back to Rochester, New York to see what was left of her hometown, I went along with her. As she browsed through the articles about her family in the library, I browsed through the ones of my parents and that was when I began to piece together the information.

Rosalie and I were married in 1950 and we live a blissful life although she is blithely unaware of my hidden past.

But it's better to keep it that way.

Maybe when she finds out, my old anger at her will rekindle and I will kill her...and I'd rather not do that.

It's better this way...It's been a long time since I had peace.

Crazy enough, I dreamed about this and decided to write a story about it=)))

Hope you liked it:D