Tuesday was a pretty quiet day at the hospital. Carlisle found himself sitting at the nurse's station, legs crossed and fingers tapping away on the desktop. There were only two patients in the ICU and the emergency room was virtually empty. And so there Carlisle sat, waiting for something—anything—to do.

"Um, Dr. Cullen?" asked a timid young nurse, pressing the phone to her chest, making it clear she was talking to Carlisle and not whoever was on the line.

"Hmm?"

"The ER is paging you. A little girl is on the way in an ambulance. They're bringing her into trauma."

"Car accident?"

The nurse shook her head. "They didn't say."

"Tell them I'm on my down." Carlisle stood up and briskly walked towards the elevators. He hated the pediatric cases. It was miserable to watch the children fight for their lives, their parents standing helplessly alongside them.

As Carlisle stepped off the elevators, the smell of fresh blood hit him like a slap in the face. He was immediately grateful that he had such strong control of his cravings.

Carlisle caught up with the paramedics as they wheeled a stretcher in. "Young female, possible internal bleeding and broken bones."

"What in God's name happened to her?!"

The paramedic shook her head. "Neighbor called it in. She was driving home and saw her lying outside."

"Name?" Carlisle asked.

"No idea. There was no way for identification."

"Ok, please take her to trauma one. Esther!" Carlisle called for the nurse. "I'm going to need a blood typing please. She's lost a lot of blood."