Chapter One: The Fire

I was born in Chicago in 1901. I was named after my father, Edward Masen Senior. I looked nothing like my father; I was a spitting image of my mother, Elizabeth Masen. Emerald green eyes and I had the same strange shade of bronze hair. As I grew up, my dream was to become a soldier and serve my country. My parents continuously tried to find me a woman to take as my wife. None of these young ladies held my attention for long; they were very materialistic and did not understand that deep in my heart, I had the soul of a soldier.

It was the summer of 1918. I was seventeen years old. Marie was the newest maiden my parents had tried to put me with. We were walking around the garden when one of our many maids, Louise, came running out the door. She was like a second mother to me. She looked very scared and worked up about something.

Instantly and completely forgetting about Marie, I ran over to Louise. I put one hand on each of her arms. "Louise! What happened?!" In a normal case, Louise would have scolded me for my behavior, but all she said was, "Your father…" I ran through the garden doors and headed straight to my father's study. He was passed out on his chair with blood stains on his work suite.

I didn't think twice, I ran outside to look for help, within the next hour, my father was taken to the hospital. We waited until nightfall for a doctor to see my father. My mother kept pacing in front of my father's bed. It was around twilight that a doctor entered. "Hello. I am Dr. Cullen; it appears your husband is suffering from the Spanish influenza. It seems he has already passed on to the last stages of the disease. There is nothing we can do, I'm terribly sorry." I was unable to doubt the sincerity of his apology.

Dr. Cullen was tall, had blonde hair, and could be no older than thirty. He had strange gold eyes, and very pale skin, probably a result from working nights at the hospital. I looked from the doctor to my father; I walked over to his bed and just watched my father. I looked at my mother and decided the best thing to do was to get her home to get some rest. "Mother, we should head home, I'm sure we can visit him tomorrow." I looked meaningfully at the doctor; he smiled sympathetically and replied "Of course."

I nodded in thanks, put one arm around my mother's shoulder and led her back to the car we had borrowed. I brought my mother to bed, wished her goodnight and headed back to my room to get some rest.

I awoke the next day with a pounding in my head, I ran to the bathroom as I began coughing up blood. I went to my mother's room and found her in the same condition. I called Louise into the room and told her to arrange transportation for my mother and I to go to the hospital.

Today we saw the doctor right away and we were both diagnosed with the Spanish influenza. I was beginning the late stages of the disease, but my mother still had a chance. As we were brought to our rooms we found out that my father had not made it through the night. Silent tears formed in my eyes and my mother collapsed. Despite my condition, I helped her to her bed before settling into mine. I quickly fell asleep to my mother's chant of "It will be alright."

I awoke much later to find my mother patting my head with a cold cloth, trying to bring down my fever. I tried to convince her to try and improve her chances of survival, and not decrease it by taking care of me, who was going to die regardless.

Despite my efforts to convince my mother, she continued to nurse me. We had become quite close with the night doctor, Dr. Cullen. He told us to call him Carlisle. One day while I was sleeping, my mother died, I woke up in a new ward, the ward of the dying, I imagine they had simply kept me in the other ward for my mother's sake.

As I lay there on my deathbed, I thought. I would never become a soldier, and – a little too late to realize- I would never have a family. I was seventeen years old, my life had barely started, and now it was abruptly ending. I fell into a deep sleep, thinking it would be the last time I ever would.

I felt something shaking my shoulder, I slowly opened my eyes and to my astonishment, I saw Carlisle standing beside me. "Edward, you know both of your parents have passed on?" I nodded not wanting to betray how deep that hurt me. He continued, "You realize you will pass on with them…?" There was an odd hesitation as he spoke, as if he had some secret he wanted to tell me. I sighed and answered, "Yes, I realize that." I noticed how sad my voice sounded. I glanced at Carlisle; he was debating something in his mind. "Well, Edward, What if… I could save you? Would you like me too?" I looked at him in shock; I couldn't speak so I merely nodded. He looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking to me again.

"Close your eyes and try to make your breathing look slowed." I understood, he wanted me to pretend I was dead. I obliged, he rolled my bed to the morgue without attracting much attention, and Carlisle told me to stay silent. He left for a moment and came back with a wheelchair. The halls must have been empty because after Carlisle sat me in the wheelchair he began walking rapidly towards the exit. It was pitch black outside, must have been the early hours of the morning. Carlisle picked me up with ease, I wondered how that was possible, and then we were flying.

It was one of the most exhilarating, yet terrifying experience of my life. We arrived at a small house, which I assumed was Carlisle's. The windows were boarded up and it seemed not a ray of sunlight would have been able to seep through. As he entered the house – with me still in his arms – he set me on a bed. He left the room for a moment and then came back in.

"I'm terribly sorry Edward." I was wondering what he was apologizing for when he suddenly brought his mouth to my neck and bit me. He did this swiftly and then took a seat beside me.

That's when the fire began.