Chapter 4:

Left to Burn


The fall was glorious. Truly falling was incredible sensation. Esme wondered how many people were actually given the chance to experience the fall.

None would know it like she had.

The air carried her down, more slowly than she had expected. It was cold and whipping, but somehow soothing. It felt like the arms of an angry parent – chiding, yet comforting. Harsh, yet loving. The wind dropped and softened, letting her land in a jagged clump of rocks and water. It was here when she lost her consciousness.

She was supposed to be gone.

Everything was supposed to disappear. The darkness was meant to swallow her whole; the waves were meant to crash on her body, sloughing off her skin and crushing her bones into salt.

But there were no crashing waves, no sting of salt, and no song of silence. Something happened then, that made Esme's faith tumble freely out of her heart. She was a dying woman with one last hope, lifted into a hard, shuddering embrace of heavenly spirits.

Esme limped in and out of consciousness as time ran by like water, minutes melding into each other. Her head was spinning one moment, then numb the next. She thought she could hear voices, sparkling over her face. Some of them were urgent, but most of them were hushed. Most sounded holy. One sounded unspeakably divine.

She was locked into something dark and soft. Something scratched her face, then soothed the scratch. Something crept into her ear – a droplet of water, perhaps. But it felt glossier, hotter.

Maybe it was her own blood.

There was a strange sucking sensation inside of her chest, like her heart was slowly shriveling the longer she lay still. She could not move her arms or legs. She tried many times and failed in each attempt. Soon she lost the motivation to keep trying. But it was fine to let go, she thought. It was fine to give in to the pain and let it strum her nerves for however long it pleased. It would all be over soon...

Unattached hands handled her body, arranged her limbs to their liking and sent her to be tucked away somewhere in the wings to wait for her afterlife. It smelled mechanical and musty. Coppery and dull. Esme didn't like the scent at first, but after a long, long while it was replaced by something sweeter.

Her senses responded to the presence above her, though there seemed to be no dimension in her quiet little world of darkness. She had no compass rose to show her which way was up or down or west or east, but there was one tiny light in the center of her vision – a single luminous prickle that called to her without a word. And Lord, she trusted it.

Her trust, once acknowledged, blossomed into something crippling and wonderful. She wanted to be taken by that tiny light; she wanted to see what wonders it was capable of. She was not going to wait any longer. Her decision sprang forth suddenly, and the light replied with a spearing out of warm, blinding rays.

The light was reaching for her, so she reached back for it, stretching her fingers for the first touch of white warmth.

Without even a tease of its heat, the light snapped off. Darkness had never looked so dark.

Before she could mourn the loss of her precious light, Esme felt the limbs of her body again being jostled. It almost felt as though she were moving of her own accord, like she was swimming with only her mind to propel her through the air. Her skin was icy, and her face was stiff. She did not know where she was going. If she was being taken somewhere, she had no choice but to surrender to the arms that carried her.

The windy ride of darkness eventually came to a halt. Her body left the world for a moment or two, placed inside a claustrophobic cloud. She waited in a panic, then was calmed by the hushing sound of raindrops and breath. Those sounds were so close, so comforting, so romantic. So... home.

They drifted away sooner than she would have liked, but she was glad just to have heard them for those few lovely seconds before her ears dipped back into darkness.

She felt her body being lowered again, out of the cold, steady arms of her gripping carrier and into a soft kind of cradle. Her mind eased in and out of the world, picking out curious moments where something soothing and cool was spread across her feverish forehead. She recognized the sensations of warmth and care and even desperation... but no matter how sweet they were, none made the slightest bit of sense.

If she was not dead yet, then she was about to die.

Esme had never imagined death to be this way. Because what she was experiencing right now was not unpleasant. It was merely different. She could already feel herself detached from her body, looking through her own two eyes, but inside she felt hollow. Cobwebs of quiet gathered around her until her ears no longer heard. A dusting of dimness caked above her lashes until her eyes no longer saw clearly.

Her limbs were stiff; her body still. A silent blizzard stormed in her mind, shredding her thoughts to rust. Her vision was fuzzy, layered with a silvery haze as she watched tiny dust particles float whimsically through the untroubled air. There was no pain now, only a dull frustration of immobility and weakness of the senses.

She felt that she was waiting for something, but she had little idea as to what. Of one thing she was sure: she was not going to be in this body for much longer. Flesh was transient, but the soul was eternal.

Her gaze danced contentedly with the dust fairies in the last serene orange beams of sunset. And Esme decided, if this was death, it was not so bad at all.

Then, behind the sheer white curtain that protected her peace, a figure appeared – one of imposing height, and sure stature. The curtain rippled like a wall of white water, and her eyes relaxed their focus as the stranger's arm lifted to draw the delicate fabric aside.

Esme's heart jumped into a steady rhythm at his soundless entrance, suddenly startled by the sight of his familiar face.

His name instantly surfaced in the shallow pool of her memories. Doctor Cullen.

Her entire body flushed.

If this was death, it was divine.

He had not aged a single minute in the decade that stood between them. The image before her eyes right in that moment belonged on the wall of a cathedral – an image that commanded its viewer to drop to their knees in worship. Her heart swelled with the truth she had known all along. She knew that he had been an angel.

He took a single step forward, the translucent film still clinging almost possessively to his tall form. His second step caused the last of the fabric to brush off his shoulder, and it wilted in miserable devastation as it broke contact with his body.

Esme battled with her tired eyes to keep the lids open, just enough for her to watch his achingly slow approach.

His third step brought him to stand just behind the rays of orange sunlight, his face now hidden in frustrating shadow. His movements stirred the air, and the dust in the light parted expectantly as though awaiting his intrusion.

Esme struggled to move, but her body did not obey her wishes. She rejoiced only that her eyes were not cruel enough to betray her; that they at least allowed her to drink in this glorious hallucination before death seized her.

The doctor paused, prolonging her frustration. Esme could not hear her heartbeat, but she could feel it.

And it was stronger than it should have been for a dying woman. Stronger than it should have been for a living woman.

She wondered for a fleeting moment if he had stopped her death – had his timely approach been a strike of revival, awakening her ruined heart before she had the chance to pass on?

The thought was not at all inconceivable.

Her eyes grew heavy with lassitude, and her heart slowed marginally as she supposed he would remain forever in the shelter of the shadow. She felt the very life inside of her close up, like a flower folding its petals. Her eyelids drooped wearily, just nearly giving up the hope that he would reveal himself to her. She watched his statue-like body begin to fade away in the darkness, almost able to feel his private conflict, though she knew not what plagued him so.

His chest expanded with a silent inhale and he lingered for a breathless moment in the safety of the shadow, before he took the last step into sunset's begging beam of light.

One hundred thousand butterflies burst to life inside her as her eyes were suddenly shocked back into crystal clear focus. Her heart tore into an erratic race with her pulse, and her hearing was instantly restored as though she had just emerged from drowning.

Esme recalled once wondering when she was just sixteen years old, what this doctor would have looked like in the sunlight. Her imagination hadn't even begun to do the image justice in the shameful infirmity of her mind.

His ivory skin shimmered with brilliant diamond dust, resplendent and immaculate. His eyes were all-knowing, searing with glittering golden wisdom, and his entire body glowed, scattering tiny rainbow reflections over the walls and floor. His impossibly youthful face was terrifyingly handsome, the epitome of true divinity. Esme's pulse beat faster with the knowledge that she was the only witness to this impromptu miracle. She wondered for a heart-stopping moment if this could have been God Himself.

If he was not her God, then surely he was one called upon by the Lord to bring her to heaven.

Esme had little doubt now that this divine being was endowed with this very task.

And how thrilled she was at the prospect of being whisked away by this creature. God had known that this had been her only dream throughout her splendidly torturous life. How wonderful the sense of elated relief she felt consume her entire body as a new force entered her, weakening her to the core – and she welcomed it with arms outstretched.

Death was ready to take her. She was ready for Death.

Already she anticipated the journey toward life eternal in the home of the Lord. Her angel would lift her in his arms and carry her through the tunnel of light, ascend a brilliant staircase to a place where there would be no more suffering and no more tears.

The tears in her eyes now made her weep ever more, for she was further blinded by his radiance.

Esme heard the telltale shifting of fabric as the doctor neared her, his slightest movement dazzling her eyes with a thousand pinpoints of the visible spectrum across the wall. His breathing was clear and deep in her ears, the sacred sound falling into synchronization with her pounding heart. Under his painfully compassionate gaze she felt relieved, yet horrified. So profoundly protected, yet consumed by an inexplicable humiliation bearing witness to this heavenly vision in all his gilded glory.

And she lost herself in his penetrating eyes – free falling in a warm, hollow place where graceful gravity was queen. His eyes merely swallowed her, pulling her inside and binding her with the gentle, tight harness of unconditional love that could only belong in the afterlife. In moments, Esme was reduced to a sleeping fetus in the warm womb of his gaze.

Like gleaming carnelian, his eyes reflected the low burning embers of kindled desire – something quite human was flickering in an otherwise supernatural gaze. Mystified, Esme knew not what this desire meant. What was it that he wanted so passionately to do to her in this moment?

His lips parted, the gesture magnified by the unmistakable sound of breath filling his lungs. Something in his eyes, his stance, faltered for a moment, and Esme cried out to him silently, every part of her pleading him not to leave.

The firm angle of his jaw straightened with resolve as he strode the remaining short distance to her bedside. His poignantly familiar scent washed over and through her, cleansing and purifying her of all that was unneeded, unwanted. Like a breeze from the sea, it was – soft and light, yet powerful enough in its poignancy to ravish her soul of all evils. Her lungs reveled in the arousing aroma, and at last worked to their full capacity, soaking in the candied chill of oxygen.

She was not dying any longer.

She was floating, swept away into a filmy flow of nothing as he settled on the edge of the bed beside her. Her disbelieving eyes studied his face as it continued to sparkle dimly in the deepening orange glow. His silken blond hair gleamed, polished by the sun to assemble a halo about his head. His eyes were brighter than science would allow any mortal to possess, like amber stained glass lit by a back-burning candle. She was positively melting under the fire that flickered in his ethereal eyes. Hot, anxious adrenaline rushed to all areas of her curiously revitalized body.

A delving pressure churned within her chest, and her blood fell silent at his hallowed words.

"The gift of eternal life is not mine to give... But God help me, I cannot stop myself from giving it to you, Esme."

The luxuriant flow of his words demanded that her lungs cease for fear of missing one syllable that he uttered. The way he whispered her name made her heart clench and her eyes overflow with awestruck tears. Her memory had never truly lost the sound of his voice.

She watched his figure lean down through the watery lens of her hindered vision, as if in slow motion. Her eyes closed helplessly as she felt the feather-light touch of his fingers deftly unbuttoning the tight collar of her blouse with a thrilling urgency. The intimate acceleration of his cool breath on her exposed skin sent deep shivers through her rapidly weakening body.

The long-incubated gasp that fell from her lips echoed back to her from a confined distance.

He was so close...

Fairly certain she might be dreaming now, she felt his cold mouth tentatively touch the side of her throat in a strange, other-worldly kiss.

Esme's poor heart throbbed wildly against her breast as she lay limp under her doctor's protective shadow. Moist lips explored the sensitive flesh of her neck as his porcelain hand reached up to gently tilt her chin back, his mouth poised decidedly over her hyper pulse point. Sharp, slick teeth sunk into her flesh, and Esme failed to form a scream before her voice was stolen from her.

The doctor was biting her.

Even the thought was absurd.

Her mind was so utterly blank, whatever was happening at the moment had somehow passed as acceptable, though in reality, if it still existed, was anything but. It was so completely preposterous – obscene, even.

Moments ago, an angel had been kissing her. Now, a demon was biting her.

She felt the searing scarlet liquid that was her blood being drained from her body. The receiving mouth, no matter to whom it belonged, was consuming her life with every swallow. She willed her body to writhe in protest, but it took no such form. Instead she lay limp and yielding to his invasive ministrations.

This was what she had been longing for, year after year, since she had met him?

This was what she had wanted, every time she thought of him and found herself wanting that unnamable something she knew only he could give? All along, it had been this?

A small fire ignited within her throat. For the moment she ignored it and tried very hard to cry. She thought her eyes were open, but she saw nothing but a barrier, black as pitch, in the way of everything. Esme shrieked in silent mortification. Where had her angel gone? Had she been purposefully taunted with the taste of heaven, only to be tossed into the fire of hell?

Flames engulfed her now, spreading from the place where he had corrupted her pulse to the rest of her body, rendering her lifeless to the pain. Her mind flashed with images of rippling white gossamer curtains, his fervent marigold eyes, his pale, gleaming face. She longed to hear his velveteen voice, to know that he was still present. She could not see, but somehow she believed he was within tangible proximity, bearing witness to her struggle, yet he did nothing to end her pain as he once had so dutifully done before.

She still wanted him. She still called for him in soundless desperation, aching to know that he was near. It did not even matter if he was indeed the one who had caused her this pain.

It was an unearthly pain. Not like falling from a tree, not like child labor, not like suicide. It was all of these and worse.

Through the crazed madness of her burning body and soul, Esme thought of her sins. She thought of those who had sinned against her; she thought of every possible sanction she would be delivered for every wrongdoing in her short life. But as the pain grew, there was nothing to think of but the fire. She could not even think of he who had brought this upon her.

Esme realized then, that she had never truly wished for death before. Not like she did now. She would have gladly taken back all of the abuse and the beatings and the misfortunate death of her son – if only it meant she could escape from this hellish torture.

She felt the brutal process with crude detail – her limbs, her organs, her senses – each separately scorched to black ashes. She saw horrifying images – blurry-faced spirits and vile orange dragons, their breath spitting cinders into her eyes and mouth as she gasped for air. Time was no longer a dimension. It was a faceless figment, a wordless demon that swallowed her into a bottomless vortex.

She was left to burn.


A/N: To read the night of Esme's transformation from Carlisle's perspective, you can read "Chapter 2: Scarlet Salvation" in my companion story, Behind Stained Glass.