The first emotion that Edward felt was foolishness, quickly followed by relief, until finally, Edward felt utter exhaustion. It was the kind of exhaustion where you felt it in your bones, and your muscles sagged trying to give you the relief you so desperately needed.
He was sure that if he let Doris finish her sentence it would have ended with "Your mother called to say she would be spending the night at the hospital."
Instead, he sealed his own fate by storming off to the hospital.
His reception by the weary nurse sitting at the front desk was anything but welcoming. As soon as she ascertained that he was not ill, she politely asked him to leave.
"I'm here to see Edward and Elizabeth Masen. Mr. Masen was brought here last night," Edward politely explained in a resolute voice.
The fact that he didn't leave immediately after she asked him to, caused the nurse to look up from her dime novel. She scrutinized him with an intensity that Edward didn't like. Eventually, she sighed, "You look like the red haired harpy that came in last night demanding to see Mr. Masen. I can only assume that she is your mother. Look, kid, you appear healthy; why risk it?"
Edward felt a headache coming on so he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Finally, he answered, "Ma'am, I'm not leaving until you bring me to my parents. Please, I just want to see my parents before..." He let his voice trail off.
The hard demeanor of the nurse melted slightly, and her voice was softer through the linen face mask. "Down the hall on the right is a quarantine room. Only the doctors go in there. Kid, you're foolish to even risk it," she shook her head. "Your father is the last cot in the middle aisle. And before you ask, we're out of extras."
Edward thanked her profusely and followed her directions. The room he entered felt like one of Dante's circles of hell. The air was fetid with disease, although the linens appeared clean and changed often. People in all stages of the sickness suffered together in this room. Seeing them like this, made Edward realize that those who passed quietly in the night were the lucky ones. In this room, there were men and women emaciated with disease, their chests sunken as they gasped for air.
He kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked down the central aisle. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that a few of the exhausted doctors gave him strange looks.
Elizabeth Masen sat in a chair next to her husband's cot holding his hand.
Edward Masen Sr.'s eyes were closed, his skin ashen. Gone was the tall, proud man Edward knew as his father. Sometime in the night, his father had been replaced with a wizened old man.
Edward's nose wrinkled at the scent of the unwashed bodies that were surrounding him and he placed his hand on his mother's shoulders.
Elizabeth jumped slightly and turned fevered eyes towards her son. "Oh, Edward," she sighed, tears building up. "What are you doing here? He wouldn't want you to see him like this."
"I was worried," he whispered. He was so relieved to see her. Her skin beneath his hand was too warm, though, and he knew that her coming to St. Anthony's had been a bad idea. "How is he doing?"
"Not good, Edward. Not good," as the words left Elizabeth's lips, a lone tear slid down her cheek. "Dr. Cullen doesn't think he will last the night." Her gaze focused on a tall, blonde haired man. Unlike the other doctors on the shift, he didn't look exhausted.
Dr. Cullen methodically went from cot to cot checking the status of his patients. At some, he smiled and patted their knees under the thin sheet. At others, he would frown and check something off on a clip board.
"Mother," Edward cleared his throat. "How do you feel?"
"I am fine, darling," Elizabeth lied to her son.
Edward sighed, and rested his head against hers. For the first time, Edward realized that his mother was wearing an oversized hospital shift, and that the cot next to his father's was empty.
Edward stood, and felt the room spin. He closed his eyes against the spots that flickered across his vision. He was vaguely aware that his legs were giving out.
A minute, maybe an hour, went by and an acrid smell finally made Edward open his eyes. A doctor had his fingers pressed against the pulse in his wrist and was shaking his head. "Son, have you been feeling ill long?"
"No," he shook his head. "I've felt fine. I've had some headaches, and have been tired, but nothing serious."
"You're running a low grade fever, and your throat is infected," the doctor shook his head, again. "I can't believe that you haven't felt sick."
"My boy is too stubborn to rest," Elizabeth murmured fondly.
Edward thought through the last few days. Both yesterday and today he had woken up with a sore throat that eventually went away. Yesterday, he felt as if he was walking through a dense cloud. But, today he had been worried about his father, and consumed by the sun that was Arabella Lindon.
He groaned as he realized that Arabella had been exposed to the sickness by him. Edward sighed and leaned back against the pillow. He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until he woke much later in the night. He was disoriented as he tried to see in the dark room. A noise to his left caused him to glance in that direction.
Edward was in the cot on the other side of his mother. As the blonde doctor stood over his father's cot, Dr. Cullen blessed himself, then quickly lowered his head and said a small prayer over his father.
Silently, Dr. Cullen wheeled the now shrouded cot to a door in the back of the room.
A stifled sob came from the cot next to his, and Edward reached his hand out. Elizabeth gripped her sons hand and soon fell back asleep. Both wife and son knew that Edward Sr. had lost the battle.
As his own body slowly became his own worst enemy, Edward thought about his favorite memories of his father. He had been five when he was brought to his first baseball game. A flyball had been hit in their direction and his father had lifted him high into the air so that the ball would fall into the large glove on Edward's small hand.
He was ten when his father let him sit in on his first court case. Edward had paid careful attention to the proceedings and asked intelligent questions when his father was done. When he pronounced some of the Latin terms incorrectly, his father laughed, tousling his son's unruly hair.
Edward's favorite memories of his father, though, were of those that involved Elizabeth. His parents truly loved one another. They were constantly touching and kissing when they thought that no one was around.
And, now his father was gone. At least he had died unaware that his wife and son were soon to share his same fate.
For some reason, the thought of fate made Edward think of the shining, happy face of Arabella. She was definitely the most interesting thing that had happened to him. She would have been a great friend to him and he was sad that he would be breaking his promise to her. Edward could only imagine what sort of mischief she would get into. He hoped that she would live a long, happy life.
Thoughts of Arabella kept him sane over the course of the following days.
The realization that he was sick made Edward deteriorate faster.
His mother burned with fever, but remained alert. Often she nursed her own son, running cool cloths over his face.
If he wasn't selfish, he should have pushed her away, knowing that her closeness was making it all the worst for her own health. Minutes slipped into hours, and time blurred. He could have been sick for an hour or for days. His thoughts were constantly hazy, and when he slept, he imagined he could hear the pathetic thoughts of the other dying men and women. Or, he spent the night, tossing in dreams brought on by the fever.
Elizabeth watched sadly as her glorious son moaned, his hands tightly gripping the sheets. She placed a cool, wet cloth on his forehead and pushed back his tousled hair.
"Don't be absurd, Arabella," he muttered. "Silly. Very silly, Bella."
The fact that his words were still coherent made Elizabeth hopeful. Each night, she prayed that even if she did not survive, that Edward would be spared. He had so much to offer the world.
During a moment when Edward was alert and feeling slightly better, they even played a card game.
Dr. Cullen had given Elizabeth a deck of cards so she could play solitaire while she cared for Edward.
"I have a theory," Edward croaked during a game of War. At Elizabeth's raised eyebrow he continued, "I have a theory about this disease. It turns one's body into a traitor. Instead of the body protecting itself, it causes the body to slowly kill itself."
"Edward, you need to think positively...these thoughts won't make you better."
Edward laughed, and laid a Jack down on the bed. "Mother, I don't think I am getting better."
They played for a little while longer, and Edward eventually slipped into sleep. It was still daylight, and Dr. Cullen usually didn't come until later in the evening. He typically worked the graveyard shift, Elizabeth observed.
Elizabeth knew she was dying. It was a slightly comforting thought that she would soon see her husband again. But, even as death approached, she didn't want the same fate for her son. Her own breathing matched her son's ragged breathing. At least he had the relief of sleep. Elizabeth was too aware of her body's plight.
"How are you and Edward doing today, Mrs. Masen?"
Elizabeth turned her attention to the young doctor, and attempted a smile. Dr. Cullen was always so silent as he approached.
Had it really been hours since Edward had fallen asleep? It had felt like moments.
"You're too quiet, doctor."
"I'm sorry," Dr. Cullen apologized. He was looking at her curiously, and he checked her vitals. His frown made Elizabeth know that it wouldn't be long now. Edward still hadn't woken up.
She reached to him, and grasped the doctor's wrist, burning her own green eyes into his odd yellow ones. His icy skin was a welcome treat against her hot flesh. With all of her strength she begged that he do everything that he could to save her son. She begged till her voice was raw and the effort was too much. Elizabeth sank onto her pillow, and as her eyes closed with fatigue she saw Carlisle nod.
A radiant smile spread across her face, and her last coherent thoughts were, My baby will be safe.