CHAPTER VII: Welcomed Oblivion

(Esme's POV)


Hope is a predator. Its lies are an enticement, before extracting payment and delivering a final blow. Never trust hope.

I gave hope a second chance; and, in turn, it mocked me by taking my baby boy—my little light. Dr. Evington couldn't pin an exact culprit for his condition, saying "these things happen sometimes," but I know hope caused it. My little light was conceived through the rage of a madman, my demon, but he was my reason to continue and my reason to let hope back into my life. I had welcomed hope with his birth, only to now be renewed in my disgust and distrust for hope's fabrications and golden visions.

Three days, he was barely three days old. Why would hope strip me of my baby! Why would God abandon me? My inner voice scoffed at me, 'Was he really yours? Did you deserve him?' Perhaps it was instead hope scoffing at me.

I couldn't stand another heartbreak, another loss, or another day. I didn't care anymore. Better I damn my soul to eternal flames by ending this life now! Was that it, the answer? Would an end bring relief to the suffering, the emptiness? Would an end stop the bottomless, consuming pain I felt? Was leaving the damnation of this world by my hand a door into another world of torture where I'd never see my little light again? I was taught such thoughts and actions were evil, but damn the thoughts! I was alone and lost once again.

Perhaps hope was never meant to bring blessings to my world as it did for others. Perhaps my hope only offered me sinister invitations and possibilities to my final downfall, feeding on me and enjoying the entertainment.

Slowly I stood from the rocker, my still worn night clothes catching on a splinter, and retraced my steps to the bassinet, laying down the now unmoving child in my arms. My lips brushed against his velvet cheek as I leaned in for one last kiss. A single tear from my suffering fell on to his still face and I watched it disappear into the folds of the blanket. "Goodbye for now my little light. Mommy loves you and hopes to see you soon."

I backed away with control and turned towards the welcoming bedroom door. My hand brushed once across the Bible resting on the bed stand. I'd brought it with me from my days of abuse. Days of abuse—like they were a thing of my past. My fingers sealed around the Bible's edge and I clutched it to my chest, taking it with me.

I could hear Helen and Wade in the kitchen, talking in hushed whispers—probably about me, as I crept towards the front door. If I was quiet, they'd never notice my exit; for if they did, they'd surely stop me. I had to leave. I had to move onto another life. Hope had forced me to find a way to end my pain and I wasn't straying.

My hand gently turned the cold door knob and with one last look back the hallway, I stepped onto a path which would have me soon see my little light—perhaps. The steps were at first deliberate and not hasty, but my thoughts began to run in front of me and I soon found I was giving them chase.

I began to run faster, tripping and flailing, with no determined direction—never feeling the stones that pierced my bare feet or the brambles which clawed at my body. Blindly rushing, I let my grief and thoughts spur me forward, wanting to run far away into another life.

I ran for an eternity; through the edges of the glade and into a meadow. I stumbled through its high grass and trampled its delicate violets with my rampage. The more I thought, the faster I ran. At the edge of the meadow stood a forest of whispering legends, standing solid and firm—pines which looked older than time. I ran violently through them, towards nothing and everything, as I flashed my life through my mind.

My life! My life meant nothing, I was tainted. I was a silly girl who had grand dreams of being the perfect wife and mother only to become the pummeled slave of an addicted, raping monster, who never missed or fully remembered me, and now the mother of a baby killed by hope.

Decades before my religious beliefs and practices had been instilled in me by my parents and grandparents. I knew right from wrong and I respected their teachings, wondering how they would now view me. As the wind met my face, I glanced at the Bible resting in my scraped hand and noticed, for the first time in a long time, the writing. Inscribed on the leather cover in gold leaf—Esme, Our Precious Daughter. 'Precious,' I sighed into the damp air and shuddered at the memory it dredged to the surface.

Inside its cover I had placed a loosened thread from my little light's sweater—made by me with pure love and hope for his future. It was made with hope for him. He died in my arms never wearing that sweater. Hope was death, hope was pain. There had been hope in my heart for my little light, but hope had only brought death.

No, I was now precious to no one. Beaten and submissive to a monster, mother to a dead child, my life was full of isolation and pain. Bile rose in my throat and fresh tears streaked a path down my cheeks, as I continued to run—heaving from my thoughts and memories.

My parents had hoped for my future, and hope had brought them death. I had hoped for a release from my tormentor and a new future for my baby, and hope had taken him away. Why should I care to embrace and trust a murderer any longer? Hope was vile.

I stopped for a brief moment and looked around; the pain from the scrapes and bruises of my flight barely noticeable. Steadying my breaths, I began to think for a moment. Perhaps matters were not as bleak as I thought—sad and tragic, but not bleak. I'd survived so much pain in my life and moved on. Was this just another chapter to strengthen me? I was young and still had life. I hesitated and hope gnawed at my spirit. Regretting my self-destructive and despaired thoughts, I faltered for a moment—a heartbeat—and reconsidered my choices to rid myself of hope, of this world. It was only a heartbeat though, because hope was a trickster and I had experienced its deceptions far too many times. Hope was not keeping me locked in its dungeon of lies for another second.

My thoughts were wild and I knew I wasn't meant to continue this life of anguish. I may never see my little light as I promised and be delivered into a Heavenly life for what I was about to do; but even the dark abyss was welcome to me, if it would rid me of hope. What did I do wrong? Why did I deserve this life?

Hope still pressed on and beckoned me to reason with it. There was always a tomorrow it chided. Tomorrow, shingled by a charlatan, and paraded on an 'always possibilities' advertisement. Hope was a fraud, a liar in this world and I knew it. I was soon to be free of its evil fetters.

I ran again until my legs couldn't be further spurred. As I slowed and stopped, my feet came to rest near a sharp precipice. The cliff wasn't exceptionally high, but it would do. I looked down, with labored breaths, into the jagged pit of loosened stones far below. The rocks were welcoming me—"Join us," they called, "we're here for you, waiting." My eyes also saw a small boy waving and calling to me, "Mommy, I'm here. I love you."

Soon the sounds of the forest were joining the chorus from behind me, urging me into the void. Do it, it won't hurt I felt from somewhere within me. It will be over and the next life will sing a new song—hope only wickedly laughed in the background. Even the distant winds beseeched my soul to end this miserable existence.

There were no goodbyes, no one crying for me, no one to miss me, no one to watch—save for the Bible still in my hand and my memories. I doubt anyone would even look for my body, save for a few hungry wolves. I was alone inside myself, abandoned by my own common sense and faith—confused, broken, and abused with no wish to further entertain hope. I had only the prodding voices around me as witness to my final pain and decision. They, the mocking stones, were waiting for me below. The little boy was waiting for his mommy. It was a jagged end to a shattered life and I was committed to quickly oblige them.

I raised my foot to dangle into nothingness, raising my arms in the hope I would waft away in peace. One final breath and I leaned into my destiny. As the air veiled and greeted my body, I was pulled by an unfathomable force. I felt myself descend into the hands of death and into a welcomed oblivion.


A/N: In Chapter VIII Carlisle discovers Esme's body in the hospital morgue. Seemingly deceased to the average human, Carlisle can hear her faintly beating heart. The vampire sensed doctor finds himself deciding Esme's immortality and rekindling feelings from decades before.