Chapter 11

1917 Columbus, Ohio

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Esme Platt transformed into Esme Evenson in the instant her lips pressed against her new husband's.

Charles was his name, and her parents had more than willingly given their daughter away to such a pristine, rich gentleman. He was everything they'd hope for in a husband for Esme and now felt secure that their daughter's dreamer mentality would fade and she would become the typical wife of their time.

Esme agreed to the exchange of vows only to please her parents. Their pressures had gotten the best of her but she felt as if the life she always envisioned had been taken away and buried.

"You'll learn to love him," her mother had said reassuringly, when Esme had questioned her feelings for Charles several nights before the wedding, "It's how love works."

Esme couldn't disagree more. She may not have had the experience at the time to know how loved worked, but she was certain she knew what love felt like. With even greater certainty, she knew she didn't feel it for Charles Evenson. She never would.

And so, the tragic beginning of the end had begun to unfold for the short human life of Esme Platt Evenson.

1918 Chicago, Illinois

Carlisle, yet again, relocated and continued to practice medicine in Chicago. The development of new diseases began to plague the town, and people of all ages were dying right in front of him.

The Spanish Influenza had become an epidemic, and Carlisle found it difficult to treat patients with the disease, recognizing that the medical developments, at that time, were not up to speed with the severity of the illness.

His heart broke as he witnessed many lives lost, though the loss of young children particularly broke his heart. He felt as though they were stripped too early of their lives. The worst part was, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The same guilt kicked the way it had far earlier in his life. If he couldn't save lives, what good was he doing? Though he was highly regarded in the community, Carlisle felt like a failure for being unable to prevent such tragedies. All he could do for these particular patients was to make sure they were comfortable, both mentally and physically.

Carlisle continued to work the night shifts and the empty feeling he once had continued to plague him. He felt inferior in terms of his profession, and as lonely as he'd ever been in regards to his personal life.

The nights seemed to drag, with death looking him in the face where ever he went.

Carlisle let his feet scuff over the floors as he made his rounds late one evening. His solemn shuffle was all he could manage upon losing a patient earlier that day.

"Dr. Cullen," a meek voice called to him, "Dr. Cullen."

He made his way into one of the rooms where a middle aged woman laid sick and in the middle of a coughing fit. She regained her composure and spoke to him with as much strength as she could.

"I need you to fix my son," she begged, "I need you to fix him. He's dying."

Carlisle looked into the woman's eyes. They were pleading and filled with angst and sadness.

"He's suffering," she went on in a voice just above a whisper.

"What does he have?"

"He has the influenza," she informed him, "The Spanish Influenza. His name is Edward Masen. He's a patient here. You need to help him."

Carlisle could see that the woman looked at him as if he she knew something he didn't. Her eyes saw past the human mask he wore on a daily basis. She felt what he knew other people felt if they got close enough to him. To her, it was the unknown, but she knew something was supernatural about him.

"I know you can help. Please."

"What's your name?" he asked her.

"Elizabeth Masen."

Carlisle locked eyes with the dying woman and she continued to plead to him with her desperate stare.

"I know you can save him," she said with a sure ring in her tone. It was as if she stated the plea as a fact.

Coughing filled the air and Carlisle closed his eyes. He decided to go have a look at her son to see what he could possible do.

"I'll try my best to save him Mrs. Masen," Carlisle told her.

He stood up from her bedside and made his way until he found a boy of about eighteen lying in a hospital bed. Beads of sweat decorated his face, and a strained look clung to his jaw, despite the fact it looked like he was attempting to sleep.

I know you can save him; the mother's words rang in his ears.

Carlisle looked at the condition of the young man. The influenza had taken its toll on his fragile body and he knew that it was only a matter of days before he, too, would fall victim to the disease.

Thoughts raced through Carlisle's head as he sat at the dying boy's bedside. Conventional methods would not save him. There was no medicine that could bring him back from the state he was currently in. Edward Masen was dying.

I know you can help him. Please.

Elizabeth Masen's voice began to haunt Carlisle. He knew that she knew something was exceptional or unusual about him. The fact that she was willing to allow him to use any means necessary to bring her poor boy back to health played in his thoughts.

Eternal damnation, Carlisle thought. Soulless monster. Demon. Vampire. Killer.

Carlisle struggled. He didn't know what to do. The thought of biting Edward crossed his mind. If he just bit him the way the sewer-dweller did without continuing the pursuit, Edward, in theory should change into a vampire.

He wouldn't die. He wouldn't be slaughtered or drained of his blood. Aro had described how he'd changed his own sister and wife.

Carlisle was almost certain that a simple bite would do the trick. It would save Edward from falling victim to the plague, but would it truly save him?

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, selfishly thinking that Edward could begin to travel with him. They could become friends. He could teach him the ways of living as a vampire without taking human life. It could be the beginning of some kind of vampire revolution. Maybe it would catch on. Maybe it wouldn't.

Carlisle looked again Edward. Life seemed to be slipping away from him by the minute. His mother's words, again, echoed in his mind and without another moment of thinking, Carlisle whispered into Edward's ear before sinking his teeth into the most pronounced vein in his neck.

The taste of human blood spilled into Carlisle's mouth for the first time in his existence. It was everything he'd ever dreamed of and more. The Volturi were right, as were the rest of the roamers he'd met along the way.

Fresh, warm blood covered his tongue and he drank it with such enthusiasm that he almost forgot the task at hand.

Edward.

Carlisle, with much difficulty, pulled himself back, feeling stronger, yet more vulnerable than ever.

The inside of his mouth was still full of the rich, mouthwatering taste that would forever be engrained in his mind. There was nothing in the world like it, and he contemplated continuing to feed, knowing Edward was scheduled to die from his disease anyway.

No, he told himself, don't do it.

Carlisle stood up and backed painfully away from Edward, who began to writhe in agony. The moment of his own transformation began to play in his head, and he knew that he had to remove the young man from where they were.

He looked around the vacant hospital and quickly took Edward from hospital bed, carrying him away to his home only a few miles away to undergo the remainder of the transformation.

Edward's eyes flickered open and he recognized Dr. Cullen at the foot of the bed. He sat quietly with his hands folded together and his head facing downward as if he was either waiting quietly for something, or praying.

"Where am I?" Edward asked, catching Carlisle off guard.

He stood up sharply and stared toward the young man. The former pale, clammy complexion had been traded with one that looked as steady as a block of flawless marble. His eyes were red, but he looked healthy and strong.

Carlisle could tell that Edward was getting used to his new body as he moved his arms and fingers in such a way that it looked like he'd never used them before.

"I'm Dr. Cullen," Carlisle started, "Your mother asked me to save you."

Edward looked confused, "Is she…?"

Carlisle looked down, not wanting to answer the question. In Edward's forty-eight hours or so of being dead to the world during the transformation, Elizabeth Masen had passed away.

"She has unfortunately passed on."

Edward stared at the doctor, and then looked around the room. He ran his hands along his jawlines before sitting up. The fact that it caused him no discomfort made his curiosity levels raise.

"What type of medicine did you give me?" he asked.

Carlisle didn't know how Edward would physically react to his new and improved abilities to move. He looked concerned and hesitant.

"What?" Edward asked, "Why are you looking at me like you're scared of me?"

"I'm not scared of you, Edward."

"You know my name?"

"Your mother was my patient. She sent me to you in hopes that I could heal you of the Spanish Influenza."

A silence lingered between the two men before Edward broke it.

"How did you fix me? I mean, I feel stronger than I ever have in my entire life. Did you say Mom's dead?"

Carlisle knew everything was happening fast for Edward. He remained sympathetic but didn't quite know how to tell him the truth.

"Your mother, yes," Carlisle said, knowing he was able to answer that one with certainty.

"Why didn't you give her the meds you gave me?"

"It's not that simple."

Edward looked around the room before catching his reflection in a mirror that hung across the way. His jaw dropped and he made his way across the room rapidly.

The use of his own legs surprised him and Edward looked down to make sure his feet were still on the ground. He turned to face Carlisle with a look of shock and surprise before looking back into the mirror.

"What…" he said, not knowing what to ask. He studied his facial features and right away noticed his eyes. That was the time Edward was most frightened. He was frightened by his own dreadful stare.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked, spinning around to face Carlisle, "What's going on?"

"You'll have to believe me on what I'm going to tell you, Edward."

"Tell me," he pleaded with urgency, "I'm different. I'm not the same as I was. My eyes, they're red. What's happening?" His hand suddenly clung to his throat, "I'm burning."

"It's the thirst, you're not in danger," Carlisle explained.

"Thirst? Thirst for what?"

"Blood," Carlisle said boldly, "What you're craving is blood. I did, too. I still do. It's just easier for me now."

"What are you trying to say?" Edward demanded with a noticeable shake in his voice.

"You're immortal now. It was the only way I could save you. Your mother was on her deathbed and didn't want you to die."

"What do you mean immortal?"

"You're not human anymore."

Edward laughed, but stopped quickly at Carlisle's serious expression. He tried to do as he did before, moving rapidly around the room. The reality of the situation still seemed abstract and impossible to him, though his brain was catching up.

He looked in the mirror again, then back to Carlisle. "Do you… do you kill people?"

"No," Carlisle answered right away, "I've never killed someone in my life. Ever."

Edward looked at him skeptically, though found it quite easy to believe him. He turned around again, unable to help himself from staring at his new reflection. A sigh left his mouth and he seemed to discover at that moment, that he wasn't breathing.

He placed his hands over his ribs and turned to Carlisle, "I'm not breathing. I haven't been this whole time, not really, anyway."

"I know," he said with a nod, "You won't have to do that anymore."

Edward was astonished. He wanted to call the doctor's bluff and accuse him of playing the world's biggest, cruelest joke him, but he knew it wasn't so. He knew he wasn't what he used to be. He considered that maybe he'd gone to Hell, but quickly thought of a different scenario as the word 'blood' lingered in his mind.

"You're a vampire," Edward said without a hint of question in his voice.

Carlisle didn't say anything. He looked away, having dismissed the term as part of his identity.

"You are, aren't you? Blood. You drink blood. How do you drink blood if you don't kill humans?"

"Animals," Carlisle confessed immediately. He decided not to lie, even in the most miniscule of way. "I live off the blood of animals."

"Animals," Edward said to himself.

"I never asked for this life, but I've made the best of it. I hated it at first, I must admit. I thought there was nothing I could become except for a blood-lusting monster."

The term blood-lusting made Edward reactively grab his own throat again.

"I'll take you to the woods to hunt. We aren't far, that's why I live out here by myself."

"Do you still hate it?" he asked, now almost gasping from the mental recognition of the feeling.

"I don't hate it, no," Carlisle said, "I don't really recognize the smell of human blood anymore. When I was changed in 1663, I-"

"1663?" Edward asked, "The year 1663?"

"I've been alive for almost three hundred years, Edward."

His mouth dropped open again and he was at a loss for words. The contemplation that he could be dreaming crossed his mind, though he dismissed the fact and knew that regardless of whether this was some fictional dream or reality, he had to consume blood.

"Take me to where the animals are," Edward said.

Carlisle nodded, "I'll show you how to hunt, but I'm sure it will come naturally for you. That's how it happened for me."

"Once this feeling is gone in my throat," he went on, "I have questions I need to ask you."

Carlisle nodded in agreement, wanting to warn the newborn vampire that the feeling would not soon subside. Instead he kept his mouth shut and took Edward out into the forest to hunt.