When Esme found out she was pregnant, she wasn't happy.
It wasn't that she didn't want to have children. She did. But she very much did not want to have children with Charles Evenson. She knew that from the first time he hit her. She had been lucky before he left to fight in the war. Her period stubbornly came like clockwork and each time, she breathed a sigh of relief. After he came back, he drank more than ever and his anger was on a hair trigger.
Then she had a missed period. And then another one.
She prayed over and over for a miscarriage but it didn't happen.
It turned out being pregnant was the final push she needed to leave.
.
While Charles was away fighting in the war, Esme squirreled away portions of the money he sent back. She had to be careful to not take too much that he would notice. It always felt sort of like a fool's errand. There was a negative voice in her head that told her that Charles would find out and she didn't have anywhere to go anyway.
The voice sounded like her mother's. Hers was the voice always telling her to be more realistic about her future, to get her head out of the clouds, to stay with Charles even after being shown evidence of her abuse. The sting of that betrayal hadn't stopped hurting.
There was another voice in her head that said Keep climbing those trees, Miss Platt. But its appearance was few and far between now.
After Charles left for the day to look for a new job - he had a hard time holding down one after his return - Esme grabbed her bag, her money, and left. The money was barely enough for a train ticket to her cousin Ruth's in Milwaukee and it made her nervous. How was she going to support herself and her baby alone? But she told herself to focus on one thing at a time.
Ruth and her husband John welcomed her with open arms, but their house was a temporary sanctuary. Charles caught up with her after three days. John managed to keep him away while Esme hid in the kitchen. She listened to Charles rage at John and wondered if she would ever be free of him.
.
Ashland was Ruth's idea. She knew a widowed woman there named Mrs. Avery who ran a primary school and provided board for teachers. Mrs. Avery had also seen other women in Esme's position and wouldn't ask too many questions about her being a single mother. John suggested that she use a fake name so it would make it harder for Charles to find her again. Esme hated the thought - she already felt like so much of her sense of self had been stripped from her already - but she also knew John had a point. She chose Anne Patterson. It seemed like it would be easiest to answer to a name that already belonged to her. Patterson was for Lena.
Despite everything, Esme still thought fondly about her.
.
Esme followed Mrs. Avery up the stairs to be shown to her new room. "Second door on the right, dear," she said.
It wasn't much - a bed, a desk, a small closet. The room had a worn feeling to it, like it had seen many others in her place before. She was exhausted and nearly at the end of her rope, but the room felt like heaven. Maybe now she could stop running and start to build a life she actually wanted to live.
"I'll let you get settled in," Mrs. Avery said. "There will be dinner downstairs when you're ready."
"Thank you," Esme said through a tight throat. Mrs. Avery squeezed her hand and then pulled the door shut after her. Esme sat on the bed and touched the swell of her stomach. "Okay, little one," she whispered. "It's you and me now."
.
Months passed and Esme stopped looking over her shoulder for Charles. She enjoyed her teaching duties and her students were a delight, even when they were being stubborn. She'd take mediating children's spats over who stole whose pencil than wondering what would and wouldn't make Charles angry. In her free time, Esme worked on getting ready for her baby. She cautiously allowed herself to get excited for her new son or daughter and she hoped they would forgive her for not wanting them at first.
Mrs. Avery gladly helped with getting a crib, clothes, diapers, and blankets ready. She knew other women who had castoffs from their own children they were willing to donate and Esme was positively overloaded with gifts for her baby on Christmas. Esme may soon be a single mother, but she was learning that she wasn't entirely alone.
The new year came and then spring and she was in the middle of a lesson when a sharp pain twisted her abdomen, stronger than any period cramp she experienced before. She sat at her desk and, as calmly as she could, asked one of the older girls to get Mrs. Avery.
.
"I'm not ready, oh God, I'm not ready!" Esme cried in between contractions. It felt too soon. She thought she'd have more time.
"You are, dear. Every mother feels this way," Mrs. Avery soothed.
.
Her son was perfect.
Esme couldn't stop staring into his eyes. She'd been afraid that if she had a son, all she would see was Charles. But there was nothing of Charles in him. He was hers, her body, her blood. She kissed his tiny forehead and breathed in the scent of his newly cleaned hair. There was only love, so much love.
.
It all happened too fast before Esme could make sense of it. She only remembered images.
Holding her son to her breast, but him refusing to nurse.
His breathing becoming labored.
The nurses taking him away.
The doctor bringing him back only to say there was nothing to be done.
Her son becoming frighteningly still in her arms.
An ungodly scream tearing its way out of her throat.
.
What was the point?
Esme stared at the cracked paint along the windowsill, surrounded by gifts for a baby who would never use them, and she couldn't remember why she bothered living anymore.
.
She barely remembered the journey out of town to the lake.
She stood on the cliffside, staring at the forbidding blue of the lake surface. Though it was spring, it was still cold and the sun was hidden behind gray clouds. The trees were still as bare as they were in midwinter. It was supposed to be the season of new growth. She was supposed to have a healthy baby to nurture. This was supposed to be her new life. Her baby was the whole reason she left and now he was gone.
The cruel voice in her head was back. This was what you wanted.
All those times she prayed for a miscarriage had come back to haunt her. God decided that she didn't deserve to keep her son. She wanted the cup to be passed from her and it was.
She didn't really think about it. She just stepped off the cliff because it made sense in the moment.
.
The pain was all-encompassing and Esme longed to fade into the darkness but a strangely familiar voice made her stay.
"Hold on, Esme. Stay with me. Keep fighting."
.
She was in hell. That was the only explanation she could think of for the fire that consumed her. She sobbed and wanted to beg someone to make it stop but she couldn't get the words out of her mouth. She kept her eyes firmly shut, afraid of what she might see if she opened them. She wished she could take it all back. She'd take the numb days spent on her bed at Mrs. Avery's house over this. She'd even take Charles's beatings over this. At least those had an end. This fire was unrelenting, burning within her and she couldn't get away from it.
"I'm sorry, Esme. I know it hurts. It will end soon."
The familiar voice was back. Esme struggled through the pain to remember where she heard that voice before. And then she wondered if this was really hell. She couldn't imagine anyone in hell would be apologizing to her.
"Everything will be okay, I promise."
Will it? She didn't believe them and she let out an agonized scream. Why wouldn't they let her die? Wasn't she supposed to be dead anyway? She stepped off that cliff and felt her body shatter on the rocks below. Even that pain was nothing compared to the flames spreading throughout her body with every heartbeat.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry." The words came out in a choked sob.
It continued on in the same way - the fire and the murmured reassurances - until there was a new voice.
"I said I would."
"I know. I just - "
"I know. How is she?"
"The same."
"Maybe you should take a break. She might be in pain, but she's safe. She's not going anywhere at the moment."
They moved away and a door softly closed. No, this couldn't be hell, then. But what was happening to her?
Suddenly, Esme realized that the fire was moving away from her hands and feet. She flexed her feet and curled her fingers. The movement felt different somehow but she didn't understand what that meant. Then she finally dared to open her eyes.
She was…in a living room? Bewildered, she took in her surroundings. There was a fire, but it was well contained in a fireplace. But what was the fire inside her if she was not on a pyre? A painting of a bleak landscape hung over the mantel and there was an armchair and a table with a record player bracketing the hearth. Esme struggled to push herself to a sitting position. Her hands may have cooled but her arms felt useless and the movement made the pain spike in her chest and abdomen. She found that she was on a couch and a blanket covered her. "What's happening? Where am I?" she cried. Where were the people who were speaking before?
There was a flash of movement and someone was taking her hand. "Esme?"
Esme locked eyes with the person and inhaled with shock. "Dr. Cullen?"
Dr. Cullen seemed as shocked as she was. His golden eyes were wide and his mouth parted as if he wanted to say something, but words failed him. He looked exactly the same as the last time she saw him and a strong wave of emotion overcame her. She began sobbing again - here was an anchor from her past, from a time before everything went terribly wrong. The man whose words stuck with her and made her hopeful for the future.
"You remember?" Dr. Cullen sounded completely dazed, as if he never expected her to give him another thought.
Esme was sobbing too hard to answer and the fire was overtaking her again. She slumped back down on the pillows and let it consume her.
But one part of her brain registered that Dr. Cullen didn't let go of her hand.
.
It seemed to take an eternity until the fire receded to her heart. Esme thought maybe it was finally over when her heart started beating double time. Her back arched off the couch and her hand wrenched away from Dr. Cullen's. She pressed her hands on her chest as if that could stop the pain. Somehow, this was the worst pain she felt yet and she didn't understand how it could be. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, she pleaded in her head.
Then her heart gave one final squeeze and went still and all at once, the fire was gone. All that remained was a terrible dry feeling in her throat.
Did this mean she was dead, then? She'd grown up around belief in an afterlife, but she didn't think she would be so conscious in death. She took in a breath and exhaled forcefully. She could still breathe, but it felt different.
"Esme?" Dr. Cullen called.
Esme opened her eyes and intended to respond, but she got distracted by how clear and sharp her vision was. She had struggled with some nearsightedness but now she could see every grain in the wood ceiling above her. Then she saw the dust motes swirling in the air and how they captured the light. All at once, she was on her feet without having to think about the motion. She froze, staring down at her body in confusion. She didn't recognize the pants and the blue shirt she was now wearing. Who changed her? Esme took in another sharp breath and was bombarded by scents - scents that reminded her of a warm fire in winter and honey in the summer sunshine, but somehow translated in her brain to two males. Instantly, she crouched in fear, a hiss slipping out between her bared teeth.
Oh, God, what was she doing?
Dr. Cullen spread his hands to show he wasn't a threat. "Esme, I know this is confusing, but you are safe." His voice was calm and soothing. She remembered that tone from when he treated her broken leg. She found that she wanted to trust him just like she did back then.
Over Dr. Cullen's shoulder, she saw the other individual - a teenage boy with bronze hair that she didn't recognize. He didn't seem threatening but he watched her with some wariness. His eyes were golden like Dr. Cullen's. Was he a relative?
As soon as Esme thought about it, the hissing stopped and she was on her feet once more. "Dr. Cullen?"
"Call me Carlisle, please," he said softly. "There's no reason to be so formal anymore."
Carlisle? She never got to know his first name before. It wasn't a usual name, but it suited him. "Is this a dream?" It was the only explanation she could think of. Maybe she would wake up in her bed at Mrs. Avery's to find this was an elaborate dream.
"No, this isn't a dream."
Esme shook her head and then pressed a hand to her chest. There was still no heartbeat. "I don't…I don't understand. Am I dead, then?"
"You're not dead. You've been changed."
"I don't understand," Esme repeated.
Carlisle glanced at the boy helplessly, but he just shook his head.
"Don't look at me. Tell her how you told me."
Carlisle ran a nervous hand through his blond hair and a strand fell back over his forehead. He sighed and said, "I found you near death at the base of a cliff. I couldn't save you by normal medical means, so I - I changed you into a vampire."
"You…what?" Vampire? The word brought back memories of reading Dracula while Charles was away at war - images of Dracula crawling down a castle wall like a lizard and a ghost ship arriving in England.
The boy snorted. "Well, she's read Dracula."
Esme rounded on him. "How do you know that? Who are you?"
He flashed a grin. "I'm Edward and I know that because I'm a vampire who can read minds."
Hysterical laughter bubbled up in Esme's chest. "A vampire who can read minds? None of this makes any sense!"
"Edward." Carlisle looked irritated.
"What? She's going to have to know about my mind reading some time."
Esme put a hand to her throat. The dryness became more urgent; it burned like chapped skin in the middle of winter. "I need something to drink."
The statement had Carlisle and Edward instantly on alert. "Yes, you need blood," Carlisle said soberly.
As soon as he said the word, she remembered an image of Dracula sucking blood from Lucy's neck. The image made her muscles tighten anticipation and her mouth watered. It frightened her.
"We need to get her out of here, Carlisle," Edward warned.
"But I don't want to kill anyone!" Esme protested.
"You won't have to. We drink from animals," Carlisle soothed. He held out a hand. "Trust us. We'll help you but we need to get you something to drink now."
Esme took his hand and he led her to the front door, Edward following behind. Before she could step through, she was distracted by her reflection in the mirror beside the door. Her features were sharpened and her skin was paler than it used to be. But the most striking difference was her eyes.
They were bloodred.
She gasped, slipping from Carlisle's grasp, only to be caught by Edward from behind. "Why are my eyes red?" she shrieked.
"It's okay, Miss - Esme," Edward said. "Mine looked like that too at first."
Carlisle looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. I didn't think about the mirror. But Edward is right. All vampires have eyes like that when they first wake to this life. They'll eventually turn gold if you stick to the animal diet."
Esme felt herself relax somewhat. "They won't stay like that forever?"
"No, they won't," Carlisle reassured her and offered his hand again.
They raced outside into the early evening light. At first, Esme wondered how long it had been since she left Mrs. Avery's house and then she marveled at how easy running was. The trees went by in a blur and she didn't feel the effort in her legs. She kept waiting to feel her heart pounding in her chest, but it wasn't there. Her breathing stayed even. Edward came up to her side and he threw her a grin.
"Running is a fun perk of this life," he said.
When they were deep in the forest, Carlisle stopped and brought Esme and Edward to a halt with him. Esme saw them look intently to their right, their pupils dilated so that the gold in their eyes were almost gone. She couldn't see anything but more trees and underbrush and old leaf litter. "What is it?"
"There's nobody else around," Edward said, more to Carlisle than her.
"There's a herd of deer over that way," Carlisle explained. "The scent is blowing away from us, but we can hear them. See if you can too. It's important to be able to identify prey."
Esme almost protested that she never hunted before and she wouldn't know what to listen for but she concentrated. She heard the wind stir the trees and various birds chirping and a creek burbling somewhere. Through all that, she heard what Carlisle and Edward identified – the sound of multiple heartbeats. At the same time, the breeze shifted so she caught the earthy scent of deer. Part of her recoiled, knowing that it wasn't her natural prey, but the wet sound of blood pumping through those hearts made the burn in her throat flare. Esme shot forward with a growl, Carlisle and Edward following. She found the deer herd with ease and pounced on the nearest doe.
Following her new instincts, she bit its throat and hot blood flooded her mouth.
AN: Yes, Carlisle, you big dumb dumb, Esme remembers you lol. Thanks for reading, hope to hear from you to see what you think!