Once again, writing to myself... pleeease review, guys.
Okay! I am so excited. I just found out that Reverie is a song by Debussy, who also composed Clair de Lune, as mentioned/bonded over by Edward and Bella.
This random title I selected is turning out a lot better than I'd hoped! Haha. I got it from She's A Handsome Woman by Panic at the Disco. (Awesome song!)
Just a Fleck of Yellow Light
Fall was always left in your eyes
Just a fleck of yellow light
Like a sunrise
Like the twilight
-Weeping Willow, The Hush Sound
Carlisle Cullen was the only doctor in this small town.
Before him, there were housewives that pretended to be experts, doling out medicine and patching up scrapes. But that was as much as they could do, and more serious cases would have to be sent to the hospital, almost twenty miles away.
When he'd arrived, they'd been overjoyed. He set broken bones, treated concussions, even performed minor surgeries.
"He's a blessing!" This from the many women who had nothing other to do than gossip freely in their parlors, drinking tea and making cookies. "And a very handsome one at that," they would say with a sly wink.
Carlisle worked in the morgue. Most deaths were from old age, or the occasional drowning. There were no murders, because there was no crime in this town.
But there was only so much he could do at one time. He let the housewives have their fun, continue to hand out cough syrup to babies with croup, douse cuts and sores with antiseptic.
He realized that it was rather morbid, but the morgue was his favorite place. Examining the dead bodies, determining causes of death. It interested him. It even interested Edward (currently passing as his brother), who tended to stay indoors most of the time.
Today Edward lounged in the corner, obviously with nothing better to do, as Carlisle examined the body of Mr. Frederick Galvin, an elderly man who'd had a stroke the previous night.
"I wish I could hear the thoughts of these dead people," Edward said nonchalantly.
"That's relatively disturbing, Edward," Carlisle noted, prodding the cold stiff arm in front of him.
Edward shrugged. "I can hear your thoughts, and you're dead."
Carlisle smiled wryly. He was about to reply, when there was a sudden clatter, a gathering, it seemed, outside.
"The townspeople are rebelling," Edward said, always cynical. "They're out there forming a mob."
Carlisle glared, and glanced out the window. A group of people (he had to admit they rather did look like a mob), were making their way towards the little building where he worked.
He looked closer. Two were carrying a stretcher, on it a body covered by a sheet. He could smell blood, fresh, warm, and horribly appealing. This person had just died. He heard their voices as they got closer.
"What happened?" asked an apparent newcomer to the group. These people were attracting attention, parading through town with this stretcher. Carlisle felt a twinge of the disgust. No respect for the dead at all.
"This is the girl that lost the baby. Remember her? She was hearbroken. Threw herself off a cliff. Awful, isn't it?" This from one of the men holding the stretcher.
Carlisle had heard about her, but never seen her. A young woman, about twenty-six, had arrived in town, pregnant and alone. An older, kindly woman with no family had taken her in and delivered the baby, but it had died three days after birth.
"Horrible," the other man agreed.
"Died right away. Tons of broken bones, and bruises and cuts. Probably lost too much blood, too."
They had arrived at the door. The two men holding the stretcher brought it in, the others crowding around the door, desperate to peek inside. They laid it on a table and stepped back, eager to leave. Very rarely did humans speak when they were in the morgue. It was an intimidating place, Carlisle supposed, if you weren't used to it.
"What is this?" Carlisle asked, though he knew already.
"Dead girl. She jumped off a cliff. Take a look, would you?"
Carlisle nodded curtly, and the men herded the group out the door, shutting it behind them.
Carlisle went to the table, carefully pulled back the sheet. His breath caught in his throat as he gazed down at her.
Her entire body was covered in gashes and bruises, warm blood still seeping from some of them. Her hair was matted with blood and dirt, full of leaves and sticks. Carlisle gently placed his hands on her abdomen. He could tell that almost half of her ribs were broken, some shattered beyond repair. He turned her over, and wished he hadn't. A huge gash ran across the length of her head. It sickened him, seeing this poor woman like this.
He closed his eyes for a moment, but then looked her closer. He'd seen her before. It had been autumn, several years ago, in a different city. He remembered the scent of that day, the feeling of the orange and yellow leaves crunching under his feet and falling in his hair.
She'd been 16 and absolutely beautiful. Her delicate heart-shaped face, her honey colored hair, her warm brown eyes with flecks of yellow light.
She'd sheepishly showed him her broken leg. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her, as he set the bone and covered her leg in a cast. He'd kept his feelings to himself, of course, trying to be professional. But he hadn't been able to ignore the sweet smiles she had given him, looking up at him through her eyelashes, and the pretty cherry-colored flush in her cheeks. The way the crisp fall air smelled the same as her skin.
She'd been too young for him, then. And he couldn't possibly fall in love with a human. It was the definition of wrong, and he knew the rules. So he'd made sure it was the last time to ever see her. He thought of her, every now and then, but not seriously enough to do something about it. He remembered her name- Esme.
It saddened him seeing her broken body, more than he'd expected to be sad. She was still beautiful, even in death. He was a little appalled at himself for thinking this, for visualizing a corpse this way, and turned to Edward, hoping he hadn't been paying attention.
Edward was politely looking in the other direction, and Carlisle knew he had heard.
Then he became aware of a sound. It was faint, but unmistakable. The sound of something that should not be in a room full of dead bodies and two vampires. It was a heartbeat.
This girl wasn't dead.
"She's alive," Carlisle said to Edward, a little breathlessly.
Edward shook his head, seeing the plan as it formed in Carlisle's mind. "No, Carlisle, I don't see how that would work."
"I can't just leave her here. There's no hope for her to survive, of course, but I can't just wait for her to die."
Edward pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture that always calmed him. "Carlisle," he said in a strained voice. "This really isn't the best idea."
"Please, Edward."
Edward heard the desperation in his voice, saw the infatuation with this girl in his mind. Carlisle didn't ask for much. And however outrageous this request was, Edward knew he couldn't deny him. He sighed. "If it's what you want."
So as Esme's heartbeat became fainter and fainter, they zipped her up in a body bag and ran, leaving everything they owned in this town and disappearing.
They found a cabin, deep in the woods, and the smell of human was so faint it could barely be detected. They knew they wouldn't be found.
Esme's heartbeat was almost gone now, and Carlisle knew he needed to act quickly. He slid the bag off of her and laid her on the table, and swiftly grasped her neck with his teeth, sending a flood of venom through her veins.
She was silent, not yet conscious enough to respond to the pain, the fire that burned within her.
But within hours she was writing and convulsing, crying out and begging to die. She called out the name of her son several times, and her arms had reached out, as if for an invisible child.
It painted Carlisle to see her like this, more deeply than he'd ever thought himself capable of feeling.
Three days later, she stopped screaming. Her injuries had faded completely, her bones had repaired themselves. Her skin was a perfect milky white, smooth and unblemished. Her hair was still matted and tangled, but the caramel color had brightened.
As Carlisle hovered anxiously over her, breathing in her scent, the smell of autumn, she opened her eyes.
They were red as expected, the bloodlust was evident. But there was still the little yellow sparkle, behind the crimson.
Esme smiled.
And for the first time in two hundred and fifty-eight years, Carlisle Cullen felt warm.
x x x
Review, please!! It's really easy!