The next few weeks happened in a blur. Two weeks later, after the talk with Linda, I had a baby boy in my arms. Twenty-six years old and finally, after so long of yearning, so long of waiting and aching, I was a mother. But that did not last long.
For two days, I laid in bed, exhausted from labor. The doctor poured endless attention to my son, whom I decided to name Nathan. The doctor said he wasn't breathing right. He was red, wrinkly and so tiny. His watery gray eyes stared back at me, blinking. I wanted to hold him all the time, to have him close to my heart, rejoicing that he was mine, all mine, and I would hold much influence in his life. He fit perfectly in my arms. He would grow up to be my one and only love.
Four days after Nathan was born, I was able to feed him alone. His breathing was rough and unsettling in my stomach. The doctor came constantly to check on him. Linda said that her children had the same breathing problem but eventually, it went away. I hoped the same for my little Nathan.
Nevertheless, my hopes were shattered soon after. I laid Nathan down for a nap after the doctor came to check on him again. He had been sleeping for over three hours, and I was expecting him to wake up to be fed again. I liked to watch him sleep sometimes so I went upstairs into my room and lay in my bed. He was lying on his back, his small lips mouth opened in an 'o' shape. His hands were balled into fists and he was drooling from the left corner of his mouth but he wasn't breathing. His stomach wasn't moving up and down. I touched his face – it was still warm.
I picked him up carefully, putting my ear to his chest. His heart wasn't beating. From that moment, I was in hysterics. I laid Nathan down and ran downstairs, calling for Linda. She was in the kitchen and quickly ran back upstairs with me.
"Linda, he isn't breathing! I don't know what's going on!" I cried.
Linda picked Nathan up and repeated the same motions I did.
"The doctor—" I began.
"He might still be talking with George. Let me run down and check." She gave Nathan to me.
"Hurry, Linda, please!"
As she ran out, I put my ear to Nathan's chest again. His heart wasn't beating and he wasn't breathing, but his skin was still warm. I was frantic. I tried to breathe into Nathan, hoping, desperately hoping I could do something, anything to save my baby.
I heard the footsteps of the doctor, Linda, and possibly George. They ran into the room. I gave Nathan to the doctor, who set his medical bag on the bed. I was crying now. Tears streamed down my face in waves. Please, save him! my thoughts ran wild.
Ten minutes later, my heart was in my stomach. The doctor was already shaking his head when he turned to me.
"Esme, I'm sorry. My suspicions were right."
"What suspicions!?" I shouted.
"A lung infection…"
I wasn't listening now. Of course. Why didn't I think of that? My mind whirled with all the possibilities and I was crying now worse than ever. I felt Linda's hand on my back and she embraced me.
My baby. My little Nathan. Dead.
—
Two days later, we buried baby Nathan. George managed to fashion a rough coffin. It was only Linda, George, and I at the funeral. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. There was no point. My baby was dead and I, too, felt dead.
Linda suggested I take the next few days off of work. I agreed. Was there any point to going to work? The children would only remind me of my Nathan. I needed to sort out the hospital bills. The doctor had been too generous to make so many house calls. Too many nights, I cried myself to sleep. I ached for Nathan. My body ached to be near him, to hold him. My arms felt empty now. My heart felt empty too. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep.
What was my life now? I left Charles over a year ago. And now, Nathan left me. Then I decided I, too, would leave the world. Linda had no need to be kind to me anymore. I had taken so much from people but never have I given back. Surely this was the right thing to do.
Four days after Nathan was buried, I cleaned the mess I had made during lunch. Linda was working at the schoolhouse and George was tending the animals. I made the bed and refolded all the clothes in the dresser and closet. I tidied my room before I headed out. My mind was set as I walked out of the house. I waved to George as his head turned from feeding the horses.
I wandered for an hour before finding myself atop a cliff. It was a good spot. I squinted as I looked over the edge: jagged rocks and rushing water would be my end. I sat on the soft grass, analyzing. Yes, Esme, my mind said. It urged me on and I was more than happy to oblige. I stood up, smoothing my magenta dress out. As if there was a point to look nice anymore.
Suddenly, the face I have never forgotten materialized in my head: Dr. Cullen. My mind drifted to when I fell from the tree, but this – my suicide – was much different. Dr. Cullen had left and already, ten years had passed. He would be married with children of his own. Why would he remember me? I was no one of significance, just a clumsy girl who had climbed too far up a tree. Such a pleasant face to think about before I jump…
I breathed deeply and jumped. My mind was blissfully away, hoping to join Nathan wherever he was.
—
I was sure I was in hell, burning for the act of sin I had just committed – a sad attempt at suicide by throwing myself off a cliff. I felt the flames of hell lick my whole body. But I deserved it, I knew. I took from people and could not give back. I left Charles, perhaps my first act of sin because I couldn't pretend to be the good wife. God had taken Nathan away from me – I was in hell and he was in heaven, a fair price.
I felt relief only a few times when the flames were replaced by ice. I felt the icy touch on my forehead, my neck, my arms, and my legs. I heard voices, too, vague in the background. Faces flashed in my mind: my parents, Veronica, Claire, Charles, Caroline, Linda and George, and Nathan. If I could cry in hell, I would.
"Esme," a voice said my name, soft and smooth yet filled with concern. Surely it was the voice of an angel.
Were there angels in hell? Perhaps the demon living inside me had finally become real. I always thought demons couldn't talk.
I couldn't open my eyes in hell. It took too much effort. I wanted to open my eyes, to try to quench the excruciating fire in my throat. In a sense, I was afraid to open them: afraid to face hell, afraid for it to be a reality. I wanted the burning to stop. I wanted the icy touch back.
Flames licked away. I tried to smack them away with my hands to no avail. I tried to scream but I couldn't open my mouth. I would live in this hell for eternity. I would never see Nathan again. I wanted to cry but the burning pain was too much. I couldn't think of anything else.
Eventually, the pain subsided, leaving only a dry ache in my throat. I felt someone touch me, but it wasn't cold like before. Surely the demon was making sure I was dead. At last, my eyes opened. Everything was clear, extremely clear. I could see the silver moonlight streaming through the window. I could see the dust particles that reflected off the moonlight. I wiped my eyes with my hands. Pausing, I looked at my hands. They were a different color. I looked at my legs and they too were a different color: pale almost silver like the moonlight. What? Surely hell wasn't like this.
My eyes wandered to my surroundings. I was in a fairly large room, completely alone. I was lying in a soft bed. A vanity was in the corner and on top was a looking glass. From the bed, I could see the texture of vanity's wood. I could see the creases in the carpet, the places where someone stepped. This place could not possibly be hell. It looked like someone's home and the devil couldn't possibly live in such a home.
Amazingly, my ears caught the voices coming from below. I heard them as if they were sitting right next to me. The two male voices were arguing.
"Carlisle, I don't understand why—" the first voice said, youthful and smooth.
"I couldn't let her die, Edward," the second – Carlisle – said. I sensed yearning and compassion in his familiar voice, like the voice I heard in hell, amidst the burning. "Surely you can understand that."
Then the pair was quiet. I heard someone rush up the stairs. I covered myself with the bed blanket. I held my breath as the door opened.
If my heart had been beating, it would have stopped. The man who stood at the door held the face of the one I have never forgotten, even after ten years. It matched his – same pale skin, same golden eyes, and the smile. This demon was no demon, but an angel – my angel. Surely, with him here, I could not be in hell.
He ran a hand through his golden blonde hair. He wore a pair of tan trousers and a navy blue sweater. He hesitated at the door. My name came out of his mouth liked it had always belonged there. "Esme."
I said nothing. I could only stare. His name is Carlisle, my mind told me.
Carlisle flitted to my side in half a second. I leaned back. My angel was too beautiful. I couldn't look at him. My eyes averted to my hands. They, too, were a different texture than before. A hesitant smile crept across Carlisle's face, flashing a set of brilliant white teeth.
The boy, Edward, was standing at the door. How old was he? He was angry, his faint amber eyes pensive under his eyebrows. His bronze hair was tousled. He pressed his lips together as he watched me. He glanced at Carlisle.
"You're an angel to her, Carlisle," the boy said. He looked at me then back to Carlisle. He was then out the door in a millisecond. I heard him below. I heard the door open then slam shut.
I expected to feel a blushing sensation in my cheeks but there was no warmth. The warmth I expected in my cheeks reminded me of the burning in my throat. Although the flames had left the other parts of my body, it stayed constantly in my throat.
"I don't understand…" I said. I didn't recognize my voice. It was … musical, whimsical, and light. My hand went to my throat.
"Perhaps," Carlisle said, "it would be better if we attempted to quench your thirst first." His voice was much like I remembered.
What? With water? I didn't understand.
"Will you come, Esme?"
I agreed, all too willing. I followed him down the stairs and out into the night. We were not in town at all. Instead, this house was planted on the outskirts of the city. I heard the cars of the city miles and miles away. My eyes quickly adjusted to the night. I looked up to see the clouds covering the moon. My throat was aching.
Then the smell hit my nose and I heard the beating of a heart, flowing fresh with blood. My mouth was wet in a mere second. Where? Where is it? I looked at Carlisle.
"It's due north, Esme. Perhaps seven or eight miles." He smelled it too.
"I need it, Carlisle," I said slowly, still not used to the sound of my voice.
He nodded. He took my hand, and we ran.
It felt as if we were flying. My caramel hair flowed past me and I felt Carlisle's grip on my hand tighten. I had to find the thing with the beating heart, I heard it, and we were getting closer. We stopped four seconds later and I saw them: black bears. There were two of them. Their beating hearts pulsed loudly in my ears. I looked at Carlisle and he nodded.
I lunged for them. I felt like a savage. I snapped the female's neck in half and then the male's. I sunk my teeth into the female's neck. The warmth of the blood flowed into my mouth, barely quenching the burn in my throat. I ached for more. As soon as the female was dry, I moved quickly to the male. The process took a mere fifteen seconds. My throat still ached. I turned my head, looking for Carlisle.
He was behind me in half a second. His hand found mine again. I looked into his topaz eyes, trying to understand. He read my eyes. "I shall explain later. You must still be thirsty."
In truth, I was, but with Carlisle next to me, my longing for him almost outweighed my longing for more blood. We found another bear three miles east and a herd of deer four miles northwest. I drank until I was satisfied and he, too, drank.
We stayed in the forest. I lay on the grass and stared at the stars. What had I become? I was a monster, a savage – this I knew. Carlisle sat next to me, watching me, never letting go of my hand. I let my eyes wander over to him and our eyes met. I sat up.
"I thought…" I began, unsure where to even begin. "I thought I would never see you again. You of all people, Carlisle." I liked saying his name.
He smiled. "I couldn't leave you, Esme."
I bit my lip. "But what happened? I only remember jumping and…"
He squeezed my hand and sighed. "You want to know?"
I nodded.
He spoke quickly but I caught every word. "I was working at the late shift hospital when they brought you in. They had people looking for you for hours. Your body was in an awkward position but fortunately, somehow, you hadn't broken anything. There were only scraps and bruises." I flinched at the word. "They thought you were dead but I heard otherwise – I heard your heart still beating. It was faint but you were still alive. I brought you home with me and I changed you."
"You remember who I am?" I questioned.
To this, he smiled. "How could I forget?"
But there was no answer to his question.