First chapter! Very exciting! We are so happy to present Carlisle's chapter, please read and review!
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"Doctor! Come quick, I think he's waking!"
Footsteps. I can hear them, echoing through crowded hallways, their beats against the floor like blood through veins. The sound is insistent and annoying. I desperately wish everyone would stop moving, that all these tired and restless souls would calm for only a second to give me some sort of peace. After dying I really only want some serenity and silence, but I have a feeling I won't be getting that anytime soon.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My own veins sound in my ears, blood rushing through them. Blood. I knew then that I must have ended up in hell, that God had cursed me to live out the rest of eternity in a flaming and fiery cell as my son had predicted. He had been right. We were all cursed from the beginning.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"His brain activity is through the roof! Doctor, I think he's going to wake up!"
Thump. Thump. Thump.
This girl says I'm waking up, but I don't want to. I want to keep my eyes shut, to live in ignorance for only a few more seconds before accepting my cursed fate. I don't want to see the devil, not today, not any day.
The blood running through me pumps faster, screaming in my ears almost painfully.
ThumpThumpThump.
My heart beats quickly in my chest, threatening to explode through my ribcage. The pressure is almost too much to take, the sickening feeling in my stomach almost too much to bear. But somehow I make it through. Somehow I'm able to get through, to make it to the other side. Hell, or heaven, whichever one God sees fit for me.
The first thing I noticed was the sky outside the small window. The sharp outline of a city blocked most of the sky from my angle, but I could still make out the soft rays of light coming off the setting sun, coloring the clouds a bright orange. The sight was oddly comforting. Surely nothing so peaceful can survive in hell; nothing so beautiful can be kept in the same chamber as the devil.
I knew then that I was not in hell, but the thought didn't comfort me. Not in the slightest.
"Carlisle? Carlisle Cullen?"
I drew my stare to the sound of a woman's voice, a firm but kind sound. My eyes were slightly blurry but I could still make out her face. Steady eyes, a pretty, maybe even beautiful face, and a dangling name tag stating that she was a licensed doctor. I could tell by its format and her accent that she was an English doctor, a fact that I wasn't quite expecting. I had just recently visited England to ask Alistair for his assistance in fighting the Volturi but I hadn't lived there in many, many years. Esme found it too far away, and the children didn't particularly like sticking out even more by not speaking in the local dialect so we hadn't stayed there in quite some time. Not that I really mind all that much, America became my home years ago and the urge to go back to England never really appeared.
So why am I in England now? I would have never guessed my home land of England would once again become my home after death. I suppose some things just happen that way.
"Hello, sir," the doctor said brightly, her eyes twinkling. "It's nice to see you finally awake. We're just going to run a few tests on you before we try and get you moving. I'm sure you'll be a bit stiff."
She quickly shined a bright light in my eyes, forcing me to squint and blink in annoyance. She laughed lightly and checked my ears and throat, making sure nothing was obviously wrong. The tests were strange and uncomfortable, but I endured them none the less.
The doctor, whose name I learned was Abigail, was nice enough and took the time to do every test thoroughly and expertly. I could tell she took her job quite serious. She smiled, laughed, and even joked about my rather odd predicament but never once did she slip or do something wrong, as I would have suspected from such a young woman. Most humans take years to get to her level of expertise, and some never reach it. If I weren't married I'm sure I would have been attracted to such a brilliant and rather pretty girl, she was quite striking in her work element.
"Well Carlisle, everything checks out fine. You should be able to get up and walk around for a bit, get your legs moving again. You've been asleep for almost four months, so I'm sure your body would appreciate a little exercise. Let me just unhook a few of these pesky IV's," she muttered, walking over to my bedside. She carefully plucked the tubes from my skin and allowed them to dangle from their various machines as she assisted me into a seated position. My body was weak and tired, but with enough will power it would indeed move, especially with Abigail's help.
A slight tremor raced up my spine as my feet touched the ground and my knees bent, pushing me upwards. Almost immediately my legs buckled, sending me flying towards the ground, my body much too weak to change my downward direction. The doctor yelped and grabbed my arms, yanking me toward the bed with surprising strength and agility.
"Well, that didn't go as I thought it would," she said cutely, tucking a strand of caramel colored hair behind her ear. "But we can try again, if you want. We have all day; you're my only patient, usually. I'm only in training, really. They don't trust me with much."
Caramel colored hair.
How could you forget about her already?
Esme. My Esme.
"Where's Esme?"
Abigail looked at me with a questioning gaze. She tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline. "Esme? What an odd name. Kind of old and rustic. As for her location, I couldn't tell you. Is she a friend of yours, someone you might have known?"
She picked up a bright green folder and began flipping through the pages, scanning the words for my love's name. "No Esme here. You only had a few people stop by, but she wasn't one of them. Do you remember your relationship with her? Friend, cousin, aunt? Says here you don't have any family aside from one daughter."
"Daughter? No, that information must be incorrect. Maybe you read it wrong or something. My wife and I are unable to bear children. Esme can never have children," I said slowly, almost tasting the words in my mouth. For some reason they didn't sound right, didn't seem real enough to be reality. But it easily could have been some sort of illusion, for I know my own past. I know what my life was like; death will not make me forget who I was. Only I can do that.
She sighed audibly, shaking her head with a slight of her eyes. "I think you may be feeling a bit delusional because I know for sure that these records are correct. And I've seen your daughter myself; as a matter of fact she came in just last week. Cute girl. She looks an awful lot like you, and I know for certain that she misses her daddy quite a bit." Abigail smiled and placed the folder down on the table next to me. "How about we give this whole walking thing another shot?" she asked, grabbing my hands gently and pulling them towards her. She felt surprisingly cold against my hot and sweaty skin.
"I need to see Esme. Now," I commanded hoarsely. I swung my legs overt the bed and stood up swiftly, my legs quickly adjusting to the new position. My muscles held strong and after only a few seconds I took my first step. I could feel a wave of fatigue wash over my body, telling me to sit back down, to wait to refuel before searching for my wife. But I couldn't wait. I needed to see her.
What if she didn't die, Carlisle? What if she's still alive? And even if she did die what makes you think she would end up in the same place as you?
I suppose that is true. She could have easily survived if the cards were in her favor. We had not only Alice, but also Bella whose gift could have saved everyone. Aside from me of course, I was already dead before I even stepped on that field. No one could have saved me, but surely someone would have been able to save my precious Esme. Surely Edward wouldn't just let his mother die.
So maybe she's not here. Maybe she's safe in the real world, with Alice and Bella and Nessie and the rest of the family. Maybe I was the only causality of that awful day. I suppose I can only hope, but sometimes just the hope that your love is safe is enough to get through, even when you're as dead as I am. The thought of Esme safe and surrounded by her family is enough to get through today and maybe tomorrow.
"Wait! Carlisle, I can't allow you to leave, not yet anyway. Your vitals seem ok, but you'll need to spend at least a week here, just in case anything happens. And the psych-ward doctor, Dr. Hill, wants to see you tomorrow for your OCD problems. An increase on your dosage might help you a lot," she explained carefully. I felt her hand wrap around my arm, tugging me toward her. I succumbed to her strength and lied down on the bed, the stiff hospital bed molding to my form instantly. I suddenly felt exhausted, as if I had run a marathon the day before. This whole being dead and being human sure does take a toll on the body.
Abigail smiled at me warmly, patting my arm through the thin sheet. "I really should be getting you up and going, but you just look so tired. Plus, this is a lot of information to soak in; you deserve a little time to think. I'll be back in about an hour to wake you back up. Hopefully your daughter will be here by then." Her eyes glanced over to the door, a worried expression dawning on her face. I couldn't help but wonder what she was so worried about. It was a puzzling and complex thought, much too complex to be thinking about right now. My mind is so fuzzy and disoriented that even the smallest thought causes it to ache with pain. Right now all I need is sleep, and although I haven't slept in many, many years the act seems so easy now. I suppose you never forget things like sleeping or eating. They just fade a bit, like riding a bike after a few decades. It's odd but not completely foreign.
"It's so nice to see you awake again, Carlisle. I'll see you in a bit," Abigail said softly, shutting the door behind her.
I thought about getting up and inspecting my new surroundings, but decided against it once another wave of fatigue washed over me. Moving would be too much of a chore right now anyway. I promised myself that once I wake back up I would search this world for answers, and get to the bottom of this place once and for all. So many questions whirl through my mind with every passing second, but not one is urgent enough to get me back up. My muscles and bones are much too tired for that, much too tired for anything really.
My mind lingered on Abigail, or Dr. Parker as I should have called her, in my last moments of consciousness. She reminded me a lot of Esme, almost in a frightening way. The heart shaped face, the warm caramel colored hair, the kind eyes that you just want to get lost in for hours. Everything about her screamed Esme and because of that I felt an odd pull toward her. It wasn't nearly as strong as my pull toward the actual Esme, but it was strong enough for me to notice. I enjoyed her presence, probably more then I should have but couldn't find it in myself to feel guilty about it, or regret my actions. Somewhere, in the real world, Esme is safe and happy. She doesn't need me anymore, and even if she did she couldn't reach me anyway, so shouldn't I find a way to move on?
But is it really moving on when the person you fall for is just a copy of your actual wife? Maybe Abigail is nothing more than an illusion made by the devil to lure me in, to seduce me. Well, I wouldn't fall for it, not while Esme is still out there. I'm more of a man then that.
And with that the world of dreams pulled me under with a heavy and almost audible sigh. I didn't even try to fight it when the nightmares began to form.
OoOoOoOoO
I'm not really sure how I'm still able to run, but I am. I'm not running incredibly fast, but I am running, I know that for sure. The heavy thump of shoes on dry dirt echoes through my ears, mimicking and mocking the sound of my steady pulse. Smoke clogs my lungs, the thick ash coating my throat and mouth like a fog over a wet field. Spitting the stuff out only does so much, and even then it only rids the mouth of a few globs. The rest are left to congeal over my teeth and tongue, the taste so utterly disgusting that it has me gagging every few seconds.
But I continue on anyway. For what? I wish I knew.
I can see a burning house on the horizon line, the cause of all the smoke. Surrounded by the old house are thick oak trees, their branches already burned down to blackened crisps, serving as a warning to anyone dumb enough to get close to the roaring flames. The slim house is familiar, as if from a story told long ago, and although my mind can't readily recall from where that two story house is from, I still mourn its blackened corpse, and I still run towards it, wishing I could have stopped its imminent destruction.
Throaty screams penetrate the night, almost stopping me in my tracks. I know those screams. I know who makes them.
I try to run faster, to beat this horrendous sight, to save my love, but by the time I reach the house I already know I'm too late to save anyone.
The door has already been burned down so it's easy enough to get inside. I tear a piece of my sleeve off to cover my mouth and nose, though it does little to keep the smoke out of my lungs. My eyes are watering, sprinkling down my face like tears. My skin is hot and sweaty, but cold as well. I remember from my days as a doctor that many times people can begin to feel cold as they burn to death, just as people can begin to feel hot as they die from hypothermia. It's almost like the bodies last line of defense before breaking down.
That's when I see her. She's hiding in the corner, a gun in hand, the barrel pointed at me. Her hands are shaking so bad I'm surprised she's able to keep her grip on the pistol without dropping it. Her face is pained and I can tell she's trying hard to make a decision. I know her every expression, every turn of her lips, every light behind those eyes. I know her.
"Esme, love, what you doing?"
I say the words, but they come out as more of a murmur than anything else. My throat is far too damaged to do much more. Her brown eyes meet mine and although they seem steady I can feel the sadness and desperation behind them. I wish I knew what was troubling her.
"Esme, put the gun down, we can solve this. Come on, we need to leave before we both die," I warned her, reaching out toward her with one hand. Behind me I can hear the house crumbling beneath the pressure of the fire. There's absolutely no time left.
"You left me!"
Her voice is perfectly clear in my mind, as if she were speaking directly to me in a silent room. It's terrifying.
"Esme, I'm right here, please, we need to leave. Please put the gun down and come with me," I plead, but to no avail. She won't budge.
"You left me!"
Again, as clear as ever.
"You left me and expected me to keep living without you!"
There's a quiver in her voice now, I can tell she's about to break. A tear leaks from her eyes, creating a pale line down her ash coated face. The barrel of the gun shakes as her grip weakens.
"I'm sorry Esme, but I'm here now. Please, we need to leave." If I could only get closer and remove the gun from her hand, but my feet are rooted to the ground a few feet away from her. There's no use in trying to run now. We're both dead.
"Y-You left me," she stuttered hoarsely, "And now I'm going to leave you."
She moves with surprising strength, her arm moving swiftly to position the gun inside her mouth, the barrel pressed against her right cheek securely. Her ruby colored lips are parted slightly, as if daring me to do anything. Her eyes are dead as she stares at me. She's already dead.
I can only let out a strangled cry as her finger pulls the trigger, a loud bang echoing through the burning house. Only one thought crosses my mind as a blinding white light floods across my eyes.
This is the first house Esme and I lived together in, way back in 1921, and now it is destroyed, just like everything else.
OoOoOoOoO
"Mr. Cullen? I hate to wake you, but your daughter Cecilia is here to see you."
My eyes open to reveal the same hospital room and doctor I had come to associate with this new world. It was oddly comforting to be out of my nightmare, even if it did have remnants of my past. I couldn't get the image of Esme out of my mind, that gun stuck in her mouth, her eyes all watery. It seemed so real. Maybe it was, who am I to know? This all seems like a dream to me.
Abigail assists me into a sitting position as a short blonde toddler comes trotting in, followed by a sleek twenty-something redhead. Her arms were crossed stiffly and her eyebrows were narrowed above her dark colored eyes. She obviously didn't want to be here.
Just by a glance I could see the blatant similarities between myself and the little girl. Her bright blue eyes and cute button nose reminded me of my own childhood, and although I couldn't exactly remember much of my time as a human I could tell she would grow up to have many of my exact features. It was almost like looking into a mirror.
"Daddy!" the little girl yelped, running over to my bedside. She clawed at the blanket, pulling herself up with little struggle. Abigail smiled and nodded, encouraging me to do something fatherly.
I had always loved children and although I was never given the opportunity to have one of my own I've always been good with them. Kids have a language of their own; you just have to learn how to speak it.
"Hello Cecilia, it's so nice to see you," I said radiantly, pulling the little girl into my lap. She giggled cutely and pulled at a stand of my hair. She was utterly perfect. The child I had always wanted so desperately but never got.
If only Esme were here. She would love her.
"I missed you, Daddy. Mommy said you wouldn't wake up but I knew you would. You were just taking a nap."
What an odd world I've found myself in.
Cecilia pulled her gaze away from me for a second to stare at her Mother, the snake like red head in the corner. "See Mommy? He woke up."
Her mother raised one eyebrow and nodded tersely. "Yes, I see that dear. Now please hurry up, you have a piano lesson in half an hour."
Cecilia rolled her eyes and pouted before turning back to me. She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "I'll come back later, with Aunt Lily. She likes you more than Mommy."
I laughed at the little girl's bluntness, "Ok sweetie. I'll see you then."
She hopped off my lap and raced over to her mother who stuck her hand out, waiting for her daughter to react to her open palm. Cecilia looked at it for a moment, deciphering what to do. She finally waved at me one last time before skipping out of the room, leaving her mother behind, a scowl plastered on her face.
"It's nice to see you're alive, Carlisle," the red head said, though by her tone I could have guessed otherwise. She didn't sound exactly happy to see me.
I was about to answer but the sound of the door slamming shut stopped me before I could start. I stared at the wooden door, wondering what I had done to make the woman hate me so much.
"Don't worry about her; she's just a little...frustrated. With you. All the time," Abigail said awkwardly as she walked over from her spot by the window. She sat down on the bed, moving one of her hands to rest of my covered foot. "Never the less, you did exceptionally well. I'm very proud of you."
I could tell she was flirting with me again, but chose to ignore it. I didn't need it, not now anyway, not with everything that's happened.
"I truly don't remember anything, or anyone for that matter, but I really do like Cecilia. She's quite cute. How old is she exactly?" I asked.
Abigail pursed her lips and chewed on her cheek for a moment. "Four, I think. Your ex -wife said you were twenty-four when she was born, so that number makes sense," she explained.
"So that makes me twenty-eight," I said quietly, tasting the number for the first time.
It was odd to think of myself as a man older then twenty-three, since I had been that age for most of my life. Never did I grow older, or have to face aging as most people did. I'm immortal, well I was. I'm obviously not anymore, but I'm also not alive anymore. I'm dead, formally so.
"That is correct, only twenty-eight, which means you have your entire life ahead of you. Come on, let's get you going."
The days at the hospital began to fade into one another as a schedule developed between me and Abigail.
Breakfast.
Shower.
Physical Therapy.
Talk with Abigail.
Lunch.
Therapy with Dr. Hill.
Talk with Abigail some more.
Sleep.
It was monotonous but comforting and steady. I needed structure, and a schedule gave that to me. I needed to know what was coming every minute of every day. Dr. Hill says it's a symptom of my OCD, though I really didn't need him to tell me that. I know what the symptoms of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; I've been to medical school more times than I can count. I also know that as a human I demonstrate those symptoms perfectly. Abigail says I've been on medication for almost five years. This of course is news to me.
"That's how you got into this whole mess," Abigail says as she sets down her cup of tea. We're sitting in the cafeteria , chatting over lunch during one of Abigail's numerous breaks. Since she's such a new doctor she doesn't have many responsibilities, which is great for both of us since neither of us seem to have many visitors, or friends for that matter. "You were at a bar downtown and you couldn't leave this guys' drink alone because its position was bothering you. He asked you to quit and you wouldn't, thus the start of the fight. The guy was pretty big, especially when compared to you, so he pretty much beat you to a pulp. The EMT guy said he slammed a chair over your head. The guy was arrested of course but there was nothing we could do to get you out of the coma. Something inside your brain just shut off for a couple months. The doctors are still pretty puzzled over what happened. Maybe your story will make it into a medical journal or something over in the U.S. Wouldn't that be cool?" she asked.
I looked up from the table and nodded slightly. She glanced at the arrangement I had made with the sugar packets and sighed. Three reds on the left, three blues on the right. Perfect. I counted them again, just to make sure they were correct. They were.
"You're listening to me, right?"
I looked up again and nodded. "Of course, who else do I have to listen to?"
She chuckled at that and grabbed one of the sugar packets, ripping it open and pouring it into her tea. I sighed and handed her a packet in the opposite color.
"There has to be the same number of each packet," I explained, placing the little blue package in front of her.
"I almost forgot," she said sarcastically, dumping the pack into the Styrofoam cup before taking another sip. She smiled at me behind the cup. I couldn't help but be reminded of her beauty. In certain light she was quite stunning.
"You remind me of Esme," I blurted out stupidly. She blinked once, then twice, before setting her cup down on the table. I could tell she wasn't frustrated, but more curious. I had accidently mentioned Esme before in conversation and she had let it slide. I knew I wouldn't be so lucky now.
"How about you tell me about this mysterious girl," she offered. I noticed her eyes had become dark and stormy. She wanted to know what was going on inside my mind, but I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone about my past, or my death, or Esme. How could I? This world is so different then the last one I had lived in. They wouldn't understand the logistics of my life as a vampire. I would have to keep it a secret.
Various lies began to formulate in my mind as Abigail sat patiently awaiting my answer.
First love in high school.
First lay in college.
One night stand after my violent divorce.
Any of them would have worked, but I just couldn't make myself lie to Abigail in such a blatant and obvious way. She wouldn't know, but I would. Abigail has been so open and honest with me over these past few days; doesn't she deserve the same in return?
"It's ok if you don't want to tell me. I'll understand. It's just that you say her name sometimes at night over and over. Esme, Esme, Esme. It's almost like a chant. I haven't told anyone about it because I didn't want the information rolling around to Dr. Hill who would just up your dosage, which is the last thing I want. I was just wondering is all, you don't have to answer."
"No," I sighed, sitting up straighter in my chair. I could do this. "You deserve to know. Esme was…my…"
Don't say wife, she already thinks you're crazy.
"My…lover for the longest time," I said softly. That wasn't a lie at all. Esme and I had celebrated our ninetieth anniversary this year, and we were lovers. We were just married lovers, but I decided Abigail didn't really need to know that bit of knowledge right now.
"Oh. Well, do you know where she lives? Maybe you could call her, see what she's up to. Maybe she misses you as much as you miss her," Abigail supplied casually. Much too casual for my taste. Any sentence involving Esme deserves the upmost respect. Esme is not just some girl as Abigail is, no Esme is much more.
"She's gone now," I murmured as I straightened the silverware in front of me. Abigail watched me with disconcerting eyes, her mouth twisted slightly.
"You mean she's dead?" she asked, lowering her voice so others wouldn't be able to hear.
I shrugged, "I wish I knew. The last time I saw her was before the accident." Once again, not a lie. I haven't seen her since I woke up, and in my mind the 'accident' is not the bar fight I apparently got into but my death on that snowy field in front of my family and wife. I know it wasn't an accident but a murder, though sometimes I like to think it was only accident that sent me here, to this purgatory that I now call home.
"You loved her," Abigail said as she slowly moved her spoon around in her cup. A drop splashed onto the table, an annoying brown spot on the white plastic. "I can tell by your eyes that you loved her."
"I did love her. I still do, but what is over is over. There's no getting her back now. I left her." I did leave her and she reminds me of that every single night before she kills herself with that cursed gun inside that burning house. I pushed her to do that, and even though I know that the Esme that I see every night is only an element of my dream I can't help but wonder if she really did kill herself because I died without her. I'd like to think she wouldn't but then I look back on what she did in her human life, after her baby died. She tried suicide then, did she not? What makes me think she wouldn't try again?
"Why did you leave her?" Abigail asked, rather intrusively. I thought about not answering and just getting up and going back to my room but quickly deemed that as too rude, especially after all the kindness Abigail has shown me. Even if I can't give her the full truth, I'll try and give her a sliver of it. She deserves that much.
"I had no choice, I had to. I didn't want to, no I most certainty didn't want to leave Esme, but I was forced to. Every relationship has a timer, and once that timer runs out you can't go back. I wish I had more time with her, but there's no use dwelling on her now. I need to move on," I told her, an edge of confidence in my voice, though I couldn't even believe my own words. I could never move on, get away from my memory of her. I don't want to either.
She nodded, "I suppose you're right. We all need to move on sometime. So, how do I remind you of her? Is it the hair the eyes, or maybe it's just the sparkling personality," she joked, clasping her hands together and leaning her head to the side in feign adoration.
I laughed, shaking my head at her display. "It's everything really. If I had a picture of her I would show you, but they're all gone. I don't know what it is, but you two are very much alike. I wish you could have met her," I admitted truthfully.
She smiled brightly and I could tell the comment had made her happy. She enjoyed it when I became a bit flirtier around her, even if I didn't. She was cute, and a lot like Esme, but not the woman herself. In the words of Johnny Cash I would 'walk the line' for my wife. It's the least I could do.
"I wish I could have too. She sounds like a really great woman."
We stayed silent for a while, neither of us saying anything in the hopes of keeping this quiet peace alive. As much as I had come to enjoy my time with Abigail, I would always favor silence over speaking. Esme understood that about me so well. Sometimes we would sit for hours, never saying a word but constantly communicating through touches and caresses. I miss those nights more than anything.
"Well," Abigail said, breaking the silence with her chirpy voice. "Tomorrow's your last day here. On Wednesday you'll be able to go home. Are you excited?" she asked expectedly.
"Hardly," I admitted. "I don't even remember where I live, let alone how to get there or how to get in once I'm there. Plus, I've enjoyed my time here with you and the rest of the patients and staff. I'll miss it here."
Abigail shrugged her shoulders and stirred her tea. "You had your keys in your pocket when you came to the hospital. The police traced your residence to a flat on Commercial road, near Limehouse Station. I'll be able to get you there easy enough."
"You'll take me?" I inquired hesitantly.
Abigail nodded, "Yea, of course. I don't live far from there anyway, so you won't have to say goodbye to me," she winked cutely. "Plus, you don't have any money and I don't think you want to walk half way across London, especially not in those shoes." She glanced at the cheap tennis shoes one of the nurses had given me. The soles were already wearing out after only a few days of use. They were comfortable enough though, and much better than walking around the hospital bare foot.
I shrugged and agreed to the arrangement.
We cleaned up our table and made our way to the third floor where Abigail walked me to Dr. Hill's room. I didn't need her assistance anymore, I could walk fine, but her presence was comforting.
"Good luck," she whispered before leaving and getting back on the elevator. I knew I would see her again before the day was done but I already missed her. She had quickly become my Esme supplement and although I knew better than to substitute someone so important I needed her to act as Esme's replacement to keep me sane. Without her I would be completely disoriented.
Dr. Hill was an old and gray man with a soft voice and squinty eyes. He's slow moving and never seems to do much of anything but sip tea and talk. I don't even think I've ever seen him stand up. He could be wearing plaid pajama pants every day for all I know.
"Mr. Cullen, it's nice to see you again," Dr. Hill said, pulling out a familiar green folder containing all my immediate information. I took a seat in front of the doctor's desk, awkwardly adjusting myself in the straight backed chair. It was rather uncomfortable.
"Nice to see you as well," I said, more out of politeness then actual truth. I didn't exactly enjoy these sessions.
"So, how are you?" he asked, leaning forward on his crossed arms. I noticed he had spilled some ink on one of the papers on his desk. The little black spot was quite annoying.
"I'm doing fine," I said, using my generic answer. Although Dr. Hill is considered one of the best psychologists in his field, I wouldn't trust him with any personal information. I really haven't told him much of anything, aside from mentioning my complete and utter lack of knowledge when it comes to anything before the coma. I didn't dare tell him about Esme or my life before this. Everyone in this hospital already thinks I'm crazy anyway. I don't need to give them another reason to mark me off as insane.
"Excellent. It says here that your last day is tomorrow. How does that make you feel?"
How does that make you feel?
If I had a dollar for every time Dr. Hill said that I would have enough money to buy a plane ticket back to Forks. If only.
"I'm excited about going back home but I'll also miss my time here. It's easy here," I explained, as it was. Life is hard. Purgatory is easy.
"I see," he said, flipping through the pages mindlessly. He kept glancing at the clock, probably wondering when he would be able to go home, back to his wife and family. I remember doing that, staring at the hands on the clock, wondering when I would be able to see my precious Esme again. The time never seemed to pass quick enough.
"I suppose you'll miss that little Abigail girl the most, won't you?" he asked randomly, a sly smile plastered on his leather-like face. The question caused a blush to form on my cheeks and an anger to rise in my chest. I didn't like talking about my feelings for Abigail or feelings at all. He was really beginning to push my buttons, which I suppose is just part of his job.
I let a glob of saliva slide down my throat before answering. The extra few seconds allowed me to calm down a bit and get a hold on my flare of anger. Once in control I spoke, clear and loud, "If you want to say that you can but I harbor no romantic feelings for Dr. Parker, nor will I ever. I have other, more suited interests then chasing doctors. Now, if you will excuse me I have somewhere to be," I said simply. I stood up, gaining a curious glance from Dr. Hill.
"Your time slot isn't up yet, Mr. Cullen. Technically I can't allow you to go," he warned. His beady eyes centered on me over his wire frame glasses, but I ignored his cold stare. I didn't need this anyway.
"As you can see doctor, I am doing just fine. I think your wife would appreciate a little extra time with her husband anyway, don't you think?" I smiled and he gave me a stout nod.
"I suppose. Goodbye, Mr. Cullen."
And with that I was gone.
OoOoOoOoO
"I think this is the place," Abigail said, putting the car into park. She stared at me for a moment, her eyes glassy. If I hadn't known better I would have said she was on the verge of tears, but Abigail is much too strong for that. I suppose that's one thing she doesn't have in common with Esme. My wife has always been good at showing her emotions, both pleasant and not so pleasant.
"I wouldn't know," I admitted, looking at the small but well-kept building. "What floor am I on again?"
She pulled a slip of paper out from her jacket pocket, unfolding it carefully. It already looked worn and read, which it was. I had looked it over almost a million times a night before, desperately trying to memorize every line. For the most part I did memorize the whole thing, my address, my phone number, even my email address that they found on my lap top. I memorized it all, but I always like to make sure. You can never be too sure.
"Third," she reminded me. "Do you want some help moving all your stuff in?"
I laughed a bit and looked over my half-filled book bag and throw-away bag of toiletries from the hospital. "What stuff?"
She sighed deeply, turning toward the steering wheel, her eyes directed downward. "Alright then, go ahead. I'll see you around."
Her voice was dead as she spoke. Dead and cold. She didn't want to leave and I didn't really want her to either. The connection I had already formed with her was strong, and although it's almost entirely based off of my love for Esme it's still there and I can't just ignore it. I can't just live my life in this weird Purgatory alone.
"I guess you could help me, if you want," I offered, giving her a smile. She returned it along with a quick nod before unlocking the doors and jumping out. She skipped up to the front door, my cheap book bag gracing her shoulders.
I stood there for a minute, just staring at her and wondering what would happen in the future. She reminded me so much of Esme, but she would never really be her, no matter how much I want her to be. Could I ever fall in love with her? Maybe, but I really, truly hope not because if I do I'll never be able to forgive myself.
She's pretty, but she's no Esme. She's got a nice personality, but it doesn't measure up when compared to Esme's. Nothing does. She's a nice distraction but she's not my wife. My wife isn't dead, I am and I suppose Abigail is as well.
I've been cursed to live my life in an eternal purgatory, away from the troubles of reality but also away from the joys of my old life. No longer am I the strong and capable Dr. Carlisle Cullen, but the feeble and weak Mr. Carlisle Cullen, medical school dropout and divorcee.
I think about the life that I live now. Such a human and mundane life when compared to my life as a vampire. Eternal and powerful, but damned from the light. Was that not my reality? Or maybe this is reality and all I've ever known was nothing but a dream. Did Esme ever really exist? How about Edward, or Alice, or Rosalie or anyone in my family, did they exist? What if I never really died, what if I just woke up? The thought is too disturbing to think about for more than a few seconds, but I do anyway because I need to know the truth and although it's unlikely that I dreamed up my entire life anything can happen. I learned that first hand over four hundred years ago in this city when I was transformed into a vampire. Surely that was real. You can't just imagine something like that.
"Come on Carlisle, it's getting late and I'm hungry. There's a little café just down the street where we can go once we put down all your stuff," Abigail yelled from door where she was fumbling with the key.
"Okay, I'm coming."
It couldn't have been a dream. No, it was so real, too real.
But a part of me knows that the only reality is this, and this is all I have. All I've ever had.
OoOoOoOoO
Sorry the update took so long, guys! Super busy with exams! I really hope you enjoyed this first chapter and please review! All questions and comments are welcomed! Next chapter will focus on solely on Esme and her new reality. All reviewers will get a sneak peek of the next chapter!