Author's Note: This is somewhat of a sequel to my Emmett story called 'A Grizzly Defeat'. It's not necessary to read it first, though, and you can go in any order really.
"So how did yours happen?" Emmett asked innocently from the sofa. We were alone in the sitting room, Bella and Rosalie out for an afternoon shop. Renesmee was safely upstairs expressing her artistic talent with crayons on my bedroom wall.
I looked away from the television screen, meeting his eyes. They were identical to mine now, a bright golden color, though I had once been the possessor of fairly striking green eyes I was often told. Now these eyes changed in accordance with my appetite instead of the fire they used to hold when I played music.
"Carlisle changed me, you know that," I said simply. He had been told several times. Once when he woke up, and once each for Alice and Jasper's sakes when they had joined the family.
"Yeah, but I mean, what happened?" he pressed. He wanted gruesome details.
I pieced together the combined memories of me and Carlisle, using his clearer sight to my advantage, and recalled back to my last few hours as a human. Hours that didn't tell a very happy story…
"Don't," I said, struggling weakly against his hold. His hands were like ice as they touched me without my consent. Softly pressing random points on my back, against my shoulder blades and spine.
"Edward, You know I must check for – "
"What's the point!" I shouted hysterically, tears clouding my eyes. I clenched them shut and wrenched my arm to try and pull away. His grip barely faltered, for he was a strong man. Despite his average build, he apparently had much more muscle than his appearance let on. "We're all hopeless!"
"Edward, I understand that you're upset about your mother," he tried to console me, using a soft voice meant to be soothing.
"No you don't!" I bellowed louder. I was no doubt waking the others with my tantrum, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything anymore.
My mother was dead.
"Let go!" I raged, trying to free myself. He looked at me with pity, still holding onto my arm with a firm grasp. I beat on his chest, my weakened condition no doubt making it barely worth the effort. His chest thudded solidly beneath my fists, as though he were practically made of stone. But I didn't care. As long as I had something to hit, someone to be angry with, I couldn't care less what it accomplished.
But my lungs soon hindered me. I coughed violently, unable to control my gasps any longer. The fit lasted longer this time, more drawn-out than the others, and the air tore at my throat as I held a hand to my mouth during the shudders and hacking. Eventually, blood rose from my lungs, up my throat and out of my mouth with a sickening taste. The taste of death.
I was dying. No one could save me. No one could save my mother.
When my coughing subsided, I sat there, sobbing. How could life take such an unpleasant turn so quickly? One minute, I was playing the piano in front of my peers, enjoying their praise as I worked the keys effortlessly with nimble, healthy fingers. The next, I was in a hospital bed, being soothed by a man who barely knew me as I violently cried without shame. My life was over. My parents were dead. I was an orphan, who would soon be dead too.
"Why me?" I sobbed into my hands, feeling his icy touch on my back still. "Why is God so cruel? What have I ever done?"
I hated him. I hated God, Dr. Cullen, the nurses. Everyone. They should end me now and save themselves the torment of dealing with me. I wished they would. I didn't want to live anymore.
I had always thought myself a good person. I read my bible faithfully, never eyed the girls around me with lust, never meant any ill-will to anyone. Any sin that I had done, I immediately confessed. So why did God feel the need to punish me so severely? Was this what he gave to his faithful followers? Pain and anguish? The removal of your friends and family? Death?
I wiped away the blood trailing from my mouth, not wanting to look worse than I already did. My eyes had shadows under them and my skin was pale. I had not yet lost my physique, but being confined to a bed would soon take that as well. I would be useless. An empty shell that would slowly waste away until nothing but a corpse was left.
"I'm going to die," I said shakily, feeling my body tremble. All dignity I had before had gone out the window when I was informed of my mother's death this morning. My last remaining tie to this Earth, just gone.
Dr. Cullen moved closer to me, abandoning his examination for a moment as he tried to stop me realizing the truth of the nightmare that was my life.
"Edward," he whispered into my wild hair, his mouth right against my scalp. Dr. Cullen was never afraid to get close to the sick victims, despite us being contagious. He had never once gotten the deadly influenza, but he continued to stay by our side and fight it with us despite the risk. His gesture felt fatherly, his cold hand on the side of my sweaty and tear-stained face in order to keep me close. His coolness felt nice against the fever. "I know you're mother's death is hard for you to take. I…I spoke to her as she passed. But I promise you, whatever it takes, I will not let you die."
"I don't believe you," I whispered sadly, not bothering to try and resist his firm hold anymore. More tears trailed down my cheeks, nearly evaporating due to the heat of my skin. My fever hadn't spiked. It was just always there.
"I promise," he said, ignoring my words. He released me and walked away to tend to his other patients.
Everyone loved Dr. Cullen. Despite his unnaturally cold hands, he was always welcomed by the patients as he examined them or gave them treatments. He was kind and understanding, and quite smart for his age. He was such a successful doctor, but was almost unbelievably young for the profession. Due to this, most of the female nurses giggled as he walked by, and he would grace them with a smile or a joke, his handsome features making them swoon. They all fell under his spell, which seemed effortless and almost like it was an accident. It was just who he was, and he couldn't help it.
He examined the patient at the end of the hall and briefly chatted, looking a bit solemn despite his smile. Probably due to his encounter with me. Due to how hopeless we all were.
Grief and anger radiated through me, and I began resenting him again. I didn't know why. He was clearly doing the best he could. It just wasn't good enough. His stupid handsome smile and perfect personality weren't getting me the help I needed. The help my mother and father had needed.
I lay back down, giving up fully and waiting for death to take me. No one, not even the famous Dr. Cullen, could save me now.
"Edward."
I stirred. My sleep was already so fitful these days, due to the discomfort of my fever and coughing fits. I figured it was some nurse sent to make sure I hadn't passed in the night, and opened my eyes reluctantly.
Apparently, I was wrong. A cold hand felt my forehead, which was slightly damp as usual. A shock of blonde hair became visible, and I finally saw Dr. Cullen's face come into focus. I wondered briefly what he was doing here, crouching beside my bed, for the nurses had informed me that he would be taking a week's vacation. I didn't blame him, really. Being around the sick and dying must have been quite wearing on the mind.
He looked nervous, for some reason. I raised my head off the pillow.
"What is it?" I asked sleepily, fighting back a cough in the process. The fluid always settled in my chest during sleep, so the fits were worse when I woke up first thing.
"Come here," he said, not answering my question. He stood and reached out to me.
"Are you staying after all?" I inquired, still waking up. I sat upright and rubbed my sweaty forehead, blinking several times.
"Yes," he answered finally, though I thought he sounded odd. I had an unnatural ability to read people, my mother always said, but I didn't think it was that hard. It was easy to tell shallow people from the deeper ones, or liars from the honest. You could see it in their eyes. While I had always trusted Dr. Cullen, there was always something about him that I could never put my finger on. Almost as if he were trustworthy, but hiding something as well, which never made sense to me. But my sleep-muddled brain refused to give me the warning of his strange behavior, which was a bit different than his usual cheery self.
"Where are we going?" I slurred, rubbing my green eyes to clear them a bit.
"To take some tests," he said, smiling warmly at me. "I do think that there is something we can do after all, I just…need a moment."
He reached down and helped me up, supporting me by wrapping one of my arms around his shoulders. I stumbled along the ward with him by my side. The white tile was freezing on my bare feet.
"Oh, wait, I should just tell the nurse where I'm going," I said, my thoughts becoming a bit clearer. They made us check in with them if we ever got out of our beds, in case we tried to run and ended up spreading the disease even more. Carlisle was actually aware of this, so I wasn't quite sure why he hadn't reminded me.
"Oh, no, that won't be necessary," he said quickly, still guiding me towards the door.
I frowned. Fighting off another cough, I said, "But…no, I have to, or they won't know where I am. They might go searching, and you could get into trouble when they find out…"
"I already told them," he reassured me, his smile a bit strained.
I stopped walking, looking at him suspiciously.
"You know that I have to do it," I reasoned. "They have to see me leave."
"Edward, please, it's only for a moment. It will be very quick, and they won't even notice that you've gone – "
"Why do you not want anyone to know where I am?" I said, my eyes narrowing.
He stayed silent, looking straight at me. The only sound was of my heavy breathing, which was due to the thickness in my lungs, and the similar noises from the other patients. Carlisle didn't make a sound, but looked at me with almost pleading eyes. I stared back, my suspicion becoming stronger with his lack of an excuse.
This was no test.
But before I had even registered his movement, he was behind me. I felt a cold hand over my mouth, preventing my cry of surprise, and a firm arm around my waist. I tugged on the hand preventing me from warning the nurses, or anybody else, that one of the doctors was kidnapping me.
Panic shot through me as I wondered what exactly he was trying to do. If there were no tests, where was he taking me? I had heard of doctors who tried to experiment on their patients during the war, the ones that were surely doomed. Was this my fate? Would I just become and experiment for some sick doctor's learning experience?
I struggled hard, trying to shout but failing. My fingers pried at his arms, trying to loosen their grip, but also to no avail. The man was too strong, and I too weak, and my lungs couldn't keep up with my erratic breathing in order to supply me with enough oxygen. If I fell unconscious, what would happen to me when I woke up?
He dragged me towards the door, lifting me slightly when I refused to comply, and all the way out the building.
No one knew I was gone. No one had heard me, and they would probably think I had run off. I would die at the hands of this man, even sooner than I had originally thought.
He brought me across the parking lot to his car. The white snow on the ground was freezing as it touched my feet, leaving scuffle marks as I fought his hold still. My strength was leaving, however. Between my exhausted body and the fluid in my lungs, I knew I wouldn't be able to fight him if he tried to do anything to me. I was doomed, plain and simple.
He opened the car door and gently but firmly placed me in the passenger's seat. He slammed it again, and I hurriedly tried to open it and get out. He wouldn't be able to make it to the driver's side in time to stop me from exiting the car. Hopefully I could make it to the entrance of the hospital and shout for help before he caught up to me.
But in about half a second, he was already sitting beside me. I looked over at him, shocked, stilling my hand on the door like an idiot.
How had he gotten there so fast?
He quickly started it and drove away from the hospital, taking me with him to God knows where. I couldn't get out now unless I wanted to get my skin shaved off by the ice and pavement speeding by below us. He was driving rather fast, too fast to be safe in this weather, for certain.
On the car rides with father, I remembered the leisurely pace he would always take. He wouldn't usually have much time for me, being the busy man that he was with his lawyer business, but sometimes we made a day to go into town and shop for mother. A sort of trip where we could just talk and be father and son for a while. He would drive slow to make the trip last longer and postpone our return to our prestigious home life. On these outings, I didn't have to constantly try and please anyone with my intelligence or skill, and he didn't have to try to work a jury. On those days he would always call me 'Eddie', joking that he wouldn't have any other way of telling us apart. Everyone knew I hated such a ridiculous name, but it was a sign of how much I loved him that I let him use it on me.
He had been hit with the first wave of influenza, and had died rather quickly. It was strange and depressing, seeing a man I had admired my whole life as being strong and commanding while he died in a hospital bed. The sterile environment and bright white walls were his tomb. Each day in that room he faded a little more, until one day there was nothing left but an empty body.
Such a fate seemed so welcome now, as I was carted away to some unknown destination by this lunatic.
I lay back against the seat, feeling exhausted from the struggle. My body couldn't handle things like that anymore, and my lungs burned intensely from the deep breaths I tried to take. I stared out the window helplessly, feeling more scared than I had in my entire life since I couldn't fight back.
"What are you going to do to me?" I said, turning to face him.
"Don't worry," he said, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He looked determined.
"Is this why you took your vacation?" I asked weakly. "So you could kidnap me without interruption?"
He looked at me guiltily.
"I did," he finally said quietly. "But it's not for the reason you think. I'm trying to help you, Edward."
"Right," I snorted, turning away from him. If that was what he told himself to justify his experiments, there was little chance he would listen to my pleas.
"I am," he insisted, sounding as though he wanted to get it across. "You may not see it as that way for a while, but I will save your life. Your mother made me promise to do whatever it took, so that is what I'm doing."
"Did she say to take me away and do horrible things to me? Because it seems like it's heading in that direction," I said snarkily. Aggravating him probably wasn't my best tactic to use, but I was fighting back using the only weapon I had left, which were my words.
"No," he said sadly, and left it at that.
We pulled up to a large house, which was probably his own. He was apparently quite wealthy, or had very wealthy friends that let him use their houses for his dirty work. I gulped as I realized this was it. My life would end with what I imagined would be a great deal of pain and suffering, and I would find out just exactly what I meant by 'dirty work'.
He was at my door again before I could blink. He opened it and pulled me into his arms, carrying me with ease. He spoke against my hair again, no doubt trying to soothe me from my terrified state. I struggled weakly, but he held me still.
"I won't hurt you, Edward. You have to trust me," he said, sounding a bit terrified himself. How could I trust him when he looked so guilty?
"I don't believe you," I said, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. He gripped me tighter, his thumb lightly stroking the side of my face as he held me to his chest like a frightened child.
This didn't seem like the behavior of a quack doctor, but stealing me away didn't seem like such a fatherly thing to do either. My emotions conflicted as I sensed danger and comfort at the same time. I had no idea what to expect…
He opened the door and walked inside. I shifted again, attempting one final escape, but my efforts could have been nonexistent for all the results they produced. The door slammed shut with a cryptic finality to it, marking the end of my life.
Little did I know then that it was just the beginning…
He walked quickly over to a staircase and began to climb it, nimbly and without any sign of difficulty. I couldn't help but notice. I was a fairly tall boy for my age, so I couldn't have been light, and he was climbing a great amount of stairs. He must have amazing endurance. Was he perfect in every way?
Oh, yes, he had the small flaw of kidnapping teenagers in the middle of the night.
"Please," I begged, not caring how weak I sounded anymore. I clutched at his tweed jacket desperately to try and bring some humanity back, make him realize what he was doing. "Just let me go and I won't tell anyone or – "
"Edward," he said warningly. I looked up, expecting anger, but he looked like he was about to cry. If he was regretting it, why was he doing this in the first place?
"I won't," I assured, trying to sound as trustworthy as possible. If I could use that regret against him, I might have a fighting chance. "Please…please…"
He said nothing, and continued up the stairs.
When we got to the top, he turned to one of the rooms on the side of what was a very long hallway and carried me inside. There was a huge, elegant bed, which automatically made me panic. This was no operating table or hospital cot. There seemed to be too much room for just one person…
"No!" I thrashed, finding my strength again. It did me little good against his vice-hold, and he lay me forcefully down on the bed. His hands pinned me by the shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes.
"Edward, I'm sorry," he said quietly. His eyes were sad, portraying fully his regret at what he was about to do.
"Please!" I shouted, feeling tears run freely down my face. I was too hysterical now to even try and stem their flow. "I won't tell! I won't tell! Just let me go!"
"Edward, hold still – "
"God, no! Please! PLEASE!"
His hand gripped my hair, yanking my head to the side. I gasped, feeling his cold breath on my neck, and that was all the warning I had before something cut into me. I screamed, feeling the pain from the knife or scalpel or whatever it was. As my cries died down, the damage to my body already done, I lay there dazed, reeling from the pain.
It wasn't until I felt an odd draining, as if my blood were actually being pulled from me, that I realized he was attached to me now. His face was in the crook of my neck, and I could hear an odd slurping noise…
I made a strangled whimper as I realized he was biting me. His teeth were imbedded in my skin and he was sucking, drinking my blood. His hand clenched painfully in my hair, holding me securely in place. A satisfied growl escaped him, which sent a new thrill of horror through me.
I choked, feeling all of my blood rushing to that spot, the wound where he was drawing the life out of me. I couldn't scream anymore because I couldn't find my voice. The terror had taken it away. My breathing was fast and erratic due to my panicked thoughts. I began to feel weak….
I was dying. This thing, which I was beginning to recognize was not Dr. Cullen, was going to drink my blood until I didn't have any left for myself. It was a creature like the one from the Bram Stoker novel I had read once.
A vampire.
I was drifting into a haze, ready to lose consciousness from the exertion, terror, and severe loss of blood. Just as my eyes began to close, I felt air on the wound, which stung. He had stopped. I opened my eyes again to see him cowering in the corner across the room, just visible by his blonde hair shining in the light from the window.
Relieved, I lay still, trying to calm myself enough to figure out what was going on. I felt the stinging increase in my neck, radiating from the bite mark. It grew to a powerful burn, which confused me. Well, not that I wasn't already confused, but he wasn't hurting me anymore, so the pain shouldn't be increasing. But apparently I had missed something, because it continued to grow in strength.
I cried out, clapping a weak hand to the open wound. I could feel it spreading like some sort of fire, working through my veins. Like a poison.
"It hurts!" I yelled, feeling it spread to my limbs. I convulsed, closing my eyes tight, willing it to go away.
The burning flowed through my entire body, never stopping. The more I panicked and thrashed around, the faster it seemed to spread.
As the pain intensified to an unbearable level, I screamed.
"Daddy!"
I heard jumbled, high-pitched thoughts and the fast patter of feet. A small being collided with my stomach, who I caught in order to prevent her from falling from the sofa to the floor. She buried her face in my stomach, giggling.
"What is it, sweetheart?" I asked.
Still hiding her face, she reached out a hand and grasped my forearm, showing me a lovely picture of a dragonfly that now decorated the once-white walls of my room.