AN: Once again I have to thank my wonderful betas Mila and Alphie. Also, if you haven't yet visited the official twilight fanfic site, please do. You can find the link in my profile. This chapter is from Esme's point of view because Carlilse isn't the only one in need of awakening.

"If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences."

Jane Austen

It could have been three days, three hours, or three minutes since my son had died. I didn't register time anymore. All that surrounded me was an abyss of emptiness. I couldn't think in full sentences, only stray words and images.

Worthless.

Idiot.

Incompetent.

Foolish.

Immature.

I had been called all those things by my parents and husband. I couldn't deny any more that they were right. I had irrefutable proof. My child was dead; and it was my fault. A good mother would have seen the fever starting sooner. A good mother would have stayed with her husband. A good mother would have swallowed her pride and taken her own mother's advice. No, I stubbornly thought I could take care of my child myself, and now my child had paid the price for my foolhardiness. The truth was there, plain to see.

I wandered the streets of Ashland not caring. My only future had lain in taking care of my child and giving that child a better life, and now at twenty-six my life was over. I never would amount to anything. I wasn't capable of taking care of myself, let alone an innocent child. No one would ever want me again. The onslaught of judgmental words pounded incessantly in my head.

Imprudent.

Rash.

Selfish.

Ingrate.

I was a woman who had left her husband. It simply wasn't done. If a man left his wife, it was her fault for driving him out. If a woman left her husband, she was suffering from the delusions of insanity at best or was a harlot at worst. The fact that I knew the truth lay in neither of those stereotypes didn't matter. That was how society would judge me.

Shrew.

Witch.

Hussy.

Ashland society would assume that I'd go back to my parents. What was there to keep me in Ashland now? Only I couldn't go back. They would shun me. It didn't matter that my husband had beaten me. They had already clearly let me know it was my fault for not pleasing him. Going back to Charles was impossible. I had deprived him of his only child and now that child was dead. No one would ever want anything to do with me. All I could bring upon them would be disgrace, shame, and the vicious whispers of gossip.

Divorcee.

Jezebel.

Whore.

How I got to the park or the cliffs, I don't remember. There I was high on a precipice, with clean air, and a new vantage point. In retrospect, it must have been some part of me, who I really was, trying desperately trying to break through. A part that wanted to say, "Remember who you are. Remember the girl you were. Find your spirit again."

When I was younger, I used to climb trees with my sketch pad to escape when the pressures of doing what was expected of me became too great. No one then knew of my heart's desires. If I tried to express wanting to be a painter, I was scoffed at and scolded. Whenever I tried to explain, my words would jumble. How do you explain your heart's desire to people who never hear anything except what they want to hear? They don't allow for anyone to have desires beyond their own thoughts.

Standing on the cliff, remnants of who I really was started to come back to me. For the first time in three days, I felt the wind and sun on my face. I remembered how it felt to be so high and alive, and to know who I was. I didn't want to lose that. I knew if I left the cliff and tried to go back to life in Ashland, Columbus, or anywhere I would. I would die hollow and empty.

If my death was inevitable, then let it be here in a place where I could at least feel. I couldn't go back to that empty shell. A place where I merely existed and didn't really live. I walked back from the edge, turned, and then took a running leap of faith. Whatever awaited me couldn't possibly be any worse than returning to a half-life in Ashland.

Terror doesn't begin to describe the feeling of falling. When you've managed to mess up every other aspect of your life, you're terrified that you'll fail at ending it too.

Slap. A stray branch cut across my face.

Crack. Landing on a ledge then teetering over onto another.

Crunch. Feeling my ribs collapse under pressure.

Bang. White hot pain everywhere

Thump. Can't think.

Thump. Head over heels.

Thud. No words.

It was done.

Blackness at last.

Pain. Unbearable, gut-wrenching pain wracked every nerve in my body. Needles. Knives. I couldn't scream. I tried to move and I felt a hand with a cloth at my mouth. A man in a white coat. A doctor. I had been brought to a hospital.

"NO! NO!" My mind screamed what my mouth couldn't. Let me die. Let me have my freedom. I wanted to push and fight, but my body was leaden.

My head spun. More pain spread up and down my arms and legs emanating from my sides, slowly burning across my ribcage. As soon as I tried to move any limb, there was another stab followed by a burning, a flame from within. It was as if my body was turning in on itself. How appropriate, I deserved this hellfire. I had done the unthinkable and now I was undoubtedly banished to suffer this torture the rest of my life.

Again, I fought in vain to struggle against my misguided rescuer. I found the cloth returned to my face, and I drifted off into a hazy blackness. When I had moments of lucidity, I couldn't see clearly. There were fuzzy images only. I was vaguely aware of being in a bed. How, how was any of this possible?

There were two voices. They argued with each other.

"No, I don't understand. Why her? Why now?"

"I don't fully understand it myself, Edward," This voice I could almost place. He spoke as if he really knew me, not like a doctor with a patient. His voice had the faintest traces of a British accent as he continued, "Regardless, what is done is done, and we'll both have to help Esme to transition. There is no other choice."

"Choice? What about her choices?" It was the other voice now. The accent was American, Midwestern like mine, only male. He sounded young, like one of my former students. "Did you ever think that maybe you took away her choice, what she wanted?"

I thought, "Yes! That's it. He understands!" The second voice expressed exactly what I had been thinking. My mind pleaded for the first man to listen.

"That's a rather manipulative thing for you to do, Edward, invade a desperate woman's thoughts. I would have thought you above that. Not everything we think at a given time is what our heart of hearts really wants. Thoughts betray raw emotion. If we acted on our every thought, most of mankind would be dead. What's in people's hearts is so much more important than their thoughts. The heart is where the real self lies."

That voice was so familiar, so philosophical. More than that, it was someone who understood. Only once had I ever met someone who had expressed things in quite that way.

"But I can't help hearing her thoughts. I can't block out a mind this close anymore than you can block out the need to drink blood. Maybe we don't drink human blood, but we still drink it. We can't just turn that off."

"No, Edward," the British voice calmly corrected, "being a vampire does give you certain gifts. You can't deny their existence, but it's how you choose to act upon those gifts that defines you as a person."

Drinking Blood? Reading Minds? Vampires? It had to be the pain clouding my mind. I struggled to raise my head. I wished that I could just fight through the pain enough to get a clear look at their faces.

"Person? Is that what I am, Carlisle?" Edward scoffed.

I was now completely convinced I was going insane. It had to be the power of suggestion. I had been thinking that the British man's tone and manner of expressing himself was so much like Carlisle Cullen, and now the younger man had called him "Carlisle".

"Yes, Edward. A person. We may not be human, but we are still people with free will to make choices. We are not animals."

"Funny you mention the word 'choice'. Isn't that what you just took away from her?"

"Yes, you may accuse me of being a hypocrite because I took away Esme's choice for death. I'm not perfect, as you have well pointed out. I made my choice, a choice I will undoubtedly have to answer for one day. The difference is that my motivation was to stop a life from being wasted. It wasn't-"

"Self-serving," I could hear the shame in Edward's voice, "I'm sorry, Carlisle, of course you're right. It's just that it was so sudden. I was just thinking of myself."

I struggled to raise myself up onto one arm, and squinted. Again, "Carlisle". It was no mistake; he had said "Carlisle" twice. It wasn't as though the younger man had said John, or Peter. He had clearly said "Carlisle". How many people could have that name? My vision momentarily cleared and there he was plain as day, Dr. Carlisle Cullen leaning over me and placing me back down on the bed. A foul smelling cloth again crossed my face and clarity dimmed. Carlisle Cullen, with a British accent? Vampires? Hallucination? I had to be hallucinating.

Columbus 1911

For the last two days I had lain in a hospital bed with my leg in a sling elevated at a harsh angle. I had climbed a tree with my sketchpad and when I tried to stop the breeze from rattling my paper, I had lost my balance and come tumbling down to the ground. A good hour had gone by before anyone had found me. Now, if I coughed or sneezed, the sudden jostling would shake my leg. It was no use trying to stop the involuntary movement, it was impossible. Then my leg only hurt more. So, when my father came into my room with my mother to berate me for the second day I held the tears back even though the pain was unbearable. I couldn't, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

"Just unacceptable, unladylike, immature behavior, and a willful streak a mile wide. That's what landed you here, young lady!" My father had been going on this way for a good ten minute clip.

"Now Andrew-"my mother tried to come to my defense but was soon interrupted.

"Be still, Mary," my father snapped at her with a look in his eye that we all knew. It was the look that said the back of his hand would soon be felt if we persisted, "If you had done your job and properly curbed her as you should have, this wouldn't have happened. I don't know what possessed me to listen to you. I left things in your hands and here we are. I allowed you to spare the rod and we have the predicable result of a spoilt child," Although he was still screaming at my mother, my father turned to me. His hand rested on his belt buckle. The threat was clear, "A good whipping is what she deserves. I told you to make it abundantly clear to her that climbing trees, hopping fences, and the like were off limits. Obviously, you can't be trusted to convey a simple directive. So help me if she weren't lying in this hospital bed I would have put her here--"

My mother acquiesced. She always acquiesced when my father raised his voice. "I'm sorry Andrew, you're right. I know I should have done more, but I can't watch her every minute. She's sixteen and old enough to appreciate the consequences of her actions. Perhaps she has at least learned her lesson and will behave as a lady should."

It didn't matter; I was used to it. I was a disappointment to them both. I was not enough of a lady, too smart for my own good, and any number of other things they told me on a regular basis. I clawed the sheets, my hands hidden under the blanket, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. No matter how much I hated them talking about me this way I wouldn't cry.

"Regardless of what she's done, Andrew, we can't let that affect the rest of the day. You have to be at the town council meeting, and unless we leave right now, we'll be late." My mother was gently tugging my father's arm.

My father adjusted his collar and grabbed his hat. "I can't be late for the council meeting. There's too much going on that's important this week that needs my attention. I can at least do some good for the mayor. At council meetings people seem to eventually listen to reason, unlike this one," he put on his hat and turned to go out the door with my mother. Before he did, however, he turned and fired one last shot, "It serves you right that your leg is never going to be the same after this. You'll have a reminder of just what this pigheadedness has cost you."

The door to my room closed and I burst into tears. Sobs wracked my body causing more pain. It didn't matter I just couldn't hold back any longer. It was so unfair, but maybe they were right. If I would just have listened I wouldn't be a cripple.

I didn't hear the door open. "Miss Platt, what's the matter? I didn't think your leg would be causing you this much pain today," Dr. Cullen gently held my leg as he examined the bandages. I blinked and looked into the handsome face of Dr. Cullen, the doctor who normally took charge of patients after hours. Unlike the doctors on the day shift, he always seemed to have a little more time. He usually asked me how I was feeling and really seemed to care about the answer. The rest of the doctors were colder. It was as if I was just a number to them, a being attached to a chart.

"Please don't bother about me. I'm sure there are other people who need you more," I stuttered through my tears. Even though he had always treated me kindly, he couldn't change the inevitable. There was nothing about my leg that kindness would solve,

"Miss Platt, you're my patient, not a bother. And at the moment I'm rather concerned about what's distressing you," He looked up from examining my leg and smiled invitingly.

Such kindness was too much, I blubbered, "My father just told me that I'm going to be a cripple."

Dr. Cullen abruptly stopped examining my leg all together, and turned to me with a harsh, "What? Your father told you what?"

"That I'm never going to be the same again," I sobbed.

Hi eyebrows furrowed into a displeased knot as he spoke, "Miss Platt, far be it for me to contradict a parent, but that is patently untrue."

"It's all right, you don't have to pretend," I sniffled. I could only partially see him through my tears. My face was turned to my pillow.

Dr. Cullen pulled over a chair and sat beside me so he could look me right in the eye. "Miss Platt, you look like a bright young woman to me. Do you know what the Hippocratic Oath is?"

This threw me off guard. My tears had been subsiding anyway, but now they stopped all together. "I think I read about it in a book. Isn't it a vow that doctor's take when they get their medical degree?"

"Something like that", Dr. Cullen warmly replied before continuing, "Do you know what the oath specifically says?"

I nodded my head "no".

"It says among other things: 'I will apply measures for the benefit of the sick according to my ability and judgment; I will keep them from harm and injustice.' Allowing you to believe that you are going to be crippled would be a grave injustice. I can't promise that your bones aren't going to ache a bit when it rains, but I have a feeling you'll be able to climb trees again with the best of them in no time." He paused there a second before he continued, "Oath or no oath, I would never lie to you. In general, I despise lying. As far as I'm concerned, it causes more harm than anything else in this world."

I stared at him open mouthed. No adult had ever talked to me like I was his equal, contradicted my father, or encouraged me to climb trees.

He continued to smile benevolently as he went on, "The oath says a few more things too: 'What I may see or hear in the course of the treatment or even outside of the treatment in regard to the life of men, which on no account one must spread abroad, I will keep to myself, holding such things shameful to be spoken about.' What that means, Miss Platt, is that whatever I tell you or you tell me is kept confidential. It looks to me right now like you could use a doctor and a friend," he paused there, smiled wryly, and tapped the toe of my uninjured leg, "So why don't we start things off on a better foot?

I laughed at his pun. It was impossible not to. It hurt, but I still laughed; I didn't mind.

"Good, glad to see I have you in better spirits. Now, I'd like it very much if we could drop some of this formality. I know that your first name is Esme. May I call you Esme?"

Again I nodded, only this time "yes".

"Excellent. It seems only fair then that you can call me by my first name as well, which is Carlisle. And though Dr. Cullen might advise you not to be careless when you climb, I confess Carlisle would like to know why you were up there, because there had to be a good reason. I've climbed trees myself and there's always a purpose."

Now I was really stunned. Finally someone who seemed to understand a bit about me, and best of all whatever I said couldn't be repeated to my parents! "Well, Doct…I mean Carlisle…"

For the next several hours, I told him everything: my father's temper, my mother's smothering expectations, how I wanted to be an artist, how my parents expected me to marry well…everything.

For the month I was in the hospital, Carlisle came every day to talk with me. On my last day, just before I left to go home, he told me that he was moving on as well. He had gotten a position in Chicago and would be leaving Columbus.

The last thing he said to me was, "Take care of yourself, Esme. Don't ever stop reaching for your dreams. Nothing worth having ever comes easily. Don't give up and you'll find what you truly want."

I never forgot him. I had fallen hopelessly in love and he never knew. Even if he did know, I was sixteen and he was a man in his late twenties. I compared every man I ever met from that day forward with Carlisle Cullen. Unfortunately, no matter how long I looked or waited, I never met his equal. Resigned that I had romanticized our relationship to an impossible level, I gave up my dreams; I listened to my parents' wishes; I married Charles; I ruined my life.

A door closing snapped me back into the present. The burning pain was gone. I wiggled my fingers and toes and wasn't met with stabbing pain. I could feel my body again. My limbs were no longer leaden, buy they felt different - heavier, fuller, denser, it was hard to explain. I looked at my hands and fingers and then I touched them to my face. I didn't see or feel any scarring.

I opened my eyes and saw that I was in a small, sparse room. There was desk covered in books, a chair with a suit jacket slung over the back, a window, and the bed in which I lay. The sheets were crisp and firm. Clearly they were fresh, but it went beyond good laundering. It was as though they had never been used.

I sat up and noticed I was wearing a clean and simple muslin nightgown. Hesitantly, I put my feet on the cold floor. I stood up, gingerly at first, and much to my surprise, my knees didn't buckle. They supported my full weight, so I took a few steps toward the window. It was partially open, and the curtains blew in the breeze.

When I looked out, I could tell the house was set well back from the road. Even though the glass wasn't that clean, I could see that it was a beautiful, sunny day. The dirty glass and a shade tree kept the glare of the sun from fully entering the room.

I grabbed the bottom of the window and gave it a firm shove to push it fully open. As soon as I did that several things happened in rapid succession. The window came out of its frame and almost crashed to the ground below. Somehow I caught it and supported all its weight with one hand, but as the window dangled precariously in my hand, the breeze caused the tree to sway and my hand was touched by a patch of sunlight. Unbelievably, it glistened as though it had been bejeweled. The chain reaction continued as I gasped in fright, promptly dropping the window. The sound of it smashing below didn't shock me nearly as much as the realization that up until then I had been holding my breath. The sweet smell of the outdoors invaded the room along with another scent, a powerful one that I couldn't quite place. I was instantly filled with a longing to find the source of that scent and to consume it.

I could see, hear, feel, and move. I knew I wasn't hallucinating even though the impossible was happening. The door to the room flew open and somehow it didn't shock me that Carlisle Cullen, of all people, stood in the doorway. He looked not a day over twenty five, yet surely by now he had to be close to forty. The same warm face I knew ten years ago greeted me. Even though he struggled to conceal it with a nonchalant, "I see you're up. How are you feeling?" I could tell he was concerned.

I didn't know where to begin. What was I supposed to say? Nothing, absolutely nothing in my life could have prepared me for this moment. Finally, I managed one thing, although I instantly regretted my phrasing upon seeing how it pained Carlisle to answer.

"This time, I'm not ever going to be the same again, am I?"

Ten years might have passed, but time doesn't change certain things. Carlisle Cullen still couldn't lie. He shook his head in resignation: No, simply no.