Chapter Notes:

Well first off I need to apologize for this taking so long! I had wanted to have this posted by Tuesday and here it is Sunday... so yeah that didn't quite happen! I had a rough outline of the chapter, what needed to happen and all that... weeeeelllll, the chapter kind of ran away from me, literally at one point! I pulled three all-nighters, convinced each night that THAT night would be the night where I finished it. I had once been told by a writing instructor that I'm "overly descriptive", so I think that had a bit to do with it as well. Then there were things that, although they weren't in the outline, they just really worked and it actually foreshadows for the actual book of Twilight! Which like I said, not a single one of my foreshadows was in the outline, they just came out and only after proof reading the section I had written did I see it! So of course, they had to stay! So that slightly altered my outline... then the outline expanded... and before I knew it I was begging for this chapter to end! So with that said, this chapter was the complete opposite of Chapter 3 (3 was easy, did it in a few hours)... lots of hours went into this chapter and it's over twice the length of all the others!! Whew! Thanks for waiting so patiently!! I hope you enjoy it, as it is definitley not my favorite!



Chapter 4

We waited. Our lives had stalled as we sat for endless hours, hoping for some word on my father's condition. Apprehension choked the air from my throat as thoughts of hope attempted to pacify my saddened heart. Hours continued to pass without word concerning my father. And so we waited, while that thin thread of hope that we clung to so desperately began to fray.

They had moved my mother and me to a separate room so that she could rest. Her appearance was beginning to frighten me. The dark circles that surrounded her eyes earlier had grown into a deep purple, giving her face a sunken quality to it. I couldn't be sure, but I thought her skin looked paler then it had as well, almost chalky. She was clearly exhausted, as this endless day of waiting had been hard on both of us. However, she never seemed to be able to fall into a calming slumber. She tossed, turned and wept in her sleep. I felt so helpless as I sat in a chair next to her bed. Occasionally I would surrender to the fatigue I could feel creeping into my body. But it never lasted. My elbow propped up my hand, allowing me some place to sleep, until my cheek would slide off and startle me awake or a noise would drag me back into consciousness, so I could wait some more.

The waiting was the worst part. I hated waiting. I was never any good at it. All my life I had been a person of no patience. I needed instant gratification. I would grow perturbed with things that were beyond the scope of human control. Time seemed to be my enemy. It couldn't go fast enough to please me. As with any child I was impatient for the arrival of Christmas or my birthday. However, I became extremely annoyed when I felt I was not growing fast enough. And just this morning I reiterated my lack of patience by telling my mother that I could not wait a single year to legally join the army so I could fight in a war. I really hated waiting. And now I found myself in my own personal Hell, in which all I could do was wait.

My mother's body shifted in the bed. Her face turned towards mine as a pained expression overtook her features. She was crying again. "Edward, no. No, no, no. Please no," she repeated in her sleep. My heart ached at the sight of this.

Would I ever feel the kind of love that my parents had for one another? There had always been constant affection between them. I have memories of soft smiles and stolen glances when they thought I wasn't looking. A tender touch of the cheek, a gentle kiss on the hand; private moments of love. Every night I would hear the scraping of wood against wood, as they pushed their beds together so they could sleep next to each other. And in the morning I could hear the bed frames scratch along the floor again, being placed back in their regular spots, separated once more. They had slept beside one another every night for as long as I could remember, until tonight. My father lay in another room, in some unknown condition as my mother wept in her sleep.

I reached out and brushed away the tears that streamed from her unconscious eyes. Her cheek felt cool under my fingertips. My light touch startled her, causing her eyes to flutter open. Guilt swarmed me for waking her. My hand began to retreat from her face, but was stopped by her cold, clammy touch as she held on to me loosely.

"Have you heard anything yet?"

"No." I sighed and tried to force a smile. "I'm sorry for waking you."

The slightest hint of a smile came across her lips. "It's fine. It was sleep without rest anyways." Her voice was hoarse and it was then that I realized she hadn't drunk or eaten anything all day. That could account for her sunken eyes, her ashen skin and pale lips, I told myself. That's it. That's what's wrong with her.

"I'm going to get you something to eat mother, okay?"

She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes and shook her head. "No. My stomach doesn't feel up for it," she said as she pulled herself up so that she was sitting.

My heart plummeted as I tried to ignore the fact that my father had already uttered those same words. "Some water then?" I asked, trying my best to hide my emotions from her.

She nodded her head ever so slightly, giving me the excuse I needed to get away, just for a moment, so I could release all that I had been stifling within myself. I walked quickly to the door, fleeing from the dread that had just been placed in my heart.

Opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, I immediately noticed that the atmosphere of the hospital had changed. It was busier then when we had been in the waiting room. Nurses moved about quickly, going from one patient to the next. Pale, chalky faces with dark sunken eyes were every where I looked. Were all these people sick as well? Had the Typhoid spread?

I was in the hallway for less than a minute before I was approached by a nurse. "You shouldn't be out here," she said trying to usher me back into the room I had just came from.

"Why?" I asked, shock showing through my face as well as my voice.

"The doctor will be in soon to see you." She continued to urge me towards the door.

"My mother needs water," I countered. "Can I just get her some water?" The nurse stopped pressing into me and considered my request. What is going on? I thought to myself. I could feel a sense of anxiety coming from her. And there was something else, something I couldn't quite pinpoint. Fear? Sadness? Her eyes darted from mine, making it impossible for me to read. I was becoming agitated, as I was usually quite intuitive when it came to people. "Please?" I asked again.

"The doctor will bring some in to you, you'll have to wait." She pushed me back into the room and closed the door in front of me.

More waiting, I grumbled to myself. Exhaling loudly, I turned and approached my mother, taking the seat I had just left minutes before. "There's something going on out there. Something's not right," I said raking my hands through my hair. "The nurse said Dr. Hastings will be in to see us soon and that he'll bring you some water." She nodded slightly and with a small smile on her lips, she raised her hand up to fix my ever disheveled hair. "You know that's pointless, it's never done what it's supposed to," I reminded her.

"I've been fixing your hair since you were born and even then it did whatever it wanted." She smiled at her memories and I smiled at the sight of her smiling. "Edward," she said, seriousness taking over her features. "I couldn't have asked for a better son, you know that right?" She placed her hand on top of mine, her skin still very cool to the touch.

I opened my mouth to speak, not knowing what I was going to say. All I knew was that I didn't like the feeling that those words had had on my stomach. Our shared intuition was telling me something. More sadness and finality? No, I thought. No, that can't be right. The door to our room opened, interrupting my thought process. I turned, expecting to see Dr. Hastings. However, I was met with the golden eyes of Dr. Cullen.

"I heard we needed some water in here." He smiled softly first towards me and then my mother, as he walked over to her holding a glass.

I watched my mother pull back slowly, almost cringing into the bed as he approached her. I couldn't understand why we both reacted the way we did, considering it wasn't how we truly felt. It was as though it were a subconscious instinct that we had no control over. He had changed his clothes since the last time we had seen him. The light blue shirt he wore made his white flesh look as though it were made of porcelain. Had we really been here that long?

"Thank you Dr. Cullen," my mother said while taking the glass, carefully avoiding his hand.

"Please, call me Carlisle." His voice was smooth, rich and graceful. It flowed evenly, like a calming whisper. I'm not sure how I had not noticed it yesterday when I had been eavesdropping. "How are you feeling Mrs. Masen?"

"Elizabeth," she replied.

Carlisle nodded once, his lips holding on to the same smile as when he had walked into the room. It wasn't insincere, but it wasn't real either. He was holding something back. He felt me studying him and flashed a look in my direction quickly before returning his attention back to my mother. His eyes were impossible to read. Maybe it was their unusual color or the speed in which he diverted them from me, but his eyes told me nothing.

"I'm fine," her voice struggled. "How's my husband?"

His smile faltered slightly. "He's Dr. Hastings patient, he hasn't been in to see you?"

A lump started to form in my throat as my mother shook her head.

"I'll go find the doctor for you," he said softly. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, just," she paused searching for the right word. "Information." Her eyes pleaded with the doctor.

"Of course." The young doctor turned and walked towards the door.

"Mother, I'll be right back." I was on my feet and following the doctor before I had a chance to realize what I was doing. "Dr. Cullen! Wait!" He was already out of our room and into the hallway by the time I got his attention.

"You shouldn't be out here." He approached me as he looked to either side of himself.

"Why? What is going on?" I asked in a raised voice. "Who are all these people?"

"Edward I need you to keep your voice down," he said as he lead me further down the hallway; away from everyone else.

"Just tell me what's going on. Are all these people here because of Typhoid?" I whispered loudly. I could see him deciding what he wanted to say. I watched his internal struggle as he contemplated his decision. "Please? I need to know."

Minutes passed and silence fell heavy over us a he thought to himself. "Okay," he said nodding once. He paused briefly before he continued on. "I know you overheard Dr. Hastings and I yesterday-"

"I didn't mean to," I lied, shaking my head.

"Its okay, Edward. It's okay." He lifted his hands and motioned for me to be calm. "Do you remember the conversation?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and said "You didn't think it was Typhoid."

"Right." He paused again, thinking. "Typhoid can be very serious, very life threatening. However, it takes time. Weeks of gradually getting sicker." His voice was very low as he spoke.

I nodded towards him, showing him that I followed and understood.

"Well, all these people are getting very sick, very quickly. Hours, days... not weeks."

I nodded again. An unknown realization crept into the back of my mind, attempting to claw its way to the surface of my consciousness. I ignored it and pushed it back down, reveling in the bliss of ignorance.

"This isn't a Typhoid outbreak; it's Spanish Influenza. I've seen it before, but never this extreme. It strikes very fast and," he stopped as if deciding whether or not to continue. "It kills, very fast."

My eyes blurred and became unfocused, but still I nodded.

"There's little that we can do except try to contain it." He waited for my mind to fathom what he was saying.

I attempted to swallow, but the lump that had started to form in my throat earlier had grown larger. Slowly, my unwilling brain allowed my mouth to ask the question I was afraid to know the answer to. "Dr. Cullen, how's my father?" I could barely get the words out. I watched his eyes fall from mine. "Carlisle," I whispered. "Please..." When he raised his head again, letting his gaze meet mine, that stifled realization that I had not wanted to deal with just minutes earlier screamed out at me. "No." My voice was barely audible, as I slowly shook my head.

"Edward, I'm sorry." His pained eyes told me that he meant it.

I tried to force that lump that was in my throat down; I couldn't breathe. My eyes burned as I tried to contain the tears that hid just below the surface of my lids. How was I going to tell my mother? That thought caused my stomach to drop and brought a wave of nausea over me. I searched for the wall behind me to steady myself.

"They should have told you. I'm so sorry," he said softly.

It took a moment for his words to find understanding in my mind. Should have, past tense. I looked into the young doctor's face, wondering if I had heard him correctly. "When did he...," my mouth wouldn't complete the thought.

"About three hours ago."

Three hours ago. His words echoed in my mind. Three hours of waiting. Three hours of worrying. Three hours of not knowing and worthless hoping. Three hours of my mother begging and pleading with a God that had already made his decision. Three hours of hell.

I felt the blood rush to my face and my heart beat quicken. My nostrils flared as my hands made themselves into tightened fists. Three hours. They couldn't find five minutes in those three hours to let us know that our lives had been forever changed? Fury consumed me and my body started to shake. I pulled my shoulders back as my breaths started coming in fast and shallow. "Three hours?!" I growled through gritted teeth.

"Edward, calm down," Dr. Cullen said, attempting to subside my anger.

"No!" I screamed at him. "Three damn hours?!" I had the sudden urge to find Dr. Hastings. I wanted to wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze the life out of him. I wanted to know what was so damn important that he couldn't find the time in three hours to let us know that my father had died. I wanted him to explain to me how his death wasn't significant enough to even render an 'I'm sorry'. With my body still shaking, I coiled my right arm back and slammed my fist into the wall, bone surrendering and crunching beneath my skin. The pain fed me.

Subconsciously, I knew I was being irrational. However, blind hatred was easier to deal with than overwhelming anguish. I clenched my fists tighter, feeling my right hand ache. I moved to walk around Dr. Cullen, so as to look for the elderly man I was holding accountable. The young doctor blocked my path. I tried the opposite direction, only to have it cut off again. "Move," I growled.

"No Edward. I need you to calm down," he said, his voice still smooth and graceful.

I attempted to push past him once again. His hand was suddenly on my chest, halting me. "Edward, stop." I ignored him and pressed on, trying to move forward, but, instead found myself moving backwards as I struck the wall roughly. Confusion took me over for a moment before I tried to shovemy body off the wall, only to find myself pinned there. I made several attempts to remove the single hand that pressed on my chest holding me in place, but they were all futile.

Dr. Cullen was stronger than he looked.

"Edward," he said evenly, his face the picture of serenity. "I want you take some deep breaths. I'm not going to let you go until you've calmed down." Still stunned by the fact that I was being held in place by a lone hand, I nodded and began taking in slow, full breaths. "I appreciate your feelings. I sympathize with your anger. However, you need to understand that there are not enough doctors and nurses; everyone is getting sick." He waited for me to show some indication of comprehension. "I need you to pull yourself together. You need to be strong. Your mother needs you to be strong."

The mention of my mother brought me fully back into reality. My mother; how was I going to tell her?

All tension had left my body. My muscles, once constricted and tight were now relaxed and fatigued. Exhaustion plagued my body, while hard contact with a wall made my knuckles throb. Feeling that I had calmed down enough, Carlisle released me. I flexed and shook my right hand, still liking the pain.

"Let me see," he said reaching out towards my injured fist.

"I'm fine, it's nothing."

Before I was able to react, he quickly grabbed my wrist. I recoiled, not from pain, but from pure shock as to how cold his fingers were. It felt as though his skin were made of ice. "You'll have to excuse my cold doctor's hands," he pulled his lips into a rehearsed smile. "You did a good job on this, you had some real force behind that punch. It looks like you've got two fractured knuckles. They'll heal on their own, but I can splint them for you if you'd like."

"No I'm fine."

I let my hand fall to my side and glanced towards the door that had my mother waiting anxiously on the other side. Still waiting, still hoping. I sighed heavily and moved slowly towards a moment in my life that I wished I could avoid. This was one time I did not mind waiting. I had no wish to break my mother's heart. But, it would be cruel to allow her to hold onto a hope that could never be. And so I walked to the door.

"Would you like me to tell her?" He asked softly.

I shook my head. No. I would do it. I had to do it. She needed me to be strong. I would be strong for her. I would shield her from the knowledge that the last three hours of hell were for nothing.

Standing outside the door my arms lay paralyzed by my side, unable to reach out and grab the knob. Staring at the blank slate in front of me, I attempted to determine what I would say. Nothing seemed appropriate or sufficient enough. And even if I found the words to say, would I actually be able to speak them? My mind was a jumble of incoherent thoughts as moments in my life flashed in my consciousness. The image of a memory played in my head. In it I was around four years old. I had been crying, but about what I couldn't remember. My head lay in my mother's lap as she stroked my hair and hummed a lullaby, assuring me that everything was okay. It was simple, comforting. Oh God how I needed that now. I wanted so badly to run into that room, throw my head in her lap and have her hum to me; to have her tell me everything was going to be alright. I wanted to be that four year old again, not the man that stood outside a door, trying to convince himself that he could be strong. To hell with being strong. I didn't want to watch my mothers eyes as part of her died. I needed her to tell me everything was going to be okay. But, she needed me to be the man that I had grown into, the man that she raised me to be.

I hadn't realized that I'd even opened the door until I was in the room. She had lain back down in bed, but wasn't sleeping. Slowly she eased herself up, apprehension showing through her every motion. Each reluctant step I took brought a dulling thud to my heart. I kept my eyes low, unable to meet her gaze.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She knows. The slight sound of her staggered breath was enough to make me look up so I could watch that horrible realization creep into my mother's eyes. She shook her head from side to side, her mouth agape, but no sound coming out. Tears pooled in her lids as her chin began to quiver. Be strong, I told myself. She needs you to be strong. I wanted to go to her, to comfort her the way she had comforted me so many times over the years, but I couldn't move. I was frozen in place as my eyes glazed over with my own tears. She was next to me in an instant, leaning on me. I hugged her to me while she sobbed my father's name repeatedly. My mother's cries, etched in pain, made my heart ache. I understood then that I hadn't allowed myself to fully comprehend what had happened to our lives until that moment. I wanted to run from that room, screaming, but I had to be strong for her.

My mother's body went limp in my arms as I was hugging her to me. I had noticed in the midst of her anguish that her breathing had grown labored, but thought it was due to her grief. Panic engulfed me as I cried out for help. Somewhere between seconds and an eternity Dr. Cullen was next me, taking my mothers pale, listless body from my arms. Fear must have shown on my face because that's all I felt.

"Edward your mother is dehydrated," he said evenly. "She's also very fatigued. Between the two, I need to take her."

Nothing on his face read that he was lying, however, the color of my mother's flesh, the dark circles surrounding her eyes and her strained breathing told me all that I needed to know. I had been with her all day and knew that she was progressively getting worse. I could see the signs that I chose to ignore earlier, believing the excuses that I allowed to occupy my mind. The same excuses Dr. Cullen was giving me right now. Maybe it was just fatigue and dehydration as the doctor had said, but my heart didn't dare to hope. I had lost one parent today, could God be cruel enough to take the other so quickly?

I nodded slightly, trepidation written on my face. I looked at him with pleading eyes, afraid to utter any words. "I'll keep you informed Edward." His smooth, graceful voice attempted to soothe me. "Don't worry." I tried to swallow the lump that had returned to my throat as I watched Dr. Cullen carry my mother away from me. Stopping at the door he turned to me and said, "I should tell you, you've been quarantined. You know you can't leave, right?"

"Why would I leave?" I said, my voice barely audible. "My family's here." I looked at him through glazed over eyes.

A troubled look took over his face as he nodded. "Get some rest Edward. You look exhausted." With that, my mother was gone and I was left to wait, alone.

I walked to the bed and lay down. Rest. How am I supposed to rest? The thought of my angel came into my mind. I closed my eyes and willed myself to fall asleep. I didn't want to sleep; I needed to sleep. I needed to dream, to see her. I never needed her to come to me so badly.


End Notes:

1. So first off I want to mention that I said in the beginning when I started this story I wanted it to be as close to accurate as I could get. I have been praised for my research and my commitment to keeping it accurate.... so with that said, I have been informed of inaccuracies that I have made. Now it's only fair that I share these inaccuracies: A). Antibiotics were not discovered until 1928 (although there were very similar methods being used in China for thousands of years, they still weren't referred to as antibiotics)... so that's a big ole boo-boo for me! I kick myself for that because I didn't look up and see when antibiotics came about, when I researched the diseases they just always mentioned them so I went with it. What's funny is, I never intended on using the term! I don't know anything about medicine so I wanted to keep as little medical out as possible! *sigh* B). The story begins in 1918, electric starters for cars weren't invented until 1919, so there was a hand crank and dear impatient Edward wouldn't have waited for that old fuddy-dud Hastings to do it!
2. Okay so now to the forshadowing that I happened upon (in case you missed it!) Edward isn't patient (except when it comes to Bella) so, although it's kinda cruel, making him an impatient person that is now forever "stuck" into just existing is just ironic. However, as a human, life couldn't go fast enough and as a vampire time will have little meaning for him.. so I just liked it. The next one is him liking pain. We all know he refers to himself as a masochist so why not have him start out that way!! Lastly, he got comfort from his mother humming a lullaby. That was probably my favorite part of this whole chapter because I wrote how I feel when something goes to hell.... I really just want my mommy :)
3. Seperate beds... seems silly to us, but that's how most families were up until post WW2. I thought it was cute is all... so it may or may not be accurate!
4. I describe Carlisle as wearing a light blue shirt even though during those times most everyone wore drab colors because of the war. I took some creative licensing because I just really really really liked the way Peter Fascinelli (Carlisle) looked in the movie when he came into the ER... so that was my little homage to that! (Really liked it!)
5. Chapter 5 is done... HOWEVER I will be waiting a few days to post it, trying to give myself a jump start on 6 because I have a feeling that one is going to be another long chapter!
6. I've been meaning to do this each time I do end notes: I want to give credit to the overall presentation of the way the story is set up to Oxymoronic8. Hers was the first fanfiction I read on FF(dot)net and so I just really liked how she did her set up and so I have, er, borrowed it! On that note, I would like to recommend her story! It's AU, great character write ups and fantastic plot! It's called Innocent, Vigilant, Ordinary. I will be recommending other fanfics that I like and I would love to have recommendations given to me!!
7. Thanks again guys!! This has been a lot I know and I'm sorry! Thanks for waiting and reading and please come back for 5!! (I kinda like 5!)