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Esme and Carlisle: How the Love Story Began…

Lost and Found

May 8, 1921

EPOV

"But I need to get off this floor!" I pleaded with the nurse, my voice cracking with barely concealed hysterics.

"I am sorry dear. I know it is difficult being on the maternity ward after the loss you have experienced, but we need to manage you medically on this floor," the nurse tried to reason with me.

"Then I need to leave. Physically, I'm fine. I need to get out of this place..." was my quick decided response.

"I will inform the doctor," she responded stiffly, turning abruptly to leave.

I was not being compliant, and I understood I was making her job more difficult, but the sounds here...the voices of the happy mother's...crying newborns. The walls were closing in on me and I felt I might be crushed under their weight. It was difficult enough carrying the weight in my heart.

The nurse returned shortly carrying several papers that she deposited on my bedside table before exiting. The doctor must have taken pity on me because he signed my discharge papers and I was free to leave. But I soon guessed the doctor just had a different agenda as the hospital chaplain appeared in my room before I had time to pack and make my escape.

"I am sorry for your loss, my dear. Is there anything I can do? The nurses told me you are alone here," he approached me slowly and took both my hands in his.

His face was kind, and it broke through some of my facade. My eyes filled with tears and I confessed, "Father, I have no money to bury my child..." I couldn't speak any more words than that.

"I see. Let me go back to my church and inquire on funds to help you in this time of need. The hospital will keep your baby here until we can make some arrangements for you. Can you contact me here next week?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Let me call a taxi for you. It will pick you up at the front of the hospital. Is there anything else you need?" he asked quietly.

"No, thank you, Father."

He squeezed my hands in a show of reassurance before excusing himself to use the telephone.

The taxi was at the door by the time I arrived. The taxi driver indicated to me the chaplain was paying the fare. I was grateful. I slid in for the lonely drive back to the cabin. This was supposed to play out so differently. I was leaving my baby behind...

It was just after sunset when I returned home. The quiet I once relished now felt to be my undoing. I was feeling claustrophobic in the small cabin. I was suffocating. In desperation for air, I launched myself out the door and into the darkening woods. I moved quickly in no particular direction. No particular destination in mind. I just had to move, breathe.

The emotional pain was all encompassing. It ripped at my heart and squeezed the air from my lungs. I wondered how something purely emotional could be felt so physically.

I broke under the strain. "I tried!" I yelled up to God as I stumbled through the densely wooded area around the cabin.

"I tried to persevere, to be strong. But I can't do it anymore! You took from me the last thing I was living for. I have nothing...no home, no family. I am alone and I hurt. What have I done to deserve this cursed life?"

My yelling turned into shouting as I threw my hateful words at God.

"What would you have me do now? Where will I go?"

My tears and rage obscured where I was going. Soon, however, I had to stop moving as I had arrived at the edge of the forest. I found myself standing on a steep embankment rising above Lake Superior. I looked down -it was as black below as the sky above. If it wasn't for the constant sound of the waves, I would not have guessed what lie below.

I grew quiet and an odd sense of peace wrapped around me like a blanket. For a moment, I felt I was floating. The height and the darkness were beckoning to me - drawing me closer to the edge. I was mesmerized and as I basked in the sensation my tears and pain relented. I was blessedly numb.

I wanted to embrace this feeling - bring it inside of me. I did not want the rage, pain and despair that threatened to overtake and shred me to pieces. I drew closer to my beckoning destination. Below there was nothing - it seemed so peaceful and welcoming.

I stood soaking in the sight, and became filled with longing for what it offered. The self-preservation part of my brain registered I could get no closer to the edge. "Turn back," it said in a stern voice from a small, insignificant part of my mind. But the relief I so desperately sought and so needed more than anything was just one more step ahead of me. Its call was stronger. I drew in a deep breath and took that last step...

CPOV

"Edward," I hissed in the darkness. Though I could not see him, I could hear him and I knew he could hear me. We were enjoying our night hunt in the woods.

"Carlisle?" came his response, just as low as my call had been.

"Do you smell that?"

"Yes...bear," Edward replied after checking the scents in the air. I could hear the pleasure and anticipation in his voice.

"You lead, son..."

We managed to close the distance between us as we continued to track our prey. The rush of the hunt pulled and prodded at our instincts. I enjoyed the freedom of leaving the human façade behind.

Suddenly Edward froze by my side. I could feel tension rolling off him in waves, his face confused and contorted. His reaction caught me off guard and I froze too. What had he sensed that I did not? A second later he spoke, "Do you smell THAT?"

I focused my attention on sampling the air around me - "Oh..."

Several things happened simultaneously: I recognized the smell of human blood - lots of it. Flowing freely. My profession had so effectively desensitized me to the scent of human blood I didn't immediately notice it. But Edward did.

Edward! In a flash I was at his side, gripping his shoulder. His eyes were black as pitch.

I spoke slowly and deliberately, "Edward, you need to leave this area now. Go home. Remember who you are. Go. Home. I will meet you there soon."

My muscles tensed, preparing to take him down if he started toward the scent. He remained immobile. I knew Edward's vampire qualities were at battle with the human qualities he struggled to retain. I waited for the battle in his head to play out - I needed to know how deep his control went. This was a test...

Edward stopped breathing. He closed his eyes and blurred out of sight - in the direction of home.

My brief moment of pride was disrupted by the shrill sound of sirens. I darted in the direction of their sound and the scent, slowing only as I closed in on my destination. I saw several men standing on the edge of the embankment over the lake as I lingered in the shadows of the trees. I could hear their strained voices...

"It must be at least a forty or fifty foot drop to the beach below!" one said peering over the side.

"There is no way anyone could survive that, could they?" questioned another.

"Do you think she slipped?" a third said, directing his question specifically to the guy next to him.

"Man, I don't know," he said shaking his head, "I heard a woman yelling, so I came running thinking she was in danger or being attacked. I arrived just in time to see her go over the edge. Then nothing. I saw no one else around here. I sent my cabin mate to call for help, then I yelled down several times, but there was never any answer..."

The ER physician in me took over. I hurried as human-like as possible to the ambulance.

"I'm a doctor. Let me see if I can help the victim." I spoke quickly to the medic standing outside the rig. In a crisis I found humans respond to anyone who assumes strong control...

"Sure, doc. She's inside, but she's a mess. I don't think anyone will be able to put her back together in time," he said opening the double back doors.

It was a gruesome sight. My trained eyes did a quick physical assessment: unconscious female, mid-20's, bilateral compound fractures of the legs. The exposed, splintered bones caused immeasurable damage to her tissue as they violently exited her skin upon impact. Obviously the cause of all the blood loss. Her eyes were swollen and my enhanced vision picked up the traces left by tears. Likely suicide, I concluded.

Then my assessment picked up something else. A scent. A familiar scent - like the smell of roses and the air after a cleansing rain.

I had treated this woman before!

Guilt washed over me. Had I missed observing the signs of depression in one of my patients? I search my endless memory. Find it! Find that scent...

Not a recent patient, no. Not here in Ashland. This memory was filed a while ago.

Chicago? No, before that.

Columbus? Yes! A young, vibrant girl - 16 years maybe? Broken leg.

I was getting closer. What was her name?

Then her name fell silently from my lips - Esme Anne Platt.

A/N: Whew, that was tough. But our hero has arrived and their timelines have merged. What will happen next?

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