I don't think I could have ever imagined so much pain. I had thought that the period before unconsciousness after my fall would be the most painful experience of my life but somehow this scorching pain topped it. I wanted to scream to try and release some of my pain but it hurt too much for me to even draw breath.
Even through the pain my mind managed to wander. Every so often I would be plunged into a memory and every time it would be murkier than last. I didn't want that. I didn't want to forget who I was because my memories, even the painful ones, made me who I was. I didn't know what hideous death I was dying but whatever it was, I wasn't going to die in ignorance.
Time passed strangely, it could have been 3 seconds or three days before the fire coursing through my veins started to subdue itself. I was acutely aware of a thump thump thump in the background. It began to pick up speed quickly sounding like a hummingbird's wings.
I gasped, what felt like the first breath in all of that time, as my back rose off whatever smooth surface I was lying on, the thumps now coming in such quick succession it was hard to distinguish one from the other, now sounding like a long, loud hum. My heart was slamming against my ribs painfully and I was sure it would burst right out.
And then it stopped. I was dead.
So why was I still able to hear? There was the sound of rustling - it sounded like cotton rubbing together and a hint of silk underneath it - the sound of something small and light slapping against glass - snow? - the sound of a hand being run through hair, the sound of an insect crawling up the wall - perhaps a spider from the frequency of the steps.
Why was I still able to smell? I could smell wood, furniture polish, linen, cotton, silk, varnish, bleach, disinfectant, chloroform and another smell - harder to place - it was a mixture of so many things like the most delicious of aftershaves.
I wondered if I could still see too. No sooner had the thought passed through my head than my eyes were open. I could, better than I had ever thought it was possible to see. I could see every single line the brush had made as it had wiped chalk paint onto the ceiling, millions of tiny specks of dust swirling in the air, every movement of the air.
Suddenly I was pressed against the wall hissing and spitting. It took my brain a few seconds to catch up and realise I had felt somebody move beside me. It took my brain even longer to ask how I had moved so fast, why my first reaction had been to hiss and spit. My now incredibly accurate eyes raked over the scene. A living room, small but cosy and comfortable. A man standing by a long mahogany table his hands outstretched in a pleading manner.
The rusty cogs of my brain worker through my slightly foggy memories until they reached a name that matched. Dr Carlisle Cullen. "Adèle?" He murmured .
"Yes?" I answered. My hands clapped to my mouth. My voice! It was softer than before, kinder and more calming. "My voice! Why does it sound like that?" I asked him, stopping when I realised it sounded like I was singing every word, a thousand notes seemed to come out of my mouth at once all in perfect harmony.
"Adèle, I'm afraid I've done something… terrible." He suddenly looked incredibly nervous. I began to approach him subconsciously. "I'm afraid I've… killed you!" He whispered.
"No! no, no, no!" I laughed stepping forwards and reaching out to grab his hand and clasped it tightly. "No. You've saved me!" I laughed. "Now I can go back to Renaud and we can… mourn together." I stumbled over the word, unwilling to face the fact of my child's death.
"No. Adèle, no. You're dead. Look." He reached and pulled a copy of Le Temps from the dresser.
"Dr Cullen, what's newspaper going to tell me that you can't?"
"Turn to page fourteen." He told me gently.
I shot him a sceptical look but did as he told me and turned to page fourteen. I flapped the newspaper out and scanned the page doing a double take when a particular piece caught my attention. A death announcement:
Mrs Adélaïde Juliette Fontaine (née Beaumont) died yesterday, aged 19, along with her infant son in a complicated birth. She leaves a mother, two sisters, a brother and a husband. She will be dearly missed by all who knew her.
I had to read it twice before it finally settled in my head. "Well, this is obviously a mistake!" I laughed albeit slightly hysterically. I flipped back to the front page and laughed again but in relief. "Oh I see! It's just a joke! A fake newspaper! It's the fourth of January not the twenty-first!" I wafted the paper back to him and turned sharply to make my way out of the room.
"No! Adèle! Oh, dear I'm doing this all wrong!" He muttered. "Please, sit down." He gestured to the couch beside him and I unwillingly sat down, not wanting to seem rude.
"What do you remember?" He asked.
"Lot's of things." I said automatically but when I actually but my mind to it I didn't remember that much. It was all hazy and disjointed. "I remember I fell down the stairs and lost my baby. I remember being in bed and feeling so cold and the I remember wanting to go for a swim and nearly drowning." I told him.
He nodded his head solely. "Yes, I'm afraid that your miscarriage caused a rather extreme case of childbed fever - a cure for which is still unknown - and the fever… unhinged you." He held up his hand to stop my protests. "Your husband called me the day before you died. He said you'd been obsessing about swimming. I warned him that the fever and blood poisoning was causing a derangement of sorts. I was afraid something like this would happen." He told me gravely.
"And what's that?" I whispered.
"Adèle, you drowned in that river, you were seconds from death when I found you."
"Then how am I alive?" I demanded.
"You're not. Not really." He took my hand and lead me over to the mirror on the wall. "Look." And I did.
The person I knew wasn't looking back at me. This woman was paler than me, as pale as a corpse. Her hair had darkened to a lustrous golden blonde with a few lighter strands, not the streaky blonde I was accustomed to. Her hair had grown longer and fell in small almost-curls to her waist. The face of this woman was different too, her face was thinner and her cheekbones and chin more defined, her nose straighter. The woman looking back at me was beautiful, the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. But that woman, as different as she was, was recognisably me.
I saw my eyes last and gasped a little. A bright, loud ruby red. They were enchanting, I knew I could stare at them all day but a shiver ran up my spine, there was something dangerous and predatory in them. I quickly averted my gaze to look into Dr Cullen's amber ones. "What's happened to me?" I whispered.
"You're a vampire Adèle." He told me simply.
"No, I'm not. Vampire's aren't real." I told him.
"They are Adèle. It all fits doesn't it? You remember dying. The fire you just felt? That was your change. Your eyes…" he insisted. "You know it fits."
"My family think I'm dead?" I whispered.
"Yes. You can never see them again."
My legs gave way beneath me and a dropped to the floor in shock. I ignored Dr Cullen calling my name. I could never see Renaud again? My sisters? My brother? I never even got to see my son before he was taken from me. I was dead. I was dead.
I was aware of Carlisle leaving after a while and I was happy to be alone, I needed space to try to wrap my head around my new situation. I had nobody. Carlisle came back a little bit later - he'd probably had to go to work. "I'm sorry, Adèle. I'm so sorry." He murmured, crunching down in front of me.
"Then why did you do it?" I asked, flinching at my new voice.
Carlisle sighed and contemplated his answer. "I was lonely and loneliness can make you do things you never normally would."
As much as I hated it I could understand it. "What were you doing in the woos anyway?" I asked him.
He laughed slightly. "Yes, that must have looked very strange. I was hunting."
"Hunting? I never knew the woods had such a high peasant population." I remarked sarcastically.
"Very funny." Carlisle answered blandly, making me smile for the first time in what felt like years "But I feed on animals. Taking human lives isn't something I relish in." He informed me, standing up. "Now, it's time you fed." He held out his hand and after a moment's hesitation I took it.
He crossed the room to turn down the gas lamp in the corner and I reached out to open the door, squeaking in shock when not only did the knob come off in my hands but the metal of it twisted into the shape of my hand. "I-I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed.
To my relief Carlisle merely laughed saying "There are plenty more door knobs in the world. Your newborn strength should wear off soon and though even after that you will be stronger than your old self you will get used to it and everyday tasks won't be such a strain."
I noticed how as we got closer and closer to the door at the bottom of Carlisle's stairs - his home was above his practice - my throat became drier and drier. Carlisle also put his hand on my shoulder and gripped it tightly. Carlisle opened the door gingerly and the second the night air lapped at my face I was off.
Carlisle's restraining hand made no difference to me as I sped down the Parisian streets chasing a smell, a delicious smell like I couldn't believe existed. I was vaguely aware of Carlisle running behind me but I paid him no mind, well aware that I was faster and stronger than him.
Finally I saw what my body was yearning for. I didn't even get time to process what was happening before I had launched myself at the man and tackled him to the ground, my mouth at his neck and sucking in the beautiful taste. I allowed his body to drop to the floor lifelessly. I paused to sniff the air before taking off again.
It was like my conscience had taken a back seat, only capable of watching as somebody else took control of my body and unleashed terror. I killed four people that night. Draining them all of their blood. After the last person - a young girl, perhaps only a little older than myself - had dropped to the floor I paused. The monster inside me decided that her thirst had died down enough to stop hunting for the while.
As soon as the decision was made I seemed to come back to reality. I gasped raggedly. "Carlisle?" I called. I looked down at myself and felt sick at the sight of my night dress - the one I had died in - that was resting against my chest looking perfectly clean and tidy like nothing had happened.
"Carlisle?" I shouted again, a not of hysteria to my voice.
He came racing round the corner not two seconds later and took in the sight of me with the dead girl at my feet. "Oh, Adèle." He whispered, disappointed.
"Oh God!" I sobbed and dropped to the floor. Carlisle must have lunged forwards and caught me as I was suddenly in his arms being comforted.
"It's alright, it's all going to be alright." He was telling me, rocking my shaking body back and forth as I sobbed into his chest. My cries only strengthened when I realised no tears were coming out. Was there any part of me left unchanged?
I'm not going to lie; I'm really disappointed with the lack of response to this story, I've had 61 visitors to my story and only 1 review, 1 favourite and 3 follows. Please give me more response, it really makes me want to keep writing, when I get poor responses like that it makes me want to give up so if you want more chapters you give me more response. Sorry for being harsh.