Okay, you guys out there voted for this story, so here it is. The plot's still a little under-developed, but I'll work it out.
The Long Summery: Edward never came back from his 'rebellious years'. Carlisle sees a sick and dying Bella in the hospital, and struck by how similar her situation is to Edwards, so he changes her. She becomes resentful towards Carlisle for forcing her into a life that she didn't want. And then a red-eyed Edward Masen shows up in the woods. Can he help her to love again, or will she just keep pushing him away?
And yes, Bella is fifteen.
Save Me From This Hell
By: Vixen Hood
August 21, 2003—Carlisle Cullen
Another day at the hospital. Honestly? I hated my job now. I used to love it, used to enjoy helping people so much. But that had all left with the bronze-haired vampire named Edward. I had changed him back in 1918 because, for lack of a better word, I was lonely. Since the 1600's, I had been traveling this world with no immortal companion beside me, and at that stage in my existence, I had become incredibly morbid. Sure, not on the outside—but on the inside? That was an entirely different story.
I should have realized then, after the three days of his change that Edward wasn't quite like every other vampire on the street. Or, maybe I should have realized that he was exactly like them in every aspect.
But, foolish as I was then, I didn't see the warning signs of the something that was wrong with Edward. I still think that even today, I would never be able to understand him completely. But as he became more depressed with the life he was leading, I didn't notice. I had found a wife, Esme, a few short years after having changed Edward after he nearly died of the Spanish Influenza outbreak in Chicago. So caught up as I was, I didn't notice that Edward sometimes left home for days at a time and came back shielding his eyes from me. I should have understood that even though Edward was technically a man now, he definitely was not one mentally.
You see, when a vampire is changed, he or she is usually locked into their mental state, and for Edward that was a young seventeen year old boy, who was going through all the typical things that teenagers do. He was just like them in this regard; even if he was more mature than most of them. It was idiotic of me to not realize this, though sadly true.
So when he came home one day after a week long disappearance, I began to question him. It was about 1926, and I now had a son and a wife. I was happy. But clearly, he was not. I suppose, thinking back on it, it was not entirely my fault, but the fact that I chose not to help him with his depression was. So when the time came that he came home in 1927 covered in blood—human blood—and his eyes were the bright, unnatural red of a vampire who had just killed a human, I realized that I had indeed made a grave mistake. I had thought that Edward was just suffering from the teenage angst that had followed him from when he was human into vampirism, but it was not so. I had been so wrong in assuming it was nothing, and now I had to pay for it.
Edward and I argued into the morning, throwing things and screaming. It was so unlike us both that Esme had to leave the house, she was so scared. I had never before raised my voice, least of all to Edward, my son in all but blood. But now that he was covered in it and his eyes had gone from the topaz that I was so used to, to the red that I despised, I was for once in my long life, furious. How could he harm humans after what I had taught him? How could he stand the guilt of killing an innocent? It was after I voiced this question, yelling at him, that he answered, he had no remorse. He killed the rapists, the murderers. I had to agree, if for a moment, that it was better than killing an innocent man or woman. But it was still wrong. Though, he did not agree with me.
So it was with the loudest yell that I told him to get out of my house. I told him to come back when he decided to stop killing. He left the house then, not even bothering to gather his possessions as he did. I thought that he would surely come back after a few months, maybe a few years at most. How could he stand hearing last thoughts of his victims, the last things they ever thought about him? With his gift of mind reading, it had to become unbearable at some point or another. But how wrong I was, I didn't find out until ten years later, and he still had not returned. It was not the fact that he could not find us. It was that he did not wish too.
I had insisted to Esme that we not move for many years following, just getting another job in a different town when the humans became suspicious of our appearance.
But it was with a heavy heart that we finally moved in the spring of 1933 to Rochester, New York. It was there that I found Rosalie Hale, the eighteen year old girl who was to be married to Royce King. It had been he and his friends that had beaten and raped Rosalie then left her in the winter snow for dead. I changed her, hoping that maybe saving her would make up for my mistake with Edward. But even years after, when I gave her the love of her life, Emmett, I still felt guilt for my ignorance.
In 1950, when Alice and Jasper joined our little family after searching for us for two years, I thought, maybe I was meant to be given redemption. But even after the most recent additions to our make-shift family, nothing was ever the same. I had fallen deeper into depression than even Edward had, and only Esme knew why. The rest had heard of Edward, briefly when Esme mentioned him, because I could never say his name aloud after what I had done. They could never understand what it was like to lose your first son, your first companion, in several hundred years.
The nurse at the front desk handed me a clipboard with a patient's name on it. It was someone I had never met before, though I had heard of her. Her name was Isabella Swan, and she was suffering from a case of the Spanish Influenza. It was the first time I had heard of the Influenza reoccurring since the 1918 outbreak of it, or at least the first time that I had been in the same hospital as a person who was diagnosed with it. My co-worker, Dr. Snow, had been on the case but there had been a family emergency that had caused him to leave the small rainy town of Forks and leave to bright and sunny California. So the case had fallen to me. I looked through his notes on the case. Isabella had been in the hospital for two weeks and was in bad condition. If she didn't start improving dramatically she would be dead within the week. Usually, people who fell ill with the Influenza got better because of the newer antibiotics, but she had come in too late. I walked slowly to the infectious diseases ward on floor two. She was being kept in isolation, so as not to spread the Influenza to others. Not even her parents were allowed to see her without the shield of a hospital mask and a yellow disinfected gown. Even then, it was behind a pane of glass that they viewed their sick daughter while she coughed blood and wheezed.
When I entered the room that visitors were allowed to stand in, I found it empty of any humans. Her parents were nowhere in sight, and I figured that they'd had enough of watching their daughter as she breathed with the help of a respirator and the heart monitor beeped out her heart rate with the occasional pause in between. I washed my hands and put on the mask, gloves, and gown. Of course, it was all for show, and even if Isabella was conscious enough to notice that I wasn't wearing the necessary protective gear, I didn't want to risk a nurse walking in and seeing me. Through the glass, it was almost as if she was disconnected from the world, but when I walked through that last door and into her room, it was as if I was suddenly in a new world. She looked so much worse here than she did through the pane of glass. Her dark brown hair was oily and stringy from the sweat that had seeped into it from the fever and her face a paper white, whiter than my own even. I would have thought she was a vampire like myself had I not been able to hear her heart, struggling to keep beating. She was barely even able to breathe on her own and the respirator that helped do the task for her made a hollow, windy sound each time it pumped oxygen into her failing lungs.
The florescent lights of the hospital played on her pale face, enunciating the dark bruise-like shadows under her eyes.
I stifled a gasp of horror. Her appearance had brought me back to a time of panic, of fear. Back to Fall of 1918 where people fell ill left and right, and everybody was afraid of contracting the Influenza. And in a sudden and irrational decision, I did the one thing that I had promised myself over and over that I would not do, not since I changed Emmett to make Rosalie happy. I had never wanted to change him in the first place, but after I had, I couldn't help but recognize that I had made my daughter happy. But it never meant much. It was a completely different situation then, but now, here in the present, it was such a similar case. And then it struck me. This was my chance for the redemption I had been looking for ever since that fateful day in 1927! This was my chance to make everything right!
Changing someone in a hospital was a lot harder now than it was back in 1918, and first I had to fake her death. It would be a lot easier at night than it would have been during the daytime, seeing as there were only a few people on staff in such a small town. I poked my head out into the hallway to check if anyone was passing by. The whole corridor was empty, and I was pretty sure that there would only be about one other doctor in the entire hospital and only about five nurses, if everyone was on their proper shifts.
I moved back into Isabella's room and took one last look at her before going back into the hallway and walking quickly to the locked storeroom where we kept all the medicine in the ward. I punched in the access code and opened the metal door, closing it behind me quietly. When I found the shelf I was looking for, I snatched the bottles I needed and pocketed them, rushing back into Isabella's room. I could hear her heart starting to give up its fight against the Influenza. It would be easy to fake her death with the liquids that I had taken. Two of the three bottles were fluids that if combined, would create the appearance of death, and make her pulse so faint that it would be virtually undetectable to a human's ear. After giving her the concoction, all I had to do was mess with some of the wires of the heart monitor so that it gave a false code blue. No one would try to revive her because she was going to die soon anyways. The fact was we were actually waiting for her to die, as morose as that sounded.
When I declared her dead in front of the rest of the staff, I would take her down to the morgue. Fortunately, it said in her file that her parents wanted her cremated because they wished to spread her ashes out somewhere in Phoenix. All I would have to do would be pretend to cremate her when in reality I would bite her and then take her home with the urn I was to put her ashes in. Then I would simply put the ashes from the fireplace into the little ceramic jar and bring it to the Swan residence. It would be easy.
When I had completed the first part of my plan, I disconnected a few of the wires in the machine and the called into the speaker by the bed for assistance. I declared her dead at 10:43 p.m. One of the nurses left to notify Isabella's parents while I took her down to the morgue. I found the urn that the parents had wanted her ashes in and picked it up. So far my plan was working flawlessly. I lifted Isabella into my arms and sped out the back door of the hospital so fast that not even the cameras in the hallways would be able to detect me. Once in the parking lot, I deposited her in the backseat of my black Mercedes.
Placing myself in the car so that I could lift her neck up to my lips, I took at deep breath and bit down.
There was no reaction at first, and I continued to bit her wrists and thin legs. Her blood filled my mouth once again as I bit the other side of her neck, the last place I would puncture her skin with my teeth. I was lucky that I had the amount of control I did, or else I would have killed her. Even though she didn't smell appetizing, her blood was wonderful, even if it tasted of all the medicine that had been pumped into her body. I gave her the last bottle I had stolen from the hospital, the deep red drops spilling into her mouth and glistening on her cracked lips. This one would revive her, and she started to twitch in pain as the serum began to take affect. I climbed into the front seat and whipped out my cell phone to call home and let Esme know. It would be a long three days, but it would also be well worth it, if in place of the mental torture, I would receive a daughter and my chance at making things right.
I know this really doesn't sound too much like Carlisle, but I think this would be how he acted if Edward never came back. You guys voted for this, so please review! It was my birthday on the 18th, and it would be the best birthday present ever if you guys reviewed!