Newborn

Part One

What I remember is the pain; agony beyond anything I'd ever imagined, beyond enduring, beyond...anything.

Burning, scorching, reducing me to ashes and then, like some cursed phoenix, I remained intact to burn again and again, aching, screaming the torment without reason or explanation.

A voice spoke to me, meaningless words and murmurs telling me unheard things, trying to comfort when there was no comfort possible. I would wish for my mother as I would when I was a child; I'd imagine her gentle smile hiding her concern as she brought me a cool cloth for my head and a cold drink to quench the thirst charring my throat. I'd hear her voice, quiet and worried as she promised me that I'd be all right, that soon this would pass and I'd be better. But then I'd remember again, I'd remember that she'd died in the narrow cot beside me, the doctor's not knowing I saw, barely an arm's length away and the fires would take me again.

I worried about my father, knowing he'd be broken by her death. I knew I'd have to stay with him so he wouldn't be alone, at least for a while-I couldn't leave for the war in Europe, the Great War when he would be in so much pain from her loss. Even my selfishness wouldn't allow for me to abandon him yet. I couldn't; I would have to delay my enlistment.

Jesus, the pain...

Ablaze.

Every cell, every muscle, every bone, every tendon, my very skin was on fire. I couldn't bear this. I couldn't. Kill me. Please. Kill me. I begged, whimpered, screamed it in my mind and finally couldn't contain the sounds any longer. I opened my eyes, begging the man beside me and when he shook his head, telling me that this would pass but I knew better than to believe him and finally I simply cried. I couldn't do this. I wasn't strong enough, make it end, put an end to it, put an end to me. Please. Please. I can't. No more. Kill me. Mercy. Please. Dear God, mercy.

The calm voice murmured on and on, a hand held mine and I gripped it, grasped it, held it as my only lifeline, as the only real thing left. There was nothing else beside the voice and the hand that held mine.

My mother was dead. I had to live for my father.

I'd forgotten, but he was gone, too. He'd died first, days ago, Weeks ago. Months ago. Another lifetime ago. He was dead. My mother was dead, I'd watched her die and now I was the only one left. It didn't matter. I'd die, too. I had to, I had to be dying; no one could endure this. Please, let me die, too. Death was the only hope I had then and with all my being I prayed that it come soon.

The calm voice was there, always there in the background like the babbling of a cool brook on a hot day. It was the only coolness in my world.

The pain went on. The burning yielded to nothing. I wished for death, every moment I prayed for release. Every second was an hour, every minute a day, every day an eternity. I was beyond coherence, beyond anything human. I was pain. My body was agony, my thoughts were white-hot daggers piercing my brain, light impaled my eyes with shards of broken glass. Each breath brought another flood of torture to my lungs; each random sound caused my body to shudder and writhe.

It went on and on. It would never end. I would never find the mercy of death; I would never be free of this.

Then the soft voice, never ending, never ceasing slowly, slowly started to make some small sense. The murmuring became random words. The random words gradually formed sentences. Even more gradually, the sentences began to have some small amount of coherence.

"It's all right. It won't be much longer. Forgive me. Please forgive me. I had no idea it would be like this for you. I should have known, I should have remembered, I should have known better..."

I tried to listen, tried to understand what the voice was saying. It was babble. For days I clung to the sound, incoherent or not. It was the lifeline I needed, I thought of only that voice, the sound, the soothing tones, the calm, the surety, the confidence.

I began to know that agony was now all I would ever feel. It became my new self. I was pain. Pain was me.

Parts of things the voice said began to make small pieces of sense. It told me that this would end and I prayed it was true. Let me die, let this end.

Then it slowly seemed to recede ever so slightly. I believed that I was simply learning to accept my new existence as one of agony, that I would never be free of it and so had begun to adapt to this hell. I wondered why this was happening, why this had happened and knew that it could only be some kind of holy retribution for some sins I'd committed and struggled to know what I'd done to deserve this. Surely I'd occasionally been cruel to friends, to strangers but had I really been so terrible to have this as my judgement?

What had I done? I wracked my brain but could think of nothing other than that God must indeed be the vengeful god we'd been warned about in church.

Slowly, moment by moment the pain lessened by infinitesimal degrees until I could feel the difference.

The hand still held mine, the unknown voice still murmured encouragement and apologies and I began to understand the words. "It was the only way, you must believe me..." "If I'd known it would be like this for you I would have never..." "It was your mother begged me, it was her last wish, I couldn't refuse her..." "I saw it, just as she asked, I saw how special you were. Not just your beauty, but your soul..." "You've no idea, no one can understand the loneliness, centuries of solitude..." "I had to, I had no choice..." "Forgive me, I had to do this..."

Finally, too long after it began, the veil lifted and I could open my eyes. The pain receded to a minor annoyance in retreat, finally no longer not worth noticing. I felt the bed beneath me, saw a tree outside a window, saw birds on the branches and heard their song. I heard someone shift and felt a slight tug on my hand, causing me to look to my right.

A man I didn't know sat, intently watching me. His look was mild, unthreatening, but nit quite calm. He seemed worried and I heard him say `He looks frightened." It was clearly directed at me.

"Excuse me?"

Startled, he shook his head. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did, you're worried that I'm afraid. I'm not." I was, of course, but I wasn't about to let him know that. I heard him say something about `needs reassurance'

"My name is Carlisle Cullen. I'm a doctor. I'm your doctor and I've been looking after you the past few days. Do you still have pain?"

I shook my head. "I'm thirsty." My throat was burning; I've never been as thirsty in my life. I needed something now; I had to have something to drink. "No, not water." I answered his voice, though I noticed that his lips didn't move. Odd. "I want..." I sat up, thinking about what I craved.

Of course, I wanted blood, human blood. I heard him say he'd been afraid of that and wondered how he could speak so clearly without moving his mouth. I realized, without any surprise, that I was reading him mind and that my thoughts were being directed to him as well.

I decide on a test and thought about what I wanted to do to someone, I looked at this Carlisle as I imagined grabbing someone, holding them as they struggled. I saw myself lower my face to their neck, heard the pulse and rush of blood through their veins and felt the rush of liquid and warmth as my teeth cut through their skin, drinking, sucking the blood and swallowing. Gazing over at the other man I smiled a challenge to him, daring him to stop me, silently knowing he wouldn't be able, wouldn't be able to do anything against me.

Then I heard the fear in his mind. He was thinking I was a mistake, that he'd chosen badly, that I wasn't malleable enough. I was too strong, I was too smart.

He was afraid of me and I loved that fact.

I reached out and touched his face, curious and spoke to him with my mind. `You're a handsome man; it's to attract prey, isn't it?'

`Yes, but I don't.'

`You don't what?'

"I don't kill people, I live on the blood of animals-it's more humane."

I laughed, he was ridiculous. `Not to the animals, Doctor.' I watched him look at me, try to understand me and wondering what he could do to gain the advantage. `Nothing.' He jerked back as though I'd struck him and I savored the power I had. `If you'll excuse me, I would like to quench my thirst.' I stood up then marveling at the strength in my body; I'd never felt like this, like I could do anything.

"I'll come with you, Edward."

"No need."

"I insist."

"I think not." I laughed again, he was absurd, and then gently pushed him away from me. He crashed against the wall, putting a body-sized hole in it and was clearly uninjured and used his distraction to get away from him. This was fun.

The first thing I noticed outside was the speed I could move, amazing and surreal. The rest of the world crawled beside me while I flew, besting the wind effortlessly. It was dark, late at night and I searched through the streets for a likely meal, the thirst now overpowering. I found myself on the West Side, near Hull House, knowing there would be any number of unfortunates there looking for food or shelter.

Yes, behind the building were four men around a small fire. I made short work of them, killing them one after another, drinking in an almost orgiastic frenzy and stupor, killing them so quickly there was no sound. There'd been no time for them to react and I loved them for that. They'd made my meal an easy one. I knew the doctor, Carlisle was close by but I didn't care about him any more than I cared about his disapproval. I was curious though and so, sated for now, I allowed him to approach.

"This was your doing. Why did you do this to me?"

He seemed ashamed and hesitated. "Because your mother asked me to save you and I could."

`You're lying, there's more. You were lonely and thought I could be your friend.'

`Yes.'

`And bed partner as well, I assume?'

`No, I'm not interested you in that way nor will I ever ask that of you. I was attracted to your intelligence and talents.'

Absurd, the man was a child. `You saw me dying in an infirmary cot and divined my abilities? You're transparent, sir. You were looking for a younger brother to lead through this life, someone who would follow you unquestioningly, blindly. I'm not that person-and am I still a person, dare I ask?"

"Yes, you're still..."

`I'm undead. Isn't that the phrase?'

`Yes, one of them. You're immortal, you'll never die now, never feel pain, never age.'

The man was a fool. `Are you God or the Devil to condemn me to this, or that an impertinence?'

`Neither; I'm a man, just as you are.'

"No, not a man. A vampire. And, if you'll be so good as to forgive me, you'll understand me if I take my leave of you, sir. I thirst again."

TBC

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