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What was Carlisle really thinking when he changed Edward in that hopspital, so many years ago. Carlisle's POV Please R&R! ONESHOT


1. Chapter 1

Rating 5/5   Word Count 912   Review this Chapter

Chicago 1918

Dr. Carlisle Cullen’s POV

The Spanish influenza, many lives lost so far, even more to come. I have treated hundreds of people, only a handful survived. As I watched even more of my patients fall into the clutches of this insidious disease, I got that familiar twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach again; guilt. I knew there is nothing more I can do to save these people, but that won't make the feeling go away. For every mother who has lost her child, every sister who had lost her brother, and for every man who lost his wife, my guilt grow to a point where it was nearly palpable.

So why were these patients so different? I was standing in a room with a mother and her son lying in the beds in front of me. The woman was mere minutes away from death, and her son wasn't far behind her. Yet, as I just stood there watching them slowly die, there was something more than guilt. I felt remorse. Yeah sure, I've felt bad about my patients dying, but not like this. There was something different about this woman. The way she looked at me. It was as if she knew. She knew about me, and she knew what I was. What she didn't know was how lonely I am. How miserable this life really is. She was nearly dead and yet all she did was stare at me, with a sense of omniscience in her eyes. Then with the last of her strength, she weakly raised her arm and pointed toward her son.

"Save him." She whispered on a mother's dying breath, before her arm fell limply to her side and all signs of life left her eyes. I looked over at her son. The disease has definitely taken its toll on him. He was weak, pale, and confused. I doubt he even knew that his mother just died right next to him. He did, however, know that he was going to die, and soon.

I stared into his eyes. They were the most beautiful shade of Emerald green I had ever seen, but there was something missing. The life, that I'm sure once filled him with the excitement and joys of youth, was gone. They were dull, as if he had lost all hope of getting better. While medically there is nothing I can do, there is one way I could save him. I could change him...No, I couldn't He is too young, too innocent. I can't damn him to a life of darkness, an eternity of fighting off the raging monster inside of him. But if I don't, he will die. Is death really better than this life? I'm not really a monster am I? I don't drink from humans, I drink from animals. It's just like a human eating a steak right? Oh, how I wish I could ask him. He is too far gone to form coherent thoughts. I need to make a decision soon. It's really his decision, though, not mine. Would he want this? Who in their right mind would choose this life? Who would want to be damned for an eternity as a creature of the night? If I changed him, though, he wouldn’t be alone. I would take care of him. We could be like a family. He could be my son. The thought made me smile. I've always wanted a son.

I could teach him how to hunt, how to control his thirst, how to not be a monster. I have been so lonely by myself. It would be killing two birds with one stone. Would it be selfish of me to change him, though? It's not like I'm taking him away from anything.

Then I remembered his mother. She knew what I was, and she knew what I could do. She could've asked me to change her, but she didn't. She told me to change her son. She gave up her only chance at living to save him. What kind of person would I be if I didn't even do that? Okay, that’s it. I have to do it. I can't just let him die. I did a quick prayer to god; asking him to please forgive me for this, forgive me for damning one of his children’s souls to an eternity of hell. I slowly walked over to his bed. I bent down and placed my razor sharp teeth to the warm delicate skin of his neck. I could feel the blood pulsating through his veins at an erratic pace, due to the fever. I bit down. After releasing what I hoped to be enough venom, I stood up and waited. I didn't know what else to do. I've never changed anyone before; I only did what my creator did to me. And then it happened, he screamed. That scream meant so much. First and foremost, it meant that I changed him correctly; it meant that there was no going back, he was going to become a vampire, and it reminded me that I was the cause of his agonizing pain. Even though he has to endure three days of pure hellish torture, I do not regret changing him, because, not only did I save him from death; I also saved myself from spending an eternity as a lonely monster.