Friend Of The Dead

Inside A Shocking Mind

Edited

I woke up with a gasp. Sweat donned my forehead and the back of my neck, my mouth was dry and my throat was parched. I looked around; my vision clearing as I realized I was in the school's library.

I calmed myself by recounting my steps.

I had a free period, so I came to the library. I arrived, and the library was deserted, more reasons to stay. I fell asleep and had that---that nightmare.

Upon remembrance, my hand automatically flew to my face. No gash, no blood. My face was clean, but how? The dream, the pain, it felt so real; my skin itched just thinking of it. My clothes stuck to my body like a second skin, I was all sweaty and gross. My breath was shallow and uneven; my heart was about to burst out of my chest. Who was that woman? What was she? The fangs, the pale skin, the body temperature, the red eyes. . .

I quickly and messily threw everything on the table in my bag and ran out the door, ignoring the eyes trained on me. I walked down the hall filled with students. It seems school is over. Even if it were not, I would still leave.

I ran, bumping into people, and crashing against things. It didn't slow me down. I would not feel safe unless in my room. My hurried steps were halted as I bumped into someone. I fell on my butt painfully, and my books and bag slipped from my hands to the floor.

Looking up, my wide eyes caught the golden ones that belonged to Edward. He crouched down and asked if I was okay, but his voice was like a distant gurgling, as if I was hearing him underwater. I was too busy picking my stuff up to even acknowledge his presence. When he reached for the same book as I did, our hands touched, and although any other girl would find it romantic, I found it frightening.

Because I was not wearing my gloves.

It was too late.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a different place. The walls were a milky white, the tiled floor a pasty blue. There were sounds from every direction. However, I didn't understand anything. There were wheelchairs and electric beds and stretchers everywhere.

A hospital.

I walked around, passing doors and patients. Something was not right. This place, the way they were dressed, and the equipment were old. It was like I travelled back fifty years in time. No one noticed me as I walked; I was invisible in this place, and not actually here.

A door was before me, and the temptation to look inside was more than the caution of what I would see. So with a deep breath, I closed my eyes and walked until I was through the door and inside.

Inside the room, it was lined with beds. From the top to the end of the room, beds held groaning and moaning people. With caution, I walked to a particular bed, which held someone familiar. He had deathly white skin, messy bronze hair, and green eyes.

This was Edward.

But at the same time, it wasn't. He didn't have the pasty coloured skin he usually had. Nor the golden eyes. He had bags under his eyes, and he was skinny to the bone. His lips were chapped and colourless. His limbs were still and unmoving, the slight indication that he was alive was the groans passing his lips, and his green eyes held just the smallest spark of life.

He was on death's door.

But that can't be right, Edward does not have green eyes, and he isn't this young. In this memory, he looks lifeless, more youthful, he looks---he seems human. I backed away from him, hearing another person enter the room. I looked for a calendar, anything to tell me what time and date it is. On one of the tables beside another patient, who was the same as Edward, was a newspaper. I raced to it, looking over the old-fashioned handwriting. It said;

August 17th, 1918

THE SPANISH INFLUENZA EPIDEMIC STILL SPREADING THROUGH THE STREETS OF CHICAGO!

MORE DEATHS OCCURRED!

I think I almost fainted. I did feel lightheaded. Spanish influenza?

What the fuck is happening?

If this is a memory of Edward's, then he is almost a hundred years old. This cannot be real; how is this possible? I looked back at him when I noticed another person talking.

As if being a century back in time, with a man who should not be alive right now, and in the middle of a widespread sickness that almost killed all of Chicago was not enough, there was someone else I recognized.

Blonde hair, golden eyes, pale skin, and unnatural beauty, I assume this is Carlisle Cullen. And what the hell is he doing here? He also should not be alive. But he looked the same as he did back in my time, how is this possible?

He murmured something to Edward, his voice low and cautious that I couldn't make out what he was saying.

Edward struggled to answer, so he nodded. And with a deep breath, Carlisle opened his mouth, titled Edward's head to the side and---

"Sophie!" I looked up with wide eyes at Edward, who was still crouched in front of me holding my books.

Nightmare. Truck. I ran, crashed into him. No gloves. . .the memory.

Edward was dying from the Spanish influenza that occurred in Chicago almost a hundred years ago.

Carlisle did something to Edward.

Edward.

Suddenly it clicked. Now I knew why she seemed so familiar. The women in my nightmare looked like Edward and the others. I took my hand back as if he burned me. He looked shocked, amazed, and confused. The thought of what I had seen was ludicrous on its own level. But when I looked at Edward, his eyes were wide, and his mouth was open in shock. It was like he was in the memory too, but how is that possible? How is any of this possible?

"How - how?"

I snatched my things from him, avoiding any skin to skin contact and ran, leaving him stranded there with open disbelief. If I doubted it before, then I no longer do, I am absolutely sure that the Cullen family are not humans