Nightfall (A Carlisle Cullen / Esme Cullen fanfic, 18+)

CHAPTER ONE: ESME

Columbus, Ohio - 1920

The wide track that led from the school was baked and cracked, the usual dull brown of the road bleached to an almost sandy colour by the last of the summer's heat. My skirts were dusty and heavy, and I panted slightly as I walked, trying to ignore the uncomfortable beads of sweat that trickled lazily down my spine.

It was surely like this every year, but I couldn't remember a day that had ever been hotter than this one. Even thinking of it seemed to escalate my temperature, and I paused for a moment, balancing the heavy stack of books I was carrying so I could free a hand to wipe the gathering sweat from my brow. A few yards ahead, at the side of the road, there was a wide oak tree, casting a strip of deep shade - I hurried towards it, my breath coming more quickly now with each step.

As I crossed out of the sun's glare, I felt the briefest sense of relief, though the respite was fleeting - the air itself seemed to pulse with the heat of the day. I could actually see heat distorting the air as I looked up the road! I gathered myself, swiping again at my forehead and then holding myself oddly so the thick fabric of my dress wouldn't press against my skin so. It was just bad luck, I told myself. Just bad luck that I had only two light summer dresses, and that both had been so thoroughly worn that I'd had nothing but this heavy gown to don for this morning's class. The face of my husband Charles flashed through my mind, and I gritted my teeth in annoyance. I knew he'd laugh if he could see me now - he'd thought it was hilarious this morning when he'd seen me dragging this heavy fabric over my head.

Still, I reminded myself. It was only bad luck - he'd never meant to lose his job. I wouldn't make it worse for him by complaining about the lack of money. If I was careful with my meager earnings, I'd be able to afford another lighter dress in a few weeks - although perhaps this absurd summer heatwave would have passed by then.

Ahead, I saw through the hazy heat figures approaching on the road. Hurriedly I straightened, hefting the stack of books higher as I fought to force myself to go on. No need for anyone else to see how I struggled - this was only a rough patch. We'd be through it before anyone else needed to know.

The figures were getting closer now, and I could hear their voices as well as make them out more clearly - there was Maude Everett, another teacher at the school, and beside her, John and Joan Campbell. They all looked cooler than me, the light white fabric of their garments floating gently in the breeze. My own dress, growing heavier by the minute from the sweat I poured into it, seemed like an anchor - I struggled again to muster the courage to move out of the shade to continue on my way home, but the oppressive heat seemed to press in on me again.

Thinking of other hot days hadn't helped, I thought desperately. Perhaps if I pictured something cooling - a glass of iced water, beads of condensation running down its edges to stain the table beneath. This image didn't particularly help, only serving to remind me of the sweat running down the curves of my back. A snowy winter morning, the muffled quietness of a world covered in fresh white. This helped a little. Encouraged, I shut my eyes, urging all of my senses to engage - I could almost smell the fresh pine scent of December, could almost taste the spices and sweets that the coldest season would bring. I smiled to myself.

And then, unbidden, another image flashed into my mind - a pair of pale white hands, icy cold as they touched me, raising goosebumps on my exposed skin. A shiver ran down my spine. This wasn't any scene conjured by my imagination - I doubted that I could have come up with that face, with those gentle hands by myself, even in my wildest fantasies. Another shiver followed the first, and I opened my eyes, surprised to find myself suddenly capable of moving forward, the heavy weight of summer almost forgotten.

I tried to never let myself think of him, usually. It was only that today had been such a long day, such a hot and uncomfortable day. I knew that what I remembered of him wasn't real - I'd been in a blur of pain and shock, and so had imagined the handsome doctor who'd been there to assist had been something more. No doubt if I'd taken the time to know him, he would have turned out to be - well. More realistic.