If Carlisle could trace back to the last moment that Amelia had really lived, it would be the night of the concert. That moment was forever ingrained in his memory - his youngest daughter, his dark-haired human princess, standing on the stage, bowing to a standing ovation. If his heart had been capable of any sort of movement, it would surely have swelled with pride. That evening had been wonderful, and one that he would treasure for centuries to come. If he shut his eyes, he could recall the sparkling perfection of her purple dress as it glittered under the concert hall spotlights, how she had paraded around the house in it before the concert, stating that she needed to 'wear it in' as though it were a pair of shoes. Blythe and Esme had smiled affectionately at her antics, while Emmett had to walk outside to hide his laughter.
He stood now, observing the ragged breathing of his daughter. She had fallen ill again, worse than he had ever seen her, her disease taking its final toll on her, Death preparing to claim her as his own. It pained him to witness her suffering, it pained all of them really. There should be a limit as to how much a person should be allowed to suffer, he had mused to himself as he kept a vigil by his daughter's bedside. The others were out hunting ahead of today. Alice had come to him with tears in her eyes the day before.
"Tomorrow. She will have a good day, but after nightfall..." She had trailed off into silence, the pain in her face speaking for itself. Edward's face had been an identical mask of horror, his eyes imploring Carlisle to do what he had to in order to save his little sister. Carlisle had gone straight to Amelia then, finding her sleeping on the couch with Jemima protectively sleeping next to her. Jemima had stirred and looked at him sleepily, then put her head back down and returned to sleep. Amelia had not stirred, not even when he had lifted her hand up and taken her pulse, not that he had needed to do so when he could hear her heart beating with perfect clarity from a mile away. He needed to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, the rush of blood, purely to remind himself that she was still here. She was his daughter, and a world without her was incomprehensible.
Kissing her forehead, he had left the house to hunt and make doubly sure that there was not even the slightest hint of thirst that irritated his throat. In spite of having created four other vampires, his concern of not being able to stop himself, of inadvertently draining Amelia lingered. Just like Edward had done with Bella, surgical grade steel syringes currently held his venom, waiting to be used as adjuncts to the main bite. Better safe than sorry. He had his doubts, could he do this to Amelia? Esme notwithstanding, he had not interacted with Edward, Rosalie and Emmett much, if at all, prior to changing them. Even his interaction with Esme a decade prior to her change had been fleeting, albeit memorable. Had he failed in his task in changing them, would he have felt their loss as much as the entire family would if he failed Amelia?
Carlisle glanced out the window as the late spring morning sunshine broke through the clouds. The others would be back soon. He turned his attention back to Amelia. She frowned slightly in her sleep, her breathing catching for a moment. She coughed in her sleep, violent and guttural, but not enough to wake her up. For that he was grateful, it had been weeks since she had enjoyed a peaceful night of rest. Had it really been two months since the concert? Her decline was not unexpected, but the family had hoped for more time.
At the end of April, Amelia had had her feeding tube removed. Both Carlisle and Dr Westsmythe had been hesitant to put Amelia under anaesthesia, but the tube would need to come out before her transformation and it needed to be done under general, rather than local, anaesthesia. Of course, Dr Westsmythe was unaware of the real reason why it needed to come out, and had assumed that it was due to the infection that Carlisle had insisted was present. It was only after the tube had been removed that Richard had realised that Carlisle was indeed right. The infection could have been treated with antibiotics, but had those failed, it could very well have killed her. There was a chance that the surgery itself could have killed her as well, but Alice had assured him that it would not.
Amelia's days had turned into a mix of sleeping, coughing and interacting with her family when she was awake. She had isolated herself from her human friends. She wanted to spare them from witnessing her suffering. She had bid them farewell when they had come to visit her after her surgery. Daniella, Narcisse and Amy had cried when they hugged their friend for the last time. Steven had remained stoic and unmoving, but his face had held a pained expression as he exited the room.
Amelia's face held a haunted look. She knew what was coming, but each day she remained human was another day she could give the proverbial middle finger to Cystic Fibrosis, it was another day that she survived. She could never beat the disease, it was too powerful and her many years of medical neglect had cost her dearly, coming back to haunt her. It made Carlisle mad to witness the repercussions that Amelia faced – someone should have been responsible for his daughter's health care needs when she was younger. He had recalled every last scrap of information that made up his daughter's bulky Social Services file. The only family who had taken proper care of her was the only one she ever spoke of with fondness – the couple who lived on a farm and had been killed in an accident not unlike Amelia's own parents. He had also found out that they were in the process of filling out the paperwork to adopt her – but their lives had been cut short, and along with that, Amelia's dream of a family that time around.
"Is she awake yet?" Esme's soft voice cut into the silence. Carlisle glanced up at his wife, and shook his head. Esme padded into the room and perched on the edge of Amelia's bed, hesitant to awaken her daughter. The others were in the forest, making their way to the house. They had gone hunting as well. All hands would be needed on deck to assist with Amelia's change. The young girl in question frowned again, her heart rate increasing as she gradually woke up from her last sleep as a human. Her eyes snapped open and she glanced about, alert and ready. Jemima huffed sleepily and executed some interesting yoga moves before ambling out of the open door and making her way downstairs.
"Morning sweetheart," greeted Carlisle, smiling tenderly at his daughter. Amelia returned the greeting, hugging both of her parents. Esme bundled Amelia into the shower and got her into fresh pyjamas. Clothes had become too much of a hassle. As Amelia's weight plummeted and her muscles wasted, she found it too much of an effort to bother with complicated things like jeans and shoes. The fabrics were painful against her sensitised skin, and moving around was tiring and painful enough as it was without having to endure the fabric chafing. Alice and Bella had gotten Amelia several pairs of soft pyjamas. Amelia was constantly cold and baggy hooded sweatshirts had become the norm. An assortment of blankets and pillows were scattered about the house for Amelia's comfort. It pained her family to witness her decline. Esme took it the hardest, and many a day could be seen lying alongside Amelia while she slept. Amelia was sensitive to her mother's emotions, and tried to reassure her as much as she could.
"How are you feeling today?" queried Esme as she passed Amelia her slippers. Amelia sat on her bed while she eased her feet into them.
"Surprisingly alright," came the soft response. Already she had a hint of colour in her usually pale cheeks.
"Do you feel up to attempting the stairs today?" asked Carlisle. Amelia frowned as she pondered her answer and shook her head, holding out her arms so that Carlisle may pick her up and carry her downstairs. Her inability to walk up or down the stairs was, in Amelia's opinion, admitting defeat, and she had resisted doing so for as long as possible. It wasn't until Emmett found her clinging to the banister between the middle and top floors that even she had to admit that it was time to quit arguing the topic and accept help.
A mixture of "Good morning", "Squirt!" and "Hey Mia" greeted Amelia as she found herself on the ground level of the house. She greeted all of her siblings as she set out Jemima's breakfast for her. As per usual, Jemima sauntered off with the cocktail sausages in her mouth and ate them on Esme's priceless Persian rug. No amount of scolding, bribery or anything else otherwise had changed Jemima's habit. The terrier simply looked up at the person addressing her, snorted at them and continued eating.
"So what would you like to get up to today, squirt?" boomed Emmett eagerly. Amelia frowned at him, glanced out of the window and put down her tea cup, crossing her arms and staring at her family, one eyebrow perfectly raised. Alice realised that Amelia needed an answer as to what was happening. No one had told her that today would be her final day as a human.
"I had a vision yesterday," she began.
"Does it have something to do with the reason everyone's eyes indicate that they hunted while I was asleep?" she queried softly, "you were only planning on going over the weekend."
"Yes it does, Mia."
"Another surge?" she guessed, putting two and two together.
"Correct."
"So today is the day I start to become a vampire?"
"I will have to bite you tonight, yes," Carlisle joined in.
"I see," Amelia whispered, staring out the window, "can I go and visit Bree? I still have not gone."
"Alice?"
"The sun is going to shine and it will be good for Mia to get out for a while. No one will see us. Carlisle, you'll have to call in and tell the hospital that you are not coming in," stated Alice, refocussing on her surroundings.
"It's settled then," stated Esme, placing a bowl of cereal in front of Amelia and narrowing her eyes when the teenager stared at it glumly. Sighing softly, said teenager picked up a spoon and started on it.
---
"So this is where it happened?" Amelia's voice was sombre.
"Yes," whispered Esme, leading Amelia over to the exact spot where Bree had died. Flowers bloomed in the area. Daisies – Bree's favourite. A small smile tugged at Amelia's lips as she observed them. With effort, Amelia sat down on the ground and stretched out on the grass, her fingertips grazing one of the daisies. She shut her eyes as the sun came out from behind a cloud and illuminated her face. The warmth was nice. It was a feeling she was not likely to experience again, vampires did not feel the heat, neither did they feel the cold. After a few minutes, she started to doze off and a pair of cold arms eased her off the ground, holding her close to them as they ran at a breakneck speed back to the house.
"Thanks Dad," she said, opening her eyes as the cold arms set her on the bed in Carlisle's office.
"Last ever physio," quipped Carlisle, tapping his daughter on her nose.
"Yay!" she cheered, "I will not miss it."
"I imagine so," he agreed, only too aware of the pain her physiotherapy was causing her. As she deteriorated, so it became more painful. Many a time, he just wanted to drug her into oblivion while he did her physiotherapy, but his stubborn and headstrong daughter refused.
The rest of the day passed in a relaxed fashion. They laughed a lot, made memories and documented the last moments of Amelia's human life. As the sun started to set, Esme ushered Amelia into the bathtub, grateful that it would be the last time that she would ever have to see her daughter as thin and gaunt as she was. The transformation would heal her failing body. Esme had been horrified to see how thin Bella had been before her change, but Amelia made Bella look as healthy as a horse.
The subtle change to Amelia's scent made Esme flare her nostrils and increase her hair-washing efforts. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and she glanced up in time to catch a resigned look cross Carlisle's features. He smelt it too, and was waiting for them to finish. The scent grew stronger. Amelia's blood had too much carbon dioxide in it, and it was making her drowsier than normal. She had chronic respiratory failure, that was common knowledge, but her body had adapted to its generally increased levels of carbon dioxide. This was different. This was body finally saying 'enough'. Carlisle looked up as Esme herded a sleepy Amelia into her bedroom.
"It's time," he stated. Amelia nodded and smiled over his shoulder. Carlisle glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see one of the others, but saw no one. He looked at her in confusion.
"Maman, Papa and Bree are here," smiled Amelia. It was not the first time Carlisle had heard of patients seeing deceased loved ones on their death bed. Once he had a patient dying of cancer who kept seeing her dead baby in the days before her death. He had been a stillborn and she had never had the chance to hold him. She had never actually seen him, but somehow she knew it was him, and repeated over and over how he needed her. Carlisle liked to think that mother and child were together once more.
"Tell them I say hi," he smiled, carrying her to his office. Blythe was already in the room, and she arranged the many pillows around Amelia's body so as to shelter her from the hardness of the bed. They would remove the pillows later.
"They say thank you," she yawned. Blythe frowned and spoke softly to Carlisle as they outlined their plan for Amelia. The others came in to say their goodbyes. Amelia was barely conscious, fighting and losing her battle against the siren-like blackness that was creeping into her vision as her body started to shut down for the final time. Edward herded the others out of the room. Just Blythe, Esme and Carlisle remained. Esme gave her daughter one final kiss and whispered how much she loved her, before holding her hand tightly and sitting down, determined to be there for as long as possible.
Blythe injected the morphine straight into Amelia's port. When the sickly sweet scent of opioids began to mask the scent of excessive carbon dioxide, she picked up a scalpel and made a neat incision around it. Carlisle injected the first syringe of venom into the port, before Blythe finished exposing the components and removed it entirely. A second syringe of venom was injected into Amelia's subclavian vein. As the stuttering of Amelia's heart began, and her usual coughing broke the methodical silence, Carlisle placed a kiss on Amelia's forehead. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, saying a quick prayer. Then he bit down over Amelia's carotid artery, forcing more venom into Amelia's bloodstream.
She continued to cough, each one as violent as the one before as the venom started to react with her failing body. Blythe grew concerned, and she and Carlisle moved Amelia to rest on her side as she choked on her own phlegm. She was changing, but the venom would need time to heal her lungs. It would be a long three days. Swapping the nasal cannula for an oxygen mask, Carlisle settled down to wait. Blythe gave both of the Cullen parents a hug, before leaving them to sit with Amelia. Five minutes down, 71 hours and 55 minutes to go.