Carlisle's POV

I walked briskly through the hospital until I got to the front desk, where Miranda stopped writing in her notebook and looked up at me with a smile on her face.

"Do you need directions, Dr. Cullen?" she asked.

Ever since my family and I had moved to Alaska and I'd come to work in this new state hospital, every female I passed would ask me if I needed help finding my way around. I smiled politely at her and shook my head.

"My psychology course allows me to check in the patients in the Mental Ward?" I ask.

She nods. This hospital has one of the leading Psychology Institution in America and it was in so much demand that only the extreme cases get sent in anymore.

"Head doc wants to see how you do in the drug addiction wards for a while, take a break from all the blood and gore." She chuckles in what she might think a flirtatious way before looking through her notes again.

I nod and check my schedule. Only a couple of new emergency patients coming in ton the addiction ward. New patients were usually hectic and hard to handle. We hadn't automatically decided to move here from Forks, but when Edward finally came back Esme wanted a drastic change in our lives. It had been only two years since we've left Bella. I felt bad for my son; he was fighting a losing battle within himself. Everyday he struggled, trying not to go back to her. I knew it would have been a matter of time before he went back if he didn't have the rest of us reassuring him that it was the best thing . . . though most of us weren't so sure about that.

Just then, a policeman barges through the door and starts ushering people out of the way. "Please, make some room. New patients for DAW coming through!"

Everyone seemed to know what this meant, and that he would need a lot of room. Everyone shuffled out of the way and pressed up against the walls as another policeman walked through the door, seeming to be struggling with the boy in his arms. The drug addict couldn't even be referred to as a man because he didn't look any older than a teenager, or just past his teen ages. He fought against the large guard, but wasn't successful. He wasn't at all very big, in fact, he was quite lean. Though, if he was clean, he might be strong enough to use his age to his advantage against the older policeman. But all he could do was struggle in his arms and fruitlessly try to wiggle out of his grip, shouting profanities in a rough voice. His thick black hair fell over a lot of his face but I could see some of his features. His skin was bone-white, almost as pale as my own, and seemed frail. He had some muscle, but his bones were easily seen. His clothes were dark and torn in many places.

As the policeman dragged him down the hall I watched, shocked. Having never seen a fresh drug addict enter a hospital before, I always doubted that it was as bad as everyone here made it out to be. Now I understood what they meant. This boy was vicious, cussing everyone he passed in a fury. Then, as he passed me, he froze. His hair was out of his face and I could see his eyes. They were a dark green and seemed hollow, surrounded by a terrible rash. His chalky lips quivered and something flashed in his eyes as they settled on my face. It looked like . . . recognition?

I shook my head as he disappeared down the hall and the next policeman came through the door, this time carrying a girl in his arms. Compared to him, she was a tiny, fragile thing. Her dark brown hair covered most of her face, though her white hands could be seen from the end of her sweater. She was skinny, dangerously so. Even from my quick analysis I could tell she was life-threateningly unhealthy. She didn't put up much of a struggle. I could tell why; by the smell of her blood I would say she was high. There was something else about her blood that tugged elusively on my memory. This surprised me since I was used to the smell of blood that I barely recognized the scent of different people. But as he passed with her, I knew what it was.

She gazed at me with clouded eyes, the same color as chocolate brown, though now dull and surrounded by the same red rash as the boy. Her lips were bone-white and chapped. Her limp body stiffened as it was dragged, her eyes stuck on mine, filled with the same recognition as her friend. Only, this time I understood the recognition. Because I recognized her too. No amount of drugs or dirt in the world could keep me from recognizing this girl.

Because this girl was Bella Swan.