The Modern Prometheus

by Nicole Mello

  Dr. Walton, you must know that I carry the greatest amount of guilt around in my heart. It is like an anchor, wound around my heart and my lungs, weighing me down. I have to drag it around with me all the time. I have so much remorse, and so much shame. Dr. Walton, I would not be exaggerating if I told you that I hate myself. With every fiber of my being, I hate myself. I don’t tell you this so you can diagnose me, and I don’t tell you this so you can pity me. I only tell you so that you can know, so that you have all the information. I sometimes wonder how I can even stand myself, how I can even stand up. Then, I remember: I must destroy Adam.

  You see, I am so full of remorse that it chokes me at night, in the darkness, and I cannot sleep, and I cannot be sedated, so I have to just lie there and wait. I have flashbacks to the deaths of my family members. I can’t breathe, most of the time, and I shake constantly. I am absolutely miserable all of the time. I have lost everything; who would not be consumed by misery if they had lived through what I have lived through? It’s horrible. Beyond that, I am alienated from the rest of the population; I am, seemingly, no longer considered human, and this is an ache in me. Isn’t it ironic? I lost everything to save humanity, and now they have distanced themselves from me. No person wants to speak with me. Nobody wants to spend any length of time with me. I am alone with my thoughts and my regrets and my never-ending pain, Doctor.

  This is to say nothing of my grief. My grief gnaws at me; it eats me alive. It’s like fire, like flames, burning me, licking at my very bones. I want to drown in it, but I cannot, not yet; I cannot rest until he is dead at my feet, do you understand? He who is the mirror image of myself. He who calls himself my son. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can feel his eyes on me always. I can’t- I’m sorry, Doctor. Just, give me a moment to gather myself.

  Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. I don’t think- I think this is the end of my story, Doctor. I think this is the end, I can’t go any further. Just- Just remember what I’ve told you. After all this — it brings us right here, to this moment, where I am telling you this story and you are recording it. That brings us full circle. I can see now that you’re ready to end our session, and I understand that. I can’t explain any further; I have reached the end of my tale.

  Thank you for listening to my life story, Doctor.

  Epilogue

  Once Victor had finished his story, I ended our session. He had spoken far over his allotted time, but I found myself so intrigued that I could not interrupt him. I barely believed him capable of the amount of words he was able to speak. He stopped often, to take deep breaths, to calm down, or to shed tears, which were almost always silent. I understood, and I allowed him to do whatever he needed to do to get through. What was the most interesting, though, was that I almost found myself truly believing him, even though I had absolutely no reason to.

  I scheduled him for another session in my next available slot, which was two days from that day. He tried to edit the notes that I had taken, but I did not allow it. He understood. He shook my hand. I had to put his handcuffs back on, and he was taken back to his room. He told me he felt “empty,” now that he had told his entire story to someone. He said it felt like it had hollowed him out. I understood. He also said he felt confident now that he would be able to destroy the life he created, which he referred to as “Adam.” He said the future was limited for Adam. He also expressed optimism in gaining me as a “partner” who would help him in hunting down this Adam and removing him from his life, in whatever capacity he found possible. I neither confirmed nor denied this, for his own sake. He smiled at me as he was taken away. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile, and the last.

  The first thing I did, after Victor left, was research the whereabouts of his sister, Gloria, and her family (Robin, Lewis, and Lavender), whom, you will recall, he had begged me to find. I had to call in a few favors, but I have since discovered that they are alive and well. I have since met Gloria, and she is a very nice woman, if not a little on edge, which is reasonable, considering the circumstances which she had once constantly found herself under. I am considering recommending a therapist for her, but that is neither here nor there, in terms of the goal of this book. I also sent a note to Mont Blanc Homeless Shelter, thanking them on Victor’s behalf.

  I was not sure, at first, that I believed the wild tale which Victor Frankenstein had spun. The more research I did, however, the more his story was confirmed. The details of his life which existed in the public record all matched up perfectly to the details he had given me. I know that her name has not yet been cleared, but I hope this book does make someone now consider clearing the name of Justine Wawetseka Moritz. It is clear to me that she did not commit the crime which she was imprisoned for, and which she ended up dying for. I hope any family she has remaining find solace in this statement.

  The thing about Victor Frankenstein was that, even if his story was false, he believed it so fiercely, and told it with such conviction, that I myself could not help but believe it, as well. At that point in my research, I knew that at least some of what he had told me was true, and I was determined to ascertain the facts of the whole story. I am not ashamed to admit that I was excited for my next session with him, because I know that anyone else who might have found themselves in my position would have felt the same. However, that next session never came.

  Unfortunately, Victor Perseus Frankenstein was found dead in his room at Manhattan Psychiatric Center on July 12, 2015, two days after he told me his story. He was found an hour and thirty-six minutes before he was meant to meet with me and clarify what he had told me in his previous session, so we could begin to work through it. That time never came.

  It was difficult to establish a cause of death, and I was not told if they ever did discover it. His files were sealed, and not released to me, since I had only begun speaking to him and was not yet considered his doctor in an official capacity. However, I do have friends in many places, and I was able to determine that his cause of death was officially labeled “asphyxiation,” though I got no further explanation or clarification of what this meant. In plainer terms, I do not know if he committed suicide or if he was murdered. Either one is just as likely as the other.

  Despite not having been established as his doctor as any official capacity, he did leave a page of notes that was addressed to me, and so I was able to obtain these notes after they were through being used as evidence. It is gibberish, mostly: just Victor trying to organize his thoughts for our next session, I believe. However, what is clear from the notes is his desire for the destruction of Adam, the creature which he claimed to have created. He stated this as his only reason for being alive, which leads me to believe that he was murdered, and did not commit suicide after all.

  Once the notes were processed and I finally received them, I returned to my office at immediately, intent on working through Victor’s case and what I knew of his story. I wanted to determine what was true and what was not, though that was going to prove infinitely more difficult now that he was gone. As it turned out, I did not have to worry; when I returned to my office, there was a man standing there, waiting for me. Because of his startling physical appearance, I could only identify this man as the Adam which Victor had spoken of so often.

  Victor did not exaggerate when he described the creature, which he called a “demon.” I would not hesitate to apply that same word when considering his outward appearance. He was beastly, stitched together like a child’s patchwork quilt might be. He had the stench of decay on him. I could see where his features might have been considered handsome in a past life, but now they were collapsing, almost melting on his enormous face. His skin was, as Victor had described it, dark and grey; his hands were huge and square. His bloodshot eyes were yellowed and milky-looking. I instinctively feared him, though he made no move towards me.

  He asked me to shut the door, and I did as he asked. He introduced himself as Adam Frankenstein, and he motioned for me to take a seat, in the very same spot where I had
sat when Victor had his session. I took the seat, and Adam took the seat that Victor had sat in. It seemed like the most horrible mirror image. Victor was meant to be sitting in that very seat at that very moment, and instead I found myself face-to-face with a man who was Victor’s son, and perhaps also his murderer. I was struck by the sudden realization that, of course, Victor told me the entire truth, and here was the proof of it, sitting not two feet from me. I could touch the evidence of Victor’s truth; I could see him, smell him, hear him. It was all real, which was an earth-shattering realization.

  Adam told me that he found my name among Victor’s things in his room, likely referring to the notes that bore my name, and that he wanted to speak to me. If I was able to listen to and help Victor, he said to me, I would certainly be able to listen to him, and possibly even help him, as well. I agreed; I was not about to anger him anytime soon. He confessed his sins to me, each and every one of them. He was a more religious man than Victor, which I consider to not be much of a surprise, when I remember how much stock he apparently placed in Paradise Lost. He believed in a sort of spiritual purging; this was a confessional for him, and I was his priest. I allowed it. Whatever it took, I would allow it. My professional curiosity, my instinctual fear, and my need to know the whole story won out over any desire I had to make him leave. I also felt something of an obligation to Victor, after all he had been through.

  Adam, though I would hesitate to call him Victor’s son, had a very similar way of speaking. He did not allow me to record him, so you must believe me when I say that. When he spoke, he also talked about the same emotions that Victor had told me about. In particular, Adam spoke strongly of feelings of alienation and of misery. However, perhaps most notably, he did not discuss the feelings of remorse, grief, or guilt, which led me to feel no pity for him at all, where I had felt a degree of pity for Victor before him.

  I listened to his words, and he fell silent after a time. I, too, went quiet, until he asked my opinion. I gave it, honestly; I told him that I thought he was telling the truth, and that he could start to absolve his sins if he truly regretted them that day, among other things. He looked at me with curiosity. He asked why I was not surprised by him; I told him the truth, that Victor had told me the story already. He told me to ask him any questions I had, anything at all. He said he could see them in my eyes. My skin crawled, but this was the opportunity I had been waiting for, and I, for lack of a better word, grilled him.

  I asked question after question, trying to confirm or deny aspects of Victor’s story. All of the answers which Adam gave me were exactly in alignment with that tale which Victor had told me. I was steadily coming to the rock-solid realization that what he had told me was not just a tale at all, but was, in fact, his true life story. I had documented an incredible, real-life monster movie on my recorder. Adam told me that Victor’s story, as I outlined it to him, was completely true, and he answered several probing questions that he could not have known about in any capacity unless those precise events had, indeed, happened to him. He let me take a moment to process the information. He then told me that we should feel free to examine and test his corpse when he is dead.

  Before I had any chance to question him on this statement, let alone stop him from doing anything, he was on his feet. Without any warning, he removed a small gun, which was later classified as a .38 Special, from his worn, heavy coat. Before I could even raise my hands to protect myself, he turned the gun on himself. He looked directly at me, then pressed the muzzle to his forehead and fired, right there in my office. The blood spatters on the wall looked like a Rorschach test. I have never been able to get rid of the feeling of his inhuman blood on my skin.

  Of course, the gunshot was heard, and, as it was clear that he committed suicide and I had nothing to do with his death, I was cleared of any charges. I told them what had happened, and I had never had a history of lying of any sort, or of any kind of misbehavior. I told the truth, and I was believed, especially when we were all confronted with the inhuman monstrosity that was Adam’s patchwork corpse, dead on the floor of my office. That belief that I was granted had been all that Victor had wanted at the end of his life, and something only I had granted him. Adam’s body was taken away.

  I was able to call in a few favors — as I said, I have many friends in many places — and get a series of proper tests run on Adam’s corpse. I told them that I believed something to be off, and the reports I received in response to this belief did not disappoint me. Though they could not believe it, it seemed as though pieces Adam had actually been dead long before he killed himself, and each piece of him had a different rate of decay. This was the final verification of Victor’s story; this was the last bit of confirmation that I needed to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was telling me the absolute truth. I also believed Adam’s confirmations and his confessions of guilt, which I explained to the proper authorities. With time, I have had Victor Frankenstein’s name cleared. I am certain that, were he here, he would feel some relief in knowing that nobody believed him responsible for the deaths of his family any longer, though he occasionally felt himself responsible indirectly. Perhaps this would have absolved him, in the end. Maybe not. All I can do for him anymore is imagine, and hope.

  I attended Victor Frankenstein’s funeral. Adam was cremated; I told a small white lie, and said that he had informed me of his desire for a cremation during that fatal confession of his, only so that I would be able to remove his ashes and place them far away from the corpse of Victor and the resting places of his family. Per Henry Clerval’s own request, and the approval of Alphonse Frankenstein in his will, Henry Clerval was buried in the Frankenstein family plot. That plot now contains the bodies of Caroline, William, Alphonse, Elizabeth, Henry, and Victor. His funeral was not well-attended, but a few people did go. Professors from school, old co-workers, neighbors he had had from various locations he had lived in. Gloria and her family returned; it was then that I met her for the first time. I told her that her brother was a good man. She believed me, thankfully, but I do not think she had ever believed her brother to be bad or evil. She is a good person. I feel sorry that she has lost so much, but I am glad she lives on.

  Victor Perseus Frankenstein shares a large in-ground grave marker with the rest of his family. Each name bears a set of dates as well as a quote or phrase. Victor’s says: Victor Perseus Frankenstein, January 1, 1987 — July 12, 2015, “Humanity’s Savior”. I chose it; I thought it was fitting, and Gloria agreed, though she did not know why at the time. I plan on telling her the whole of Victor’s story before I release this book, but I am giving her some time first, to adjust.

  I am writing this memoir not only to completely clear Victor’s name, but also to tell the world of what he has achieved. Neither Victor nor myself ever put much stock in religion, but I would not hesitate to call what he accomplished a true, real-life miracle. Victor Frankenstein was able to create life, and he strongly cautioned against anyone else attempting to do so. I am positive he left out the details of how, exactly, he made Adam for that very reason.

  The scientific leaps and bounds that Victor has made are nothing short of extraordinary. The man was a genius, a modern marvel, and I consider losing him to be one of humanity’s greatest losses. I am not leaving psychiatry after this book is published, but I want everyone to know the name Victor Perseus Frankenstein. I want his to be a household name. I want him to be respected and admired. Yes, of course, he will have critics; he made a great deal of mistakes, and not all of the decisions he made were good ones. However, he still created life in a way nobody was ever been able to accomplish before, and likely never will again.

  So, yes, I want everyone to know the name Frankenstein. And, call me wild, but I believe that, eventually, everyone will, and they will remember it for quite a long time.

  About the Author

  Nicole Mello is a fiction author who has been writing since before her memory was a functional thing. Her writing has been published in Com
monthought Magazine. She has a novel, Venus (2017), published with Backpack Digital. She is also the author of several unpublished novels, many short stories, and several poems. She has her B.A. in Creative Writing from Lesley University. She currently resides in Boston, Massachusetts with her partner and two best friends.