by Cindy Winget
“Yes, in a way,” Victor said.
“I don’t understand.”
“I have been building this man piece by piece from cadavers I have taken from freshly-dug graves.” Victor looked uncomfortable as he made this confession and was quick to look away from his friend’s questioning eyes.
This did little to reassure Jonathan. “Are you mad? I never pegged you as a Resurrectionist!”
Victor flinched at the use of the word.
The revulsion that still pervaded the collective English consciousness had a strong grip upon the hearts and minds of these two young Englishmen and they strove with their entire beings to get Victor to see reason.
“I didn’t tell you those stories at Whitby so that you could turn around and steal bodies from graveyards!” continued Jonathan. “What can be going on in your head that you could conceive of such a thing? King’s College already receives an ample supply of cadavers to use since the passing of the Anatomy Act. Why resort to stealing them?”
“I could not receive the bodies I needed through those channels. They belong to the school and any and all cadavers used must either remain or else be returned to the university for the furthering education of other students. I have no intention of giving these organs back to any institution. In fact, when I am done with them, it will be quite impossible to do so. This project is strictly secret. No one knows about it, and I wish to keep it that way. I don’t wish for anyone to steal my ideas and use them for their own ends. This is mine! And mine alone.”
“So cryptic you are, Victor. Do you intend on destroying it once you have finished your research? To what end could that serve? Why not let others learn from this work that you have obviously spent a considerable time and effort on?”
“You miss-understand, my friend. I do not intend to destroy my creation, but to give it life.”
Silence met this pronouncement.
“I think perhaps you are in need of sleep and sustenance, Victor. Come, we will seek out a nice café and drink a little wine. It will do you a world of good,” Jack replied at last.
A small smile spread across Victor’s face. “I assure you, I am in earnest and I am in my right mind. I have unlocked the secret to bestowing animation upon lifeless matter.”
“But to desecrate graves! Victor, listen to yourself. Surely this is a direct result of lack of sleep and an overactive imagination,” Jonathan said.
“Let me assure you once again that it is not. I will prove it to you when I am at last finished with my project. You will see.”
“With this abomination, you mean!” Jonathan’s voice was shrill.
“Victor, you must stop this mad scheme. Can’t you see that any creature born of that which was dissected from robbed corpses could not possibly ever earn a place in heaven, sitting on the right hand of God? And, therefore, it would be a child of the Devil!” Jack added.
“Nonsense. This creature may not make it to heaven,” Victor said derisively, “but only because I don’t believe any such place exists. He would be my own creation, wholly different from anything created by God. He will sit on my right hand!”
“Such hubris,” Jonathan lamented. “Think what you are saying. With so many parts from so many different bodies, whose consciousness will you be bringing back exactly? You have no idea the ramifications of your actions!”
“It is because of close-minded people like you that humans remained in the dark for so long. You are a hindrance to modern discoveries! We are limited only by what we allow our perceived ethics to dictate to us. Mankind has stepped out of the dark ages, and I am happy and proud to be a part of furthering the limitless possibilities that mankind can obtain.”
“Simply because we can do something, doesn’t mean that we should,” reasoned Jack.
But Victor would not hear it. All of his friend’s arguments went unheeded. Realizing that they were getting nowhere, Jack and Jonathan went on their way soon after that.
In the ensuing days, the two Englishmen thought and spoke of little else. They returned to Whitby, after spending some time with Abraham Van Helsing, but did not bother to once again stop by and converse with Victor. They knew of his stubbornness and that he was set in his mind to complete this project of his and it would do little good to try and talk him out of it. What would that leave the men to talk about? There could be no real intercourse of ideas or pleasantries exchanged while Victor’s gruesome project loomed in the back of all their minds.
Chapter Eight
“Van Helsing. To what do I owe the pleasure?” This was the first time Victor had been bothered at his laboratory since Jack and Jonathan had stopped by. In the interim, Victor had made wonderful progress on his creation.
“It has been months since I have heard from you or seen you. I promised our mutual friends that I would make sure you were doing well.”
“Yes, yes. Quite well. I am nearing completion of my project.”
“I worry about you. I fear you are working yourself too hard. You are so thin, and you look exhausted.”
“I will rest when I am finished. I can’t let up now. Not when I am so close to reaching my goal.”
Van Helsing stepped around Victor and entered the room, not bothering to wait to be invited in.
Victor hesitated before saying, “I suppose Jack and Jonathan told you what I was up to here?”
“Only a little,” Van Helsing said. “They admitted to me the illicit deeds you have been performing in the dark of night, but not what it is you intend to do with the stolen items. Now don’t be angry with them. They revealed your secret only because they worry about you.” His gaze landed on the form lying upon the table. “Mein Goff! So it is true!”
Victor nodded solemnly.
“Just what exactly are you planning on doing with it?”
“Remember the lessons you taught on Galvanism?” With a nod from Van Helsing, he continued, “Well, I plan on applying it to a human subject.”
“Like the demonstration we saw in London?”
Victor shook his head. “I have taken it a step further. I believe that I have discovered a way to break the barrier between the living and the dead.”
“Victor, I hope you know what you are dabbling in. This is no ordinary science you are pursuing,” Van Helsing said sternly.
Victor was surprised at his comment. “I thought surely you, a fellow scientist and disciple of Galvanism, could sympathize with my ideas. You call yourself a metaphysician, but I have to wonder at your devotion to it when I am so near to finding out these fundamental questions and all you can do is sit there and caution me!”
“In some ways, I do understand what it is that you are trying to accomplish, but I can’t help but worry when treading upon God’s realm. It is not for man to decide when a person should live or die.”
“How can you say that? That is what we are studying to do! The whole point of my medical knowledge, that I learned from you I might point out, was in the name of prolonging life!”
“Yes, prolonging it. But what you are talking about is bringing someone back to life!”
“I fail to see how that is any different. If it can be done by medical science, then is it not our duty to pursue it? Is that not what we strive for? To prolong man’s life upon this earth for as long as we can? Then why not be able to reanimate and give new life to those that have been deprived of it? ‘That their days may be prolonged upon the earth?’”
“There comes a point when science has to step aside and give in to a higher power. I fear that in meddling with such things, we will bring down God’s wrath upon our heads!”
“You speak of God again. What of those that have had their life unjustly taken from them? Those that are murdered, or neglected, or by accident have fallen victim to death’s grip. Surely it was not in God’s plan that His children should come to harm before their time, cruelly ripped from this life through no fault of their own.”
“I don’t pretend to know all the answers, Victor. I pride myself
on being open-minded, but I can’t help but feel that you are heading down a dark path. I know you haven’t been writing to Jack or Jonathan. I doubt you have been writing to your family, either, and I see the evidence of it. Over there is a pile of unanswered correspondence,” he pointed. “You sit here in your laboratory, playing at becoming God while neglecting those earthly souls who care most about you.”
Victor finally looked a bit guilty. “I have been busy. But you are right. They likely worry for me. I will write them sometime soon. All in good time.”
A knock came at the door. Van Helsing, who was closest, obliged Victor by opening it for him.
“Mister Frankenstein?”
Victor turned to see a rotund man, barely able to fit into his waistcoat, and with a cravat tied ornately into a style that had gone out of fashion some time ago. Victor himself preferred a more subdued look for his own cravats. The man’s face seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t place from where.
“Yes? That would be me.”
The man stepped into the room. “I am from the College. I have been told that there is some issue with you taking instruments from our school and not returning them when finished.”
“That’s because I am not finished with them yet!” Victor was quick to say.
“That is for the College to decide. If you need them longer, then I suggest you purchase some of your own.” Before Victor could protest, the man had pushed passed him and entered further into the laboratory. He looked around, apparently searching for the very instruments that had gone missing, intending to take them back with him. His eyes widened as they fell upon the body lying upon the table.
“What is that!? Have you also been stealing cadavers from our research labs?”
Victor was at a loss for what to say, for both the truth, and what this man might assume, could get him into trouble.
Van Helsing stepped forward. “I have procured this body for Victor’s use.”
The man looked at him, as though for the first time, and realized that he was a professor at King’s College.
“Very well,” he said, “I will be taking the instruments you have borrowed, Mister Frankenstein, and be on my way.” He stepped back toward the door and waved in a young man, perhaps of Victor’s same age, but due to his clothes and demeanor, was obviously an assistant or servant.
“Help me carry out these things,” the large man snapped his fingers at him, pointing out various instruments. Upon entering the laboratory, the young man’s eyes widened just as his master’s had. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes never wandered far from the corpse. Again and again his gaze fell upon it as he gathered up the instruments his master indicted.
When they at last left, Victor was quick to thank Van Helsing for rescuing him.
“Think nothing of it. But I want you to ruminate long and hard on the things I, as well as Jack and Jonathan, have told you.” He glanced purposefully at the corpse.
“I will,” promised Victor.
There was no use in telling Van Helsing that he had already thought long and hard about this venture. But even with the small reservations he had, Victor believed that the ultimate result would be worth the small twinge to his conscience.
He was frustrated to have lost those instruments. It would set him back to have to now go out and procure his own, but no matter. He could afford to lose a few days. He would get right back on schedule as quickly as he could.
A few days later, as Victor walked back to his laboratory after spending the day shopping for more instruments, he noticed that more people than usually appeared to be heading his same direction. As he came close to the street he needed, he saw a large crowd had gathered around the building that housed his laboratory.
“What is going on?” he asked a passerby.
“It has been discovered that one of the medical students at King’s College has been illegally working on a pet project involving stolen corpses,” the man said with disgust. Anger bubbled to the surface of his face, rendering it unattractive. “I thought we had finally rid ourselves of those vile Resurrectionists!”
Victor could hear loud noises coming from within the building itself. He wound his way through the crowd, finagling a spot up front. He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. He worried that his things were being damaged, but he didn’t dare charge up to his lab and give himself away. He knew how dangerous a riled-up crowd could become. Hailing a passing hansom, he placed his newly-purchased items, wrapped in brown paper, upon the seat and asked the driver to wait while he gathered more of his things.
He finally braved to enter the building when a few other men entered as well, pretending to merely be another angry member of the mob. He hurried up the stairs and found a group of men using a porcelain statue as a battering ram, trying to break into his laboratory. He reached the landing just as the oak door gave a tremendous crack and wood splintered around the door jamb. A few more hard efforts and the men were in.
Victor hurried in behind them and began to quickly snatch up his most essential tools and his spinning apparatus. All around him was chaos. Men smashing or ripping everything they could get their greedy hands on. They even smashed the windows and the lights. Fortunately, in the melee, Victor’s actions went unnoticed. Most likely perceived by those around him to be yet another person from the crowd grabbing up stuff to destroy.
He hurried out of the room and back to the waiting hansom, stuffing his things inside and begging the man to wait a little longer. He would be back in a moment and he would pay the driver handsomely for his trouble. The man nodded his assent, seeming little interested in what Victor was doing.
Victor ran back up to the laboratory, taking the stairs two at a time. He began stuffing as many of his notes as he could into the inside pockets of his waistcoat and trousers. He lamented that all the physical work that he had meticulously done over the course of the last year was ruined, for the body of his creation was the first thing that the crowd laid their selfish hands on, tearing apart months’ worth of work. What a waste! All the jars of pickled organs floating in alcohol that he had meticulously preserved and labeled came crashing down from the shelves upon which they sat, coating the wooden floors in a slimy residue. One of the men had started a fire in the fireplace and was tossing handfuls of paper into it, feeding it the way that strong emotions fed the frenzy around him.
“Hold up. This man is trying to hoard the foul Resurrectionists’ notes!” shouted a bespectacled man a yard away from Victor.
“I bet he is the profane body-snatcher!” cried another.
Hands were suddenly on Victor. He was being pulled in different directions as those around him tried to get at him. He kicked out and his foot landed solidly on one of the men’s kneecaps. The man dropped to the floor with a groan as Victor plunged his elbow into the stomach of another.
Victor was then spun around and a fist met his face, breaking open the skin above his right eyebrow. He ducked as the man cocked back his fist, ready to land another blow. He felt breathing on the back of his neck and launched his head backwards, turning in time to see the man holding both his hands over his nose as blood dribbled between his fingers. Victor got down on his hands and knees and crawled past the many legs surrounding him. Unprepared for this, it took the mob a few seconds to realize that Victor was no longer under their control.
“Don’t let him get away!” shouted a man with a large mustache as the horde ran after Victor, who had just made it to the door of the laboratory. He leaped down the staircase and ran outside. The multitude that had gathered in front of the building had not dissipated, and Victor found it difficult to get through the dense crowd of people.
“Out of the way!” he yelled.
He made it to the waiting hansom and dove inside, slamming the door just as the mob caught up to him. In alarm, the driver snapped his whip above the horse’s head and the mare leaped forth at a steady gallop. The crowd parted to let them through and Victor let out a sigh of relief.
He pulled a handkerchief from his outer vest pocket and pressed it against the wound on his face. He was gratified to realize that he still had all the notes he had managed to grab before being caught. He smiled, and then laughed, no doubt aiding the uneasiness felt by the driver.
He sobered as he realized that he could no longer stay at King’s College. In fact, it would be better if he left England, or Europe, altogether. Get away from the maniacal way people around here felt about what he was doing. For he was not about to give up on his dream. Ever the pragmatist, he knew that this was only a minor setback. He would start over in a new place.
He couldn’t go home. What was more, he didn’t want to go home. In his mind, going home would mean admitting defeat. He didn’t want to return home until he had something to show for his efforts.
He had the driver circle around the block a few times until he was reasonably certain that no one had followed him back to the college. He paid the driver and lugged his things up to his room, which was dusty with disuse. He had been spending all his time at the lab, even sleeping there most nights. He spent the rest of the evening packing and then fell into a fitful night’s sleep, without bothering to undress first.
Early the next morning he was roused by loud noises made by fellow pupils down the hall. The events of last night slowly came back to him. He sat up. His clothes were rumpled and his hair unkempt. Running his fingers through it a few times, he then placed his top hat atop his head, tried to straighten out his clothes, and went downstairs to the refectory for breakfast. He was glad to see that Van Helsing was not there. He didn’t want to have to explain what had happened.
After a hearty meal, Victor hailed a carriage—although he still had no idea where he was going. But he didn’t wish to hang around. In all honesty, he expected Van Helsing to hear the news of what happened last night and come barreling up to his room. Better to leave quietly and write him, along with everyone else, a letter once he was well established somewhere.