FrankenDom

by Rotham, Robin L.

  “The experiment is fully sanctioned by the Montanevan government. And you can’t kill a dead man. The donor will have been officially declared dead before the procedure commences.”

  Horror crept through me, and I put my hands on my head. “Oh my God, you’re serious. I just gave up a prestigious fellowship at a highly respected medical practice and flew halfway around the world for a fucking Frankenstein experiment?”

  Colin winced. “Rachel, don’t—”

  I squeaked when Julian’s fingers clamped on my jaw.

  “Watch your mouth, Dr. McBride,” he snarled in my face, his eyes glinting with fury. “If you wish to voice an opinion about my project, you may do so respectfully or not at all.”

  Prying at his fingers, I tried to lean away but he cupped the back of my head with his other hand.

  “Let go of me!” I gasped.

  “Not until you’re ready to listen,” he said implacably.

  “I’ve heard everything I need to. I’m leaving, Julian. I categorically refuse to be a part of this experiment.”

  “You’re not leaving until you’ve heard me out.”

  I sent Colin a beseeching look. “Colin, help me.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rachel, but he’s right. There are things you need to know before you run away.”

  Feeling betrayed, I said, “Fine, I’ll listen but only if you take your hands off me.”

  Julian’s jaw tensed and he looked like he might refuse, but finally his hold eased and I slid out of his grasp. I immediately walked as far away from him as I could get and still be in the same room.

  Leaning back against the wall to support my shaking legs, I crossed my arms. “I’m listening.”

  He sighed and forked his hands through his hair. “I apologize. I should have thought of a better way to present all this information.”

  “Trust me, there’s no good way to present something like this, Julian,” I told him flatly. “Just get on with it.”

  After sending me a stern look, he sighed again. “All right, let me begin by making it clear that the donor will die whether he participates in our experiment or not. That is not in doubt. It is an absolute certainty.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s scheduled to die by lethal injection at ten p.m. on the day of the procedure, and there will be no last-minute clemency.”

  “Oh my God. Why?”

  “He raped and murdered six teenage boys, one of them Prime Minister Lucescu’s grandson.”

  My mouth worked soundlessly.

  “The condemned prisoner’s name is Augustine Pohlson, and he is the last of only four prisoners ever to occupy Montaneva’s death row. Right now the death penalty is available only for the aggravated murder of children, but on November first, it will be abolished for all offenses so that Montaneva can join the EU.”

  “I’m…speechless,” I finally managed. “How did you manage to arrange this?”

  “Dragos Lucescu is a personal friend of mine.”

  Of course he was.

  “And the prisoner has consented to the donation?”

  “He has,” Julian said with a sharp nod.

  “Just like that,” I said skeptically.

  Colin’s jaw tensed. “He made numerous demands, all of which will have been met before his execution.”

  “Such as?”

  “There’s a confidentiality agreement in place, which has been approved by the donor’s legal counsel,” Julian said, clearly warning Colin with both look and tone not to break it.

  “Wow. That’s…” I shook my head. “It would be strange enough to have to adjust to living with someone else’s body, but a serial killer’s?”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Julian said flatly. “The fact is, Pohlson is going to die, and not only do we know the exact time, place and manner of his death and have access to his body within minutes of cardiac arrest, but his age, size, body type and skin tone are fairly consistent with the recipient’s. We’ll never have a better opportunity. Why should we let his perfectly healthy body rot in the ground when it can be used to save not just the recipient, but the lives of many innocent people?”

  The words made sense but something in me still balked.

  “Think about it, Rachel,” Colin urged. “A body is just like a gun, or a hammer, or even a shoestring—any of them can be used for good or evil. Pohlson’s body was just one of his tools. The true evil resides in his brain, which will be well and truly dead once his head is severed from its blood supply.”

  I shook my head. “I know you’re right, but I still don’t know if I’d choose that life over death.”

  “Fortunately, you don’t have to,” Julian replied. “Obviously the reciprocal procedure will be considerably less involved since it’s only for aesthetic purposes. We just need to provide an intact and reasonably normal-looking corpse for the grieving family to bury.”

  My stomach turned. “Why the whole head? If you’ve developed that kind of capability, why not just the brain?”

  “Mainly because the recipient will wish to carry on with his own life. That would be very difficult to do wearing Augustine Pohlson’s face.”

  “How can you possibly expect him to carry on with his life?” I asked. “Even assuming you’ve discovered how to regenerate nerve axons, there’s no way to fully reconnect the central nervous system once it’s severed. It’s just too mind-bogglingly complex and too little understood.”

  Julian smiled. “As a matter of fact, we have discovered how to regenerate nerve axons. We’ve already treated the patient with stem cells harvested from his own bone marrow, which were nourished with a targeted blend of bio-engineered materials. The effects, unfortunately, were only temporary, but they’ve given us enough time to reach this milestone. After the spinal cord is microsurgically reattached, the attachment site will be treated with similarly nourished stem cells obtained from stored cord blood.”

  I stared at him, wide-eyed. “The donor’s parents banked his cord blood? He must be pretty young.”

  “Too young to die of Bain’s, I promise you.”

  “All right, I’ll accept that you’re able to regenerate nerves, but properly reconnecting the entire central nervous system? No way. It just can’t be done.”

  His smile this time was cunning. “Would you care to bet on that?”

  “Thanks, but no,” I said with a wary glance at Colin, who just grinned.

  “All right, then. Come.” Julian took my hand, his eyes alight with excitement. “I want to show you something.”

  * * * * *

  The castle was much larger than it looked from the front. Once we reached the first floor, it took several minutes to walk from the northwest tower to the south wing. Before we entered the lab, I heard the yipping and whining of dogs and braced myself for all kinds of grotesque animal head transplants gone wrong.

  Fortunately, all I saw was a variety of very normal dogs in large kennels. Most of them went wild with excitement at the sight of us, jumping and pacing and barking, begging for attention.

  A dark-haired man poked his head around another door and then walked in. “Colin, Dr. Kilmartin,” he said enthusiastically, wiping his hands on his coveralls before offering one to Julian. “Sorry about the racket, but they’re going crazy being cooped up inside and I haven’t exercised them all yet.”

  “Not a problem, Michael,” Julian said as they shook hands. “I just wanted Dr. McBride to meet our friends here.”

  Colin squatted by a kennel housing two very similar black toy poodles. “Victor and Hugo, meet Dr. Rachel McBride. Rachel, Victor and Hugo.”

  Sending him a quizzical glance, I squatted, too, and reached through the chain link door with my fingers. “Nice to meet you,” I said as they both licked at me.

  “Victor and Hugo were our first successful reciprocal transplant subjects two years ago,” Julian said.

  My eyes widened and I stared hard at their necks. I couldn’t see a thing. “That ca
n’t be.”

  “Ah, but it is. Look at Hugo’s neck. Feel it.”

  Colin opened the small trap door at the bottom and reached in for one of the dogs. Taking the wriggling , wagging little body, I managed to secure him in the crook of my arm long enough to get an up-close look at his neck.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, tracing the barely-visible scar all the way around with my fingers. “You actually did it?”

  “We did. His head was originally on Victor’s body and vice-versa.”

  “I can’t believe it. They’re both…”

  “Perfectly functional in every way,” Julian finished with a satisfied smile. “In fact, both have sired a litter of puppies since the surgery.”

  My mind reeled as I stroked the dog’s head. “But how?”

  “We devised a chemical process called neurocode marking,” Colin explained. “New axons tend to follow previously traced pathways, and by chemically marking them in both bodies prior to surgery, we can dictate which neural pathways the regenerated axons should follow—kind of like laying down a highly individualized trail of breadcrumbs for each of them.”

  I looked around. All the kennels contained pairs of almost identical dogs. “So all of these were reciprocal transplants?”

  Julian nodded. “All eight pairs, yes.”

  “And how many more were unsuccessful?”

  “At least that many,” he said flatly. “But none after Victor and Hugo. None after we finally hit upon the proper neurochemical compound.”

  “And you believe you can achieve this same level of function in human subjects?”

  “I know we can,” he said. “Everything the donor body was able to accomplish, the recipient should be able to accomplish. With the exception, of course, of occupations that require a great deal of knowledge and training, such as musician, artist or surgeon. The donor body will lack muscle memory, and probably the fine motor skills, for pursuits like neurosurgery, but it’s a small price to pay for an otherwise full life.”

  While Colin returned the dog to the kennel, Julian reached out to help me up.

  I shook my head in wonder. “If this operation is successful, do you realize what it could mean?”

  “Besides an untimely end to wheelchair manufacturers?”

  “Julian, how can you joke about this?”

  “I’m not joking. The neurocoding process alone could save thousands of people from wheelchairs every year.”

  “If it’s successful.”

  “It will be.”

  I sighed. “All right, you’ve convinced me to stay. But,” I added, “it’s all got to be strictly by the book and documented every step of the way. You’re skating on some very thin ice here, both morally and ethically, and it won’t take much for everyone involved to fall through.”

  “I promise you, Rachel, I’ve documented everything thoroughly. When we get back to the—” Julian pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and glanced at it. “Excuse me, but I really must take this. Colin, why don’t you show Rachel to the exercise facilities and have Hans prepare a training schedule for her. We can resume our tour after lunch.”

  * * * * *

  Bangenschloss was bursting at the seams with sadists.

  Hans, it turned out, was a buff blond sadist of the personal trainer variety who didn’t let the fact that I’d just flown in the previous day stand in the way of his plan for salvaging my pathetic physique. When Colin made it clear we had nowhere to be until lunch at one o’clock, Hans ordered me to the locker room to change into my workout clothes. I was simultaneously thrilled and terrified to inform him I hadn’t brought any.

  Then I was simultaneously irked and relieved to be informed my locker was stocked with everything I needed for an effective workout, including cross-training shoes.

  Apparently shirts didn’t number among the things I needed for my workout to be effective. I slunk out of the locker room feeling conspicuously naked in black spandex pants and a white sports bra. Colin had changed, too, but he got to wear loose shorts and a wife-beater.

  Grinning like the rat he was, he went straight to the treadmill and started at a slow jog.

  Hans went straight for my vital statistics, humming and clucking and generally looking very concerned as he jotted down measurements for my height, weight, thighs, hips and waist.

  When he got to my bust, I was surprised and a little unnerved to see an appreciative smile curving his lips. “Reichliche Titten,” he murmured, as the backs of his fingers brushed over them. “I cannot wait to see them freed of such confinement.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Dirk, would you?”

  His smile widened. “Ja. He is my brother.”

  Great. Did that mean there was chance he’d actually see my breasts freed of their confinement?

  The idea was less intimidating than intriguing, which disturbed me a bit. One day into the lifestyle and I was already shedding inhibitions at an alarming rate.

  After Hans wrote down the measurement, he pulled out calipers and began assessing my body fat, which almost made me want to go back to bust measuring. That, at least, had made him smile.

  “Soft,” he pronounced, with a scowl, “which is splendid für irhe Titten, but not so much für ihre Arme. We will fix.”

  “Don’t go overboard on the arms yet,” said Colin, who’d already moved on to the strength training machines. “She has to be able to operate for at least the next couple of weeks.”

  “Ja, ja,” Hans muttered with a roll of his hazel eyes.

  He put me on the treadmill for a ten-minute “warmup” that left me gasping and then proceeded to torture me with circuit training, alternating between sets on the leg, ab and back machines and short bursts on the treadmill. Then I went head-to-head with the BOSU ball, but by that time my leg muscles were already trembling too much to maintain balance and the ball kicked my butt.

  “Pussy,” Hans snorted, squatting beside me when I flopped out on my back.

  “Is that a request?” I joked, still gasping for breath.

  “Is that an offer?” he countered, laying his big hand between my legs without waiting for confirmation.

  I rolled away, jackknifing to a sitting position. “I was kidding!”

  He shrugged and stood up. “If you’ve been properly introduced to Dirk, you should know better than to tease a German.”

  “He’s right.” Colin pulled me to my feet and handed me a small towel. “Germans are pretty hardcore.”

  Still eyeing Hans with distrust, I said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  To my dismay, they both followed me into the locker room and proceeded to strip out of their workout clothes, which took only seconds.

  “Unless you want to meet Julian for lunch smelling like that,” Colin said, “I’d suggest you get naked and get in the shower, Rachel.” He started toward me. “Or do you need help again?”

  I could only stand there with my heart pounding in my throat while he dug his fingers under the sweat-soaked band of my bra and pulled it off over my head. Then I grabbed his naked shoulders when he squatted to yank off my shoes and socks, and then stripped down my pants and panties with one sharp tug.

  And just like that I was naked with two naked men, one of them a veritable stranger. Again.

  “Pretty,” Hans said with an appreciative tug at his erect cock. “Very pretty.”

  I winced when Colin pulled the band out of my hair and took several strands with it.

  “Shower,” he said, nudging me forward. “Now.”

  Giving Hans a wide berth, I darted into the next tiled room, which was equipped with several shower heads along one wall and corresponding sinks and mirrors on the opposite wall. At the far end of the room were two doors, one wood and the other glass, which I assumed led to a sauna and steam room.

  And in the middle of the floor was a gigantic sunken hot tub filled with steaming, roiling water. The sight of it made me groan with longing. I loved hot-tubbing after a worko
ut, especially when I could do it sans swimsuit. There was nothing like the feel of all those hot currents and bubbles rushing over my naked skin.

  “No time today,” Colin said repressively, shoving me toward a showerhead and turning it on. The water was freezing and I jumped back with an outraged gasp.

  “You jerk!” Just to show him, I jumped into the hot tub and sat down. The water was just this side of boiling, making my chilled skin prickle.

  Standing at the edge of the tub, he put his hands on his hips and sighed while I grinned up at him. “Rachel, get out of there now. We’re going to be late.”

  “I’m just waiting until the shower warms up,” I said, swirling my hands through the chlorinated water. My bad girl was really having fun now.

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  By the time my good girl pressed the panic button, big hands were already dragging me out of the tub by my underarms and plopping my butt on the cool tiled edge.

  Oh shit, Julian must have been in the steam room. He was naked but for the towel barely hanging onto his hips and his hair and skin were dripping.

  “What did he tell you, Rachel?” he demanded with a grim look.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. “To get in the shower,” I said meekly.

  “To get in the shower, what, Rachel?”

  “To get in the shower, Sir,” I said even more meekly.

  “Why did he tell you that, Rachel?”

  I swallowed. “Because he didn’t want us to be late for lunch, Sir.”

  “Correct. I’m a very busy man and we still have entirely too much to accomplish today—indeed, every day for the next two weeks. But you apparently don’t give a damn about anyone’s timetable but your own, do you, Rachel?”

  My eyes filled with tears. God, this was awful. This was why I’d never misbehaved even as a child. I just couldn’t deal with disappointing someone I loved. Even my bad girl was miserable and apprehensive.