Cornelius and I had such high hopes when we first embarked on this project together. We worked closely, side by side. He understood and respected my science as I did his. But in these last months since poor Adele’s death he hardly sleeps. When he does, usually it’s on a cot in the laboratory. He has taken to using the main laboratory on the top floor here in the house rather than the smaller one beneath the grounds at the cottage on the other side of the property. It is larger here, taking up the whole of the top floor.
He allows no one inside except Athan and locks the door so no one can disturb him. He has even locked me out. I feel abandoned by him. Forty years we have lived as man and wife, partners in all ways, of one mind. Suddenly it is as though a part of me has been ripped away.
I do not know what to do. There is no one I can call or confide in. There is only Athan. And yet I see the look in his eyes each time we make the journey to Heartbreak Hill. I see the knowledge that it could have been him. What has made him so different from those who have not survived?
I wish I could make him understand the spiritual nature of what I believe. But all he sees is the monster he so very easily could have become. I do not know how to help him.
I grow weary, so very weary of being the safeguard for my husband. What if I make one misstep and we are discovered? What will happen to Athan? Who will take care of him?
I can hear Cornelius even now, ranting away at the futility of what he is trying to do. Is it his age that makes him so frantic? Does he feel the impending end to his research? He will not talk to me. He no longer shares his thoughts.
There was a time when I understood him so well there was hardly a need for words to pass between us. We are past the time when there can be a remedy to what has gone before. We have breached the point of no return.
I am so very tired. Athan tries to bear the brunt of the responsibility on his shoulders, but there is only so much even he can do. Cornelius listens to no one.
I feel his mind has gone but there is no way to have him institutionalized. Even for the ramblings of a crazy man, someone might believe his words and seek to discover the truth. I cannot allow that to happen.
It is midnight once again and I cannot sleep for the decisions I have had to make. It tears my heart out but we have come to the end. I must do it for his own protection. I never would have thought it would come to this, but there is no other choice.
I can no longer remember my life before Cornelius, before the time I became his assistant. I cannot imagine my life if something were to happen to him. I could not go on. Not without him. I must see to his safety and that no more harm can be done, not only to him but by him.
Athan is for the most part self-sufficient and can take care of himself as long as he remains on the estate. I have taken care of matters so that he will be well cared for no matter what happens to us. Since his creation he has never left the grounds, except to go to the town. The outside world would never understand him and I fear would treat him ill. He must be protected at all costs. I do not wish to see him harmed. Because of this I will take steps to be certain our research will never come to light.
Two hours ago, he came to me and we discussed what must happen in order to protect Cornelius and our life here. Athan has taken it upon himself to prepare apartments in the west tower. He is seeing to the installation of the locks on the doors and the windows. There is no other way. I can’t stand the thought of it, but there truly is no other way to protect Cornelius from himself. Oh, God, how has it come down to this?
In youth we do not foresee the end. We think we shall continue forever. As Athan will do. He is the perfect embodiment of all we hold precious--youth, freedom from disease, and immortality. In Athan we have created perfection.
He came to me tonight and we spoke of what needs to be done both to contain Cornelius and to secure the estate. All through dinner we listened to the rantings of my husband, knowing we must bide our time for the moment. Tonight he is again to meet with the body thief to procure another corpse for his twisted deeds.
I sometimes wonder if it is Cornelius who has changed, or is it me? Is it that Athan fills all the void places inside me and I have no wish to delve further? Have I become too content with what we have achieved in Athan?
I went to my own lab early this morning and prepared the mixture we will require to subdue Cornelius until he can be confined. The vial is now with Athan. He will see that Cornelius imbibes it at the appropriate time once the rooms in the tower are complete.
Athan has everything he needs in the cottage to continue his treatments on his own. We have altered the electrophasm equipment so that he will be able to work it himself. It is now hooked up to a self-timer and we have several of the connections and brackets wired to open and close automatically.
The only thing I fear is his need to expend immediately. We have worked on his self-control but the minute anyone sees him in that condition of charged energy they are likely to run in horror from what they do not understand. As Adele did.
We have arranged a temporary solution in the form of a disguise of sorts to shield the effects from his lovers. I am no longer a young woman who can satisfy his demands, and Cornelius has lost interest. All I can do now is create an atmosphere in which he may thrive without fear of discovery of his true nature. If we allow Cornelius to continue on his tangent we will be lost and everything we have accomplished thus far will be destroyed.
I have turned to Athan for my strength. I have imparted all the knowledge that I am able. He is almost as familiar with my science as I am and learns quickly. We no longer speak of what goes on behind the closed doors of my husband’s laboratory. I cannot bear to know the extent of the deterioration of the man I have loved for what seems eternity. It is my job now to care for him as best I can.
Korrie closed the journal. So much pain contained in these pages. The words seemed to tie her closely to the woman who had written them. Sheba had been her mentor all these years, sharing her secrets, her passions, her science.
And now she had given her the man she had loved with the most captivating passion of all. She had given her Athan. She was certain it was Sheba’s voice that had sent her to the cottage. These were her last, desperate attempts to protect her beloved creation. Her spirit still hovered over the halls and garden. Korrie doubted she would leave until she was absolutely certain Athan had the one thing he wanted more than any other--to no longer walk alone.
* * * * *
“Athan, show me where they’re buried.”
His expression changed, grew guarded. “I haven’t been to the hill since you arrived. It’s not a good place, Korrie. Why would you want to go there?”
She shrugged. “I guess I need to see for myself. I’m here to study the Ransoms and their research,” she reminded him softly. “I’m going to need to write a report…something to satisfy the institute.”
“And you’ll tell them about me in this report?”
She reached out to touch his face, needing the connection. “No, Athan. I won’t tell them about you.” She exhaled on a long breath. “I’ve been thinking about it. This is very hard for me. It was my idea to broach the estate about examining the records and documentation on the experiments the Ransoms did, for their historical value. I never thought ‑‑”
“That you would find me,” he finished for her. “Dr. Sheba never made me feel like an experiment.”
“But Cornelius Ransom did,” she surmised. From reading the journal and the notebook, everything Cornelius Ransom did was in furtherance of his experiments on the creation of life. He even used sex to study Athan’s reactions and responses. “You’re a gift, someone so special; revealing your existence could destroy the one beautiful thing out of this whole mess. Sheba wanted you protected, and I can understand why.”
She straightened away. “I have to tell them something, give them at least a morsel more than what Paul did to appease their curiosity. It may not be what the Ransoms would have wanted, but it’s the
only thing I can do to keep them from calling me back or sending someone else out here.”
He looked at her, and she felt him trying to dissect what was going through her mind. Heavens, she didn’t even know herself. She was about to do something she had never done before. She was going to purposely falsify a report. Oh, she’d give them accurate information, just not all of it. And they would have to find a way to destroy any record of Athan’s creation so there was no chance of anyone ever finding it.
Research on cloning and organ transplants had far surpassed the experimentation done by the Ransoms. But Athan was another issue. His immortality posed a problem. If the institute found out about him, there would be no peace for Athan ever again. She couldn’t bear the thought of what they would do to him in the name of science.
She leaned across the patio table, reaching for his hands. “Help me, Athan. Show me what I need to know in order to protect you and your privacy.”
“Why would you do this for me?”
She could see his brain working as he tried to sort out her motivations. She drew back, needing some distance. Having known him, even for such a short time, she had become aware of the distinct, overpowering masculine scent he exuded on occasion. Being a scientist, she made note of her responses when the pheromones kicked in. And she tried to control the desire that was already building inside her. She could not allow herself to be blinded by the sexual responses he instilled in her.
“Do you know what love is, Athan? Outside of the primality of your instinctual drive for sexual intimacy? Do you understand that Sheba loved you? Have you ever loved anyone?”
He dropped his head forward and she couldn’t see his expression. He was quiet for a long time. Then he looked at her, and she saw the flashing emotion in his eyes. “I looked it up once. In the dictionary. I have felt protective of Dr. Sheba and Dr. Cornelius. I know I would have given my life to save them. I have felt lust for the lovers who have come to me for satisfaction. I have been grateful to the ones who have allowed me to expend. I have felt sadness at the deaths of those I have cared for.” There was a question in his eyes when he looked at her. “I don’t know if this is love or not. It seems sometimes to be such a fleeting, fragile emotion, elusive to me in some way. I don’t know if I can use just one word to describe my emotions for the people who have passed through this immortal existence of mine.”
“God, Athan, every time I’m near you, when you speak to me, when I listen to your words, I feel like I ‑‑” How did she tell him she fell deeper in love with him each time she was in his presence? He was the most fascinating and sensitive person she had ever met in her life.
“What, Korrie? You feel what?” He leaned across the small, circular mosaic table and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t a demanding kiss; it was soft and seductive. His large, warm hand cupped her jaw, a finger stroking along the lines of her chin. She was hypnotized by the odd lightning of his expressive eyes. “When I am with you, so deep inside you, I feel the frantic beating of your heart. I think this connection I have with you is something so special, so unique. It is a feeling, a peace, I have never known before.”
“I feel it, too, Athan,” she whispered. “And I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t stay here. I have a job, a duty to the institute, to my father’s work.” He released her and straightened away.
“Of course. You have a life outside my world. You will leave.”
“Oh, Athan, if there were any way for me to stay, I would. But if I did that, there would be questions, lots of questions, that neither of us would be willing to answer. It would draw attention to the estate, the exact sort of attention you don’t need or want.”
He gazed off into the distance, and she felt the tangible withdrawal and. It left her cold and alone. She could only imagine what he was feeling--the solitude he had to live with, the secrecy.
“If there were any other way, I would take it. I’m falling in love with you, Athan, and I don’t know what to do.” There, she’d said it. She was scared to death about what it would mean to her in the future.
His gaze flashed back to hers and there was a warmth in his expression she’d never seen there before. She dropped her head forward and clenched her fists. “I don’t know what to do. What’s right.”
“It’s all right, Korrie. Don’t think about it right now. Not today.” He rose from his seat. “If you want to go to the hill, we will go there so that you may write your report. Do you have sturdy walking shoes on? It will be a steep climb.”
She got up. “Yes. I’ll be fine.”
He turned toward the steps leading from the patio into the garden, then veered toward the left.
He led her to another path through the woods, one shifting away from the one she had followed to the cottage. They came out at the edge of a wide, uncultivated field. Korrie shivered as dark clouds drew in to cover the sun’s rays. Athan shrugged off his worn tan corduroy jacket and slung it around her shoulders.
“On this side of the estate, the sun never shines. It hasn’t for a very long time.”
She saw a hill in the distance rising up, almost meeting the lower-lying gray clouds. A feeling of dread settled over her the closer they drew to the hill. It was an odd sensation of sadness and despair that suddenly seemed to grip her.
“This is a sad place, Korrie. The spirits do not rest peacefully here.”
“I can feel them,” she whispered.
“Are you certain you want to do this, to go up there?”
She nodded. She had to know the worst of it. They stopped at the base of the hill and she looked up. The top was cloaked in mist, the wind whistled and howled in this desolate corner of the estate. The loud keening of the wind seemed to be voices crying out, filled with pain. Again, she shivered, but it wasn’t because of the chill air. She could smell the dank atmosphere of wet earth, clinging silently above. Of death.
The expression on Athan’s face was bleak, the look in his eyes stormy, matching the image of the hill.
“Sheba called it Heartbreak Hill in her journal.”
He nodded. “Yes. It was her name for it. She always felt the sadness here when she accompanied me. None of those who are buried here rest peacefully.”
Korrie lifted her head and stared upward. “Let’s go,” she said with determination. Everything inside her said to run the other way. And do it quickly. Slowly, they ascended along an overgrown path, Athan first, clearing the way for her.
Near the top, they came to a set of stone steps that ended at the crest. Athan paused and Korrie sat on the bottom step, needing a moment to catch her breath. She’d thought she was in rather good shape, considering she ran regularly. But the steepness of this hill was something else entirely. Or maybe it was also because of what awaited her above.
“It’s not much farther,” he said as he hooked a foot on the step and looked down at her, waiting as she rested there. The wind whipped around them.
She looked across the estate toward where she could see the towers of the house in the distance. Beyond that, the sun was shining, clear and bright, not a cloud in the sky. Warmth awaited her upon her return from this place of death. She could almost smell the decaying corpses that lay beneath the earth, and she shuddered at the nightmarish visions that entered her mind.
Abruptly she rose and turned to the hill. “Let’s go. I think I want to get this over with.”
He straightened and led the way up the remaining distance to reach the top. It was a journey she hoped never to make again.
She stopped, hovering on the last step, staring across at the yawning, leafless tree that looked as ancient and dead as the atmosphere around it, branches reaching out to the sky, to the land, sharp and pleading for relief from the earth.
The ground itself at the top of the hill was barren of any living vegetation. “There are no grave markers,” she gasped in shock.
“Yes. There are.” He walked a few steps, looked at the moist ground, and pointed. “They are lodged into the eart
h ‑‑ stone markers. I know they are here.” He led her across the open space, walking carefully, pointing out each marker to her.
She looked past the daunting, lifeless oak tree and saw something beyond. “What about over there?”
She felt the heaviness of his deep sigh. “That’s where Dr. Sheba and Dr. Cornelius are buried. And Adele.”
She noted that their graves were marked with headstones and separated in a black iron enclosure. She circled around the tree and stepped to the entrance. Reaching out, she grasped the iron gate and felt a bone-chilling coldness envelope her.
All around her this place was permeated with the smell and feel of agonizing death. She noted the bouquet of cut red roses residing in a vase between the headstones. They looked fairly fresh. She turned to gaze up at Athan.
“You come here regularly, don’t you? To tend them. You care for all of this.” She now realized that even the others with the flattened, stone-carved markers were kept from disappearing altogether. This sad graveyard was tended regularly.
“Someone must remember them.”
“Oh, Athan. The terrible secrets you must carry.” She couldn’t help herself as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his hard chest. She could hear the strong thunder of his heart.
He lived. He breathed. Just as she did. Just as they all did. He may have been created differently, but he was still as human as any of them, in her opinion more so than many people she’d met over the years. He was so much more than the caretaker of the estate. He was the caretaker of these poor souls and the dark secrets this place hid from the outside world.
“Let’s go back, Athan. I’ve seen enough. I need the sunshine.” She looked up at him. “I need to feel you inside me. There’s so much sadness here, I don’t know how you bear it.”
She felt his arms tighten around her, but he said nothing. She didn’t know how to begin to help him. It wasn’t just a mere lifetime he had to deal with this ‑‑ it was eternity. How did one even begin to understand the enormity of that existence?
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