The Madman's Daughter (Madman's Daughter - Trilogy)

by Megan Shepherd

  I rested my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. It wasn’t just my curiosity, or my fascination with anatomy, or how I could unhesitatingly chop a rabbit’s head off with an ax when a roomful of boys couldn’t. Those things were all symptoms of the same sickness—a kind of madness inherited from my father. It was a dangerous pull in my gut drawing me toward the dark possibilities of science, toward the thin line between life and death, toward the animal impulses hidden behind a corset and a smile.

  Turn back, I heard Mother whispering. It’s wrong, what he’s doing. But she was no longer here to scold me. I was free from her and society and the watching eyes of the church. I could do whatever I wanted. But what did I want? To follow that slithering curiosity to Father’s laboratory door, or to listen to Mother’s ghost and go back to bed where I could close my ears to the screaming?

  One last wail came from the laboratory. Air slipped from my lungs. A tuft of snow-white fur blew slowly across the stone portico. I picked it up and rubbed it between my fingers. Next to me the dark entrance to the barn gaped like a chasm. I peered inside cautiously.

  Out of the darkness came a white shape, hopping to the edge of the barn, just inches from my toes. One of the rabbits. Somehow, it had escaped its cage.

  Father didn’t eat rabbits. They were intended, rather, for the sharpened blade of a scalpel. To pursue science. But the difference was that my father wasn’t accused of practicing science. He’d been accused of butchery. He’d already crossed that forbidden line long ago. And I couldn’t lie down on my feather mattress and just listen to it. To understand my own curiosity, I needed to understand his.

  I returned to the laboratory. The tin door had the same latching doorknob as the rest of the buildings. I squeezed it slowly with bated breath. I felt the latch catch and release. It opened in my hand, silent as the night, but I dared not enter.

  The sharp smells of rubbing alcohol and formaldehyde slipped from the cracked doorway. In an instant, I was a little girl again, sneaking into her father’s laboratory. The memory was so strong, I almost shut the door and ran back to my room.

  But a whisper came from the dark.

  I held my breath to keep the smells at bay. Peeking through the cracked door, my eyes adjusted slowly. At the end of the room, a shadowy figure stood over a wooden operating table surrounded by a lantern and candles on a high shelf. The candlelight reflected in dozens of dark glass jars lining the walls, like the glowing prayer candles in a dark cathedral. Only these jars didn’t hold votives, but things I could only imagine.

  Specimens. Experiments. Nightmares.

  And the figure at the front, the unholy priest, was my father. His back was to me, but I knew the tight set of his shoulders and shape of his head. Whatever was on the table was half covered by a sheet, and all I could make out was the shape of thin limbs, the scarlet spill of blood on the sheet, a pile of towels at Father’s feet, the silver gleam from the surgical instruments. The sound of fluid slowly dripping reminded me of the ticking clock in the dining room. Father said something in his low voice. I imagined more of his haunting commandments, some kind of terrible prayer, but it was only mental notes to himself. He lowered the blade to the table. The scalpel pressed against firm flesh, which gave, the muscle opening like butter.

  The thing on the table jerked to life with a painful squeal. Its cry was a blade to my heart. Thick leather manacles bound its limbs to the corners, but it writhed wildly under the sheet. My sweaty palm slipped on the door latch. I wiped it on my skirt. As terrified as I was, my eyes were riveted to that table.

  Father seemed unfazed by the thing’s torment. The manacles strained and rattled, but they held. Father kept cutting, a slice here, another there, as graceful as an orchestra conductor. He hummed a few notes of a melody. The Chopin piece, I realized with a sickening lurch. I caught only glimpses as his hands flew over the creature. A flap of skin, pale and still dripping with subcutaneous fat, pulled back on its shin. A white bit of bone flashing in the candlelight. Father covered it with a towel to stanch the blood, but the towel soaked quickly. He peeled it off carefully and dropped it into the growing pile at his feet. So much blood. It made me tipsy. For a moment my thoughts slipped out of my control, into a primal hunger. What was he doing? This wasn’t just vivisection. It was much more than that.

  He was creating something.

  He stepped away, clearing my line of vision. I got a look at the leg under the sheet, and my throat tightened. Instead of toes, there hung a stump wrapped in a bloody bandage. No, no, this is wrong. It was my own voice now, not Mother’s. It didn’t matter what he had discovered, what higher purpose he thought he was following. He’d crossed the line into a place you couldn’t come back from.

  The thing’s skin looked pale, sickly. He must have shaved the creature, because its leg looked almost human except for the twisting hinge of the knee. I swallowed—I’d seen that same awkward twist before, in Balthazar and the other islanders’ lurching limbs.

  It couldn’t be a coincidence. An inkling of what he was doing in that laboratory ruffled my thoughts. He was operating on the islanders … but why?

  Father came back with a wooden clamp that he set over the ankle, holding it still. The toneless humming faded as he pressed his fingers delicately along either side of the knee. With a grunt, he threw his weight against the leg and cracked the knee socket, buckling it against the brace.

  I cried out. I couldn’t help myself. But the creature’s wail matched my own and drowned my voice. Its cry rattled the glass cabinets. A candle fell from the shelf and crashed onto Father’s hand. He cursed and jerked his hand back, knocking the sheet off the creature.

  I looked away, but it was too late—I’d already seen the animal body stretched out unnaturally, limbs splayed like a human’s. Impossible to tell what creature it was or had once been.

  My stomach threatened to bring up supper. I blinked back angry, frightened tears. Frightened for the beast, and frightened for myself—for inheriting my father’s sick curiosity. I should have run back to my room and forgotten all of it. It wasn’t the blood or the flesh that made me sick, but what he was doing. Evil. He was what they said he was. A madman. A demon.

  A monster.

  Through the crack in the door came his voice.

  “Blasted devil. Boy, come hold it down!”

  He was speaking to someone. I pressed my eye against the door crack. The thing on the table had worked free of one manacle and was rattling the table in an effort to get loose. A second figure appeared from some dark corner, looking ghostly through the screen of my tears. As he approached the candlelight, I recognized the blond hair falling into his eyes, the handsome tanned face. He threw his weight on the thing on the table, pinning it down, and jabbed a needle into its arm. My heart shot to my throat.

  Montgomery. He was more than just aware of Father’s experiments—he was assisting him. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Not Montgomery.

  My knee slid and knocked into the tin laboratory door. It shook with a loud metallic tremble that made my breath catch. I dared a glance into the laboratory to see Father turn, peering keenly at the crack in the door.

  “Who’s there?” he barked. And then, “Find out, Montgomery. Use the dogs if you must.”

  I slammed the door shut. My limbs screamed to get away. Run.

  But where to? The gate was locked. I was trapped.

  I dashed into the warm darkness of the barn, hiding, fleeing, pacing. I glanced at the roof. It was thatch, so there was a chance I could climb through. The wilderness beyond was uncertain, but that was better than the certainty of what was happening in the laboratory. I grabbed a pitchfork and, balanced on top of a sawhorse, thrust it through the roof, dodging falling straw and sticks, until a shaft of moonlight poured through the hole. I hoisted myself up onto the wide rafter beams, kicking my feet, and pulled myself through the thatch into the warm night air.

  It didn’t matter what was out there as long as it was
away from the truth.

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the courtyard. Montgomery. He’d soon find out I was gone and hunt me down with the bloodhounds. He’d drag me back to Father’s nightmare in minutes.

  I climbed down into the barn again, kicked off the hutch latch, and pulled out two kicking rabbits. They squirmed in my hands. I climbed back onto the sawhorse and pushed them through the thatch hole, then went back for the rest before pulling myself after them. The rabbits wouldn’t stop the dogs, but they might slow them down.

  I dropped to the ground. Pain shot through my shins. Then I was tearing blindly through the jungle.

  NINETEEN

  I DIDN’T STOP RUNNING until the first rays of daylight broke through the canopy. The dogs’ barking, distant as ghosts, might only have been my imagination. Closer, the sound of water led me to a stream. I collapsed on the bank to fill my dry throat with cool water.

  That frantic night before, under moonlight echoing with the sound of screams, fleeing had seemed imperative. But in daylight I doubted my decision. My arms were covered with red scratches. I knew my face must look the same. The house shoes were little more than shreds. I peeled them off, wincing, and tossed them into the stream. They’d be useless to me now. I eased my bruised feet into the water. I buried my face in my hands, losing myself in the rushing sound of the stream.

  A hand touched my shoulder.

  I jerked up, ready to scream, but just as fast another hand was covering my mouth.

  “Shh. It’s me.”

  Panic made me twist away, tearing Mother’s dress against the river stones. “Edward!”

  Sweat ran down his face from running. I could only stare as if he were a ghost. He’d followed me. My dream came back, the blood on his hands, that cold kiss.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked between breaths.

  “I saw you from my window tearing through the jungle like a demon was after you.” He splashed water over his face and neck and wiped it off with his cuff. “I came after you. It’s not safe out here, Juliet—”

  “Did you see? Inside the laboratory?”

  He paused. Took in my bruised feet, my torn dress. “No, but I heard the screams. I can guess what he was doing in there. I told you there was no good reason for a doctor to live in such a remote place. But you shouldn’t have run. It’s dangerous. I couldn’t bear for you to get hurt.…”

  My heart wrenched a little that he’d risked his own safety to come after me. And then I remembered why I had run. How my curiosity had pulled me to that laboratory like a hungry animal to a fresh kill. I shuddered, disgusted with myself.

  “I had to get away.” I rubbed the life back into my aching feet, pushing hard until I felt sparks of pain. “I saw something I wish I hadn’t.” I looked him in the eye, wondering if he was strong enough to deal with the truth. He’d survived twenty days at sea. He’d had the courage to run away from a wealthy life—not an easy feat. Something in me wanted to test his strength, to see just how much he could take.

  He lowered his voice. “What did you see?”

  I closed my eyes and replayed the scene from the laboratory. The twisted limbs, just like Balthazar and the rest of the islanders. All the caged animals. My head had suspected the connection, even though my heart didn’t want to believe it: Father might be creating things—creatures—out of vivisected animals.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t go back there. I thought there might be other people on the island. The missionaries, maybe …”

  “It’s dangerous out here. People are dying.”

  I frowned. “That islander who was killed? Father said it was an accident.”

  “It was no accident. No one accidentally has his heart clawed out of his chest.”

  My spine went rigid, forcing me to my feet. I paced without even meaning to. I’d suspected Father hadn’t told me the truth, but not like this. “What do you mean?”

  “They found the body near the beach. Three claw marks to the chest. Not the first one, either. They’re still finding some of the bodies. Puck told me some terrible stories.”

  I glanced at the dark jungle. It wasn’t the dogs Edward was worried about, but a dangerous wild animal. I remembered the bandoliers around Balthazar’s chest. Father eating a strawberry slowly, telling me it was nothing to worry about.

  I shook my head. “Montgomery would have said something. He wouldn’t have let me come if it was dangerous.”

  “Montgomery’s been away six months. He didn’t know,” Edward continued. “Neither he nor your father knows what’s killing people. That’s why I came after you. We have to go back before it finds us.”

  “No! I can’t face him. Don’t you understand? I don’t want to ever see him again.”

  “It’s better than getting clawed to death!” He took a deep breath. “You need to go back. Whatever you saw in that laboratory, pretend you didn’t. Just long enough until we can think of a way off the island.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said bitterly. “They lied to me—Father, Montgomery. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve heard rumors … there was a scandal.…” I shook my head. Tears were threatening to spill, and I hated myself for the vulnerability. Years of my life had hinged on this one question: What type of man was my father?

  And now I knew.

  But Edward didn’t. He thought I’d simply come to reunite with an estranged father. I leaned forward, cupping my face. “You don’t understand.”

  He paused. The tic in his jaw started. “I know about the scandal,” he said.

  My head jerked up. “How?”

  He studied me as if anticipating my reaction. “When I was in London—”

  Something growled in the trees, silencing him. I lost my footing and nearly slipped into the creek. It was an ungodly noise, not human or animal.

  Edward flexed his still-bruised knuckles, his words forgotten. “We have to go back. Can you run?” He glanced at my bare feet.

  “I’ll manage.”

  We tore through the jungle. The ground sloped downhill and we stumbled over vines, over thorns, through dense foliage that clawed at our limbs and tangled our feet. I tripped on a twisted root and slammed into the ground, my knee finding a sharp rock, my hands sinking into the moist layers of rotting leaves. I wiped the stains of the island on my dress as Edward pulled me to my feet.

  “Sh,” he said. “Listen.”

  We stood together, my head so close to his chest that I could hear the thump of his heart. There were always sounds in the jungle. Insects. Birds. Creaks and cracking, like whispers. As if someone was always following, watching from the ever-present screen of leaves.

  “I thought I heard …” His whisper trailed off. For a moment it was just us and our heartbeats in the wilderness.

  And then the thing snarled again, sudden and shrill. I could feel its rabid excitement.

  Whatever it was, it had caught our trail.

  We darted in and out of the foliage, making our way along the narrow spaces between trees, following the slope downhill. As if the island were guiding us. To where, I didn’t know.

  I glanced back fleetingly, wondering what it was—a wild animal or something worse. But the jungle was too dense. It could have been a stone’s throw away and I wouldn’t have seen it.

  My feet screamed for relief. We came to another stream, and Edward dashed across some rocks, but I paused for a second to catch my breath with my aching feet in the cool water. My heart thudded in my ears. When I looked up, Edward had disappeared amid the undergrowth.

  Behind me the thing screamed.

  “Edward!” I called. But the rush of the stream drowned my words. I struggled out of the water, slipping on the mud. My fingers clawed at the soft bank. The twisting thorns along the side tangled in my hair, grabbing at my dress, carving their mark into my arms. The island had its claim on me. I tore at the thorns with my bare hands, feeling stings of pain but not caring. The island wasn’t going to make me its prisoner.


  A vine of thorns snapped back and struck me across the face. I stumbled back into the water, gasping for breath.

  If the island wasn’t going to let me through to Edward, I’d find another way. I moved with the stream, fast as I could, following its winding bed. The water would wash away my scent, I realized. There’d be nothing for any animals to follow.

  Except Edward’s trail.

  I tried to tell myself he’d be fine. He was stronger than he looked. He was a survivor.

  I stopped to catch my breath. For what felt like hours I stood, listening, hearing nothing. Whatever had been pursuing us, I’d lost it. I sank into the water, letting it soak me through, and mixed my tears with the stream water of the island.

  LATER, I FOLLOWED THE twists and turns of the stream until my feet were numb. I found a gnarled stick to use as a crutch for my left foot, which bled from a gash on the toe. My thoughts grew more frantic with each hobbling step forward. I listened for the dogs, to find my way back to the compound. It would mean facing Father, swallowing back my disgust and disappointment and fear, but at least I’d be alive. Why hadn’t he told me the truth about the deaths?

  What else might he be lying about?

  One way or another my whole life had led to this moment, to him, and now I had nothing. I couldn’t return to London. I couldn’t even be sure about Montgomery anymore.

  It was useless anyway. I was hopelessly lost and hadn’t heard the dogs for hours.

  The stream turned, and a rotting footbridge with a handrail blocked my progress.

  I stopped, surprised. A bridge meant people. This one clearly hadn’t been used in years, but it was far enough from the compound and old enough that it couldn’t be my father’s doing. I glanced through the woods, wondering who had built it and if they were still alive—and if they were dangerous. All I could hear was the trickle of water and wind in the trees.

  I climbed out of the stream. The ground here was softer, and I followed it cautiously until I broke out of the jungle into a grassy clearing.