And at exactly 9:35 A.M. I pressed against his chest the paddles that would give him the electrical shock needed to jolt his heart into beating—sending the blood pumping throughout the body.
Nothing happened.
I tried again, but nothing.
I had done everything I was supposed to do, yet life did not spring forth. The procedure was a total failure.
Exhausted, I rested my head against the top of my desk in the laboratory and slept. I had been pushing myself for weeks to finish this, denying myself sleep, forgetting to eat—now, faced with failure, I collapsed.
Dear God, how very good it was to sleep at last, despite the miserable failure of it all. . . .
There was a full moon, and its light shone through one of my very small windows and down on him as he lay there on the table . . . lifeless. Then suddenly the surroundings seemed to fade away. And it grew dark. So very dark! But then a misty blue light revealed what looked like peeling, discolored wallpaper. I remember hearing the sounds of my own footsteps echo throughout a strange house that I found myself in. I slowly made my way down a long hallway, then toward the dilapidated grand room of a oncegracious estate, following the music that I heard being played on a piano.
In that dismal main room I saw the vague silhouette of a man seated in front of what used to be the fireplace. His hands glided back and forth over the keys; uninterrupted by my presence there, his head swayed to the music that he so masterfully played.
“Who are you?” I asked him.
“I played this piece for my wife, Elizabeth,” he said. “ The Moonlight Sonata was her favorite.”
I asked him who he was for a second time, but he continued to look down at the keyboard as he continued to play.
“I have the strangest feeling that I know you,” I said after a moment.
He released a quick, pitiful sigh, then paused with his hands resting on the keys. I felt his cold stare as the music came to an abrupt end. “I’ve waited a very long time to meet you, Daniel Frankenstein.”
“My last name isn’t Frankenstein.”
“Isn’t it? Wouldn’t you create life, as I once did?”
Then he slowly stood up and walked over to a dimly lit corner of the room. “She haunts me, Daniel!” He was holding his hands together close to his chest. He appeared to be extremely frightened . . . terribly lonely. “Elizabeth haunts me from that small cemetery. I can see her there . . . beneath the ground . . . encased in mahogany with her beautiful face covered by white silk. She cries out for revenge!”
“But why should she—”
“Pursue me? I killed her! I’ve destroyed my family home!” Then he glanced around the room, appearing to inspect the condition of the house for the first time: the thick layers of cobwebs, the broken windows, the torn, aging curtains, and the wallpaper. He slapped his hands up to his face and fell to his knees, sobbing like a small child. “Dear God, forgive me!” He extended his arms out in front of him as he knelt. He cried out louder, “Father, forgive me. . . .”
I had heard and seen enough. I slowly walked toward him. But as I reached for his sagging shoulder, he vanished, leaving my hand clenching nothing but the musty air.
But, like the Cheshire cat’s grin, his voice remained. “Sleepers were never meant to be awakened, Daniel!”
A cold gust of wind swept past me. I lay on the floor in a fetal position. Like the eye of a hurricane, the room suddenly grew quiet and expectant.
The piano started playing The Moonlight Sonata again.
Then I heard the sounds of something scratching against metal.
With a start, I jolted awake, back at my desk.
But the sound of scratching metal remained. It was like fingertips, slowly digging at a door.
I slowly turned to look over my shoulder and saw his fingers move like the legs of a spider against the table. His eyelids opened just a crack, and he suddenly gasped for breath, exhaling while fluids ran down the sides of his mouth. He thrashed about but quickly calmed down again.
He was alive!
But he remained unconscious for several days, while the computers monitored his vital signs. All was well. In fact, all was beyond my best expectations. Day by day he grew whole, his wounds healing at an amazing rate where he’d been carefully stitched together.
There was nothing in Frankenstein’s notes about how long it would be before the creation gained consciousness. I must confess that I also had not checked the notes since that awful dream.
On the fifth day I was disturbed by the unexpected sound of the doorbell ringing. Aside from deliveries, I had received no visitors since I started my sabbatical—and there was no need for more deliveries. . . .
To my surprise, it was Linda Kauffman! I hadn’t seen her since we left Anchorage. We had said goodbye, and exchanged business cards, but, though she had indeed captivated me, Frankenstein’s notes had captivated me even more, and I had given her little thought since our fateful ride on the Granger.
The months that had passed had taken a terrible toll on her. Linda had lost a considerable amount of weight; dark circles appeared under her eyes from a lack of sleep.
“I’m sorry for bothering you,” she said. “I didn’t know who else to talk to. . . .” She stopped, then broke out into tears.
I told her that it was all right—that I understood completely—that she didn’t have to say anything else.
I led her in. Part of me thought I should have sent her away, but seeing her there in that disheveled state made me realize that I was in similar form. I felt like a child who had never had ice cream, but after his first scoop can’t get enough of it. I hadn’t really missed the companionship of other people while I was immersed in my work, but now that she was here, I embraced her presence.
After a while she settled down just a bit, and we sat on the steps that led into the main work area. I gently pushed her beautiful blond hair from her face. My fingers wiped the tears away from under her blue eyes as we spoke.
Linda said that nothing made much sense to her anymore. She asked what happened . . . why did everything go so very wrong during that expedition? “I can’t sleep without hearing Andrew screaming from that damn old ship,” she sobbed. “I can’t concentrate, can’t eat without getting sick to my stomach. And the nightmares . . .”
Her anguish compelled me to do something that I would ultimately regret. I told her that I had something very special to show her.
I pointed in the direction of my lab and smiled. “Let me show you something that will renew your faith in life again.” Then I took Linda to the room where he rested, unconscious.
As we stepped closer, I reached over and threw on a switch that sent a sudden burst of light into the area that now resembled a hospital recovery room. At first Linda paid more attention to the computers, monitors, and endless rows of wires and tubes that were connected to him. “No, look over here,” and I redirected her toward that which I was so very proud of. “Take a look. . . .” Then I pointed down at his bed. “There!”
Linda carefully walked around the equipment, her expression showing both amazement and the curiosity of a physicist. She stood at the foot of his bed for a good ten minutes, quietly studying him without saying a word, then turned to look over her shoulder at me. “Who is he, Daniel?”
I answered her at first by smiling, then finally said, “This man came into the world only eight days ago. His life was given to him right here in this facility.”
Linda walked closer to him and ran a gentle finger down the side of his face, feeling the warmth of his smooth skin. “You revived him?”
I joined her at his side, resting a hand on her back. “No, he was created.”
Linda yanked her hand away from his face, appearing bewildered as she slowly turned to look at me.
“It’s not possible. . . .”
“Not only is it possible . . . it’s very real. He’s the byproduct of information discovered aboard that old sailing ship we found at the pole. This is
what Novelli was actually searching for—what he died for. The secret of life, at the cost of his own.”
Linda instinctively became the scientist again, storming over to the computers. She started adjusting the dials, reading the printouts, checking the data, while glancing over to the monitors that kept a constant check of his vital signs. I watched her for a long time, making sure she didn’t alter anything irrevocably, until finally she paused and thoughtfully studied me.
I suggested we have a cup of coffee and talk. I told her that I would explain everything but insisted she give me her word not to tell anyone what she had seen here tonight. She agreed, without hesitation.
For the next two hours I told her everything. I told her about Novelli’s revelation aboard the Granger, the discovery of the notes, the real reason why Novelli sabotaged the Archangel and murdered all those sailors, and my own extrapolations of Frankenstein’s notes. Linda was excited after hearing what I had to tell her. The circles were still under her eyes, but that smile that lit up the room was back for the first time since she rang my doorbell.
Knowing that her help would be invaluable, and knowing also that it would bring meaning back to her life, I invited her to join me in bringing my creation to the next level.
She accepted.
I was entering a few notes on his chart, with my back to him as he lay unconscious in bed. Linda sat working on a typewriter on the other side of the room. All was fairly quiet, except for the sounds of her fingers working the keyboard and a low hum from the equipment. I don’t know what caused me to glance up to her, but I noticed that Linda’s mouth hung wide open. Her face was a pale white. She showed an expression of disbelief and sat literally speechless, pointing her finger at me.
Then I sensed a presence from behind me. I felt warm breath on the back of my neck and the pressure of a hand resting on top of my left shoulder. My eyes darted from right to left, then turned to look behind me.
It was him, and great God, was he gigantic! The top of my head barely met the middle of his chest. His shoulders were like a linebacker’s, and his arms as muscular as any weight lifter’s. Intellectually, of course, I knew how large he was—I had wanted him to be a perfect specimen of humanity—but he didn’t seem quite so—well, intimidating while lying on a metal slab.
I tilted my head all the way back to look up at him just as he bent his head down to look at me. His expression was blank, his eyelids only half open and completely void of any apparent thought.
The metal clipboard slipped out of my hands. Even though it made a loud clattering sound that jarred in the relative silence of the lab, I remained frozen were I stood.
Linda said, “Don’t panic. Don’t make any sudden moves.” She stepped toward me, moving very cautiously, trying hard not to startle him by her approach.
That enormous head of his slowly swiveled on his neck to look at her, then back down at me with that same blank expression.
His mouth suddenly dropped open, then labored to rise up again. I heard the sound of cracking bones from his jaw. He did this again, until he finally made a sound that amounted to nothing more than a low grunt.
I closed my eyes, expecting him to grab me with those powerful hands of his, waiting to be crushed by his grip and torn apart in a wild frenzy.
But he did nothing to me. And I suspect that he had more to fear from me than I truly did from him. Instead, he looked around the room, appearing confused, or perhaps lost in this strange environment that he had awoken to find himself in. He reached out in front of him to find the edge of his bed . . . feeling . . . fumbling. I realized that he probably hadn’t yet gained full use of his sight, which probably explained the blankness in his eyes.
Linda and I both helped him back into bed. As soon as he lay down again, I grabbed a hypodermic needle and sedated him. It was a mild sedation but enough to allow him to rest comfortably, and it gave me a chance to think. There were a great many things to consider.
To be honest, he had been unconscious for so long, I think I had subconsciously decided that he wasn’t going to wake up at all—so when he did, it came as something of a shock. I certainly hadn’t expected him to wake up so suddenly.
Linda, on the other hand, was thrilled. She began to talk about rehabilitation—wanted to work with him, to develop his motor skills and hand coordination. She wanted to educate him, or at least as far as his brain was capable of learning.
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I came out of my confusion and started to agree with her. After all, I had created him to be so fine a man, but he couldn’t develop in a vacuum. He would need guidance.
The next day he awakened again. This time we were ready, having both gotten a good night’s sleep. Linda began to teach him to simply raise an arm or leg up while I monitored.
He performed remarkably well. He managed coordinated movements within a day. By two days he was making sounds. By the week’s end he was pronouncing the vowels. He could pick up very small objects and keep a grip on them for more than a few seconds.
Within two weeks he was speaking to Linda in near-perfect sentences. His vision was impeccable—we measured it at 20/5. He demonstrated the ability to show emotions. There was laughter, a pleasant smile when we entered his room, and sadness when failing something that he was asked to perform during this “rehabilitation,” as Linda called it.
Most impressive—and disturbing—of all was the rapid development of his other senses. He could literally smell either Linda or me approaching him from another room. He could hear our conversations from a good distance away, even if we whispered. I was constantly amazed by the abilities he showed.
The only thing that did not surprise me—for it was one thing I had expected—was his strength. Even that seemed out of proportion to his musculature, though—he had the strength of ten men!
We never let him know that his abilities were unique. He was led to believe that these talents of his, if you choose to use such a word, were typical of all men and women. I had convinced Linda that the very last thing we needed was for him to get a sense of superiority.
As we progressed, my fear of him increased. I was left to ask myself the grim question of whether his intellect could parallel his astonishing physical abilities, even though he had always shown kindness to both Linda and me. Actually, he seemed only too eager to please us. But I wondered how long this would last. What would happen if he realized his superiority?
What had I created?
Linda did not share my fear. Instead, she perceived his rapid evolution as a miracle, and her work with him intensified. In three more weeks he was listening to classical music and could name the composers and recount the details of their lives. He had come to know the art of the great masters, his favorite being Claude Monet—perhaps prophetically, I have always despised Impressionist art. He welcomed the chance to learn, and I sincerely believe that he had come to cherish every minute spent with Linda—the two had become inseparable.
My fears grew worse. True, he hadn’t shown a predisposition for violence—quite the opposite, in fact. His good nature had grown more gentle as the weeks passed since that day of his awakening. No, his physiology that was the subject of my concerns. He wasn’t just growing stronger—he was growing larger.
You see, I had never stopped to give fair consideration to that most basic, yet complex blueprint for all life. His DNA was terribly fragmented and distorted. He was mutating, Father, and the blood tests showed that it was only going to get worse.
The changes in his physiology were subtle at first. There was an occasional, very quick tremor in the right hand. He was, at times, euphoric without reason or explanation, but Linda perceived this sort of sudden change in his personality as evidence of his benevolent nature. In fact, she rather enjoyed his unexplained feelings of well-being and high spirits.
Then I observed a small lump on his forehead, followed by a second on the right side of his cheek. He laughed about them, though, saying that he must have hit his head dur
ing the night and that he should be less clumsy in his sleep. But I knew otherwise. Remember, I had selected all of his features as handsome. But soon his soft complexion had turned a milky white, and dark circles appeared under his eyes. His hairline was receding, and he slept no more than three hours a night, at the most.
Being a fool, I said nothing to Linda. I just told her that these changes were to be expected as part of the process—not a total lie, in fact—and that I was fully prepared to deal with his sudden afflictions should they worsen—which was a total lie. Still, she seemed appeased, at least for the time being.
Amazingly enough, despite his great intellect, he never asked the most basic question of where he came from. I was grateful, as I had no answer I particularly wanted to share with him. He knew of the basic biological functions of the human animal, and I suspect that he assumed his birth to be no different than either Linda’s or mine. And he never questioned the fact that he wasn’t permitted to leave his room, not that we could have physically stopped him.
Among my many foolish mistakes was telling Linda to show him only that which represented the best in humanity. I insisted that he not be exposed to the more violent characteristics of our species, which I suspect was my way of keeping him tame. Linda felt that we would deprive him of the ability to distinguish right from wrong. “How’s he supposed to recognize evil if he has no working definition of the word?” she had said one night over dinner.
My fears weren’t for his knowing it, but his emulating it. So I insisted, demanding that she restrict his learning material to show him only the great achievements of humanity. Let him know all about da Vinci and Sir Isaac Newton, let him read the great works of literature—but spare him the horrors of Hitler or Caligula or Dr. Mengele or Genghis Khan.
There’s a certain tragic irony to all of this. Victor Frankenstein also selected the features of his man as beautiful. But, as you’ve read, his creation was, in his own words, a thing of horror. A mummy again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch!
Frankenstein: The Legacy Page 3