CHAPTER XVI
Into the Warehouse
While Diana and Charlie were running up the stairs, Holmes, Mary, and the others were preparing to rescue Justine from her captors. Holmes opened the office door, stepped in, and said, “The game is up, gentlemen. Raise your hands over your heads and step away from Miss Frankenstein. We are armed, and prepared to shoot.” Lamplight glinted off the barrel of his revolver.
Prendick and Hyde both looked up, startled. Prendick raised his hands, still holding the ether sponge. Then Hyde raised his. In one hand he held the scalpel, with which he had been about to make the first incision. A shriek rent the air. In a corner of the room, by the cage in which the Beast Men were confined, crouched the madman Renfield. So this was where he had gone! At the sound, the Beast Men in the cage paced back and forth uneasily, all but one who lay in the shadows, by the far wall. How many of them were there? Mary was just behind Holmes, but she could barely see over his shoulder. The Bear Man standing by the operating table growled, as though perplexed by this turn of affairs, and the Orangutan Man jumped up and down with his knuckles still on the floor. Only Adam Frankenstein remained completely motionless. He grinned, a horrific sight on that corpse-like face. Mary shuddered.
“Well, well,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I anticipated that we would meet at some point, although I didn’t think it would be so soon. How did you come to find us?” He spoke with an English accent, although with a foreign inflection.
Holmes stepped forward. Mary, Watson, and Catherine stepped into the room behind him, fanning out to both sides. Mary raised her revolver. It was the first time she had aimed it at anything other than a target. Would she be able to use it when the time came? Of course, she told herself. I don’t have a choice. The room had a close, musty smell, no doubt from the Beast Men. She wished she could hold a handkerchief over her nose.
“Catherine!” Prendick looked at her with astonishment. “How is it possible . . .”
“How is it possible that I escaped from the island on which you left me to die?” said Catherine. “Untie Justine.”
“And if we don’t?” asked Hyde in his rasping voice. “What will you do then, Miss Moreau? That is who you aren’t, isn’t it? The Puma Woman?”
“Then we will shoot you all, and untie her ourselves,” said Watson. “It would probably be easier for you to untie her without the preliminary shooting.”
“I suggest you follow Miss Moreau’s instructions,” said Holmes. “We will not hesitate to shoot criminals.”
On the table, Justine moaned. She turned her head to one side, then the other, as though trying to dispel the influence of the ether. The Beast Men gathered at the front of the cage—all but the one who lay by the far wall. They looked on, curiously and with suspicion. Now Mary could see that there were three of them. Another Boar Man, who resembled the one Justine had killed. And two that looked like—dogs? No, wolves. The Wolf Men who had hunted Catherine and Diana.
“Cat, I never meant . . . ,” began Prendick.
“Are you mad to come here, Mr. Holmes?” said Adam, disregarding his confederates. “You and Dr. Watson, armed only with those toys? And with two—ladies, if they are, which I rather doubt, since ladies don’t go around carrying guns or making threats. We are more than a match for you. It is you who should be surrendering to us. That’s logical, Mr. Holmes, and you believe in logic, do you not? For years, I followed your exploits, as recounted by Dr. Watson. In the Alps of my native Switzerland, in the ruined castle I had called home for most of a century, I received them regularly by post. I know your methods. They are impressive, although they are the methods of a calculating machine—you measure and observe, then make your deductions. You are a kind of glorified automaton. I doubt you can understand the methods of a creative mind. The true criminal will always escape you, because he will be able to do what you cannot understand—the unexpected!”
“I would not trust too much to Watson’s accounts of me,” said Holmes. “He’s liable to exaggerate.” He fired one shot. It hit the wall on the opposite end of the office. Startled, Mary jumped at the sound. The Orangutan Man screamed and scampered under the operating table. The Beast Men began howling and shaking their bars. Nervously, Prendick untied one of Justine’s wrists.
“Fool! What do you think you’re doing!” shouted Adam. “The man shoots one bullet into a wall and you’re ready to surrender? You’re an even greater coward than I suspected, Prendick. Stay where you are, all of you. And Prendick, if you loose her bonds, I will rip your head off with my bare hands. She is mine. She was made for me, and I will not lose her again.”
“Mr. Prendick, do as I instructed, or I will have the significant pleasure of shooting you,” said Holmes. “Any man who would take God’s creations and turn them into these monstrosities is not worthy to live.”
CATHERINE: He did not need to say that. Monstrosities?
MARY: I don’t think he meant you, Cat.
CATHERINE: Nevertheless, it was unnecessary. And rude.
DIANA: Will you get on with the story already? I want to hear the part where I come in. That’s the best part . . .
“Adam, can’t we just let her go?” said Prendick. “Why do you need her? Why her specifically? We can go back to the original plan. Wouldn’t it be better to make another woman?”
“There is no other woman! Why do you think I killed those women myself, rather than sending another out to do it? I had to make sure they looked like her! Her eyes, her hands . . . There is no other woman for me. She escaped me once. Now I’ve found her; she will not escape me again.”
“Oh, but she will!” said Catherine. “She’s escaping you now!”
Mary looked at the operating table—it was empty! Hyde was still standing beside it, although Prendick had retreated a few steps, as though unsure what to do. Where was Justine? Standing beside Catherine, leaning on the wall, trying to draw a clear breath. But nevertheless standing. How had she managed to get off the table?
JUSTINE: When the ether sponge was taken away, I could breathe again. I pretended to be less conscious than I actually was. Then, I noticed that one of my wrists was untied. I reached over and untied the other. No one was paying attention to me—everyone was looking at Adam. Except—I think Hyde gave me a quick glance. He didn’t do or say anything to give me away. My ankles were already untied, I don’t know how, although I remember seeing him lean down and say something to the Orangutan Man. Once I was free, I rolled myself off the table and staggered over to Catherine. I felt so sick from the ether that I could barely stand. I was afraid the whole time, afraid that Adam would see me. But it seems to me now, thinking back, that Hyde stood between us. I wonder . . .
MARY: I wonder too. I wonder very much.
Adam screamed with rage and lunged toward Justine. A shot rang out, then another. It was Holmes—no, Watson, or rather both of them. They had both shot Adam, and a red stain was spreading down his shirtfront. He stepped back and put a hand to his chest, then looked at the red on it, as though surprised. For a moment, the room was silent, except for the sounds of the Beast Men in their cage. Then Adam looked up, grinned, and began moving toward Justine, not as quickly as before, clearly in pain, but as though nothing could stop his progress.
“You’re mine, you will always be mine. You know that, Justine. You know it in your heart, where you love me, despite yourself—as I love you. Come to me now, and there will be an end to all this. Your friends will be safe, no more women will be murdered. Those murders are on your head, my love. I killed them for you, for no other reason. But if you come to me, if you love me, everything will be all right again.”
Mary raised her revolver, aimed carefully at his forehead, and shot. The recoil jarred her—she had known it was coming, but it still took her by surprise and almost knocked her back against the doorframe.
Adam howled and fell to his knees. Blood ran down his face, from his temple and into one eye. He wiped it with the heel of
his hand, presenting an even more horrifying visage than before, with blood smeared over one cheek. He glared at her and said, “Who the devil are you, girl?”
“I’m Mary Jekyll,” she said. “Stop, or I’ll shoot again.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Jekyll’s daughter! Oh, that’s rich! Do you hear that, Hyde? Jekyll’s daughter, with a toy gun in her hand . . .” The laugh turned into a howl, and the Wolf Men howled with him. The Boar Man shook the bars of the cage.
Mary raised her revolver and aimed at him again.
“No!” It was Renfield, standing by the cage of the Beast Men. “He promised me lives! Many lives, as many as I wanted, if I would be good. And I was good, Master! I said that I killed those girls. I said everything you told me, and I want my lives now.”
He turned toward the cage.
“What is he doing?” asked Watson. That corner of the room was dim—too far away from the lantern, and the lamp on the desk did not cast its light so far.
“He has a key!” Catherine shouted. She had been able to see what they rest of them could not, but the result was evident to them all. In a moment, the door of the cage opened with a metallic clang, and the Beast Men were out—all but the one in the corner.
The Wolf Men were coming directly at them. They were men, but they were still wolves—they came with mouths open, teeth sharp and tongues hanging out, slavering. Mary braced herself for a second shot.
But Watson shot first. One of the Wolf Men fell, whimpering, to the floor. The second leaped at Watson and sank his fangs into the doctor’s shoulder. Watson screamed—the sound shocked Mary. Holmes stood between her and the second Wolf Man, his revolver still trained on Adam, who was shouting with pain. Mary ducked under Holmes’s arm. The room was a chaos of noise and movement, and her arm ached from the first shot she had fired. But she shot again, aiming at what she could, which was the Wolf Man’s side. He gave a bark, stumbled, then fell. Watson staggered back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting, his knees drawn up. Mary crawled over to him. The shoulder of his jacket was torn and hung down, but worse than that, the flesh beneath it was torn as well. Blood dripped down the sleeve. She was almost afraid to touch it, but she must do something. What?
“Tell me what to do, Doctor,” she said. He looked so pale that she was afraid he was going to faint. She felt a pull on the hem of her skirt and looked down. It was the Wolf Man, not dead but clearly dying. He looked at her with the eyes of a wolf, pleading. He did not understand death, any more than an animal does. He raised his head and howled. For a moment, she pitied him. But Watson would bleed to death if they didn’t get him out of there, soon. That was what she must focus on right now.
Mary heard a sound behind her. More Beast Men? Surely there could not be more. She turned—there, standing in the doorway behind them, were Diana and Beatrice. Thank you, she thought, not sure whom she was thanking—God, or Diana, or both.
“Do you think you can defeat me? Me, Adam Frankenstein?” Mary turned back to see Adam stagger forward, blood running down his face, once again moving toward Justine. “You can kill these pitiful creations of Prendick’s. You can kill them all. But you’ll still have to contend with me! And you, Justine. Understand that you were made to be mine! You are mine forever. I would rather kill you with my own hands than see you live without me.”
“Come any closer and I’ll tear your throat out!” It was Catherine. She stood in front of Justine, in her nightgown, with Watson’s jacket hanging open, and screeched with rage. It was a wild sound, the sound of a puma in the mountains, inhuman and frightening.
BEATRICE: It was indeed! I’d never heard anything like it.
“Beasts! Bring her to me!” Adam shouted. The Boar Man lunged at Catherine, while the Bear Man turned and lumbered toward Holmes, reaching for him with misshapen hands. Once again, Holmes shot—he hit the Bear Man in the forehead, and with an almost puzzled expression, the Bear Man stumbled forward and fell at the detective’s feet.
Catherine leaped at the Boar Man. Griping him with her hands and feet, as though she were still a puma holding onto her prey, she bit down on his ear. He roared with pain, plunging left and right, trying to shake her off. She held on tightly, but he grabbed her by one leg and threw her onto the floor. The Boar Man leaned over her and opened his mouth, aiming for her throat, trying to bite through it. She twisted and turned in his grasp, feeling his hot breath on her skin, smelling the stink of it.
And then she saw two hands reaching above her, grasping the Boar Man’s face, the thumbs over his eyes. She looked up and saw Beatrice, beautiful and grim. The Boar Man howled with pain. He stood and tried to shake Beatrice off as he had shaken Catherine, but now he was blind. His flailing arms found her and encircled her, as though in an embrace. He held on as tightly as he could, squeezing her around the chest. Beatrice struggled and gasped for air. “Help me!” she called faintly. Dodging around Catherine, still lying on the ground, Diana tried to find an opening, an opportunity. She waited for the right moment, waited, waited . . . then, she plunged her knife into the Boar Man’s back.
BEATRICE: How did you know the knife would not plunge into my back? We were circling round and round, that beast and I, as though we were dancing a waltz.
DIANA: I didn’t. In life, you sometimes have to take risks.
BEATRICE: Thank you . . . I think. At least you didn’t stab me. I suppose that is what matters.
The Boar Man roared and let Beatrice go, but the knife was too small to do much damage. He swung around, then turned toward Diana, following her smell. He lumbered in her direction, swinging his arms wildly. She backed away, but she was no longer near the door. In her effort to find an opening, Diana had circled around, and she was now backing into the corner. In a moment, she would be trapped. Suddenly, light glinted against the Boar Man’s throat. He fell to his knees, and then forward onto the floor. Behind him stood Hyde, with the scalpel in his hand.
“You must be Diana,” he said.
“Hullo, Dad,” said Diana. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”
“Traitor!” roared Adam. “Who took you in after you left England? When you were wandering around Europe, friendless, wanted by the police? Who gave you shelter and safety, a laboratory so you could continue your experiments? It was I! And this is how you repay me!”
“You’re mad, Adam,” said Hyde. The Boar man moaned once, then lay dead at Diana’s feet, the blood from his jugular draining onto the floor. “You told me we were coming to England so you could challenge the society that had expelled me and would not admit you as a member. Remember that? You wanted to punish Van Helsing and his faction. When you recruited Prendick and we started making Beast Men, I believed you. And then we started collecting the women—what for? More experiments, you said. When I told you Justine was alive, it became all about kidnaping her, bringing her to you. This was always about your personal desires. You disgust me!”
“How dare you! You rat, you ape, you piece of refuse that I took in! How dare you insult me!” Adam turned to the cage, now empty, except for one remaining Beast Man—the one in the shadows. “Come out!” he said. “Come out now!” He strode over to the cage and picked up what was hanging on the wall beside it: a long black whip. He swung it, hitting the bars so they clanged and rattled. The last Beast Man started toward the cage door.
Mary, who was still kneeling by Watson, attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his shoulder, cried out. An old poem, taught to her as a child by her nursemaid, who had later become the respectable Mrs. Poole, went through her head: Tyger, tyger, burning bright. The Tiger Man had started to undergo the process of transformation, but was still only half man, half tiger. His head was vaguely human, his paws beginning to resemble hands. He walked awkwardly on all fours, with no tail. The scars from a series of surgeries gleamed red and angry.
He growled low in his throat at Adam, but seeing the whip, he turned toward Holmes and crouched, ready to spring. Holmes raised his revolver. Sudd
enly, the room was silent, except for a low sobbing that Mary realized was coming from Renfield, still crouched in the corner by the cage, with the keys in his hand. Would a bullet stop the Tiger Man before he could crush the detective in his jaws?
Catherine stepped in front of Holmes. Would she spring at the Tiger Man? Surely that would mean her death! She was less than half his size, no match for the power of his animal body. Mary was about to cry “Stop!” when Catherine shrugged off Watson’s jacket, then pulled her nightgown over her head and stood naked in front of them all.
“Look at me,” she said. The Tiger Man crouched, still ready to spring but not moving, looking at her. Over her brown skin ran the seams of many scars, like the map to an unknown destination. “Smell me. I am like you, Brother. I too was transformed by a Master with a Whip. But do you know what I did, Brother? For all the pain I had endured, I killed him. That was what I did. I turned on him and bit him through the throat. He was not a god, only a man, and he died more easily than I thought possible. Do you understand me, Brother?”
The Tiger Man looked at her with great yellow eyes. Then he dipped his head, still barred with black stripes, almost as though nodding to her. With a roar, he turned and sprang on Adam.
Mary realized she had stopped breathing only when she started again. She had been so afraid the Tiger Man would attack Catherine. . . .
CATHERINE: I wasn’t afraid. He was my brother. And if he had attacked me, it would have been a fitting way to die.
DIANA: Oh, come off it. You always say stuff like that, as though you were in one of your own novels.
CATHERINE: Well, at any rate, I would have died so quickly that I wouldn’t have felt it! What else was I supposed to do? I acted out of instinct. If I’d thought about it for a moment, we might all be dead now.
The Strange Case of the Alchemist's Daughter Page 27