Re-Animator

by Jeff Rovin

  Perhaps one of Nancy’s relatives had gotten to him. Perhaps they’d seen, in West, an ideal means to strike back.

  Perhaps.

  Or maybe it was Willett who had sent West here. Although Hill had gone to Switzerland in 1978 with a title equal to Gruber’s, it was understood that he was technically the elder scientist’s assistant. That relationship had ended when Gruber petitioned Dr. Willett to prevent Hill from conducting research on humans. Willett delighted in playing scientists against one another in an endless quest for greater productivity and more Nobel winners, and saw the friction as healthy. That philosophy dissipated when Nancy died. He was sent packing, Gruber was given all the power—the trustees had demanded both—and normalcy was restored.

  Now that Gruber was gone, Willett had no one to collect honors . . . or grants. He might very well have encouraged West to seek him out.

  Hill considered it all, then asked himself if it mattered. Short of satisfying his curiosity, would the knowledge help to forestall another confrontation? Would it leave him calm enough so that West’s taunts would roll off his back?

  “Planning to operate on my Drexel, Carl?”

  The scientist looked up. Dean Halsey was smiling stupidly, pointing toward his plate. Hill glanced down. The knife handle was gripped tightly in his fist, the tip of the blade pressed to the tablecloth. Chuckling uncomfortably, Hill lay the knife aside.

  “Sorry, Allan. Unwillingness to see the meal ended, you know.”

  Halsey laughed. “I understand. My daughter is a superb cook.”

  Hill held her bright eyes with his. “She is indeed . . . superb.”

  Megan shifted uneasily in her seat as her father lifted his glass.

  “Before the others arrive for the meeting—and I know how this sort of thing embarrasses you, Carl, but, dammit, you’re going to sit through it—I would like to propose a toast: to the National Science Foundation, for recognizing the genius of Dr. Carl Hill and for awarding the Miskatonic Medical School its largest grant ever. Carl, your new laser drill is going to revolutionize neurosurgery.”

  Megan looked down, and Hill’s eyes rolled from hers to those of her father.

  “To the Foundation. And to Miskatonic.”

  The men drank deeply, but Megan took only a sip, then played absently with the stem of her glass. Her father smiled benignly.

  “That’s all right, sweetheart, you can drink up. We’re celebrating.”

  “I know, Daddy, but I have to go soon.”

  Hill’s brows arched sympathetically. “After preparing such a feast? You must be tired.”

  “Of course she is. You know, Carl, my baby didn’t microwave a thing. Everything came out of the oven.”

  “And tasted it.” Hill dipped his glass toward her.

  “It was nothing, really. The stove did most of the work. Besides, I have a study date with Dan.”

  Hill’s features clouded. “Dan? Daniel Cain?” Megan nodded, and Hill stared into his glass. “Herbert West has moved in with him, hasn’t he?”

  “For the time being. I—I’m not sure they’re really going to be happy with each other.”

  “Are they too alike?”

  The doorbell chimed, and Megan rose. “Hardly. I’m not even sure Mr. West has any interests outside his work.”

  “Precisely my point.”

  Megan stiffened and said sweetly, pointedly, “I assure you, Dr. Hill, Dan has an interest in other things. Now, if you’ll excuse me, that must be him at the door.”

  After she’d gone, Hill peered thoughtfully at Halsey. “So . . . your daughter is seeing Cain. Do you think that’s wise, Allan?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, just that Cain is an ambitious young man without much money. I’d hate to think that he was seeing your daughter simply to try and use her to influence you.”

  “A modern-day Pocahontas and Powhatan, eh? You know me better than that, Carl. All that matters to me is making Miskatonic the top medical school in the nation, and that means kowtowing to my professors, not my students.”

  The young couple entered then, and Halsey rose to shake the young man’s hand.

  “Good to see you relaxing, Dan!”

  “It’s only a short break, sir. We’ve both got some reading to do on spirochetal jaundice.”

  “Spirochetosis icterohaemorrhagica,” Hill noted dryly.

  Cain looked over. “Hello, Dr. Hill.” They shook hands across the table. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your smock and cap.”

  “Sort of like Superman without the cape,” Dean Halsey noted. “Would you join us for a glass of wine?”

  Cain checked with Megan, who counseled him with a barely perceptible shake of her head.

  “Actually, we have some work to do. It’d be better if we got to it while we’re still fresh.”

  “Why don’t you study here?” Hill suggested. “You’ll be fresher still.”

  “Thanks, but . . . Chopin puts me to sleep. I’ll have her home soon, don’t worry.”

  “Well then.” Hill shot to his feet. “May I, Allan, offer one last toast?”

  “By all means.”

  Hill raised his glass. “To Megan—my esteemed colleague’s capable, beautiful, loving daughter.”

  “Why, thank you,” the dean replied.

  “Megan,” Hill repeated solemnly, barely audibly, as he sat back down. “The obsession of all who fall under her spell.”

  The young woman acknowledged the toast with a small, stiff bow, then bent and kissed her father on the forehead. Pleasantly bidding the men a good evening, Cain followed her out.

  Behind them, Hill was once again stroking the knife.

  CHAPTER

  5

  “He’s a lech.”

  “You’re being overly sensitive, Megan. Dr. Hill is a brilliant man.”

  Megan looked down into the book on her lap. “Fine, he’s brilliant . . . he’s a brilliant lech. I don’t like being around him.”

  The living-room lights were turned off, save for the small Tiffany lamp beside the old sofa. Cain and Megan were seated beneath the lamp, reading from the same book.

  “Forget Dr. Hill. Did you finish this stuff about Leptospira australis?”

  “Screw it.”

  “Can’t. They’re wee itty-bitty things.”

  Megan shook her head, and, putting his arm around her, Cain nuzzled her on the cheek.

  “Dan—”

  He licked her jawline.

  “Dan, please!”

  Cain leaned back, throwing up his hands. “Okay, what is it?”

  “I don’t know.” She bit her lower lip and said apologetically, “Look, it’s not you. It’s just a lot of little things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well—like West is always in his room with the door closed.”

  “So?”

  “Do you ever see him? Does he ever eat?”

  “Who cares?”

  “You should! I mean, what do you really know about him?”

  “Nothing except that he studied with Hans Gruber and pays for whatever he uses. He stuffed a buck in the toilet paper and two in the box of Meow Mix.”

  “In the cat food?”

  “Yeah. Said he needed some protein for an experiment. Anyway, that kind of courtesy makes him okay in my book.”

  Megan squeezed Cain’s hand. “Don’t take this wrong, Dan, but you were raised by a spinster aunt who had the sensibilities of a nun. Your book of life experiences is slightly abridged.”

  “As opposed to you, whose life has been like a lending library.”

  “Sure, I’ve been around. The point is, I’ve got a sense about people that you don’t. And I’m telling you that Dr. Hill is a pervert and Herbert West probably isn’t much better.”

  Cain drummed on his knees. “So what? What if he is a little cracked?”

  Megan studied his face. “All of this was bullshit, wasn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  �
��He bothers you too.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “He bothers you, and he bothers Rufus?”

  “What?”

  “Rufus is terrified of him. When West comes in, he runs and hides.”

  Cain snickered. “Rufus runs and hides all the time. It’s standard cat activity.”

  “Yes, but not when you and I are together! Then he’s all over us, trying to get your attention.” Megan paused, looked around. “Say, where is Rufus? I haven’t seen him since we got here.”

  “It’s okay. He’s around here somewhere.”

  “Are you sure? I haven’t heard him. Usually he at least knocks something over when I’m here.” Rising urgently, Megan walked hunched about the room, whispering for the cat. “Here, Rufus. Here, kitty-kitty.”

  Shaking his head, Cain stood and called more loudly, “Rufus! C’mon, you fat cat! Where are you, you mad animal?”

  “Rufus? Heeeeere, Rufy.”

  “Hey, furball, don’t you hide from me!”

  Megan turned on another light and looked behind an armchair, then beneath it. Cain checked behind the drapes.

  “Still think he’s just hiding, Dan?”

  “Of course. He’s like Garfield, he could be anywhere.”

  “Fine. You take the kitchen, I’ll check the bedroom.”

  Switching on the single bare bulb which lit the corridor, Megan proceeded slowly.

  “Psssst. Rufus! You under the bed?”

  On her way to the bedroom, Megan passed West’s room and saw an eerie light seeping under the door. It was moving and fluorescent, with a slightly yellow cast. She rapped lightly on the door.

  “Mr. West, are you in there? It’s Megan.”

  There was no answer, and after inquiring again, she tried the door. It was unlocked, and Megan opened it slowly.

  Even in the dim light, Megan could see that the walls were covered with charts and diagrams. Most of them showed the human brain, some the brains and vital organs of other animals, including cats.

  The glow itself was coming from a small refrigerator which sat against the near wall, tucked between a cot and a large lab table, partly obscured by the latter. Walking slowly around it and peering across the countless rows of chemical powders and solutions, Megan saw that a vial standing in front of the bulb was causing the yellowish tint. She also saw why the refrigerator door was open. Something was in the way.

  It was Rufus’s tail.

  Megan shrieked, but the first one to arrive was West, a medical kit in his hand. He threw it hotly onto the cot.

  “What are you doing in my room? How dare you come into my room!”

  Cain arrived and switched on the light; he was surprised to find Megan standing beside the refrigerator, trembling. He took a step into the room, West craning around him.

  “Daniel, I thought I was renting a private room!”

  “You are.”

  Cain faced Megan. He was by nature a diplomat, but this blatant invasion of sovereignty had placed matters well beyond arbitration.

  “Meg, what the hell are you doing in here?”

  West shouldered his way around him. “Never mind that. Would you please leave now!”

  “Easy, Herbert, I’ll take care of this. Meg? C’mon, hon, let’s go.”

  “Dan—” She began to sob. “Dan, it’s . . . it’s Rufus!”

  “Rufus? Where?”

  Pointing, she replied, “In the fridge!”

  Dubious until he noticed the sudden timidity in West’s eyes, Cain strode over. There, stuffed flat between a jar of yellow liquid and something swaddled in paper toweling, was the cat. It was stiff and unmoving, its tail dangling from the shelf, its black coat uncharacteristically ragged.

  “Daniel, I was going to show you—”

  “Shut up!” Cain cut him off, bending and putting two fingers to the animal’s neck. There wasn’t a trace of life. Sniffing back tears, he rose and faced his boarder.

  “What happened?”

  “What do you think? It was dead when I found it.”

  “That’s a lie,” Meg charged through clenched teeth. “You killed him. He hated you.”

  “Don’t be absurd! It suffocated. It knocked the garbage over, and it got its head stuck in a jar. You weren’t home so I put it in the icebox. I certainly didn’t think you’d want to find it just lying there. And frankly, I did not want to stink the place up leaving it anywhere else.”

  “Then why didn’t you call . . . or write a note?”

  West grew agitated. “Forgive me, but I was busy pushing bodies around, as you well know. And what would a note have said? ‘Cat dead, details later’?”

  “West, please,” Cain complained. His voice cracked with emotion, and his throat began to itch, reacting to something in the room, in the air.

  “The point is, Daniel, I knew you were fond of it, and this seemed like the most sensible thing to do.”

  “You’re lying.” Megan’s eyes blazed. “You killed him, I know you did.”

  “That’s ridiculous, and also highly insulting, Miss Halsey. As much as I don’t care for people in my room, I care even less for unfounded accusations!”

  “It isn’t unfounded. Rufus was afraid of you.”

  “Was he? And when did he tell you this?”

  “He didn’t, not in words—”

  “Telepathy, then?”

  “All right,” Cain interrupted, “that’s enough. We’re talking about my poor cat.” Megan turned away from them both, and Cain glanced back at the refrigerator.

  Seeing Rufus still and cold, he was still unable to accept his death. Cain was an infant when his parents were killed in a car accident, and no one else close to him had ever died. He felt as he had when they’d lost the young aerobics instructor. It wasn’t like old age, where the biological machine wore down; the body had died, the system crashed, because one part had failed. It didn’t seem right or fair.

  Bending to smooth down Rufus’s fur, Cain noticed the yellow liquid. He’d never seen anything quite like it, neither medicine nor bodily fluid. His hand grew still, and West hastened forward.

  “Daniel, Miss Halsey—you’re both upset, and I think it would be a good idea if you left . . . now.”

  Cain retrieved the vial. “What the hell’s this?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  West’s indignation surprised him. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

  “I think not.” He sneered at Megan. “Just as it’s none of my business that you’re sleeping with Dean Halsey’s daughter.”

  “You bastard!” she snarled.

  West ignored her. Grabbing the jar from Cain, he slipped it into his pocket and wagged a menacing finger. “You know, Daniel, I would not want to see a fellow student, especially one as promising as yourself, be thrown out of school, out of the profession, on moral grounds.”

  “Really? Well, for your information, I think Dr. Halsey just might understand.”

  West smiled mirthlessly. “You may be right. But the question is, are you sure you want to find out?”

  Cain stiffened. “Are you threatening me?”

  “A rather facetious charge, wouldn’t you say, from someone who entered my room uninvited and went through my private belongings?”

  Cain looked at Megan. West had him checkmated, and there was no point continuing the discussion. He took the young woman’s hand.

  “Touché,” he muttered. “C’mon, Meg, let’s take Rufus and get out of here.”

  West stepped in front of Cain. “Truce?” he pressed quietly. Cain nodded glumly. “Then I’ll take care of the animal. It’s the least I can do.”

  “I think we should do it,” Megan countered.

  “I believe Daniel has been through enough tonight. Why force him to endure this as well?”

  Megan turned to her fiancé. “Dan?”

  He sighed. “Herbert’s right. I’d rather be alone with you right now than with poor Rufus.”

  Tha
nking him, Cain left, tugging Megan behind him. She lingered a moment, her eyes locking briefly with West’s; she felt a chill, something that had nothing to do with Rufus but with West himself. Despite his neat appearance, he seemed dirty; virulent was the word that came to mind.

  Slipping her arm around Cain’s waist, she walked with him out into the cool October night. As they strolled beneath the old streetlamps and past even older buildings, Megan thought about what West had said—that Dan’s career might be ruined if her father learned what they were doing. She wondered if marriage might not be the answer to that, as well as to the problem of what to do with Herbert West. In the distance, a cat wailed; and though she knew it wasn’t possible, Megan could have sworn it came from the house.

  The cry ripped through Dan’s sleep. He woke instantly and sat up, heart racing and eyes wide.

  “Rufus?”

  The shrill wail came again, and Cain swung from the bed. Pulling on trousers, he grabbed an old wooden Louisville Slugger and edged down the hall.

  There’d been bats when he first moved in, but they hadn’t returned since he poisoned the few he’d found in the attic and nailed their carcasses to the outside wall. Bats might be blind, but they weren’t stupid.

  Still, that hadn’t sounded like a bat. The cry was too loud, too deep, too ferocious. He checked the bathroom, poked the baseball bat against the metal grate of the ceiling ventilator. Nothing moved, and he continued edging down the hall.

  “Herbert! Herbert, you hear that sound?”

  When his roommate didn’t answer, Cain rapped on the door.

  “West? West!”

  The shriek came again, this time from downstairs. It was followed by West’s muted snarls.

  “Vile . . . vile . . . thing!”

  Cain put his cheek against the closed door. “West? What is that? What’s going on?”

  West screamed then, and Cain hurried down, stumbling in the darkness. Rising quickly, he bumped into the hooded light, which swung wildly. In the bursts of light, he saw West squirming against a wall in the corner, something dark and ugly clinging to his back. Cain walked tentatively toward him, past a bridge table covered with chemicals and beakers. He saw West’s eyes go wide.