Frankenstein In Love

by Temple Madison

  She noticed his unashamed attention to her breasts as he spoke. Since he made no effort to hide his blatant appraisal of her, a sudden anger exploded within her, and her words came out in a hiss. “My face is up here, Mr. Kessler!”

  His heated gaze moved upward. “If you wanted me to look at your face, why did you wear such a revealing outfit into my office?”

  She lowered her head, and gave her robe a quick assessment. “This is revealing? Why, Mr. Kessler, I do believe you have a better imagination than I do.”

  She turned and left abruptly, having to stop and hold her head when a flood of dizziness overtook her. Finally getting herself oriented, she walked as fast as she could toward the stairs. Before she took the first step, she heard a voice.

  “I’m sorry. About Quinn, I mean.” The soft words reverberated around the cavernous room.

  She stopped abruptly, knowing it was Kirk. She didn’t turn, instead she broke, her shoulders shaking with the pent-up tears that his tender apology had freed.

  His scars no longer mattered. She wanted him to come to her—to kiss the tears away—to somehow cleanse her of the ugliness Quinn had left with his words. But instead, he stood silent and still.

  Struggling with her composure, she turned to him. “Thank you,” she said, seeing his dark gaze move along her body just as Quinn’s had. Instead of feeling insulted, somehow she didn’t mind. She could see desire within their electric blue hue, but they didn’t hold the same dirt, the same explicit ugliness. While Tiffany stared deep into the shadow, she released the top of her robe, and ceased the tugging of the belt that secured it around her.

  “Kirk,” she began, making a move toward him. She could see part of his strong face exposed in the dappled light and shadow. He had a dimple, like Quinn’s, but the lips, instead of having a sarcastic twist, were lush. They seemed to be made for a kiss. Why did she feel a rush of excitement for a man who only revealed himself in shadows? A man whose face was almost destroyed? Before the answer came—he was gone.

  * * * *

  Later that evening, the old widow was gazing out her window searching the troubled sky. The wind had died down considerably, which meant the storm was heading out to sea. She checked the light in the tower to make sure it continued to cast its misty glow across the water, and afterwards, turned and shuffled over to her stone fireplace, warming her hands. She couldn’t remember a worse season. Autumn had only just arrived and it had already turned cold and misty.

  She turned when she heard a pounding on her door. When it persisted, she yelled in her usual raspy voice, “Don’t knock the door down!” She shuffled toward the banging, barely opening it because of the wind.

  Quinn Kessler brutally pushed from the other side, forcing his way in.

  Gazing up at his imposing presence, she said, “What’ll it be today? A love potion, a spell? Maybe you’d like your fortune read.”

  Without being invited, he walked over to the fire to warm his hands. “I don’t need any magic. I want your daughter.”

  “You bastard, my daughter’s not for sale at any price.”

  He turned toward her impatiently. “That’s good to know, but I had something else in mind. I’d like her to come to work up at the mansion. We need the help, and I thought she might like to earn some money.”

  The old widow’s frosty gaze inched toward the darkened doorway and saw her daughter shrinking back against the wall. She turned back to Quinn. “You know she’s a mute.”

  “Yes, I know, but that shouldn’t matter. She’s still young and strong, and can do a good day’s work, can’t she?”

  “She can if she wants to,” the widow said, squinting at him. “She’s not to be touched, do you hear? She’s never been with a man, and if you dare touch her, you’ll regret it every day that you live. Do I make myself clear?”

  Quinn’s curious gaze skimmed over the mousy, dirty, skinny girl, and snickered. “Please. I’m not quite that desperate yet.”

  “Keep your insults to yourself,” she spat. “When do you want her to start?”

  “The morning is soon enough.”

  “She’ll be there,” the widow replied.

  Quinn’s gaze slid back toward the girl. “For God’s sake, get her cleaned up, will you? She looks like a throwaway from a kennel.”

  Hearing his insult, the timid girl lost herself in the dark corner of the other room.

  * * * *

  Back at the mansion, Tiffany felt restless, and decided to do a little scouting around. The big old mansion seemed to be calling to her, so she quietly opened her bedroom door, stepped out, and made her way down to the wide, flowing staircase. She had just reached the last few steps, and was heading for the heavy double doors to the left when her gaze shifted and anchored on a large plant she had seen dozens of times.

  This time something was different.

  It had been moved.

  She stopped, noticing the obscure door nestled beneath the staircase. She hadn’t seen it before because it had been concealed behind the large, tangled plant. Now she figured it was probably a linen closet, or some kind of storage area, but when she noticed several circles on the floor beneath it, she knew the plant had been moved many times.

  Why would anyone put a plant in such an inconvenient place? she wondered. But she knew the answer before her mind ever formed the question. To hide it, of course.

  Apparently, someone used the door often, and she was too curious to leave without knowing why. As she walked closer, she turned her head to see if anyone was around. Seeing no one, she pushed the heavy plant aside, hearing the grit beneath scrape along the tiled floor. Wiping her slightly soiled hands on her robe, she grasped the knob, and turned. The door squeaked, and the darkness she saw beyond was deep. She immediately felt a cold wind hit her in the face. It smelled of wet dirt. The steps were cracked and broken, and the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling shifted eerily in the breeze. She walked into the cold, musty atmosphere until she came to the first step, and hesitated. Was she completely sure she wanted to get lost in a maze that she knew was legendary in these types of structures? Surely it couldn’t lead anywhere but a damp cellar full of nothing but rats and spiders. She kept telling herself to turn back, but failing to heed her own warning, she continued.

  She descended the narrow, winding stairs one careful step at a time. There was no rail, and the walls were made of large, roughly hewn concrete blocks. It was very dark and shadowy, and the cobwebs that hung here and there caused her to jump when they touched her. Finally making it to the bottom, she experienced a sort of déjà vu.

  It all seemed so familiar.

  As she began walking, she seemed to know every turn, every dark crevice, and every shadow that loomed up before her, giving her chills. Even the looming shadows and ghostly forms that surrounded her seemed familiar. At that moment she heard something, and jerked her head around. When she saw nothing, she sighed with relief, realizing her imagination had been playing tricks on her. After walking a little further she saw the little square chamber just ahead. She began walking energetically, the light material of her house robe flaring out all around her in the musty, self-made breeze. Her gaze darted fearfully around the little square chamber where she immediately saw a door of steel bars. That was when everything began to fall into place. She remembered seeing a pair of burning eyes watching her from within the deep recesses of the mansion.

  In there, she thought as she peered beyond the bars into the dark chamber. She saw the window she’d seen that night—in a dream. That was when she saw him. He had been in that room. Imprisoned—captured—struggling—wanting to escape—to be free.

  Had it been Kirk she saw?

  A flicker of apprehension flickered through her. Surely Kirk wouldn’t live in such a place, she thought as she gazed around the room full of shadows. It was a lair for a monster—a beast—not a man. What was wrong with him that he had to live in the basement, stand in shadows. She crept up to th
e door and rattled it. When she got no response, she noticed a latch, but when she tried it, it wouldn’t give.

  She heard something and her head jerked up. “Hello! Is someone in there?”

  “Go away.”

  Tiffany felt chills crawl up her arms when she heard Kirk’s deep, raspy voice.

  “Kirk,” she whispered. “Is that you?”

  “Just go away.”

  “Please…”

  “I said, go away.”

  “Kirk, please let…” All at once Tiffany jumped back when he threw a large shoe against the barred door.

  “Oh, God,” Tiffany cried, a note of panic in her voice. “Are you all right? There’s blood on your shoe. Do you need help?”

  “I don’t need anything. Now, go.”

  Tiffany backed away in fear. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice small and trembling. “I thought…I…just wanted to know…if…maybe you needed help.” Hearing nothing but silence, Tiffany bit her lip, wondering if she should go. Before turning away, she said, “Kirk, won’t…”

  A raspy, tortured voice came out of the darkness. “What the hell do I have to do to make you leave? You want to see me, is that it? Well, here I am. Take a good look.” All at once he jumped forward from out of the shadows, his horribly disfigured face looming before her. Tiffany was so surprised by the abrupt movement, she could only stand there staring into a ghastly face made worse by the shadows from the dim light that slashed into every deep cut and puckering scar. The gaping slices that zigzagged crazily across his face appeared to be the work of a mad artist who had tried to destroy his masterpiece. A scream immediately burst from her throat as she turned and ran, flying up the steps.

  * * * *

  That night at the dinner table Tiffany was still shaking from the horror she had experienced earlier. She couldn’t concentrate on the conversation, and barely picked at her food. All she could think about was Kirk down in that dark basement. And the face—oh, my God, that horrible face!

  Quinn watched her. “Aren’t you hungry?” he finally asked.

  Tiffany laid her fork down, letting it clatter against her plate. “I’m sorry, it’s just that something very odd happened today, and I can’t seem to get it out of my mind.”

  “What was it?” Elaine asked, an expression of concern on her face.

  “Well, I found some stairs leading—” she shrugged slightly, “to the basement, I guess. Anyway, I found Kirk down there. He seemed to be hiding—all alone—in the dark. Are you aware of that?”

  Quinn and Elaine exchanged quick knowing glances. “Yes,” he said simply.

  Tiffany frowned. “But why? What’s he hiding from? And why?”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “The basement is Kirk’s hideaway.” Quinn laid his napkin beside his plate, and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair. “We’ve tried to get him out of there any number of times, but he won’t budge. I can’t really blame him. After all, he knows he’s a monster, and it’s private. If he feels comfortable there, away from prying eyes—” Quinn shrugged, “so be it.” He picked up his glass of wine and sipped it.

  “But in the basement. There could be spiders, snakes—”

  “Spiders and snakes are the least of his worries,” Quinn said, putting his wine glass down and picking up his fork. “What he’s afraid of are people.”

  “Elaine, you’re a nurse, you must know how bad that environment is for him.”

  “Tiffany, Quinn and I understand your concern, but there’s absolutely no need to worry. He’s used to it. Besides, he doesn’t stay down there all the time. He comes up sometimes, even goes out for a walk along the beach occasionally.”

  “But, it’s almost as if he’s—” She hesitated. “I don’t know, a house pet, or something. He’s quiet, hides in shadows. You feed him, ignore him when he’s around. It…it’s appalling.”

  Quinn dropped his fork, his words taking on a tone of impatience. “What would you suggest I do? I can’t drag him out against his will. He refuses to go anywhere there are people around. He didn’t even want you coming here.”

  “I assumed as much, since he didn’t welcome me with open arms.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay, I understand.”

  “Kirk is really a very nice, normal man,” Elaine said, sadly. “I don’t know how he’s held on to his sanity so long living down in that damp old basement. I live in fear that it might do something to him inside. Something that can’t be fixed.”

  “What about plastic surgery? I’m sure his face could be fixed.”

  “As far as he’s concerned, it’s out of the question. For a long time he couldn’t go under the knife because he suffered from severe depression. Now, he says it’s been too long, and the damage is too deep. He won’t even see anyone.”

  Tiffany gazed down at her plate, deep in thought.

  Quinn’s piercing gaze stabbed at her, obviously resenting her preoccupation with Kirk. “Don’t go down there again.”

  Tiffany jerked her head up. “What? But why?”

  “It’s obvious. He doesn’t want you down there. It’s his space, so leave him alone.”

  “But he needs help, for God’s sake. Someone needs to care.”

  Quinn jumped up, leaned over the table, his eyes burning into hers. “Are you saying we don’t care?”

  “No, of course not. But evidently all your efforts have been in vain. Maybe I can help.”

  Quinn threw his napkin down. “I will not have you come into this house and upset my brother when all you want is a plot for a new book. Leave my brother alone, he’s suffered enough.”

  “How dare you. A book is the furthest thing from my mind right now. Your brother needs help, and if I can, I want to help him.”

  Quinn kicked his chair back, came around the table and confronted Tiffany. “Why in hell would you be interested in a friggin’ monster? A freak, an insect that lives under the stairs. He hasn’t had a woman, much less seen one but Elaine, in ten years. If you get him aroused, you could get hurt, so stay away from him.”

  “How can you talk about your own brother like that?”

  “Because I know what I’d be like in the same situation.” He pointed a determined finger at her face, and his teeth clenched. “You heard what I said, so stay away.”

  Tiffany, not being used to being ordered around, jumped up. “You bastard, who in hell do you think you are? You can’t order me around like that.”

  “As long as you’re in this house, you’ll abide by the rules. Is that clear?”

  Tiffany threw down her napkin. “I don’t have to be in this house another minute. I’ll leave immediately.” She turned to Elaine. “Elaine, have you heard anything about the telephone lines and how soon it will be before they’re working again?”

  “No!”

  Tiffany whirled around. “What?”

  “You’re too weak, you can’t leave. I’m responsible for you, and I don’t want you to leave before you’re completely healed. Besides, ours is a remote location. It’ll take weeks to get everything back the way it was.” He cut a pleading gaze over to Elaine for help.

  Elaine jumped up. “He’s right, Tiffany. You really shouldn’t leave yet. Give yourself a few more days to get over those dizzy spells. We wouldn’t want you to have a relapse. I’m sorry about the phones, but we’re sort of forgotten up on this old ridge.” She directed a speaking gaze toward Quinn, “Quinn, why don’t you go into town tomorrow and see if you can speed things up?”

  “Of course,” he said, getting the silent message. “Tiffany, you’ve been through a lot today. It might be best if you turned in early tonight.” With an angry, abrupt turn, he threw his napkin down and left.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” Elaine whispered as Quinn left the room. “It’s been a stressful ten years. It hasn’t affected me as much as it has Quinn. It’s left him a little
short-tempered, I’m afraid.”

  “How did this awful thing happen to Kirk?”

  As if considering the question, Elaine paused a moment, and began to speak softly as if she was remembering. “When Kirk was twenty-one he was in college and really doing well. He was going to become, as he put it, ‘a real hot-shot lawyer.’ He could have done it too,” she said proudly.

  “Very ambitious, huh?” Tiffany replied, smiling.

  “Oh sure, he was ambitious. Handsome too. But most of all he was brilliant.” All at once her smile disappeared. “The holidays finally rolled around,” she continued sadly, “and the family was getting together for Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, something went wrong with Kirk’s car and he couldn’t make it home. Mom and Dad decided to go down and get him in their car. Even though there was a bad storm coming they weren’t worried, they were sure they could make it there and back before it hit. On the way back it started getting dark and began raining hard, so Dad let Kirk take the wheel since he didn’t like to drive in the rain.” Elaine’s troubled gaze lowered.

  “They were about halfway home when someone swerved in front of the car and bumped it. Kirk lost control and ran into a concrete wall. Mom and Dad were killed instantly.” A sheen of tears glistened in her eyes as she continued. “Kirk’s face was ripped up by flying glass, ruining his life and his career. I know it must be hard to believe, but he hasn’t been out of that basement since. He never went back to college, and blames himself for their deaths.” She sighed. “Now he’s punishing himself. We’ve tried everything we know to get him out, but so far, nothing.”

  “My God, Elaine, I didn’t know. My stupid crack the other day about a monster, and this being Frankenstein’s castle…I…you must have—”

  “It’s okay, I understand.”

  “How old is Kirk now?”

  “He just turned thirty-one. A year younger than Quinn.”

  “How sad.” Tiffany sighed. “Well, it doesn’t matter, I’ll probably be leaving in a few days anyway.”