Frankenstein In Love

by Temple Madison

  “Surely there must be something in here,” Tiffany said, her attention being drawn to a black book engraved with silver letters lying on the shabby coffee table. She reached for it.

  The widow instantly caught her hand and held it firmly. “The Book of Shadows,” she whispered, “is not for untrained eyes. It’s nothing more than a book of rules, ethics, beliefs, rituals, chants, but it’s dangerous for anyone who’s not a witch. I would advise you not to even touch it.”

  A prickling of fear brought Tiffany’s hand back. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  The old widow rose from the lumpy couch, deep in thought.

  “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  The widow’s head whirled around. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “You did the right thing.” She sat again, gazing hard at Tiffany. “How did you find out about Quinn and Venita?”

  “I talked to Venita once. He offered her money. My room is right next to Quinn’s. I can hear them. I’ve seen Venita come and go, night after night. She leaves practically naked, disheveled.”

  Fury rose within the widow. “She was a virgin. Barely eighteen.”

  “Oh, God,” Tiffany moaned. “Would it…I mean…well…she seems to like him.”

  The widow cast a deadly glare at Tiffany. Her hissing words filled up the darkness, and her gaze glittered in the firelight. “It doesn’t matter. I warned him. I warned him she wasn’t to be touched. Quinn Kessler is doomed.”

  Tiffany wrung her hands. “You have to know how sorry I am. I didn’t come here for this. I couldn’t care less what Quinn Kessler does with any woman.” Her teeth clenched in hate. “I only want that bastard to get what’s coming to him. He did a horrible thing to your daughter, and he had no right to take my life and manipulate it to his advantage. I want it back. I want to take back control of my life.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Tiffany saw the old widow move hurriedly and dig something out of her pocket and throw it on the flames.

  A flash of sparks sizzled and died.

  When it was over the old woman slid her heavy-lidded eyes back to Tiffany. “Control is now in your hands, and there it will remain. I make that promise to you.”

  Tiffany was amazed. “Just like that? How did you—”

  The old woman took Tiffany’s hands, and held them tightly as her gaze anchored deeply into hers. “Listen to me lass,” she hissed. “The road will not be easy. There are dark days ahead, hurdles and obstacles you will have to overcome, but remember, his evil will not touch you.” She pulled her decaying body up from the chair, hovered over Tiffany, and raised her hands in a dramatic gesture. Her words were sharp and guttural when she said, “The evil that he points toward you will…backfire!”

  To seal the spell, she waved her hands over Tiffany and the flames in the fireplace crackled and sparked loudly before they gradually died.

  Tiffany felt a mysterious power in the air, and couldn’t deny that something had happened. She might not understand it, but she knew it was real. Tears again filled her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, and began digging in her pocket.

  The old widow’s hands once again closed over hers. “No,” she said. “Keep your money, my dear, and be happy.”

  Tiffany left, a stream of tears wetting her face. Her sobs were deep and cleansing, and when she ran along the beach facing the wind from the ocean, she wasn’t frowning, she was smiling—with hope. It had been so long since she’d felt it.

  * * * *

  Several days had passed, and Quinn knew something was wrong. He had bought spell after spell from the widow, and nothing had worked. Everything around him seemed to be falling apart. The venom that spewed from his mouth seemed to have no effect. Tiffany was no longer afraid of him, and she and Kirk seemed to be happier than ever. Anger boiled within him. He knew where the problem lay, and he decided to take care of it now. He walked briskly over to the lighthouse.

  “Open up in there!” he bellowed.

  “When no one came he pounded harder until the frowning old woman peeked through a narrow crack.

  “I’m closed, go away.”

  Quinn angrily pushed his way past her, into the living room. “I want to know why your damned spells aren’t working.”

  The crone didn’t say anything at first. She just turned, walked to the fireplace and stoked it. “Oh, is that all?”

  “Is that all?” he growled, and angrily strode over to the fireplace and jerked her around to face him. “Listen, you old witch, I paid good money for those spells, and since they aren’t working I want to know why.”

  “Did you do what I told you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Everything? You didn’t leave anything out?”

  “No, I didn’t. You said to…”

  “I know what I said, but I don’t know if you did it.”

  “I said I did!”

  “Well…I only know of one other reason the spells didn’t work.”

  “What? Tell me?”

  “Love,” she said simply.

  Quinn frowned. “Love? What do you mean?”

  “Love is the only thing stronger than witchcraft. Are they in love?”

  Quinn frowned at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “In love?” And then it all made sense. “Love!” he shouted. “My God, they’re in love!” He turned to the widow. “They’re getting married, did you know that? Married! You’ve got to give me something powerful. Something that’ll work before this thing gets out of hand.”

  “Why don’t you leave them alone?” the old widow spat impatiently. “Let them be happy.”

  “No way. I brought her here for me, and now she’s in his arms. I’ve invested money and time into your powers, and I want results.”

  The old woman said nothing, only gazed at him with her witch’s eyes, revealing much—so much.

  Quinn noticed her silence. “What’s wrong? Are your powers gone?”

  She frowned up at him as if insulted. “My powers are fine. But I can’t fight against love.”

  “They’re not in love, do you hear? They’re not in love!”

  “Well, if what you say is true there is only one reason the spells didn’t work. You didn’t follow my instructions. You have to follow them to the letter, you know. No substitutions. The exact moment in time is when the spell is at its most potent. All these things have to be observed, or the magic isn’t there.”

  “How many times do I have to say it? I did everything you told me to. It’s your mumbo jumbo that isn’t working.”

  “No matter. It’s too late now anyway. You need another spell.”

  “Like hell! You’re just trying to get more money out of me, you wrinkled up old hag!”

  The old woman gazed at him through eyes that sparkled with a cold, icy brightness. “I wouldn’t be too quick to refuse if I were you. I have something new. Something that’ll make her—” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Eyeballs sweat, eh?” The old witch stretched her lips back in a snaggle-toothed smile, and began laughing wickedly.

  Quinn’s gaze widened when he heard the familiar expression, and grabbed her arm, soft with flabby skin. “If you give me one more spell that doesn’t work, you sorry old witch, I’ll make you pay. Do you hear? I’ll make you pay, and I mean it.”

  As the leaping flames glowed in a macabre way on her wrinkled old face, the old widow still showed no fear. By this time the fire was blazing, and provided a hot, smoking light in the small dark room. As they both sat down on the threadbare sofa, their shadows loomed large and grotesque against the ugly, stained walls. The old woman lowered her deceitful gaze and pulled something out of her pocket. She held it up in front of his face and said in a ragged whisper, “This potion was created by an Egyptian Pharaoh’s soothsayer to be used for the hot beds of Egypt.”

  Quinn frowned at the small bottle. “It’s nothing but water.”

  “You’re right. It is water,” the old witch said as she lai
d the little vial in her palm and extended it outward. “It was taken from the river Nile, and no water in existence ever held such power.” She lifted the bony fingers of her other hand and began a circling motion over the tiny bottle. After three times around, she spoke low and ominous…

  “Give it to her under a full moon when the wind is whistling a forlorn tune. Look up into the midnight sky and see a white cloud…turn black!”

  She took his hand, laid it in his palm and closed his fingers around it. “At the witching hour put it in a cup of tea. She’ll never know, and by the next full moon, she’ll be yours. Give her half, and you take the rest yourself, because she’ll only fall in love with the one who drinks the other half.”

  “Old woman, if this doesn’t work, you’re dead. Do you hear? You’re dead.”

  The palm of the witch’s bony old hand extended forward for payment, but Quinn sneered at her with contempt. “Not this time, you ugly old hag. When it works, that’s when you’ll get paid.”

  He jumped up with the little vial in his hand and slammed out the door.

  *

  Watching him go, the old witch chuckled. Only she knew that the little vial didn’t contain a love potion. It was an elixir that, in time, would give Quinn everything he deserved, but nothing he wanted. It would act on Tiffany only as pure water. She turned back to the fireplace and began thinking of her beloved Venita. He had ruined her. That rotten, low-down bastard had ruined her sweet, innocent daughter, and for that he would pay.

  And the little vial with the deadly elixir was exactly what it would take!

  While humming a haunting tune, she leaned over the table and gazed into her crystal ball. She squinted as she saw a mysterious maze, and lifted her gnarled hands and stroked the ball tenderly. In only seconds a rainbow of leaping flames appeared, making it seem as if she were gazing into an abyss. The reflected fire danced, and then subsided just enough to reveal a lone figure walking along the beach. The silhouette of Quinn Kessler resembled a lost soul walking through the hottest part of hell, and the old witch knew that even though he wasn’t there yet—he soon would be!

  * * * *

  The next day while Kirk was packing his hospital bag, Tiffany watched him from the doorway. “Need any help?”

  Kirk turned and smiled thinly. “No thanks.”

  “Are you sure? I could—”

  All at once he stopped what he was doing and seemed embarrassed. “Would you believe it? I’m nervous.”

  She walked over, took the garment he fidgeted with out of his hands and threw it on the bed. “Kirk,” she said, sliding into his arms, “if you’re having second thoughts, don’t do this because you think I want you to. You must know by now that the scars don’t matter to me. Besides, you have the synthetics. They do such a good job no one would ever know there’s anything wrong with your face.”

  “I wish it were that simple, Tiffany.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when you look at me…at the scars…what do you see?”

  Tiffany considered his question thoughtfully. “Actually, I think I’m blind to them. I only see the man I love.” She shrugged. “Maybe the scars are part of that picture.”

  Pain clouded his eyes. He moved from her arms, went to a window and gazed out. His voice, low and ominous, revealed his pain. “I see rain-slicked streets, flying glass, and the death of my parents. I see ten long years of living in a rat-infested basement. Wasted years, Tiffany. Years that I was alone with nothing in front of me but more wasted years. It means a lot that you love me in spite of the scars, but I just can’t go through the rest of my life staring into a face that reminds me of all that. It would drive me crazy.” He hesitated, lowering his gaze while silence filled the room. Finally, he gazed over at her. “Tiffany, please understand what I’m about to say.”

  Tiffany felt frightened.

  “Even if getting rid of my scars made you feel differently about me, I’d have to do it. Do you understand?”

  Tiffany walked to the window and gazed up at him with pretended anger. “Oh, so that’s your plan, is it? Well, let me tell you something right now, mister. You’re stuck with me, got that? A hurricane brought me to you, but it’ll take a lot more to drag me away.”

  He drew her close, his voice soft. “You’re wonderful, did you know that?”

  She stroked the dimple in his chin. “And don’t you forget it.”

  “Besides, if we do have kids, I don’t want to scare them to death every time they look at their old dad.” He stroked her face. “The bottom line is, I’ve just got to put it behind me, and getting rid of these damned scars is part of it. You do understand, don’t you?”

  She smiled. “Of course I understand. I just want you to be sure, is all.”

  He heaved a sigh. “I sure wish I could get rid of the jitters, though. This new territory is a little hard to grasp.”

  “Kirk, honey, you’ll be fine. The doctor is even letting Elaine stay there with you to take care of you. I think that’s very thoughtful of him. You know how good Elaine is, you’ll have the very best of care.”

  “But you won’t be there.”

  “Oh, yes I will. You’ll get so tired of seeing me, you’ll probably ask the hospital to lock the door when they see me coming.”

  “Not a chance,” he said, his smile gradually being replaced with worry. “There is one other thing. I’m…well…I’m not sure what I’ll look like when all this is over.”

  Tiffany turned her attention to the computer generated picture the doctor gave Kirk of what he was supposed to look like when the healing was complete. The edge of the picture was inserted into the groove between the glass and the wood frame of the dresser. “There…that’s you, over there.”

  “That ugly mug? Not nearly good enough for you. Maybe I should tell the doctor to make me look like Johnny Depp.”

  Gazing deeply into his eyes, she whispered, “Never heard of him.”

  “You know,” he said as he smiled down at her, “you’re awfully good for my ego, what would I ever do without you?”

  “Well, I don’t ever intend to let you find out, so hurry up and get out of here so you can come back. And no flirting with the pretty nurses. After all, I’ve got Elaine there to…” Tiffany’s eyes widened, and her hand flew up to her mouth. “Oops!”

  “What? Why, you little devil.” He grabbed her, pulled her down on the bed and they wrestled while laughing and kissing.

  “What a delightful little scene.”

  They jumped apart when they saw Quinn casually leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest.

  “That’s a bad habit you have, Quinn, of just walking in,” Kirk said in an arctic voice.

  Quinn sauntered in, gazing around at the mussed clothes still needing to be packed. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, I was here for the whole sickening show.” Casting an evil eye toward them, he continued. “You two must remember to keep your door locked.” He pulled the white-handled knife from inside his belt, and rubbed his fingers along the glinting steel. He gazed up at them with a wicked smile tugging at his lips. “After all, anyone could come in…for any reason.”

  Kirk jumped up and grabbed the knife from his hands and closed it up. “Cut the dramatics, Quinn, and get out. No one’s afraid of you.”

  * * * *

  The night of the full moon came, and the midnight hour wasn’t far away. Quinn stood on the windy bluff of Cat’s Paw and gazed upward, searching the sky. When he heard someone moaning he jerked his head around, finding only the tormented wind. The whipping tempest was as chilly as a grave, and its forlorn cry pushed against him with mystical life.

  Gazing up, he searched the velvety blackness for several minutes before he saw it.

  A white cloud drifting in a black sky.

  He followed it, his gaze moving leisurely until the white virginal mass drifted across the face of the full moon—and turned black. It was Quinn’s s
ignal that this was the night. He turned and ran down the incline. When he reached the mansion, he slammed through the door and immediately went in to make a pot of tea. After he set the tray, he checked it over carefully, making sure everything was in place. As his busy fingers continued to move over the shining silver platter, he felt an odd excitement growing in the pit of his stomach.

  The moment was there.

  He glanced around, making sure he wasn’t being watched, and carefully pulled the vial out of his pocket, unscrewed it, and poured the contents into both their empty cups. It was clear, so Quinn knew it wouldn’t be noticed. With everything ready, he carried the tray into the living room, put it down gently on the coffee table in front of the fireplace, and went upstairs to find Tiffany.

  He tiptoed along the hall, trying to keep his footsteps soundless. As he approached her door, he heard her humming softly. He walked up quietly and touched the knob and turned it. Barely pushing it, the door opened just slightly. Inside he saw the soft golden glow of lamps. Silently, he watched her slip out of her robe and apply scented oil all over her naked body. His gaze followed her hand as she smoothed the oil on each breast, caressing them sensuously. Her oiled palms rubbed sinfully along her hips, abdomen and the insides of her thighs, making his breath come in hard gasps. On his face was a thin sheen of sweat when she lifted her long, luxurious hair and smoothed the oil on her neck. Finally, she capped the bottle, put it down, and continued moving her hands suggestively over her delicious body.

  He could smell the deep, musky fragrance of the oil from there, and tugged at his collar. As he continued to watch, his arousal grew and strained against his jeans. His breathing began to get heavy and raspy, and the thought of waiting for another full moon was impossible. He bit his lip as she sat down on the bed, leaned back and stretched with the laziness of a cat.

  Her body glistened enticingly in the dim light of the lamp, and the way she wiggled and moved, the only thing missing from her bed was a man. After a while she arose from the bed and draped a soft, delicate robe around herself that extended down no further than the tops of her thighs. Quinn gently closed the door, and stepped back a few feet as if he’d just arrived. He knocked faintly.