Flesh Failure

by Sèphera Girón

I created pouches that blended into the folds of the dress to hide the stolen contraband. The many layers made me look like a large, wide box.

  I didn’t mind, as long as I could escape.

  When I returned to the halls, I must have blended in better with the patients. As I made my way through the restless ones, I wasn’t questioned or cajoled this time. I was simply let through, the others stepping aside as if I were some kind of royalty.

  It must have been the outfit, I surmised. I certainly hadn’t instilled that level of respect before that point.

  Actually getting out of the hospital took more patience. Various stairwells led to dead ends, locked doors, more locked doors. Finally, I reached a door far from the insane wing that wasn’t as strong and thick as the others. Rattling it would only draw attention. My attempt had to be swift. The hall was narrow but provided me enough room to get a good run and jump at the door. I kicked it, the sound loud and resounding. It even seemed like the distant screams of the lunatics quieted for a moment. The lock was loosened.

  The dent in the door would alert the staff in the morning, but in the meantime, I was able to pick the lock and pry myself out.

  I returned to Whitechapel and secured a room with the money I made pawning a couple pieces of the stolen contraband. I devised a plan. First, I wanted my new clothes that had been tailored especially for me. I could go liberate them while he was at work.

  I stood in the doorway of the Elephant Man exhibit. I watched for Dr. Rueben to enter the hospital and then I proceeded to run over to his home. No doubt his day would be spent roaming the halls of the hospital searching for me. I brought with me several large sacks and wasn’t afraid of being seen as we were known to be together.

  It was easy to climb into his back window and I wandered through his home, helping myself to loose change and knickknacks. I took a few of my favourite dresses, hoping I’d be able to return for the others one day, as well as toiletries, the beautiful rose water and other niceties. I also liberated my money that I had hidden under a loose floorboard.

  When I was finished delivering my wares to my new abode, I set to work dividing the items up and dispersing them in hidden areas around the room. I looked at the glinting knives. I wondered how sharp they were. Two of the knives opened when you clicked a button, the other two were long knives. They were all silver handled and quite lovely to look at; a surgeon’s delight, no doubt.

  I wondered if these were the very tools he used on me when he sliced and diced each body part from one to another. Did he even care what he had done? Did he wonder about the families of the people whose graves were robbed? Even if he didn’t illegally liberate the parts, the decision to sell a loved one’s remains must be unbearable.

  The silver glinted and I lay back on the bed, taking the knives with me. I imagined how easy it would be to glide that knife across a lady’s throat, how neatly it would slice the flesh without the slightest tug.

  I imagined the power the Ripper felt when he slit open the soft flesh of those ladies, letting the blood spill between his fingers before releasing her to the ground. Or what about the bodies that were relieved of their female organs, nicely displayed for viewing and more puzzling, the cases where the organs were taken. The various papers had so many conflicting stories and the word of mouth was even worse. I only knew that the strength the weight of that knife epitomized and how I longed to use it on my maker and Dr. Rueben.

  Wrapping one of the knives into one of my scarves, and a fork in another scarf, I prepared to return to the Elephant Man’s doorway. I wound many scarves around my head and several layers along my body. The tarot cards were also slipped in; you never knew when someone would recognize me and demand a reading.

  I watched for him to see if he had discovered my absence. Was he going to look for me? He finally emerged from the hospital well after dark. He appeared dishevelled and distraught.

  My hands clenched and unclenched as I watched him. I wanted to rip him limb to limb. I was reluctant to let him pass close enough to smell me, close enough for me to sense the vibrations emanating from him; fear and despair.

  I startled him as I spoke from the shadows.

  “Another tragic loss, professor. How on earth do you explain it all to your superiors?”

  “Whatever are you talking about?” He was trying very hard to be composed but his fear stank through his sweat, his eyes still swollen and his face still faintly bruised, reminding both of us who had the real power here.

  “You lost me. You couldn’t keep track of your own experiment.”

  “I knew you weren’t far. Really, you shouldn’t have been frightened. I was only doing the tests as we had discussed. No more, no less.”

  “You tied me down like a hog on a spit,” I said, anger making my words staccato.

  “Not so, Agatha. The restraints are to keep you from hurting yourself when I’m performing the tests. If you make any sudden movements, the results will be skewed and we’d have to begin again.”

  We could have stood there arguing all day. It was most exhausting.

  “We’re beginning the tour,” I said, changing the subject suddenly.

  “Pardon me?”

  “You promised me the tour. I’m bored, I want to begin.”

  “Let’s go for a drink, dear Agatha, and make a plan.”

  We returned to the tavern that we had frequented many times now. The air was thick with tension between us but neither of us tarnished the drink with our bitter accusations.

  “Where are we going?” I asked him as I drank deeply of the ale. The serving girl brought a big plate of cheese and meats and I eagerly reached for them.

  “I really have mapped out a tour for us. It’s on the wall in my office. I can show you.”

  “No, I don’t fancy going back there anytime soon,” I said. “I’ve moved on now.”

  “At any rate, pack a trunk for we will be gone for a fortnight.”

  We finished our ale and parted ways at the tavern door. I checked behind me several times to see if he was sneaking up on me but he wasn’t.

  I was eager to earn a living and hurried home to pack. He was now aware of my strength and tenacity; there would be no more delays. But I also could not ever let my guard down during our game of cat and mouse.

  As I cut through a back alleyway, the shadows stretched long and then rushed towards me. The man tackled me, his knife glinting in the moonlight, his body heavy on mine as his rotten breath spit into my face.

  “Give me your money, love, and I won’t hurt you.”

  I roared and flipped him over. I knocked the knife from his hands. He continued to fight me, kicking and pulling at me. I pushed him onto his back, his head hitting the cobblestones loudly. As he moaned, I squeezed my hands around his neck. He reached up to squeeze mine. My eyes locked with his for the first time. His face was vaguely familiar but I couldn’t quite place it.

  A surge of memories flashed and sparked in my head. They overwhelmed me. I stood up and ran off into the night.

  When I reached my quarters, I began to pack. It took me a long time to decide what to bring and my tasks took me long into the night.

  The next morning, I woke to banging on my door.

  I wearily answered it and it was Dr. Rueben.

  “Let’s go, no time to waste,” he said, hurrying me. We lugged my trunk to his carriage and loaded it onto the back. I stepped up into the carriage as he climbed on top and we began the long journey.

  I dozed for much of it, my face resting against soft, cushioned pillows, the windows of the carriage adorned with sheer white fabric and lace. The blanket over me was cozy and it was easy to be lulled into a sense of security.

  The horse pulled into a village where we were to give the first lecture.

  It was odd work, standing in the street while Dr. Rueben called out to passing people, handing out lea
flets and keeping his humour despite the scornful looks cast at us. I sat in a chair wearing a white netted hat and a long white surgical gown covering me.

  “Step right up, folks, and see the first manmade freak. Yes, that’s right. See a despicable creature sewn together from various body parts.”

  “You’re a fraud, it can’t be done,” a man said as he walked past.

  “Excuse me, sir. Do you really believe it can’t be done? Would you like to take a peek at the monster for yourself?”

  “It’s just makeup, I know, theatre.” The man scoffed. “What is that stench?” He drew out a handkerchief and held it up to his nose.

  “What do you think a corpse smells like, sir?”

  “I don’t know but this smell is vile.”

  Dr. Rueben kept a big smile on his face as he engaged the forming crowd.

  “Tell me, sir, does this look like makeup to you?”

  Several more people joined the crowd. Dr. Rueben walked over to me. He waved for the man to come closer and then lifted the netting on my hat slightly so that the man could have a glimpse of my face.

  The man cried out, jerked back and then walked quickly away.

  “An abomination. Something like that shouldn’t be allowed to live.”

  “Nonsense. This is a miracle. A modern miracle of modern day science. Reanimation is important for research so we can learn more about how to cure dread diseases. Your donations are most appreciated.”

  Dr. Rueben lifted a bucket and waved it, the sound of a few coins that he had previously planted rattling around inside.

  “Donate to the cause and you too shall see what your friend had only a glimpse of.”

  The sound of money being thrown into the pot clanked and clanged. People pushed closer, pressing to give money, jostling to get a good view once the monster was revealed.

  “Don’t be afraid to continue to donate. You can imagine the cost of caring for a monster of this size.”

  More money flew into the bucket.

  “Thank you for your patience and kind donations, ladies and gentlemen. Now you can see the living dead girl.”

  He walked over to me and removed my gown. My arms and legs were exposed as I only wore a short and very scandalous dress. There was enough of me in view to reveal the snaking wounds of scars and skin grafts.

  The audience gasped and murmurs of awe spread through the crowd.

  “Are you ready to look upon the face of a monster?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Show us.”

  The audience cried with delighted fear for him to unmask the monster.

  He lifted the hat from my head and the crowd gazed upon my scarred face. He had darkened the scars with rouge to make them even more frightening.

  “Oh…”

  A woman screamed.

  Some of the crowd dispersed in fear.

  Children cried.

  “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for coming to see us today. The living dead girl will be on display tomorrow at a special exhibit. Tell your friends,” he crowed as he distributed flyers that gave the address of the lecture hall the next night.

  When we arrived at our lodgings, we counted the money. It was more than we had ever imagined.

  It seemed like life might be turning around after all.

  My life as a freak lasted for two weeks. It was gruelling work and most people were unkind. As freak shows were falling out of favour, it wasn’t easy to do more than set up very temporary shop on a snowy street corner or give a lecture at a theatre as he had the first time I met him. The further from London we travelled, the more ignorant were the townsfolk.

  We returned to London and his flat.

  He sat and looked at the pile of money we’d made, spread along the table, and then looked at me.

  “There were a lot of expenses on that trip,” he said. “I’m going to have to calculate these expenses before we can divide up the money.”

  “We will divide up the money,” I said. “Today.”

  I stood up menacingly and a red flush covered his cheeks.

  “Yes, Agatha.”

  He began to create piles with the money.

  “Now that we’ve done our first tour, you need to tell me about my creator. You promised to share with me the story.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  I sighed with impatience, my hands tapping the table firmly.

  “Who is he? Where is he?”

  “I won’t tell you his name. He was like a brother to me.”

  “Was?”

  “He’s disappeared. A while back. No one has seen him.”

  “When?”

  “After we buried you, we parted ways, vowing to never speak of our deed. Not the burial in the park. Not the experiment itself.”

  “Experiment.”

  “I’m sorry but that’s what you are.”

  “Who am I?”

  “Agatha.”

  “Was Agatha someone before I was this?”

  “I really don’t know. He never shared with me where he found the parts and I never asked him. I felt it best.” He wouldn’t meet my gaze and his words were faltering. I knew he was lying, yet again.

  “I have memories of various events. Perhaps even from childhood. Was I a student at the university? My brain, I mean?”

  He stopped sorting the coins for a moment. He looked at me carefully.

  “I don’t know but I had my suspicions about your brain. I went through the hospital records and found an admittance of a young university girl. She had been lacerated at the neck and her reproductive organs had been displayed alongside her body. As she was from a wealthy family, her case was never related to the papers.”

  “The Ripper?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Over a year now, I would say.”

  “She was the daughter of wealthy parents.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was her name Agatha?”

  He resumed counting the coins quickly.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “But you should remember her last name too?”

  “I’m sorry…” he said.

  “So Agatha was…is…my brain. I wonder if any of this is my…Agatha’s body?”

  For several minutes, I said nothing as I watched him count out the money.

  Was I the original Agatha because I had her brain or was I someone else now even though I had snatches of her memory?

  There were so many little coins that it made the process lengthy for what was likely a little. But every piece of metal that was on that table was a piece of metal that I never had before. I didn’t have to predict the future in doorways or straddle a stranger like Charlotte. All I had to do was sit in a chair.

  “Agatha. Do you remember the last name?” I tried again.

  “No,” he said impatiently.

  “But she was a university student.”

  “In medicine.”

  “I wonder how she met the Ripper?”

  He shook his head.

  I stared at him, hoping a wave of intuition would sweep through me and I could pluck the names I needed from his brain. But I couldn’t. He hid his secrets well.

  “You must tell me the name of my creator,” I insisted.

  “I explained that I can’t.”

  I jumped over the table and grabbed him by the throat.

  “His name,” I said. “I want his name.”

  “All right, I’ll tell you. It’s Laurence Polidori.”

  At last, the name was finally out in the air. If it was the correct name. However, by the way his eyes bulged beneath my clutch, I was certain he spoke the truth this time.

  “I’ve seen his name on a plaque, have I not?”

&nb
sp; “Yes,” he wheezed, prattling on in a nervous tenor. I released my grip and he sat once more. “He’s won awards, made generous donations. His family was incredibly wealthy. They have a huge estate not far from here. When they died, he got a little weird. After a couple of years with him coming into the school pale as a piece of granite, everyone was getting fed up. The students thought he was an odd duck always carrying on about Mary Shelley and that damnable book. He considered himself a scholar on reanimation.”

  “I guess he is,” I said.

  “Perhaps. But I wrote the papers. If he’s written papers, he hasn’t published them. And certainly he should be wary of publishing any more than theoretical hypothesis at this point. However, he went too far the day he dug up the first body, I imagine. Or maybe he took them from the hospital. I’m not sure how he worked. I was called in because he couldn’t determine if you were alive or dead. When I examined you, I thought you were dead. Certainly you were a far more hideous piece of work then what you’ve evolved into.”

  “But I was alive that night. I remember it. I remember voices but didn’t recognize them.”

  “I thought I saw you move but he was wrapped up in the belief that you would never come to life. His grief had consumed him, blinding him to obvious logic when I witnessed your fingers moving.”

  “You saw my fingers move on the table?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination at first but it happened several times so I knew it must be true.”

  “Why didn’t you help me?”

  “Quite frankly, I was stunned. I had no idea what he’d done, what lay beneath the sheet, until I saw you there.”

  “I guess it would be shocking.”

  He had finished dividing the coins. He indicated which pile was mine. I reached to my belt to retrieve my bag. My knife was still wrapped up in my pouch. With his attention diverted to scooping his own money into a sack, I managed to unwrap my knife. I hid it in the folds of my skirt and stood up.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. He had no time to react as I drew out the knife and hurried over behind him. I held his head in my hand, exposing his neck, the sleek edge of the surgical knife pointed at his bobbing jugular.

  He attempted to pry my hands away but I was much stronger than him. My grip was like iron while he kicked and flailed. He tried to speak but his mouth was rammed tightly shut by the pressure of my arm around him. His teeth made crunching noises as I clutched him.