Flesh Failure

by Sèphera Girón

  “You knew who I was all along. From the minute you saw me at the lecture. Yet you lied to me. Who knows what garish experiment you had in store for me at the hospital? I saw your freaks. Your experiments.”

  He cried out in muffled agony, blood spreading along my arm as his face crushed inward.

  “You could have helped me. You could have soothed my anger, awarded me a spot in humankind. I waited for you but you never revealed the truth. Even now, I don’t know if it’s all but lies.”

  High-pitched screeching and wailing accompanied the kicking of his legs. I held him as one would hold a toddler with a temper tantrum.

  “I see no use for you anymore on this earth. You lie and cheat. I saw plenty of that on our tour.”

  I slipped the knife into his jugular and watched it spray out across the room. His thrashing was heroic but fruitless.

  I slipped the knife along his flesh again and this time it caught the skin. I slid it along his neck, creating a smile beneath his pretty smile. The skin split and blood poured out. I let go of him as his cries weakened to pathetic gurgles. He hit the ground, blood flooding from his head as he weakly flopped.

  His bloody eyes stared up at me in terror and wonderment. His words were a mixture of blood, foam and broken teeth. I picked him up and tossed him out of my way.

  I scooped the money back into the bag and hefted it over my shoulder. It was the size of a small animal. Before I left, I wiped clean the weapon and wrapped it back into my pouch. As I looked over at the slumped-over body of Dr. Rueben, I noticed the rich pool of blood glistening in the light. My stomach growled incessantly. It was hungry. But I couldn’t eat Dr. Rueben. Could I?

  A shame to leave that life blood drying there.

  I leaned over him and began to lap at the floor. I was as a dog, licking with my tongue and alternately scooping small bits with my hand.

  When I’d lapped all there was around him, I moved to licking the table clean. His blood mixed with my blood felt revitalizing. New energy soared through me, spurring me on to gorge myself on as much of his blood and flesh that I could muster.

  At last, I stood. My stomach bloated, blood coating my body and face. There would be no leaving just yet. I’d have to clean up first.

  Slowly I made my way to the bathing room and removed my clothes. I washed myself the best I could with the jugs of water and rags I found in there. I gathered up the bloody dress and brought it with me. I looked through his wardrobe and found an outfit I could pull together. A man’s baggy shirt, men’s trousers and a large wide-brimmed hat to pull low over my face. I found a leather satchel and put some more valuables from his office inside.

  Off I went with my money, my knives and my satchel full of stolen property.

  By now, it was night. The streets were filled with the night crowd, late-night clowns and jugglers entertaining with their garish costumes under the gaslights. I walked for a long time, closing my eyes once in a while to see if I could “feel” intuitively if I was going in the proper direction.

  Soon I was walking through a lavish neighborhood. There was no one on the streets and electric lights beamed along the lawns. I examined the lights for loose cables, for I knew how lazy hired men could be.

  Memories surged forth and then retreated like waves on the ocean. Snatches of memory of what must have been Agatha’s life and therefore my own kept flying into focus.

  At last I found a tiny bit of wiring poking out. I took a knife from my satchel and cut the lamp slightly. Immediately electricity surged through me and I flopped around as the energy filled me. It was painful this time and I tried to let go but the electricity kept me in its clutches. At last, the light blew out with a shower of sparks. I lay gasping on the sidewalk for a moment, grateful that no one walked at night in this area. The streetlamp was out but I was aglow with a vital new energy.

  Picking myself up, I gathered all my gear and began to run. Instinct had taken over. My senses knew where he was, the connection running deep. No one had seen him because he was hiding. And where would such a man hide?

  My curiosity took me to the library, which was closed. Not caring, I broke into a side window and lit one of the lanterns sitting on the tables. I roamed the stacks and clippings to find records of any kind. I found Agatha’s family in the news clippings, read how they had sold their home, and moved to a quiet spot in the countryside. Several articles speculated about the secrecy shrouding the death and many suspects were offered but none were ever named. Nearly every article suggested that it could have been a crime of passion by her doctor fiancé. However, his name had been cleared since he was a man of fine standing and had an alibi for the night in question.

  More research enabled me to discover where Laurence lived and where Agatha’s family had relocated.

  I stood in front of a lavish mansion surrounded with a huge wrought iron fence. It didn’t matter to me. I scaled the gates and ran down the driveway. Within minutes dogs bounded out at me. They were big and black, likely Dobermans. They snarled and snapped at me, trying to take me down. I grabbed one with each hand and threw them far away. There was the distant sound of thumps when their bodies hit the earth. A few whimpers showed they wouldn’t be bothering me for a while.

  I continued my way towards the estate. I knew that ringing the front doorbell wasn’t going to accomplish the goal I had set out to do.

  Who knew who was inside?

  I crept around to the back grounds and seated myself in the gazebo. From there I watched the house for two days and two nights.

  Shadows flitted by the windows, bustling maids often came out to the back to clean rugs and brooms and to hang the laundry. Several times a maid would come out calling for the dogs. She walked the grounds, checking the bushes. I always had to stay hidden as best as I could and prayed that she never checked the bushes where I hid when I heard her coming.

  As I sat and gazed at the house, I knew he was in there. I could feel him in my bones. The latest dose of electricity continued to surge through me, making me jittery. My hearing and vision were intensified. My scars had turned bright red from the power surge but luckily, few had broken open. My clothes were splitting and it seemed I must be growing yet again.

  The night came once more. In the light of the full moon, I stared at the house cloaked in shadows. I studied the windows and doors. As the night pressed on, the lights in the house winked out.

  After the house was quiet for a few minutes, I decided it was time. I picked up my satchel and walked across the grounds to one of the back entrances. The grass rustling beneath my shoes seemed so loud in the stillness of the night. It was startling and hurt my ears.

  The sensation of being so near to my creator made me shiver. My body trembled as if trying to get in tune with his vibration. I sensed him, near, so near.

  The French door was unlocked; the maids obviously didn’t believe anyone would actually invade their space.

  I walked into the house and shut the door. So easy.

  What wouldn’t be so easy would be finding where Laurence was hiding.

  My stomach was pulsing uncomfortably and I broke out in a clammy sweat. He was so near, so near.

  I creeped through the house, careful not to knock over anything. As I navigated the room, my clothes were bursting at every seam. The pants were nearly falling from me, my toes ached against the top of the shoes.

  However, the feeling was fantastic. I was powerful and strong. My mind buzzed along better than the finest of absinthe. I craved more of the electricity to keep this sensation flowing.

  I reached for a door and energy leaped from it into my fingers. It must be him, I thought, as I turned the knob, the smell of my flesh burning against the handle as I did so.

  When I pulled my hand away, some of my flesh stuck to the door. I didn’t have time to lament, I pressed onward.

  The door had an opening to a s
tairwell going down.

  There was a lantern by the stairs and I lit it with the pack of matches that lay beside it. I descended the heavy stone stairs. I brushed cobwebs from my face and stepped carefully as the stones were rather uneven. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, there were two doors in front of me. My feet and hands went immediately to one of the doors and tried the knob. It was locked.

  Not to be worried about it, I stepped back and then kicked in the heavy oak door.

  It fell over and I entered the room. My mind and body were consumed with white-hot light as I heard the sound of smashing glass coming from another room. He is bumbling his way around, trying to hide.

  “Get out here, you coward. You made me, you can come and see me,” I bellowed. I marched into the room where a medium-sized man pulled himself up from underneath a laboratory table. More beakers crashed to the ground as he nervously stood. He stared at me in the lantern light.

  “Hold on,” he said, not taking his eyes off me as he inched his way around the room. He fumbled along a wall until he found a chain and pulled it. A light blinked on.

  “My god, it is you,” he said as he stared at me. I stood breathing heavily, my mind racing as I saw his face. Memories of kisses, of tender moments, of carriage rides and picnics.

  What had happened?

  “Yes, it’s me. Why did you throw me away?” I asked.

  “I didn’t…” His lips quivered and tears welled up in his large blue eyes.

  He had shoulder-length curly hair and a strong chin. He wore simple clothes and a white cotton apron with bulging pockets.

  “Look at you, Agatha,” he breathed, not taking his eyes from me. “You look like you did…but much larger.”

  “Who do I look like?”

  “You look like who you are. My beloved Agatha. Do you remember?”

  I shook my head. “Who is Agatha?”

  “You have her brain. I tried to recreate her face, her breasts, the rest I had to make do with what I could find. But do you remember your life…before?”

  “Before what, Laurence?”

  “Before you died.”

  “I’m quite alive, Laurence. I may be ugly but I live and breathe.”

  “Because of me.”

  “Why because of you? How did I die the first time? Did you cut me apart?”

  “How can you be so cruel, Agatha? We were in love. We planned to marry. You understood the reanimation process and you knew that I needed a brain. A good brain, a decent brain.”

  “So you murdered me.”

  He paced around the room.

  “No no no. It was a horrible coincidence. You were murdered by the Ripper. It was all very hush hush. Of course, he wasn’t called the Ripper yet then anyway.”

  “Why was it hush hush?”

  “You know, rich girl,” he stammered. “You don’t want her to be murdered by the same man who filets prostitutes.”

  “You mean me? Being murdered. But I was.”

  “It had all the markings once he started to really kill.”

  “How was it that the Ripper picked one rich girl and not others?”

  “There were others,” he said quickly and then began to pick up the pieces of glass.

  “How do you know?”

  For a while there was nothing but the sound of glass being gathered and thrown away.

  “People talk. People who see bodies for a living. No big mystery.”

  “Why would they talk to you?”

  “I worked at the hospital. Besides, money talks louder than people sometimes.” He chuckled.

  “So we were to be married. And what was your hope when you brought me back from the dead?”

  “I was hoping we could be together again.” He stopped picking up the glass and stood up. He walked over to me and held my hand. He winced, instinctively putting his hand to his nose then quickly placing it over mine. “Can we be together again?”

  “You buried me alive.”

  “It was an accident. I thought you were dead. Why would I go through all the trouble of creating you, risking my life and reputation, only to throw you away? It makes no sense. Please forgive me. I love you, Agatha.”

  I stared at him.

  “Are you kidding me, sir? Love me? I’m a monster. I’m not real. What is this love?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Agatha. Now that I see you again, you have no idea. How many men can say that the woman of their dreams came back to life for them?”

  “I don’t know. What are you offering me?”

  “My love, my life, being my wife.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Perhaps, but now that the initial shock of seeing you once more has worn off, I can imagine a future together. Exactly as we had once planned.”

  “What future?”

  He was almost dancing as he paced in excitement.

  “We can resume our research together, we can study reanimation and now you’re living proof that it works. We can travel the world educating the public.”

  “You mean putting on sideshows.”

  “No…”

  “It won’t work. I’ve already tried it. The sideshows have died out. You can’t disclose who I am, my real identities...you’d be arrested for stealing body parts. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?”

  He was tinkering around behind the cabinet again, opening and shutting doors, fiddling with beakers. “Oh, Agatha, please don’t torment me. What will you do? Where will you go?”

  “You didn’t care before.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “I can manage just fine without you. How do you think I’ve come this far?”

  “You look terrible. I can dress you.” He came out from behind the counter.

  “I have many fine dresses, I only wore a disguise to come here.”

  “You were the only woman I ever wanted. After my experiments failed, I confess I went a little mad. I committed the most terrible of atrocities.”

  “Atrocities more terrible than stealing the bodies of the dead?”

  He collapsed into sobs on his table. I went over to him, more out of curiosity than comfort. He lifted his head, tears pouring from his eyes.

  “Agatha, let me kiss you one last time,” he said. My heart beat a little faster and it pained me. He was a nice-looking man and perhaps a kiss from him would be all I’d ever receive from any man in this lifetime. I let him come close to me and kiss me. Our lips met. His were soft and it was like kissing feather pillows. As we kissed, I took the knife that I had hidden in my trousers and plunged it up through his rib cage and into his heart. At the same time, there was a sharp jab of a needle into my neck. I screamed as I tugged at the hypodermic needle. He fell down backwards, knocking over the entire cabinet of beakers. Liquids and glass crashed down on him as he lay gasping his final breaths.

  I pulled the needle from my neck and flung it away. I didn’t know what it was supposed to do and it worried me.

  He groaned and his last breath was spent.

  I stared at my creator. Nothing but a bloody mess on the floor now.

  There would be no answers to questions.

  No happy endings.

  I had no urge to eat him as the partial contents of the syringe entered my system. The liquid was cold in my blood.

  I wandered through his laboratory and saw his many experiments in yet another room. There were huge jars filled with body parts floating in some kind of solution. Eyeballs watched me as they floated. There were three brains. Two large steel tables were in the middle of the room with large unlit lamps aimed down at them.

  The next room gave me chills. It was an office but one wall drew my attention. It was filled with newspaper clippings about Jack the Ripper. I studied them, wondering why he would be collecting such morb
id tabloids. I read a few headlines but the pictures of the victims, most of whom I recognized, saddened me.

  I set out into the predawn morning before the staff woke. The sky was navy with dots of clouds visible, a light spreading across the horizon with each passing minute. By the time I reached my quarters in Whitechapel, the sun was up and the birds were singing. I entered my quarters and gathered all my money. I changed my clothes and packed only what I could carry. I was exhausted but knew I had to keep moving. My body was weakening and I knew it was related to the serum that he had given me. Although he had injected very little, it was enough to slow me down. As I was changing, I noticed that some of the red scars had burst open and were forming scabs. New scars broke even as I moved my arms to get dressed.

  My looking glass told a sad tale. My face was cracked and swollen once more. Angry red lines filled with pus splintered before my very eyes. I didn’t have much time.

  As I was double-checking my packing, I looked around my room. I knew I would never be returning. It would be a shame to have all these nice clothes go to waste. I opened my door and threw the dresses out into the street. It didn’t take long for my belongings to all be gone.

  Picking up my travel bags and my satchel of money, I looked around my empty room. It was time to go see what else I could learn about myself.

  Walking out into the morning sun was painful. The wounds on my body were festering now. Each step was painful but I made my way to a train station dragging two heavy bags of my possessions.

  I bought a ticket and boarded the train.

  As I sit here recounting my story before I can no longer hold pen to paper, the sun is beaming into the train and it’s very hot. This is causing more deterioration. I’m wearing one of my hats with the nettings and lots of scarves. However, there is no denying the slipping, dripping goo that now leaks from my face. My fingers have become very soft and squishy. My legs feel like lumpy paste.

  Although I have blamed my rapid deterioration on the formula that the doctor had injected me with, I remembered how my hand had stuck to the door. Perhaps I had used too much electricity. My joy in the power surges perhaps had gone too far. I kept jump-starting my brain and heart but it was too much for my body.