The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

by Kiersten White

  “I saw her.” A sob escaped me. Even now I saw Justine, carved with Victor’s violent quest for control. When I thought of her, I more often saw her dead face than her beloved living one. Victor had taken her from me in memory now, too. “I dug her grave myself.”

  “You took her?” His fists clenched, white skin pulled taut over the knuckles I had kissed to remind him to release that tension. The hands I had held and looked to for protection. The hands that had strangled William and framed Justine! He took a step toward me. “How dare you follow me! You were told to stay. I gave you every opportunity to be innocent. If you are upset, it is your own fault.”

  “I thought I was protecting you! I thought the monster was stalking you, and that I would save you!” I waved my journal at him, then threw it to the floor. “I wanted to protect you as I thought you had protected me. But it was all you. You had her on a table like a slaughtered calf! You snuffed out the brightest, purest light in the world so you could possess the flesh of it.”

  He snorted derisively. “You overestimate her value. She was simple. Not even intelligent. What would she have contributed to the world if she had lived another decade, three, even four more? Nothing. And now her body is wasted. In death, she was to serve the highest purpose there is.”

  “She loved your brothers! She raised them!”

  Victor brushed his fingers dismissively through the air. “Anyone can teach a child. Governesses are interchangeable. You had no qualms about getting rid of Gerta.”

  “We did not kill Gerta!” I hesitated, then covered my mouth in horror. Gerta had gone, had disappeared an hour after Victor left me. We had never heard from her again.

  Victor had solved the problem for me.

  His look of condescending annoyance would have frozen me previously, made me immediately change course. Even now I flinched from it. His lip curled. “You cannot complain that you dislike the method, when so many of the methods were of your own design. You made it clear from the start you did not care what I did so long as you did not have to know the specifics. It was our agreement!”

  “No. No, no, no. I never asked for this. I never wanted this.” I longed to pace, to curl into a ball, to run screaming at him and strike him. Instead, I stood there and stared at the boy I had always known, the boy I had thought I knew better than myself. I was looking at a stranger, yet I understood every flicker of emotion on his face. It was too much for me to reconcile.

  And still I did not understand. “Why would you do any of it? Why would you take Justine like that? Why would you even think of creating a mate for the monster?”

  He frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “Why would I give anything to that loathsome creature? As soon as it took its first breath, I knew I had fallen infinitely short of my goals. You have seen it. You understand. It was an abortive mistake, a repugnant error. That it has continued to haunt me, watching me, threatening me, is my own punishment for failing so spectacularly in my pursuit of perfection.”

  “What perfection can you hope to find in death?”

  He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and gave a minute shake of his head. “You do not understand. You have never understood these things. You, who can appreciate the beauty of the world so easily without ever wanting to go deeper—I have done all this for you. To save you.”

  “To save me from what? The greatest suffering of my life has been in the last few weeks, and has been at your unseen hands!”

  He moved toward me in an explosive burst. I shrank back against the wall. He was between me and the door. His anger was mounting, but he still seemed in possession of himself. I was here to soothe him, after all.

  I would never soothe him again.

  He grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me with the strength of his terrible grip. “Suffering is temporary! And so are you! I almost lost you. You would have died, leaving me here alone. When I saw you on your sickbed, inching ever further out of my reach, I swore I would never let that happen. You are mine. You belong to me. And I will be damned if I let the sickening frailty of flesh take you from me. Do you think I enjoyed what I had to do? I hated it. But I had to do it. All my work, all my sacrifice, has been for a single purpose: I am going to defy death. I am going to steal the spark of creation from it, to make life eternal, untouchable by corruption. And I am doing it for you. When I succeed—and I will succeed—then you will count yourself the most blessed creature on God’s earth, because you will no longer be subject to Him. I will step into that place. I will be your god, Elizabeth. I will re-create you in my image, and we will have our Eden. And it will never be taken from us.”

  “You are mad.” My voice trembled, but I could contain my fury. And I could wield his own as a weapon against him. He was already on the edge of losing himself to his blind passions. I just needed to push him. “I feared you were mad when I saw your laboratory in Ingolstadt. I protected you by destroying it. I should have known that the danger was what you carried inside—in your mind, in whatever you have where a soul should be. You are mad, and I will have nothing to do with your sick perversion of Eden. You say you created an abomination? You are one, Victor. You made a monster because that is all you are capable of being yourself. I am finished with you.”

  I braced myself for one of his rages. I was counting on it. He would lose his ability to function rationally, devolving into a pure destructive force. I could escape then. I would run to town and summon the constable. If he struck me, it would help my case.

  But Victor only sighed. He released my shoulders, then walked to the door, closed it, and locked it. His actions were so much the opposite of what I had expected that I simply stood watching. If he had attacked, I would have fought back. Instead, he leaned against the door. He looked so cross, I had to tamp down my instinct to divert his attentions and make him smile instead.

  “This is not how I wanted tonight to go. I need more time. I am not ready for you yet. I will not risk any accidents or failures when it is your turn. I would have been so close, but, thanks to your help when you burned my first laboratory, I lost my journal and all my notes. And then I lost any progress I had made on the body in the Orkneys.”

  I trembled with rage. I was ready to attack him now. “Her name was Justine.”

  He let out a noise of impatience. “You still do not understand. I knew you would not. You were never strong enough mentally or emotionally for this task. You will just have to be patient. After you are changed, perfected by me, I know you will finally be grateful.”

  I laughed, a harsh sound, like the carrion bird I had found that day in his laboratory, pecking at his trunk filled with terrible violence and worse intent. “We are finished. I will never stay with you. I will fight you. I will stop you. You are truly insane if you think for one second I will ever show you any kindness or gratitude again.”

  He took a deep breath. When he looked down at the carpet, I lunged. I threw myself at him with all the rage and pain I possessed. I clawed at his face, aiming for his eyes. He caught my hands and twisted them, throwing me to the floor. He put his knee into the small of my back before I could rise. I tried to hit him, but he pinned one arm behind me, the other trapped beneath me. I struggled, screaming. But as slight as Victor was, I was no match for him.

  I fought with fury; he, with the cold determination of a murderer. Only one of us was aware of how far they could go. I pressed my face into the rug, squeezing my eyes shut. I could not win this fight. I would have to figure something else out. I would have to be smart. Maybe I could—

  “We have always been a team,” Victor said, increasing the pressure of his knee as he shifted, doing something I could not see. “Once again, you have provided the solution I needed. You went to such lengths to hide my work, knowing that anyone who saw it would think me a lunatic. Would immediately imprison me for my own safety.” He laughed. Then he cleared his throat, and his tone of voice changed. “
My poor beloved wife. On our wedding night, too overwhelmed by the death of little William at the hands of the woman she chose to care for him, Elizabeth’s mind broke. You will see, sympathetic doctors, this journal in her own hand. Look at her writings about journeys she never took. No one in England, Inverness, or anywhere will recall a young woman named Elizabeth. She imagined the whole thing! And the monsters—creatures of darkness and death—that she sees in the world around her! Oh, how it breaks my heart! But I know she will be safe in this asylum. She will be safe, and secure, and patiently locked away to anticipate the day I am ready to retrieve her.” He set something down on the floor by my side, then gently stroked my hair. “Do you think I should talk more about what you have been through? Perhaps lingering on your guilt over trusting Justine when she was clearly plotting to murder William? If only Henry were here to write it for me like one of his pathetic plays…Well. I will practice.”

  I wanted to twist my head, to bite his hand where it still stroked my hair. But that would look like evidence in his favor. I would need my wits about me in order to argue my way free from this when he brought in the constables. I could try to run as soon as he released me, but I feared that would support his case more than mine. And where would I run to?

  No. I would be calm. Dispassionate. I would explain his history and temper, try to provoke him again into a rage. I would be—

  A sharp jab stung my neck, followed by a rushing, burning sensation. It flooded the veins there and traveled through my body.

  “Sleep.” Victor’s lips brushed my ear as he stroked my hair. “Sleep, and know that I will take care of everything.”

  WHEN I AWOKE, I was bound to a bed.

  A nurse leaned over me, lifting my gown to place a chamber pot beneath me.

  I gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “Just do your business,” she said with a long-suffering sigh.

  “Madame, please!” I struggled to move, to no avail.

  She leaned over into my line of sight. She was thick with age, and broad shouldered. Her eyes were neither kind nor unkind. They were tired. “If you do not piss right now, I will leave the pot under you. It will bruise your fair skin, and you will cry. I will not care. And if you struggle, you will spill your own shit and piss all over your bed, and I will forget to change your sheets. Do you understand?”

  Her tone was without anger or malice. And I did not know how to reply—what could I say to convince her? How could I best manipulate her into releasing me?

  “Yes, of course,” I said meekly. “But could I sit up, please?”

  “Two days bound to the bed to make certain you will not injure yourself. Do as you are told, and then we will talk about letting you piss sitting up.”

  Horrified, humiliated, I found I could not release so much as a drop.

  She left the chamber pot beneath me.

  It bruised, as promised, though my soul and dignity suffered far worse damage than my skin.

  * * *

  —

  Three days I lay bound to that bed. Sometimes I heard weeping. But that was almost a comfort, because the rest of the time I heard nothing. I could only turn my head side to side and see blank, whitewashed walls. I was alone, save the brief visits of a nurse.

  The second night, the longest night, I repented of my wish to hear things. A woman nearby screamed, and screamed, until my throat felt raw and aching on her behalf. How she continued I did not know.

  How could any of us continue like this?

  * * *

  —

  After three days of doing everything the nurses asked, they unbound me. I was taken into the asylum master’s office. I did not know what country we were in, but the doctor and nurses all spoke German. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the desk and his chair massive and foreboding. A simple stool was placed in front of it. I sat, perched on the edge, with my back straight and my chin held at a demure angle.

  They had not let me brush my hair, nor had they given me anything other than the shapeless gray shift I had worn since I had woken up.

  “Good afternoon.” I smiled primly. “I am so grateful for a chance to speak to you. We have a terrible misunderstanding to clear up.”

  The asylum master did not so much as glance up from where he was writing a letter. He was pale and crinkly, and I suspected if I touched his skin it would hold the indent of my finger. His thin lips were pursed into a single cross line.

  “You see,” I continued, “I should not be here.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “I have seen your writings and have testimony from your husband otherwise.”

  I laughed in embarrassment. “Oh, but he did not let me explain! You see, I was writing him a story.”

  “A story?” He finally looked up from his letter.

  “Yes! A novel. I wanted to surprise him with it. He has always loved scary stories, so I was writing a story of a monster. I am humiliated that anyone else read it.”

  His mouth stretched into a smile. “My dear child. Do you really think claiming that what you were writing came from your imagination does anything to prove your sanity? Indeed, if anything, it further confirms how much you need our help.”

  I shook my head, my heart racing. “No, no, I can explain. I—”

  “You have suffered tremendous loss. And being a tender young woman, the thought of being a wife was too much. You need quiet. You need a place where you are safe, where your mind is not tormented or challenged. I promise we will give you every opportunity to settle your hysteria.”

  I wanted to stand, to shout, but anything I did or said would only be evidence against me. My lips trembled, but I did my best to give him a sad smile. “Am I permitted to write letters? To have visitors? I would like to see—”

  Who? My father-in-law? Judge Frankenstein would not care one whit about my placement here, so long as he could still access my inheritance. He only needed me alive for that. Ernest was too young to be of any help. Henry was in England, and if his own father could not track him down, certainly my letters could not reach him.

  And the day I saw Victor again would be the day all was lost forever.

  I had no one. I had only myself. I let tears brim manipulatively in my eyes and turned the full force of my angelic beauty on him.

  He was not even looking at me.

  “Take her away,” he said. Two nurses came and hauled me roughly by each arm. I did not resist.

  * * *

  —

  “When can I go outside?” I asked the next morning. I had been confined to my room ever since my meeting with the asylum master to allow time for my “nerves to resettle.”

  The nurse setting down my breakfast tray grunted. She was not the same nurse who had promised me bruises. She was younger, but the same brutally uncaring determination was written across the slope of her shoulders. “Being outside is too much stimulation for you. Be good and in a week you can join the other girls for evening meals.”

  “But I—”

  “Be good,” she grunted. Then she left.

  * * *

  —

  When, after a week, I was allowed out of my tiny, windowless cell, I sat as ladylike as I could manage on the cold benches of the central visiting room. There were no visitors. I was surrounded by women sitting in similar fashion, each of us still moving as though we wore collars up to our chins, long skirts, and corsets, instead of loose gowns made of coarse gray material. We were not allowed hairpins for fear we would injure ourselves, so even my hair was long and undone. I felt unmoored, exposed, with nothing between my body and the air but this singular layer.

  They had stripped us of everything we were taught made us women, and then told us we were mad.

  Still. I would prevail. I prepared my case carefully, meticulously, in my mind. At my next meeting with the asylum master, I would convince him of my s
anity and Victor’s guilt, and then I would be released. I had been good, as instructed. I would be exactly what I needed to be in this horrible place, and I would win my freedom.

  Someone snickered next to me, and I turned my head to see a woman lounging in an almost profane manner on the floor.

  “It will not help you,” she said, gazing up at me. Her hair was a mess, her nails bitten down until they were rimmed with dried blood. But her expression was sardonic and intelligent.

  I did not want to engage with someone so clearly not in possession of her wits, but I had not spoken to anyone besides the uncaring nurses in a week, and I longed for communion of any type.

  “What will not help me?” I asked.

  “That.” She jerked her head toward my perfect posture, my hands folded demurely in my lap. “You cannot convince them you are sane by behaving the way you think they want you to. They do not care.”

  “It is their job to care.”

  She snorted, stretching out, lifting her arms over her head languorously. “It is their job to do what they are paid to do. And what they are paid to do is keep us in here. Keep us alive. That is the sum total of it. Do you know why I am here?”

  I did not have to be good to her. She did not matter. “Because you are possessed of a spirit that makes you lie on the floor in polite company?”

  She cackled. “Oh, I like you. No. I am here because I tried to leave my husband. I packed what I could carry, and I walked out in the middle of the night. He spent ten years beating me, cursing me, pulling my hair, and spitting at me. He would fly into jealous rages, accuse me of cuckolding him, of mocking him behind his back, even of stealing his manhood’s strength while he slept so he had none left when he wanted to enjoy me. And I am mad for trying to walk away from that.”