The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

by Kiersten White

  “I think,” Adam said, his deep voice like rocks scraping together, “I can give him a trail to follow. I am memorable.”

  What a strange company we were! But I was gladder than I could say that I would not do this alone. “Trying to follow us will keep him moving, prevent him from being able to set up another laboratory. We can save others in that way. But we need to lure him as far away from people as we can. In case things do not go as planned.” After all, the three of us had failed once at killing him. “He hates the cold. So I say we move north as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh, we three fugitives will make this hell for dear Victor.” Mary rubbed her hands together in delight.

  I laughed, and Mary joined in, the noise brighter than the fire raging in front of us. Something in Adam seemed to release. He stood straighter, no longer turning his face from us. His black lips parted in a smile, and at last I saw the soul he carried. Victor had not made that. It was entirely Adam’s.

  We settled into silence, listening to the rain sizzle as it hit the flames, the heat so intense that our clothes dried as fast as they got wet.

  This house had been a refuge, and it had been a prison. But even watching it burn, I was not free. Victor was out there. He would follow me. I knew his singular intensity and devotion to a goal better than anyone. He would find me.

  I would let him.

  I ALWAYS KNEW I would see the world because of Victor.

  I had never imagined it would be because I was running away from him.

  We stood on a plain outside Saint Petersburg. It had been a long, frigid journey. And we had yet more long and even colder journeys ahead of us. But as we looked on the onion domes of that glittering, frosted city, I finally felt something like peace.

  “It is beautiful,” I said.

  “It is freezing,” Mary said.

  “It is both,” Adam said.

  I laughed, linking arms with Mary. And then, ever tentative, I reached out and linked my other arm through Adam’s. He flinched at the touch—he always did—but then he softened. I did not look up to see whether he was smiling. I was trying to do things simply because I wanted to, or because they felt right, rather than because I was trying to elicit a certain reaction for my own purposes.

  “You two should go into the city,” Adam said. “Spend a few nights warm and cozy. I will wander the countryside and let people catch glimpses of me.”

  “What if someone tries to harm you?” I feared this constantly, that his monstrous visage would inspire violence. “That is not fair to you. We should all be warm or none of us.”

  He patted my hand. His dwarfed mine, at more than twice the size, but he was remarkably gentle. “I am faster and stronger than anyone who may wish me harm. I do not mind doing this task. The cold does not bother me. And I like the wide-open spaces. It is still exhilarating to run as fast as I can.” He paused, then smiled shyly. It was such a tentative smile, like a new bud of a flower. So fragile and unformed. “And I like being reunited with you after.”

  I met his smile with my own, which helped his budding flower grow. “I like that, too. But I do not speak Russian. So we will be at a loss in the city and—”

  “I do.” Mary grinned, her breath fogging out in front of her face. “At least well enough to order dinner and get a room. My uncle loved Saint Petersburg. I want to see it for myself.”

  “That settles it.” Adam patted my hand one more time and then gently pried it free. “I have already seen it.”

  “In another life,” I countered.

  “That is enough for me. I will meet you back here in three days.” He loped away, within seconds too far away to argue with.

  Mary climbed back into our open carriage and took the reins. “Come. I want to be warm for more than a few hours at a time.”

  I joined her, and we rode down toward the city. Our carriage was a sled, so she stopped on the outskirts and found a stable for the horses. We rode in a hired buggy to the center of the city. I wanted somewhere nondescript and anonymous. Mary chose the nicest hotel she could find.

  That night at dinner, our bowls filled with soup and our glasses with wine, she glared at me. “We are in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I want to go to an opera. I want to visit the cathedrals. I want to enjoy this expensive meal. And you are determined to be miserable. Adam is fine. He likes the solitude, and he likes coming back to us afterward.”

  “It is not that,” I blurted out, and then I realized what it was. I looked down at my bowl and the silver spoon next to it. It blurred. “How can I enjoy myself when Victor is still out there? How can I enjoy myself when Justine is dead? William? Your uncle and Henry—not dead, but not alive, either. Not really. I bring their restless ghosts with me. They were killed because of me. Because of Victor’s twisted need to possess me forever. How can I ever smile, how can I ever enjoy myself again, knowing what my life has cost?”

  Mary reached across the table and took my hands in hers. I wore black now, all the time. She wore deep red tonight, complementing her beautiful complexion. She smiled at me, squeezing my hand. “Because I know my uncle. I see glimpses of him in Adam. In his kindness. In his wonder at nature. In his love for both of us. I am certain Henry is in those things, too. And your Justine is gone, but you carry her in your heart. Would she want that heart to be heavy and burdened for her sake?”

  I shook my head. “She made me promise the opposite.”

  “I am not saying you should not feel remorse or sadness. But if nothing else, your past should teach you the value of life. The wild and precious joy of it. Do not let Victor steal that, too. He has already taken enough.”

  I nodded, freeing one of my hands to wipe my eyes. I held her other hand for a long time, until my chest felt light enough that I could breathe. And then I offered her a guileless smile for no reason other than that I loved her and I was glad to have her with me. She returned it.

  That night, curled against her in the warmth of our bed in front of a gently crackling fire, I slept deeply. For the first time in months, no nightmares troubled me.

  * * *

  —

  “I brought you a present,” I said, smiling. Adam’s blue eyes widened in surprise. Under the furs and supplies we had bought was a stack of books. Poetry, plays, philosophy—everything I knew Henry had loved, and that Mary knew her uncle had loved. And aside from those, we had brought books on a dozen other subjects, so that Adam could discover what he loved.

  “Thank you,” he said solemnly, running his misshapen fingers over the books. Mary and I both hugged him, and he wrapped his arms around us, to encompass us both. “Thank you,” he whispered, and I knew the gift we had brought him was not a gift of words or knowledge, but of companionship. We would never leave him. He would never leave us.

  The family that had nearly destroyed me had inadvertently given me a new family. I would keep my promises to Justine. I would embrace whatever strange life I had, for as long as I had it. And, with Mary resting her head on my shoulder and Adam driving the carriage, I allowed myself to smile for no one.

  For myself.

  * * *

  —

  Mary strapped on her furs, belting them in place until she looked more beast than girl. I laughed at her as I pushed aside the crate and checked the opening in the floor to make certain the hole we had carved in the ice for water and fish was still clear. I broke the ice forming around the edges, then pulled up the line. “Three fish!”

  The wind howled around our tiny shack, searching desperately for a way inside between the mud and wood that sealed out the elements. Snow had drifted so high it covered the single window, making even the daylight hazy and soft. We did not know who had built the shack or to whom it belonged, but we had been there for two weeks with no visitors. And if the owner did appear, we would happily pay for our time here. I could not imagine anyone idl
y venturing to us, though. The snow was a lashing, blinding constant. Adam frequently had to dig us out so we could go for supplies.

  The shack was far emptier without his gentle, soft-spoken presence. I always felt better when he was home. But he did not mind the solitude during his trips to be glimpsed at villages within a few days’ travel, and he felt uncomfortable with his massive bulk in our tiny space.

  We did not mind, and we made certain he knew. He would be back the next day, and then we would discuss our next move. I would miss this howling shack. But it was time to make a decision about where to go next.

  “He really is a genius, you know,” Mary said.

  “Who?” I put the fish on the stove, then shoved the crate back over the opening to the ice hole. I would cook the fish that evening for supper when Mary returned from her supply run. She would bring back food and any news she could find. So far we had heard nothing of Victor. No trace of someone inquiring about us. And, thankfully, no rumors of strings of murders in Geneva or anywhere nearby.

  I wanted to imagine we could continue like this forever. Mary had begun to suggest that Victor had died from his wounds, or that our flight had been too successful. She wanted to go back to Saint Petersburg, find a secluded home to purchase for the three of us. To settle. Maybe Victor would find us in a month, or in a year, or never. I did not know what I hoped for. I only knew that, since Saint Petersburg, with Mary and Adam, I was…happy.

  “Victor. Is a genius,” Mary said, patting a stiff section of her furs. She pulled them aside to reveal his journals. “Also insufferable. Did you know he was keeping a journal, too? He was writing an account of his life, but editing out the parts where he murdered people for their body parts. He made himself the hero. I think he fears his legacy, should anyone discover what he has done, and wants to control what they know. You are—if you were worried—an angel on earth, faultless, beautiful, and utterly and completely in love with him.”

  “I had no idea he had such a talent for fiction.”

  “Mm,” she said. “You were also murdered by Adam on your wedding night! Such drama. Victor was committed to an asylum for some time after, so great was his mourning.”

  “That insufferable ass,” I hissed.

  Mary laughed. “He certainly has a flair for talking about himself. And so many descriptions of mountains! He is quite enamored of their grandeur.”

  “You should burn his journals.”

  “That is your solution to everything, not mine. I have also been studying his work. He is insane, and a murderer, but his mind…” She trailed off, something like admiration on her face. Then she shook her head as though physically pushing the thought away. “If it makes you feel any better, I understand how you could have thought so highly of him and been blind to his true nature. His mind truly is remarkable.”

  I sighed. “It was not his mind I loved. It was his esteem for me. He valued me when no one else did. And I thought it made me special, that he loved only me. I should have realized that his inability to love anyone else just meant something was wrong with him.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, you sweet, sad thing,” Mary said brightly. “I think you are special. And I love a lot of people. Well. I love some people….” She paused. “At least two people. I definitely love two people. As long as you count Adam as a person, which we do.”

  I laughed, hugging her awkwardly around her massive furs. “Hurry back.”

  She kissed my cheek, then attached her snowshoes. I braced myself as she opened the door. The wind flung it inward, blowing in snow and lowering the temperature dramatically. Mary was bent nearly horizontal as she pushed out and fought against the wind to walk on top of the snow. I wrestled the door shut, barring it with relief and feeding the stove.

  That afternoon, with the soft, cold sunlight and the warm stove, waiting for my friends to return, I decided: We would not let Victor dictate our lives anymore. We had run. We had waited. We would settle and let him find us or remain forever a mystery. I did not mind where we ended up, so long as I had my little family of three.

  * * *

  —

  Mary’s desperate knock on the door sounded. I rushed up from the nap I had fallen into and unbarred the door. It flew open with even more force than normal, knocking me to the floor.

  “Close it!” I shouted, lifting my arm to cover my eyes from the snow blowing in and the glare of the sun blinding me.

  The door shut, and I lowered my arm to find Victor looming over me.

  “Hello, my wife.”

  I kicked out at his shins, crawling back toward the table. Victor dodged, stepping around my legs and kicking my arms so I fell flat on the floor. We had pistols and rifles beneath the bed, but I could not get to them. I rolled over to face him.

  He was holding a pistol of his own. He had come prepared. His dark hair was covered by a fur hat, which was caked with snow. How long had he lain in wait outside our shack to catch me?

  All this time we thought we were setting a trap for him. And now I was trapped, alone.

  “I have a sled outside with dogs. We will be miles away before that woman knows you are gone. And I know the monster is a full day away, even at his tremendous pace.” He leaned down and smiled at me, the coldly possessive expression reminding me of his father. “Did you really think this would work?”

  I scooted back. He watched me, ready to spring. I stopped when my back hit the crate. There was nowhere to run. I could not get the pistols before he could stop me. And if I struggled, doubtless he would drug me again, and I would lose any chance to fight.

  “You will be happy to know I am finally ready,” he said. “It has not been easy, but you would neither understand nor appreciate what struggles I have endured. Anticipating your gratitude after your change has sustained me. It has also allowed me to forgive you for your lack of faith in me.”

  “I will never be yours,” I said, hollow and lacking conviction.

  He crouched down so we were eye level. I no longer pretended for him, and he did the same. His true self was revealed. It was like looking at a portrait—flat, lifeless, no soul beneath the strokes. Had I really never seen it, or had I always chosen to look away, as he said?

  “There was never another path for you. Consider how much worse it has all been for me. How much I have had to suffer. And how much of that suffering has been caused directly by you!” His face twitched and his fingers tightened on the pistol. Then he sighed. “It does not do to dwell on it. There is no point in fighting. This is your fate, Elizabeth Frankenstein. I will let no other claim you—not man, not death, not even God.” He stood, holding out his hand.

  “If I come, will you let Mary and Adam be?”

  “Who the devil is Adam?”

  “He is—” I would not say the monster.

  Victor caught on. “Oh, Adam. A man’s name for something so much less. But yes. They can do whatever they wish. I have no use for them.” He smiled. It was the smile I had taught him. And I knew he gave it to me now so I would not have to see the truth. Of course he would not let them live. Mary had tried to take what was his, and Adam was a reminder of failure. He would take me, and then he would destroy them. Or in Mary’s case, use her body for something unspeakable.

  What option did I have?

  I smiled up at him, giving him the look that always soothed him so he could function. He let out a breath of relief, his eyes lighting. He still needed me. He would always need me. And some part of me still responded to that.

  I had no means to kill him. But perhaps, after he had taken me, I could devise something. I smiled more sweetly still, and he leaned down to kiss me. I could not stop myself from jerking away from his hateful lips.

  My movement dislodged the crate, my momentum carrying me backward into the hole in the ice.

  The shock was immediate and overwhelming. Panic bubbled up like my br
eath as I struggled to orient myself and find the hole. I had to get out!

  A hand grabbed for me, grasping blindly through the icy water. The hand that had reached out to me as a child, that had pulled me from my misery and into a life of a different kind of captivity. The hand that, guided by his brilliant mind, could accomplish delicate and sensitive operations that defied the fundamental laws of life and death.

  The hand that would take my body and make it his own.

  Victor would save me. And I wanted to live! Desperately. As I always had. For one moment I let myself consider it.

  But if I lived, I would still die, and I would never have control of myself again.

  I took his hand, and then I pulled with all my might. Victor, unused to meeting resistance from me, tumbled into the hole. He flailed, turning toward me in the blue depths. His eyebrows were drawn together in surprise and confusion.

  I reached out and smoothed them, smiling. Victor would never hurt anyone again. I had saved them, and I had saved myself.

  He struggled for the surface, searching for the hole. But he had not taken off all his furs. They were weights, dragging him down. I wrapped my arms around him, embracing him and sinking with him until he stopped moving. The water around me, deepest blue, turned from cold to burning heat and then peaceful nothingness.

  I opened my arms to release Victor. His fingers, tangled in my hair, finally broke free. He spiraled down, staring up at me in surprise, until the black depths claimed him. I floated, weightless and finally, truly free.

  And then, alone but not scared, I closed my eyes.

  Taught by the heav’nly Muse to venture down

  The dark descent, and up to reascend…

  THERE WAS NOTHING.

  And then a shock so great it yanked me free of the hold of eternity, pulsing pain to every sleeping nerve until I felt and saw the brilliant white that claimed me and forced me back.