Drown
The next morning, the instant Victor awoke, he knew something was wrong.
Victor felt like he was being watched. His chest felt different, like someone was gently tugging on something behind his ribs, and he felt dizzy. Not nearly as bad as the previous night. It was comparable to wine sickness.
Victor sat up, fully expecting to see someone in his room.
A bandit perhaps, the innkeeper or a lost and curious child?
But the room was empty. His eyes roved over every inch of the space, but there wasn’t even a spyhole.
The walls were thick plaster, and the cracks around the door didn’t show light.
There wasn’t even a window in this room.
Feeling a bit silly, Victor peeked under his bed, half expecting to find Elias’s charred and hideous form waiting for him. But there was nothing there.
The feeling of unease in him deepened.
Victor called for water and a washcloth and put himself to rights, wiping the soot from his face and clothes.
He hurried from the inn and back to the areas of town where he was most comfortable. He could still smell the smoke in the air from the fire, but no one looked at him closer than usual.
The house itself was a charred husk, and his neighbor’s beside it was badly singed but still standing. There was nothing left on the first floor. All was blackened wood and twisted metal. The floor had caved into the basement.
Victor tested the plaster wall but it seemed steady, so he used it as a ramp into his beloved lab.
Everything glass was smashed. His notebooks were half ruined, saved in part perhaps by the saline that had spilled over most everything in Elias’s initial destruction.
All his machines built in copper and brass had boiled and warped, becoming misshapen, unrecognizable, and useless.
So Victor sat in the mess and sketched out the details of his blood, breathing, and heart machines.
Listing their parts, design, and any measurements that were still fresh in his mind before they faded.
Any small valuable objects left around the house he collected and stored safely in his shoulder bag—most of his landlady’s jewels, some sentimental ceramics that were spiderwebbed with cracks, tatters left over from his letters from Elizabeth.
His searches were fruitful in both items found and items not: namely valuables that would soothe his landlady’s ire when she returned from her trip and Elias’s body living or dead lying in wait for him.
Victor took the baubles and the fire marker* from the building to his landlady’s insurance company to be collected by her in his absence.
Affixed to the entire mess: a short, false description of an accident that led to the fire and a letter promising additional money to cover losses should her insurance fail to cover a rebuild or purchase of a property of similar size and value. And, of course, an apology.
Then Victor took a steadying breath and headed, blue book in hand, to Mr. Sauer’s residence.
In the daytime, it was much less imposing than at night. The broad high gate was opulent and the gardens brilliant green in the sunshine. Victor still felt sick and apprehensive as he knocked on the door.
The butler answered, and he didn’t look happy to see Victor at all.
“Come to call without an invitation, I see,” he said dryly. “Just visited the once and your entitlement seems to have reached a fever pitch.”
Victor ignored him. “I must see Mr. Sauer. I have a book to return.”
“You can just hand that to me,” the butler said, reaching out, but Victor turned away from him, tucking the blue book out of sight.
“And to borrow one,” he snapped.
The butler looked down at him archly for a moment before leaving him on the doorstep with a promise to return.
Victor waited impatiently, glancing behind him at people walking by on the street. Curious eyes roved over him in a way that made it immediately clear that this house didn’t receive guests during waking hours. Victor slid behind one of the grand pillars so he was hidden from sight.
The door swung open again, this time with Mr. Sauer filling it. The man was dressed in an opulent housecoat with his nightshirt peeking out the top. His hair was in disarray, as though he had just been awakened, despite it being midday. He squinted against the glare of the sun.
“Young Mister Frankenstein, why, it’s been months? And at such a strange hour?” Mr. Sauer asked.
Victor shrugged anxiously. “I must speak to you, urgently. May I come in?”
Mr. Sauer moved to the side, nonplussed. “I had to see for myself. I was sure Reiner was mistaken.”
“Do you have somewhere private—?” Victor started, looking around. The butler was standing to the right, glaring, and Victor was certain he didn’t want him eavesdropping.
Mr. Sauer—finally inferring that this was some sort of emergency—led Victor to the library and shut the door firmly behind them.
Victor held out the blue book immediately.
“In exchange for Fitz’s address book. I need help with something.”
Mr. Sauer carefully took the blue book back and turned it over, inspecting for damage, then, as if on a whim, he sniffed it.
“Formaldehyde,” he whispered, then looked up at Victor in shock. “What have you done?”
Victor squared his shoulders. “Something that must be undone.”
Mr. Sauer tossed the book recklessly in a nearby armchair and began pacing. He paused and let out a bark of horrified laughter, then looked back at Victor.
“Some things cannot always be undone, son of man. What evil have you wrought with the gift of knowledge?” Mr. Sauer threw open his arms in defeat.
Victor didn’t want to tell him. All at once he felt very small and very young.
Mr. Sauer shook his head. “Fitz left an address book here for you weeks ago, thrilled by the idea of finding you a mentor. Someone to help guide you in your arts. What a waste. When you didn’t return for those months, I assumed you absconded with my property.
I intended to wait until spring, then send a friend off in pursuit of it. ”
Another peal of laughter. “And now you’re here!
Standing on my doorstep. Smelling of smoke, guilt, and desperation.
Begging to be forgiven for your transgressions like a chastened schoolboy.
Well, I’m sorry, Victor, but I cannot grant you the absolution you seek.
I doubt that I am of a high enough authority, and for my role in assisting you I am in need of absolution myself. ”
He turned on a heel and marched deeper into the library. Victor stood and watched as he snatched a small black book off the shelf. Mr. Sauer grabbed up a few sheets of paper and a pen and stalked back to where Victor was waiting, trembling.
He flipped open the book.
“What was your disgrace? Human, animal? Living or dead?”
Victor looked at the black carpet beneath them. “Human. Living reanimation.”
Mr. Sauer made a sound of anger and disgust. Victor could see him writing something in the black book, then the paper and pen was shoved beneath Victor’s nose.
“The names and contacts I’ve circled are your best bet if you’re seeking assistance.
They won’t slam a door in your face at least, and their specialties are tangentially related,” he snapped.
“Copy them down and any other information you may need from the book you borrowed and leave with only what you’ve written.
You are now unable to borrow from this library. ”
Victor took the paper and sank into the armchair where the blue book was waiting for him.
Mr. Sauer stood before him, and it took ages for Victor to lift his head to meet his eyes. He expected paternalistic fury but found disappointment and dread instead.
“If you manage to reverse the circumstances for which you needed my assistance, you must write an account of your crimes and submit it to the council,” Mr. Sauer said.
“They will review the full circumstances and the efficacy of your penance. Then they will consider whether to send you for apprenticeship or turn their backs on you for good.”
Victor’s eyes began to smart, but he willed them to stay dry. He couldn’t cry in front of this man, deepen his shame.
Then Mr. Sauer surprised him. He knelt so Victor had no choice but to look him in the face.
“You are lucky you’re just a boy,” Mr. Sauer said, careless of the way that stung him.
“In the end it is my fault for disregarding that. For thinking you would just read and ponder the mysteries instead of act. Especially a boy so decisive and so bright. In time, youthful impatience whittles down into a heady wisdom that helps with choice. But it may be too late for that, and for this I must apologize.”
He caught one of Victor’s hands in his and squeezed it tight in what felt like goodbye.
“Let us hope that they have the chance to judge you with the kindness and guidance of man, and that the natural consequences of your transgressions don’t punish you with the severity of the gods.
I am not so sure they will be so lenient with me for my recklessness and enthusiasm in handing you this opportunity. ”
With that, Mr. Sauer left him to his work and despair.