Heart of Frankenstein

by Lexi Post

  His mind drifted back to that night almost three hundred years ago, while his creator yet lived, his memory sharp with every detail. He’d stood at the window watching Dr. Victor Frankenstein work, gazing at the creature that would be his mate. He’d promised to quit the company of man and leave Victor in peace in return for being given a female creature like himself. All he wanted was another like him. Man had woman and every beast had its mate, but he had nothing. He needed a mate.

  It was not much to ask. Victor had abandoned him when he’d taken his first breath. The man owed him. Progress had been slow on the cold rock in the Sea of the Hebrides, Victor vacillating between walks along the windy beach and work in his small croft. The doctor seemed to prolong the process.

  One night he looked in the window and knew she was almost complete. He’d smiled at her from outside, his joy building. He was anxious to have someone to share his life with, to end his miserable lonely existence. But Victor had seen him, and for no apparent reason destroyed her before his very eyes, ripping her apart like the monster Victor claimed him to be.

  He closed his eyes at the remembered pain, the wail of anguish, and the terrible deeds he’d gone on to commit for the sake of revenge. Opening his eyes, he gazed down at Angel. Could she be his salvation?

  ~~*~~

  Angela woke to pain. At first it was so intense, she wasn’t even sure where it emanated from. Slowly, she was able to distinguish that it came from her hands and feet. Opening her eyes didn’t help. It was pitch black.

  She took a deep breath before remembering she shouldn’t, just before she coughed.

  “You’re awake.” The deep, scratchy voice was strangely reassuring.

  “It hurts.” She sounded like a five-year-old who wanted a band aid instead of the thirty-year-old she was. “The pain.”

  “I know. It’s part of the healing process. It means you’ll live.”

  Her breath caught at his statement. She would live? The relief in his voice made it clear he had doubted that she would. She released her breath and determined to find her backbone.

  She was in the middle of nowhere with a man who said he’d lived most his life in cold climates. She’d been lucky. What if he hadn’t found her. Despite the pain, her head had cleared considerably since she’d last woke up. “How long was I asleep this time?”

  “Half a day.” From his voice, she could tell he’d moved closer.

  “Can I move now?”

  She felt him lift the blanket and pull her arm by the wrist before replacing the covers and setting her arm down. “Yes, you may move, but start with small movements and avoid—”

  She tried to curl her fingers to ease the pain, but it made it worse. “Ow! Shoot that hurts.”

  “As I tried to tell you. Don’t move your hands. Your frostbite is serious.”

  She heard his words, but her brain was still dealing with the stinging that seemed to radiate from her fingers to her shoulder. “How long?” She took shallow breaths as the extra spike in pain subsided, and her hands simply throbbed.

  “They will hurt for days and then they will blister, which will cause a different kind of discomfort.”

  “You’re just full of good news, aren’t you?” Her sarcasm didn’t make her feel any better and when he didn’t reply, she felt guilty. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help and I am grateful.”

  He still didn’t say anything, but she heard him walk across the cabin. He had to be a big man. Based on his voice, she would guess he was in his fifties with a big bushy white and black beard. His steps were hard but confident, like a man who’d seen a lot in his years, but they were heavy as if he had a significant paunch. From what she’d read about the northern areas, people were perfectly happy with carrying a bit of weight into the winter.

  When he strode back toward her, she gave him a sightless smile, hoping he’d forgive her short temper. She was usually easy-going, but her hands were agony. She hadn’t even tried to remove the other from beneath the blanket. She barely felt the sting in her feet compared to her hands.

  “Are you hungry?” His voice came with the scent of food.

  She took a deeper breath, but not too deep. She wasn’t sure what it was, but her stomach immediately told her the answer to his question. “I am. What do you have there. It smells good.”

  “It’s chicken soup.” From the sound of his voice, he’d sat down as he said it.

  Chicken? She would have expected venison stew or fish soup. Did he have chickens? She listened for a moment but didn’t hear anything. “You made me chicken soup?”

  From the way his breathing rippled after her question, she guessed that he chuckled silently. “Yes, I opened a can and heated it on the wood stove. I can’t take credit or blame for its taste, but it seemed appropriate for the occasion.”

  She smiled before grimacing as she accidently moved her hand and caused the stinging to spike again. Sucking in air through her teeth, she held herself completely still, waiting for the pain to go back to its normally high level of intensity.

  “Would you like me to put your hand beneath the quilt again?” His concerned voice gave her something else to focus on.

  “No. Call me a coward, but the idea of having it moved scares the crap out of me right now.”

  “That’s understandable, but I wouldn’t call yourself a coward. The fact that you’re still alive is proof that you have an inordinately strong will to live.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do like to get the most out of life. It’s so short, you know? I want to experience so much.” Talking to him helped her ignore the worst of the pain. “You still haven’t told me your name. I can’t believe you don’t have one. Everyone has a name. Some of us are happier with what our parents picked out than others.” She gave him a smirk. He probably didn’t like his name.

  “I thought you wanted chicken soup, but if you prefer, we can talk instead.”

  Her stomach tightened at his words, reminding her she was hungry. “No, no. Please. Food first.” She couldn’t see him, but she imagined him smiling at her and feeling pretty proud of himself for bringing her back on track. But he didn’t know her. If he thought she’d forget what she’d been asking, he was in for a surprise.

  “I think it best that you sip at the soup like you sipped the tea, so I will hold your head up.”

  She smirked. “I hope it’s not too heavy for you. I do have a big head.” At least her brother was always telling her she thought too much of herself.

  “Your head is perfect and very light.” He didn’t give her time to reply to his compliment before he lifted her head and placed the cup at her lips. As with the tea, he judged how quickly she could sip and swallow and did an excellent job.

  When he lowered her head, she’d finished all of it. “I know it was canned, but it tasted wonderful. Was that all of it?”

  “No, there is more, but your body is just starting to function again. I don’t think you should eat any more right now.” He paused as he wiped her face with a wet cloth. “Do you know how long you were out in the cold?”

  Did she? “I’m not sure. What’s today’s date?”

  “Today is September twenty-seventh.”

  “What? That can’t be right? Are you sure?”

  He didn’t answer her immediately, which convinced her he was right.

  “I am correct.”

  At his words, she groaned. “The ship left Seattle on September twentieth. We were only three days north when I took the helicopter to the glacier. It was not the experience I expected. There were at least a hundred people there with helicopters coming and going. I walked away from it, certain I would hear the helicopters and easily find my way back.”

  “But the snow carried the sound and it rebounded between the mountains.”

  At his words, she sighed. “Yes.”

  “You lasted four days.” The surprise in his voice was evident. “Did you have food and water with you?”

  She thought back on her tr
ek. When she’d first regained consciousness, she’d avoided doing so, not sure she could face it. Apparently, it was time. “I left on the excursion with my pockets pretty full of snacks because I planned to take another tour when I got back to Wevok. I’m what’s called a grazer. I eat a little all day. I was on an ecological adventure tour of the arctic region. The ship was nice and even boasted a hot tub, but the itinerary focused on nature. That’s why I didn’t expect so many people.”

  “It was the last week of the season before tourism shuts down for the winter. If your ship had waited another week to start the trip, you would have been alone.”

  And then someone would have noticed she was missing, but her tour wasn’t like that and with all the people, no one would miss her until the four weeks ended and she didn’t return to work…unless— “Do you have a phone or radio or some way to communicate with the nearest town?”

  “I don’t. I have no need to.” He walked away from her.

  She could hear him cleaning the cup she used. Did he have running water? Did that mean there was electricity? “What is the name of the closest town to here?”

  He finished washing her cup and probably something else by the sound of it. When he was done, his footsteps drew closer. “There is no town. We have Savik, which is an outpost. The closest ‘town’ is Tavva, but that is on the other side of the Noatak River. I’ve never been there.”

  Her heart sank. It sounded like the nearest town was too far. She’d have to figure out something else, but the pain in her hands was taking all her concentration and her patience. “I want to sleep now but my hands are throbbing. Do you have any more of that tea?”

  He laid his hand on her forehead again.

  “Do I have a fever?”

  “Yes, but it’s not high. I have the tea heating now. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”

  Yes, take away this awful pain. She wanted to scream it at him, but the fact she was even alive to endure it was thanks to him. “Yes, talk to me until the tea is ready. It helps take my focus from how much it hurts. Tell me about you. How long have you lived here?”

  “Nine years.”

  She waited for him to say more, but he remained silent. Maybe living alone, or as alone as he lived, did that to a person. “And where did you live before that?”

  “I lived in the Queen Elizabeth Islands of Canada.”

  “Are you Canadian?”

  “No.”

  Okay, this was just frustrating. She needed to come up with a better question, but half her brain was still on her hands. “Tell me about this cabin. I can’t see it. What does it look like?”

  “It’s one room. The wood stove is in the opposite corner from this bed. Next to it are the cabinets and a cold box for items needing to stay cool, but that I want easy access to.” His voice sounded like he was looking in the direction of the area he spoke about.

  “My bed, where you are, is in the northeast corner. The wall behind your head backs up to the mountain and my chest of clothes is at the foot. The table I eat at is in the middle of the cabin against a supporting post. Cattycorner to this bed is where I store my tools. Opposite the foot of the bed is a couch along the west wall and between it and the bed are the bookcases I made.”

  She envisioned each area and filled in her own décor. She pictured the couch with deep red cushions, the chest as an antique, and the bookcases filled with trophies from his hunts. It would be a very manly abode.

  His bed was comfortable as far as she could tell, but she hadn’t moved beyond lying on her back and she didn’t plan to. The pain in her—No, she wouldn’t think about that. “If I’m in your bed, where are you sleeping?”

  The chair near the bed that he often sat on scraped back. “On the couch.” His footsteps moved to the other side of the cabin.

  This mountain man, deep in the wilderness of Alaska had saved her life and continued to care for her, but wouldn’t tell her his name. Was he a criminal? If he was, she couldn’t understand why he would save her. Even after she woke, he’d been nothing but kind.

  Maybe he was just odd, like a hermit. Though, he didn’t seem strange, except for not having a name. His voice sounded cultured despite his rough surroundings. Maybe a discussion on Shakespeare would be a good test, though she might embarrass him or herself. She wasn’t exactly an expert in that area.

  Metal scraped against a hard surface. Ah, the stove top…the wood stove top. That probably meant no electricity. She was getting good at this detective work.

  He poured the tea into the cup. She could hear the liquid as it hit the tin at the bottom, and the scent that wafted over to her made it clear her tea was ready. The thought of sleep and relief from the constant pain in her hands made her anxious. “I’m beginning to love that smell.”

  His footsteps travel across the floor, purposeful and long. Either the cabin was small or he was tall. She would guess tall simply based on the deepness of his voice, though one had nothing to do with the other. She couldn’t wait to see what he really looked like and how close her guess was to being correct.

  He sat down on the chair, its creaking making that clear even before he spoke. “Sleep will help you heal as well as take you away from the pain.” He lifted her head and held the cup to her lips.

  For the first time since waking, she took control of how much she drank and when, pulling back after a sip at the heat. “It needs to cool a little.”

  He lowered her head and sat back, the creaking of the chair letting her know.

  She was disappointed she couldn’t swallow down the whole cup immediately because her mind immediately focused on her burning hands. She forced herself to find a question to ask. “Do you have any children?”

  “No.”

  Shoot, he was back to one-word answers. “I’m not trying to pry. I just need to think about something besides the pain. Can you tell me where you were born, where you lived before here?”

  At first, he didn’t answer. Was he ashamed of where he came from or was he hiding something?

  “My first home was Germany, but I moved to Geneva, Switzerland. I lived in Austria, Holland, England, Scotland, and France before returning to Geneva. I then began my journey north to Greenland and various places across the Arctic Circle. I lived near the north pole before heading south to Ellesmere Island, Inuvik and finally here.”

  His answer left her speechless. She couldn’t reconcile the raspy-voiced Alaskan man with someone who’d traveled and lived so extensively.

  He took advantage of her momentary loss for words to lift her head again and entice her to drink.

  She was quite happy to. The sweet liquid was cool enough to drink comfortably and it both tasted and smelled good to her. Almost as if conditioned to it, her body started to relax.

  She pulled her mouth away, and he lowered her head for her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to lift it on her own. It wasn’t as if she’d had much to eat in days. She hadn’t even had to use a bathroom since she woke up. Was that yesterday? She paused at that thought. Her caregiver didn’t say anything about there being a bathroom.

  “You need to finish this if you want to sleep soundly.” His voice, so close, redirected her thoughts.

  Now she understood why he sounded cultured. If she could get him to talk more, there was a lot he could tell her.

  He lifted her head again, and she obediently drank, the pain in her hands already fading as her body relaxed. If she could just get her mind to stop spinning over what he’d just revealed.

  She finished the last of the tea, and he lowered her head to the pillow. He was so gentle, yet she was sure he was a big man. Just the size of his hand under her head told her that. She needed to give him a name. She couldn’t keep thinking of him as simply a mountain man.

  The question was what type of name? Should she pull one from Germany where he was born or should she come up with something more American? Or maybe she could make up a name or…

  “It’s time to go home, Angie.”r />
  “But I don’t want to go. Our vacation just started. I haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “I know, but mama is very sick. She needs a doctor.”

  “A doctor?” Her stomach tightened. “Will he make her better?”

  Her father looked away. “I want that with all my heart.” He turned back to her. “Don’t forget your shovel and pail.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  That frightened her. She grasped his hand. “It’s okay Papa. I’ll leave them for Cindy. She doesn’t have as many toys as we do.”

  Her father didn’t say anything, but he held her hand tight as they walked off the beach toward the car. When they came to the parking lot, he didn’t have her wash her feet by the spigot like he usually did. Instead, he opened the back door for her to climb in without telling her to buckle her seatbelt or to keep her hands inside.

  She looked at her younger brother, but he was busy sucking his thumb and clutching his stuffed dog. Her mom didn’t say anything either. She always asked about her day.

  When her father got in, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look at mama. Were they mad at each other?

  When they arrived home, her Aunt Ginny was waiting for them.

  Panic set in. “I want to go to the doctors, too. Don’t make me stay home, Papa.”

  “You go inside with your Aunt now, Angie.”

  “But I want to go to the doctors.” She covered the seatbelt buckle with her hand so he couldn’t unbuckle her.

  Aunt Ginny came to the car and took Mikey out of his car seat.

  Her father crouched down. “Angie, I need you to be a big girl now for your brother. You need to help Aunt Ginny, so I can bring Mama to the doctor.”

  “No, I need to help Mama, too.”

  Her father’s eyes were so sad, she started to cry.

  He stood and bent over her, easily unbuckling the belt.

  She yelled. “I want to go to the doctors! Take me to the doctors!”

  Her father pulled her from the car. “Stop it. Your Mama doesn’t need to hear this. Think about someone besides yourself.”

  His harsh tone stunned her, even as he pulled her toward the house and forced her inside. Then he strode down the walkway to the curb and opened the car door. He didn’t look up before getting in. Within seconds the car was driving away.