“My name is Vivian Black.”
“Clement Thortan.” My voice was faint, and I wasn’t interested in saying anything.
She took me to her home and laid me gently on a bed with a wrought iron frame. I couldn’t leave even though I urgently needed to. I was too sick and weak. Vivian was kind; she patched the wound on my neck and insisted on caring for me. It rained that night, and I took pleasure in the feeling of the fire she had lit in the hearth across from the bed. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tiny red notebook I had used to write down my notes. All of the recordings in the months I had studied with Walter were written down in perfect clarity. I thought I was wrong in my beliefs, that something in the patterns I was finding had been miscalculated. None of my notes made any sense. None of the recordings or sketches meant anything to me. I read through them over and over until I began to feel so enraged that I squeezed the notepad in the palm of my hand until it started to hurt. I cried out in rage and threw the notebook into the fire. I started crying uncontrollably into my hands. Vivian came in shortly after.
“Why are you crying?’”
I tried to say a million things. “The notes,” I started, “they… I…”
She only stared at me with a puzzled look on her face. I sighed and hid my face in my hands. “You wouldn’t believe me.” I looked up into her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“You’re still sick,” she said softly. “Just rest.”
“I need to get home. I need to tell Walter of my discovery. If I don’t, I am going to die.”
“Who is this Walter you rave about? You call his name in your sleep, and you talk about…well…about death.”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” I said. “I wish I could explain everything to you. I do.”
“Just rest.”
“I’m not crazy. Really I am not.”
“Oh, Clem, I do not think you’re crazy.”
“You do. You do think I’m insane.”
She smiled. “I don’t think that. But you are sick, and the things you are thinking, I believe are because of that.”
“These things I have been saying about scientific discovery and the things I had said about reversing the curse of mortality, I know it all must sound like meaningless raving, but it is all quite true.”
She smiled and left the room.
“I’m not crazy!” I screamed.
Before I slept that night, Vivian prepared a bath for me. She helped me out of bed and almost carried me to the bathroom. She shut the door but insisted on staying close by in case I needed something. It made me uncomfortable that I was so helpless. I must have looked so pathetic to her. It took me a long time to realize why it even mattered to me. Why did I care so much that I wasn’t charming and strong to her? I had never felt anything for a woman before, but with her, it was different. There was something about her that aroused a strange curiosity in me. Something made me feel a strong, maddening desire for her. I wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything before. I knew it couldn’t happen that way even though I wanted it to desperately.
This woman was as kindhearted as she was beautiful. She was warm and tender, taking care of me almost like a lover. She washed my clothes for me and set some different clothes outside the door. She mentioned that her brother was close to my size.
“He left a few things here last time he came to visit. You could probably fit comfortably.”
I smiled, but there was only one thing I was able to say. “You don’t need to do this.”
“I know.”
The next morning, it was the sun that awoke me. The curtains were open, and sun was shining into the room. With a groan and all the strength I could muster, I rolled myself out of the bed. Hitting the floor with a thud, I groaned again and crawled toward the window to open it. I felt no pain. There was no burning, no blistering flesh. What Redline had said about my mother being ‘just a crazy old woman’ replayed in my head. The professor was right; she was just a crazy old woman after all.
The sun was beautiful. It was as if the Earth was engulfed in a ball of radiant light and warmth, like the universe was wrapped in this beauty that had never been known before now. I was overwhelmed with joy. All my life, I had been deprived of something so simple yet so amazing as the ordinary, everyday light of the sun. It must have been a miracle!
I was on my knees now, yelling and screaming. “Oh!” I cried out. “Oh, it’s a miracle! Miracle!”
Vivian came in as I expected.
“Clem?”
“Look!” I screamed. “Vivian, look. It’s the sun, the sun, my darling!”
“Clement, you’re sick. Go back to bed.”
“No, look!” I began clapping my hands and screaming nonsensical things to her. I was yelling out things like that I was a genius and had created a miracle. I was laughing uncontrollably, which could have easily led to a perfect fit of hysteria. I was mad with joy but, undeniably, I was mad.
I yelled for Walter, telling him that I had discovered the secret. I believed I had discovered everything. The genius of Victor’s was now mine as well. I didn’t understand then how delirious I was. I didn’t realize that these secrets consisted of intricate patterns, and all of my months of studying and all of my recordings were ashes in Vivian’s fireplace. How could I have been such a fool?
I felt ridiculous around her, trying to tell her things, and all she said was, “Rest, Clem.”
She cared for me still, even when my raving would wake her in the middle of the night. I remember wanting to get home. Some nights, I would even awake screaming, begging her to tell me who she was and why she had kidnapped me. It would take her hours to control my weeping and silence me back to sleep. She never raised her voice at me, but sometimes, she would cry. I never knew why she cried.
It was early morning one day when she came in to bring me breakfast.
“I need to get home,” I told her. “I need to get to Walter.”
“Clem, I am fond of you. I promise you that. But you need to stay here if only for a while longer.”
“No,” I argued. “If I do not get home, I am going to die.”
Vivian’s cheeks flushed as slow, silent tears rolled down to her chin. She turned away, trying to hide it from me. She looked beautiful even when she was sad. My caretaker had her brown hair piled upon her head, and her long legs were hidden beneath a black nightgown, which I despised with every fiber of my being. I loathed that horrific fabric covering her beauty. She sat beside me on the bed.
“Why do you cry?” I asked her. “You cry often even when I can see it.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking with each word.
“No.” I touched her face and gave her a puzzled look. “No…I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
She put her hand over mine still touching her cheek and stroked my fingers.
“It’s not that I’m sad,” she said. “I am only scared for you.”
I removed my hand from her soft skin and leaned back on my pillow. I sighed heavily and covered my face with my hands.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” she retorted. “Please. It isn’t that I don’t believe you. I have told you this before.”
“You believe I am crazy.”
“I believe you are sick.”
“Vivian…” It was the first time I had said her name. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say as those familiar thoughts came again. “Vivian, I love you.” The words were soft and meaningful.
She smiled at me and almost laughed. “I love you as well, Clem.”
“No, I mean it. I mean…I really… I want you…for myself.” I couldn’t describe my desire, the longing I felt, which I sometimes believed was trying to consume me, to swallow me alive.
“Clem, can you do one thing for me?”
I didn’t answer.
“Tell me that again. I mean, when you are well.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just do that for me. Please.”
She didn’t believe me. I was resistant but nodded. She brought me breakfast in silence, and after that, I slept most of the day. It must have been a relief for her. She sometimes even slept on the floor beside me in case I awoke screaming. She had such an amazing heart.
I was sick for days, and still, Vivian never yelled at me. By the time I was finally well again, I knew I owed her my life.
“There was something I was supposed to say to you,” I told her one afternoon. “When I was well. To prove to you I meant it.”
“Do you still?”
“I do,” I answered softly.
She sat beside me on the bed, and I touched her cheek. “I want you for myself,” I whispered.
She leaned toward me, and when our lips met, it was like nothing I had felt before. It was like the world spun, and for that moment she was with me, everything was right in the world; everything was in order. I didn’t care about getting home to Walter. I knew then that I was in love. She hardly knew me, and yet she was still tender toward me. She moved closer, deepening the kiss. The passion raged inside me, but she pulled away from me before I had time to wrap my arms around her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. My heart plunged into my stomach.
“There is this frightening admiration I feel for you, Clem, that I don’t understand.”
I didn’t understand it either, but I didn’t care.
“Do you need to understand it?” I asked. “Does it matter?”
“I know nothing about you. I just…I want you to be safe, and I want you to be well. But that’s all I can give you.”
My body began to shake, and my insides felt like they were being torn from my body.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
“Why?”
“I’m clearly an idiot.”
She chuckled. “Why would you say that?” She pulled her hair over one shoulder, and I couldn’t look at her. She was too irresistible.
“I’m a kid,” I whispered.
She exhaled. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Of course. You never had to tell me your name. Your wallet had always been in the pocket of your jeans.”
“Oh,” I mumbled. “Right. Obviously.”
I thought the mugger had taken it.
She smiled. “I’m sorry then. I shouldn’t have encouraged it.”
“I’m glad that you did.”
She just bowed her head.
“I mean it.” I laughed. “Rightly or wrongly, it was something I will never forget. Please don’t feel bad over it.”
“I could never. I barely know you, and yet…I find that I feel close to you somehow.”
“I know I owe you something. If you will let me tell you my story, I can be sure it will be a payment you will never forget.”
“You should never feel as though you owe me anything, Clem, but if you want to tell me what happened to you to cause your brain fever, I am more than willing to listen.”
I told her everything, starting with Walter Redline and his teachings. I tried to explain to her that I had unlocked the secrets of nature and discovered things I was never intended to and then destroyed those discoveries in her fireplace. Everything I had worked toward was now ashes. I would have to start from the beginning again. My love was silent the entire time I spoke; she never took her eyes off me. She listened to me the way people dream of being listened to. But the look in her eyes told me what she was thinking.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Of course I do,” she answered, sounding surprised. “Of course I believe you, but I also believe that your illness is what causes you to believe it.”
I huffed. “You don’t understand. I tried to tell you before I had gone mad. I tried to tell you that I don’t have to be this way.”
“Clem—”
“You don’t need to say anything. I am sorry for taking up your time. I am truly grateful for what you have given me, and one of these days, I swear I will find a way to repay you.”
“Please don’t leave.”
“It’s a dream, Vivian. I cannot stay.”
She nodded and smiled, but I could still see that she was holding back tears. I kissed her softly on her forehead.
“I’ll see you again. I have to get home to Walter and my father and mother. I’m leaving now. Thank you again.”
“Don’t you need me to take you home?”
“Don’t be silly,” I said, laughing. “I know my way around. I’ll walk. It’ll be good for me to build my strength back up.”
She didn’t argue, but I could tell it hurt her feelings. I left it at that. I’d make it up to her someday.
It was still sunny out, and it was miraculous. It seemed to flood over the world like a massive tsunami—an unstoppable tidal wave. I watched the people as I walked, watched them crowding the streets and supermarkets, watched as they entered restaurants. I was intrigued by it. It was new to me. But I hated those people, those insects who had taken for granted what I had lived so long without. They didn’t know what they had, did they? I hated them for other reasons too—hated them because they showed me what I was. I wasn’t anything special, was I? I was one of them now; I was weak—and mortal. I would never discover Frankenstein’s secret. My dream was dead.
I spent the entire walk contemplating how I would tell this to Walter and how I would explain to my parents where I had been. I promised my mother I would be back, didn’t I? I had also missed countless days of work. I really didn’t know how long I had been sick. I was afraid to know. It had to have been a long time. Hadn’t my father called the police? He probably thought I ran away. In which case, he would have let me go. Maybe that’s why nobody came looking for me.
I got home close to evening and took a deep breath before unlocking the door. The house was dark and silent. Nobody came rushing to the door to rejoice my return. I couldn’t hear my mother’s meaningless rambling or my father coaxing her. My mother didn’t race to the door and pull me into a gut-wrenching hug, and my father didn’t come running to yell at me for not coming home and leaving him alone with my mother. Something wasn’t right.
I saw a shadow in the dark, a figure. I instantly flipped the light switch, begging for it to be my mother having another crazy episode—but she had never been silent before, not even in her sleep.
I realized when the light illuminated the face that I didn’t know her. It was a woman I had never seen before. She stared at me, looking as frightened and confused as I was. I found myself pressed against the wall, feeling a strange energy radiating from the woman. She continued to walk toward me, and I pressed my back harder against the wall, unaware of what I was frightened of. She certainly didn’t look threatening; her beauty was mesmerizing. Her hips moved gracefully like an angel. Her white silken gown slid across her hands at her sides. I could almost imagine flowers woven intricately through the lengths of her blood-red locks. She reached out a delicate poreless hand. I shut my eyes, prepared for pain, but I felt a gentle coolness on my cheek. I opened my eyes, and the angel was staring at me, smiling.
“Ah,” she whispered, her voice unnaturally soft and sweet, “an intruder. How lucky that he must be so beautiful.”
I tried to speak, but it came out in a pleading whisper. “This is my house.”
She froze for a moment. “You’re Clement?” It didn’t sound like a question.
I nodded.
“William Thortan is your father?”
I nodded again.
“Are you familiar with the name Matthias Castlebar?”
I couldn’t respond at first. I was instantly infuriated simply by the sound of his name. I wanted to hit her, to beat her senseless. I tore her hand away from my face. “Thief,” I growled. “He destroyed my father.”
“Yes,” she said, but she was calm, composed.
My voice was still venomous. “What’s going on?”
“I found him here,” she said, ignoring my question. “Your father and your sick
mother were here by themselves, and Castlebar was here as well. I followed him.”
I stared, still shaking.
She paused only briefly then continued. “I tried to stop him—to kill him.” Her voice dropped.
Oh, dear God. What’s happened?
“I approached him,” she continued, “and…well, I did kill him. But I was too late.”
“What do you mean ‘too late?’” I spat. “What do you mean ‘too late!’” I was yelling now and realized I was inches away from her, pointing an angry finger toward her face. My voice became choked, and I growled between clenched teeth, “Who the hell are you?”
“I killed him,” she said. “I promise you I killed him, but I was too late.”
I shoved past her and walked quickly to the living room.
“CLEM!” she screamed. I could hear her racing after me. She grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me back until I fell.
“Don’t!” she pleaded. “You don’t need to see that, Clem.”
Oh God! I started screaming, struggling from her, trying to get to my parents, trying to see what she didn’t want me to see. I felt like I was making sense, but I knew I wasn’t saying any words out loud. I was only crying, and the tears saturated my face. I was numb with grief. I knew it then. I didn’t need to see it for it to be confirmed. They were dead, and it was my fault.
Oh God. If only I would have gotten here sooner. If only I had given Walter my recordings, I could have saved them, given them immortality, possibly even cured my mother. It was my fault now, my fault that they were dead.
“My fault.”
“No,” the woman whispered. I hadn’t realized she heard me. “It is the fault of nobody but Castlebar.”
They were all I had, the only things in life I had truly loved. I was alone now—alone and even more lost. I came back from the thoughts of pain and back to the thoughts of the beautiful woman in my house. How could I be so sure she was telling the truth? How could I be sure she wasn’t the one who had murdered my family? After all—she was in my house and knew my name.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“Please,” she started. “I followed Castlebar here. I came here for him. He killed my father as well. I am no murderer, Clem.”
Summers' Shadow (Hunters Trilogy Book 2) Page 2
