Bride

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  The sense of unease lifted by the time I made my way to the kitchen, where Victor was already waiting for me. He was scribbling furiously in his journal and gave no sign of noticing me as I entered the room. For the first time, I found myself curious what it was he was writing.

  “Victor,” I said, announcing my presence.

  He nearly fell out of his chair in surprise. “You startled me.” He hastily closed the journal. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” I repeated, unsure of the word’s meaning.

  There was a draft in the room, as if the rains had drained all the warmth from the house. The soft crackling of the fire burning in the next room did little to dispel the quiet gloom that hung about the cottage. We ate our breakfast in silence, with only the rain in the background for sound.

  I watched Victor, whose physical appearance had gradually changed since the night of my birth. He wore a fresh change of clothes, and no longer looked disheveled and gaunt. The color had returned to his cheeks, and his face was clean-shaven. Only his eyes remained cold and dispirited.

  My skill with utensils was steadily improving, and I ate without making much of a mess at all. Victor seemed to take note of this, because he sat straight in his chair and stroked his chin as he watched me eat.

  “Strange,” he remarked. “You’re left-handed.” He shook his head as if processing this new information. “Your brain must have rewired itself so that your right hemisphere is dominant. Remarkable.”

  “Remarkable,” I echoed, lifting another forkful to my mouth.

  Victor stared past me, lost in thought. “I thought perhaps…” He trailed off. “She’s really gone.” A change slowly came over Victor. He shook from head to toe. I couldn’t tell if he was angry, frightened, or sad—possibly all three. Without warning, he hurled his bowl across the room. It crashed against the wall and broke into a dozen pieces. He stood, nearly knocking his chair over in the process, panting for air.

  “Victor?” I said, a question this time.

  “I’ll clean it up later,” he said after a protracted pause. “We’d best get started. Come along.”

  I followed him into the sitting room, where dozens of candles burned softly for light. Before we could begin, a loud knock came at the door. Victor went white as a sheet, his eyes wide with fear. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then the knock came again, forceful and unsettling.

  “Stay here,” he said, holding out his palm. “Stay.”

  He crept toward the parlor. I started to follow but stopped short, mindful of his warning. The parlor was barely visible from the hallway where I stood. Victor failed to notice me—his attention was solely on the door, which rattled violently on its hinges. Thunder bellowed outside, accompanied by a flash of lightning. He drew in a deep breath, lifted the bolt, and threw open the door.

  “Henry,” he exclaimed, deflating with visible relief. “Thank God.”

  “Took you long enough,” a voice said, and a ruddy looking man with red hair and broad shoulders swept inside, drenched in rain.

  “Can I offer you some tea?” Victor asked.

  His companion nodded. “Thank you. I left my horse in your stables.” In his arms, he carried two boxes of supplies. “I brought the things you asked for. The rest of it is in the barn.” He removed a purple dress from one of the boxes and held it out for Victor to see. “I bought this in the village. It was tailor-made in Edinburgh. I have it on good authority it’s the proper fashion for young ladies, though for the life of me, I have no idea why you need it.”

  “Henry, my friend, I can’t thank you enough,” Victor replied with a weary smile. He poured the steaming tea from a saucer and motioned to the table. “Please, sit.”

  Henry accepted the teacup with gratitude. As he settled into a chair, he spotted the pieces of the shattered bowl where they lay on the floor. “Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine,” Victor insisted, pouring himself a cup. “How are things in the village?”

  “Remarkably dull, if you must know. It rains half the time, and threatens rain otherwise. I swear the cold chills me to the bone. I long to return to Geneva, Victor. I’ve followed your instructions for months now, delivering food and supplies when you need them, but this cannot go on forever. Have you forgotten Ingolstadt? You shouldn’t be alone in such a place, alone among the dead.”

  “It’s not safe for you here,” Victor said, still standing with his back to me.

  Henry let out the sigh of a man who had nearly exhausted his supply of patience. “People are starting to talk. It’s the same as before. They wonder why you haven’t shown yourself in the village, and what you’re up to out here. Frankly, so do I.”

  “You’re better off not knowing. You must trust me, my friend,” Victor said, but Henry was no longer paying attention. Instead, he was looking at me. Suddenly shy under the weight of the stranger’s gaze, I shrank behind Victor.

  The cup fell from Henry’s hand, spilling tea over the table. He sprang from his chair and flattened his back against the wall. “This cannot be,” he muttered, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. “She’s dead. I saw the grave. Victor, what have you done?” he demanded, unable to take his eyes from me. “Answer me, or I swear I will leave and never return.”

  Victor bowed his head. “Very well. I will share the tale with you, though I hold no hope of retaining your friendship once you know the truth.” He turned to face me. “As for you, stay here.” He led Henry to his study and closed the door behind him.

  My hearing was more acute than Victor might have suspected. They spoke at length, often in raised voices. There was shouting, and once I heard a great sob, and finally, silence. After a time, Henry stormed out of Victor’s study and up the stairs to the laboratory in the attic. Several minutes later he reemerged and marched downstairs and through the hall where I was waiting.

  “This is a monstrous thing you’ve done,” he said, as Victor pursued him. “Evil and mad.” He gazed upon me with an expression of mixed pity and disgust. “It’s an abomination.”

  “Don’t call her that,” Victor said angrily, resting a hand on my shoulder. “This is my doing, not hers.”

  “That is the truth of it,” Henry spat. “You defied the laws of God and nature, and for what? Did you find what you were searching for, Victor?” He shook his head. “I never believed the things they said about you. I thought you were better than this. I certainly never imagined you were capable of such cruelty. Worse still, you’ve placed us all in danger.”

  Victor’s voice was weak, barely a whisper. “It will all be over soon. You have my word. Just give me a little more time.”

  Henry turned to go. He hesitated at the door. “Take this,” he said, tossing a pistol on the table. “If everything you say is true, you will need it more than I.”

  “I’m sorry, Henry. You’ll never know how sorry I am.”

  Henry looked away. “I will do what you ask, for the sake of your family and all our years of friendship. But I will not forget this terrible thing you’ve done, and I cannot forgive it.” With that, he opened the door and vanished into the rain.

  There were no lessons that day. Victor spent the rest of the day holed away in the attic as the storm raged around the cottage. If I listened carefully, I could hear the sound of his weeping as I sat alone below, filled with sadness I did not understand.

  Night settled over the cottage. Cold crept through the walls, the roar of the fireplace having faded to nothing. Victor was fast asleep in his room, his breathing steady and peaceful. I tossed and turned, unable to find rest, tormented by the lightning outside my window. Hours passed, and finally my thoughts slowed, until at last I was on the precipice of sleep.

  Sometime after my eyes closed, I heard something moving through the house. At first I thought it might be Victor, but the sound of his slumber was still audible. Footsteps echoed down the hallway, slow and deliberate. I waited in silence for something to happen, until at last the blackness took me.

&n
bsp; That night, I dreamed that I woke from my sleep and saw a man inside my room. He was sitting in the chair that normally occupied the space beside my dresser. It had been moved across from my bed and now faced me as I slept. The creature that occupied the chair dwarfed the seat. His body was cloaked in darkness, but his size was enormous. He watched me with a pair of terrible and intelligent yellow eyes.

  In the dream he sang to me, a dark and chilling song, one far more despondent than even Victor’s mournful tunes, sad and lonely. I stirred and sat up in bed, my eyes half-open, and lightning flashed, revealing a monstrous face. His yellowed skin was taut and translucent, hinting at the vessels and muscles underneath. When he saw me beholding him, his black lips pulled back over unsettling white teeth in a fiendish smile.

  “Soon,” he promised.

  In the morning I found the empty chair facing my bed, the floor beneath it wet with rain.

  Chapter Three

  After his friend’s visit, Victor was different. Or perhaps he had always been different, and I was only now just starting to realize it. If Victor possessed knowledge of the creature that haunted my nightmares, he made no mention of it to me. Even as the world opened up to me, Victor withdrew deeper into himself. It was as if the light had gone out behind his eyes. When we weren’t buried in lessons, he disappeared for hours at a time, or else locked himself away in his study or the laboratory.

  Afforded new time to myself, I reveled in the opportunity to explore. Our modest parcel of land was to me a vast kingdom, where endless adventures awaited. When the storm relented, I emerged to watch the sunrise, marveling at the wide assortment of colors that painted the sky. I stole an empty sketchbook from Victor’s study, and after several clumsy attempts to properly hold a pen, began capturing the natural wonders of the forests, the fields, and the sea. Most of these initial efforts were little more than a child’s scribbling, but with each day my skill improved.

  As my vocabulary continued to expand, my thoughts began to take the shape of words. I was able to understand much of what Victor said, even if I struggled to reply in kind. I retained nearly everything that had happened since the night of my birth, and each new memory brought me further away from the helpless creature I once was. Everything was becoming clearer, and yet the more I learned, the more questions I had.

  The first of these questions came without warning, with an answer all must learn in time. I was out alone on a warm day. A gentle breeze stirred the trees to life. I wandered down the path, careful to keep the cottage in sight as Victor had instructed. I settled under the shade of a sweeping pine and closed my eyes, listening to the wildlife with my sharpened senses. Each creature produced a distinct noise, from buzzing bees to croaking toads.

  I heard the fluttering of wings, and a thrill of excitement rushed through me at the familiar sound. I opened my eyes, and there it was—the same robin that had landed on the mantle the day I learned to speak. I was sure of it. The bird previously flew away before I could reach out and touch it, but here it was again. I laughed heartily, unable to believe my good fortune.

  “Bird,” I said, calling out to my newfound friend. The robin ignored me. It sat on a branch a short distance away, oblivious to my presence. When I reached forward, it jumped to the next branch, and then the next, and I came up empty handed.

  For a time I simply watched it, afraid it would fly away again. The bird was so beautiful and gentle. How desperately I wanted to touch it! I imagined what it would feel like to hold the robin, how its feathers would feel against my skin. My movements were cautious to avoid scaring the bird. I didn’t mean to hurt it—I just wanted to show the bird that I wished to be its friend.

  Finally, when I was in arm’s length, I stretched out my hand and plucked the robin from the branch before it could react. The bird let out a shrill cry as my hand closed around it, but my reflexes were already too fast for it to elude my grasp. My heart soared. How would Victor react when I showed him our new companion? I felt a surge of pride.

  I lowered my hand, eager to inspect my prize. Inside my closed fist, the bird didn’t move. When I opened my fingers, the bird lay motionless in the flat of my palm, its wings splayed and broken. I had crushed it with strength I did not know I possessed.

  The smile died on my lips. “Bird? What…wrong?” Perhaps it was asleep. I shook the bird, but it refused to wake. My eyes stung at the sight of the proud animal’s crumpled form. I cradled the robin in my hands, unable to understand this new experience. Why wouldn’t it arise? I carried the bird’s limp form to the house, shouting for Victor at the top of my lungs.

  His boots thundered down the stairs. “What is it? Are you hurt?” His mask of indifference had been fleetingly ripped away by concern for me.

  I held the robin out for him to see. “Why, Victor?” I asked. “Bird…not…wake up. I…no understand.”

  Victor never seemed more human to me than in this moment. He took the robin from me with reverence, as if receiving a priceless gift. When he gazed into my eyes, his expression was full of compassion.

  “Come with me.” He carried the bird outside, past the broken and faded gravestones to a tall oak that stood watch upon the overgrown cemetery. Together, we dug a small hole in damp earth beneath the tree, just deep enough for the bird’s corpse. “I was also very young when I first learned of death,” Victor said as the wind blew around us. “Too young. It seemed strange to me then, but I would come to know it all too well.”

  “Death?” I had never heard the word before. “What…death, Victor?”

  “The absence of life,” he answered simply. “Nothingness. A void from which there is no return.” His voice was soft. “I’m sorry you had to learn about it this way.” Victor took my hands and held them as we stood together under the oak, staring over the grave. “I’m sorry that anyone should have to learn it.”

  “Sad,” I said, unable to articulate this strange torrent of emotions in any other way. Victor nodded quietly, as if sharing my predicament.

  Unlike the fleeting moments of my infancy, so readily shaken off by the next new experience, the memory of the robin’s death remained with me for the rest of the day. Neither did I forget the unexpected strength in my hands that had squeezed the life from the bird’s body. Although I still didn’t fully comprehend death, my ignorance was lifting, slowly taking my innocence along with it. With knowledge came understanding, but pain was the price I paid for it.

  We stayed at the graveside as the time slipped away. Finally, Victor again took my hand and whispered into my ear.

  “I have something to show you.”

  The breeze grew stronger with our approach as he led me down the familiar path surveying the sea. The ocean called to us from the black cliffs overlooking the water, upon which the cottage was perched. Gulls flocked overhead, paying us no heed as they soared over the beach below. Together, we started on the trail that led down from the cliffs. The path was narrow and wet, covered with jagged, rocky edges. The farther we descended, the steeper our path became.

  “Careful,” he said, still holding on.

  I nearly slipped more than once, and when I gazed over the side, the fall was treacherous.

  “Victor,” I said, pleading with him to turn back with my eyes. My grip on his hand tightened, and he winced from the unexpected strength.

  “You have to trust me.”

  I peered over the ledge and back at him and let go of my fear. When we reached the bottom, I found myself standing on the shore for the first time. Victor released my hand, and I wandered forward, utterly spellbound. Warm winds caressed my face, and I felt the soft touch of sand at my feet. Slowly the clouds peeled back, revealing the sun in its splendor, and the white sands seemed to glow.

  “Victor look,” I said, brimming with excitement. “It good.”

  “Yes,” he answered quietly, following my gaze. “It is. And there’s more.”

  He walked to the edge of the water, removed his jacket, and tossed it to the shore before wadi
ng into the ocean.

  “Victor?” I asked as he went farther and farther, his body disappearing little by little, gripped by the same terrible fear that he would leave me alone.

  He swam back to the shore, his clothes soaked. “You’ll be fine,” he promised. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Step by step, I waded into the water. It must have been quite an amusing sight, watching as I learned to swim, splashing and thrashing about in the shallow water. We must have looked like children playing, old friends without a care in the world. It was the only time I ever saw Victor unburdened by his suffering, fully immersed in the simple act of living.

  By the time dusk set in, I had already grown enamored with the feel of the water against my skin. We scaled the cliff before nightfall, and reached the cliff’s peak just in time for the sunset. It was perfect. When we returned to the cottage, we warmed ourselves by the fireplace, eating soup as our clothes dried.

  “I have something for you,” Victor said, holding out an item in the candlelight. It was an elegant purple dress, unlike the bulky, threadbare smock I had worn since my birth. “There are others, in case you don’t like it. I had Henry purchase them for you from the village.”

  I took the dress from him and held it clutched tightly to my chest, burying my cheek in the silken fabric. Never had I received such a gift. “Good, Victor. Thank.”

  “I know I’ve been distant of late,” he remarked, as if by way of an apology. The sounds of the forest echoed beyond the house. “Henry’s visit shook me. I’ve been at war with myself. I suppose I’ve always been at war with myself, between the noblest and most wretched aspects of my nature.” He shook his head and stared into the flames. “What monstrous creatures we humans are.”