Bride

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  A carriage waited for him in the town square. “Take me home,” he said to the driver, and he disappeared inside without another word. My gaze fell on the far-away castle visible in the moonlight, and I went on foot in pursuit. The carriage outpaced me within seconds and soon faded down the trail, but it hardly mattered. I knew where it was headed.

  The path became more familiar with each step. It was one I had followed hundreds of times before. Even now, as I walked alongside the forest, the past was becoming clearer. I remembered glimpses of life inside the castle, where I had grown from a girl into a young woman. Justine had come to love the Frankenstein family as dearly as her own, but she was never one of them. No matter how esteemed, Justine Moritz had always been a servant. At the mercy of her conscience and her faith, she had no knowledge of science, language, or the arts. I was so much more than she had ever been. All the things that had been denied her in life would soon be mine.

  The hour was late when I neared the castle. The torches burned low outside the entrance, unable to hold back the night. Setting foot inside was like stepping into a memory. I traced the wall with my hand, savoring the sensation of the stone against my skin. I had been happy here once, in another life.

  A chill had fallen over the castle with the sunset, as if the day’s warmth was merely a façade that masked what lay hidden underneath. Judging by the silence, most of the servants had gone to sleep in preparation for the next day’s labors. It was no trouble finding my way in the dark, and I passed through the castle unseen. I wandered alone down corridors and through open chambers, as if reacquainting myself with an old friend I had not seen in some time.

  Suddenly, I heard a quiet sound coming from a nearby room. I crept toward the source of the noise, which was too subtle to be discernible to human ears, and moved across the den. It was a wide room overlooking Geneva, with tall glass windows that let in the moonlight. A fireplace crackled softly between the windows—the sound I had heard. An old man sat forlornly on a sofa, facing the dying fire. Pain was etched into every line of his face. This was a man who had known suffering.

  Without warning, I was seized by an overwhelming impulse to comfort the old man. I remembered his face from my vision of the castle—he was Alphonse, Victor’s father. The Alphonse I recalled always had a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step—the kind of man who resolved any conflict with a good-natured joke. The man before me was a ruin who looked as if he had aged a century since then, and why not? His beloved wife had died from scarlet fever, and his youngest son had been strangled to death.

  I loved him once, I thought, confronted with more fragments from the past. He had been a father to me when mine was dead and buried.

  Against my better judgment, I took a step forward, closer to the light. Before I could reveal myself, I heard footsteps coming from the next room. Elizabeth approached from the dark, beautiful even in the dim moonlight. She draped a blanket over his shoulders and kissed him on the forehead, like the daughter he never had, and together they watched the fire burn.

  Whatever warm feelings I had toward Elizabeth after our chance encounter in the city faded, replaced by a wave of envy. The Frankenstein family had taken us both in as children. Where Elizabeth was adopted into the family, Justine became their servant, all because of a chance blood relation. What did she know of my suffering? Nobility, education, natural beauty, and Victor’s love—she had been given everything.

  I lingered behind them for some time before at last I turned and left the den, unseen. It was child’s play to stay beyond the moonlight’s reach as I ascended the staircase that led to the upper levels, where the Frankenstein family lived above their servants. I prowled the halls like a ghost, silent and invisible. The night was my kingdom, and this castle was my domain.

  The door to Victor’s room had been left ajar. The wooden frame creaked softly as I pushed it open and stepped inside. Though spacious, the interior was rather Spartan in nature. There were no windows to the outside world. There were some books piled on the nightstand, a trunk at the foot of his bed, and a dresser full of clothes, but no mirrors or chairs.

  My gaze fell on the spot where my creator lay in bed a short space away, deep in sleep. I drew nearer, quieter than the candle burning on the nightstand. I leaned closer until we were a hairbreadth apart. His heartbeat was strong and steady, as mine would never be again. I studied his features in the dim candlelight. It had been so long since I had been this close to him. He looked healthier than I had ever seen him—peaceful in his sleep, the only time when he was truly free of the guilt he carried.

  Once, many years ago, Victor told me there was nothing to fear from the dark. Now, the shadows were my friends, and it was Victor who slept with a candle beside him. It was little wonder, after the horrors he had beheld—horrors he had first birthed into the world.

  “Who is afraid now, my maker?” I whispered to his sleeping form.

  I had come to Geneva to learn the truth about my past and to avenge Justine’s death, but as I stared at Victor, I wondered what it was that I truly wanted. He had caused me so much sorrow, from the lies and deceit to his rejection and abandonment. I could not forget that with his own hands, he had formed the creature that had taken William’s life and robbed me of my own, or that he had said not a word in my defense as the mob marched me to the gallows.

  Having abandoned me, he had now returned to his life without me. He had gone back to his family, his wealth, and his fiancée. It wasn’t fair. The very idea made me livid. I wanted him to answer for what he had done to me—what he had taken from me. In the deadly stillness of the room, my hands inched closer to his throat.

  Victor yawned and turned from his side onto his back. My hand stopped, inches away from his face. When I saw him, I knew that despite everything that had happened between us, I still loved him. I bowed my head, and my fists balled up at my sides with impotent rage.

  He is engaged to Elizabeth, I told myself. He does not want you.

  Finally, I realized what it was that I truly desired. I wanted Victor, body and soul, and yet I also wanted him to pay for all that he had done to me. I would have the revenge I sought on those who had murdered me and I would have Victor’s love. I would strip him of everything he held dear, until it was only the two of us, together. In time, everything I desired would be mine.

  I bent over him and kissed his forehead before reaching into my into my dress and removing the pocket watch that I had carried since Victor left me in Perth. I left it on the nightstand for him to find and disappeared the way I came.

  The next morning, I eased the curtain away from the window and gazed over Geneva, where the city’s streets were already active beneath me. Though compact, my room at the inn was clean and well furnished, with a tall ceiling and a walnut hardwood floor the color of dried blood. The walls were thick enough to afford me privacy, and I had the only key to the door, which remained locked in my absence.

  A basin of cold water rested atop the dresser, beside a pot of dried roses that had gone too long without water and now were withered and blackened. The scent of decay that hung about the dead flowers was oddly comforting. I slipped my hands into the cold water and brought them to my face, cleaning myself with a towel next to the basin. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror on the dresser, hinting at the white skin beneath the cosmetics. I wiped it all away little by little until my skin was without blemish. My walking dress from the previous day fell to the floor at my feet, and I changed into a black riding habit similar to the one Elizabeth had worn, if slightly more elegant. Then I sat in front of the mirror and reapplied the paints and powders, carefully and painstakingly, until at last my disguise was again in place.

  I closed the door, locked it behind me, and returned the key to my pocket. The inn was already bawdy and raucous outside my room. A delicious aroma drifted upstairs from below, where breakfast was being busily prepared in the kitchen. I left the business of eating to the other patrons; though some time had pass
ed since my last meal, I wasn’t remotely hungry—not when there were far more important matters at hand. I descended the stairs, ignoring the other patrons in the lively hall on my path to the door.

  The daylight was almost blinding outside the inn. My sensitive eyes, well accustomed to the darkness, were overwhelmed by the sun’s burning glare. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the intense light, and I pulled my hat lower and stepped onto the sidewalk. From the look of things, it was another beautiful day in Geneva. Horses and carriages careened past me down the road on their way to and from town. Bells clanged loudly in the harbor, joining the sound of the squawking gulls as they traversed the skies.

  I approached the town square, where a modest crowd had already formed in the marketplace. Several chained dogs bristled and barked loudly as I passed by. I looked their way and growled in the dogs’ direction—a harsh, primal sound not unlike my visceral reaction to fire. The dogs whimpered and fell silent, and I moved through the crowd wearing a satisfied smile. Smells and sounds that might have once enchanted me now held little interest. If these people knew what I really was, they would fear and hate me without a second thought, as easily as they once condemned an innocent girl to death.

  The church, which Elizabeth had kindly pointed out to me the previous day, loomed directly across from me. Its steeple reached toward the clouds, far above the neighboring buildings, which were dwarfed in comparison. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and took in the view. The craftsmanship and skill involved was unmistakable, as if each limestone block had been carefully selected to birth a greater whole. A tall stained glass window was visible above the entrance, where two open doors invited parishioners inside.

  As I started up the steps, the dogs began barking again behind me, unsettled by something else. I hesitated at the entrance and glanced back over my shoulder. My eyes swept over the crowd, but whatever had frightened the dogs was already long gone. I frowned, troubled by a sudden sensation of unease. With a sigh, I crossed the threshold and entered the cathedral.

  It was utterly quiet inside the church. Somber candlelight illuminated the ornately decorated sanctuary. Tapestries and murals adorned the walls; golden chalices, silver bowls, and bronze lamps were prominently displayed on a table in front of the dais. Three rows of bare, unforgiving pews extended from the back of the church to the altar at the front, where a large crucifix looked over everything. Sunlight spilled into the center aisle through the open doors at my back, though the corners of the room were draped in shadows. Scaffolding reached toward the ceiling, where an intricate mural was under construction. It was clear the cathedral was undergoing significant renovations. I scoffed at the idea these holy men were devoted to such earthly matters while peasants were starving and dying of the pox outside their very walls.

  I looked for the priest, but the sanctuary lay empty. I was alone. My feet echoed loudly against the marble floor with each step that brought me closer to the altar. I stared up at the cross. How many times had Justine set foot in this church over the years? How had her faith been rewarded? I remembered the boundless faith of my friend Dot, and thought of the savagery with which she had been murdered. Where I had once wished I could share their faith, now it seemed no more than an empty promise. Hell was here on Earth, and Victor had condemned me to an eternity of it.

  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  I put on a false smile and tossed a few coins into the offering plate before turning to face the voice, which belonged to a rather portly man of the cloth. I recognized him immediately from the memory of Justine’s death. It was the same priest who had coerced her false confession and then incited the mob to exact its vengeance.

  “I’m afraid I have a habit of treading quietly,” I said, watching as his small, beady eyes looked greedily from me to the collection plate, reminding me of a fidgeting insect. “I hope you’ll pardon my interruption, Father. I did not mean to intrude.” My display of wealth was intentional, from the donation to the expensive clothes I wore. None of it was lost on the priest, who warmed to my presence immediately.

  “Nonsense,” he said as he approached. His voice echoed in the quiet sanctuary. “All are welcome in the house of the Lord—especially one as lovely as you.” I could smell the wine on him from across the room. “I am Father Wilhelm.”

  The priest had gained a considerable amount of weight since we had last crossed paths. Despite his girth, he was shorter than me by several inches. He had a ruddy, swollen complexion and strawlike reddish hair with a growing bald spot at his crown. His face was covered in a patchy gray beard. He had obviously prospered while others starved.

  “I am grateful for your warm welcome.”

  Father Wilhelm rested an arm on one of the pews and studied me carefully. “I do not believe I have seen you before, child. Are you are newcomer here?”

  I nodded, offering a reverent glance at the crucifix for his benefit. “I lived in Geneva as a girl, but have only recently returned.”

  “Then you have come to the right place,” Wilhelm said. “You would make a welcome addition to our flock.”

  “Thank you, Father,” I said, allowing my smile to fall. I looked away. “The city is different than I remember it.”

  “Aye,” Wilhelm answered wistfully. “These last two years have brought hard times for many. With the poor harvest and pox, many of the peasants are angry and frightened. That is why they need a strong shepherd to guide them, my child.” He stared up at the unfinished mural. “Unfortunately, the Lord’s work requires earthly sacrifice.”

  “Of course,” I said, putting a few more coins into the offering plate. His smile widened. I sighed and stared down at the floor. “I am afraid myself.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “Does something trouble you?” He put his hand on my back, and I had to force myself not to rip it from his torso.

  “I have heard rumors that terrible things have happened in Geneva—that a child was murdered over a year ago.”

  “A terrible thing,” he replied. “I was there, of course.”

  “You were?” I asked, careful not to sound too interested. “What happened?”

  The priest nodded. “He was strangled to death, by his nanny no less. She was a young thing, too—about your age.”

  “How terrible,” I said, betraying none of the rage that was building inside me.

  Wilhelm patted me on the back and withdrew. “Enough talk of such things. The girl was only a peasant, in league with the devil no doubt. I can tell by looking at you that you are a true follower of God.” He gestured to the confessional. “I sense that you are still troubled. Would you like to unburden yourself, my child?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I would like that very much.”

  I followed him to the confessional, and he ushered me into the darkness inside. We were mere inches from each other, separated only by a thin, latticed opening that hid the priest from my sight. I could hear his heartbeat from my seat. Here, hidden from witnesses, it would be all too easy to tear through the divide and rip the heart from his chest—but first I wanted to hear him admit to his part in Justine’s death.

  “What is it that has led you here, my child?”

  A silence fell over the booth as he awaited my answer. “I no longer know who I am. I feel torn in half, divided between the person I was and who I am becoming.”

  “Tell me more,” he said, an uneasy edge to his voice.

  I shook my head and let out a sad sigh. “I was happy once, when I was young—and kind, too. Those early days seem so far from me now.” I inched closer to the lattice between us. “I feel like a stranger to myself. My heart is filled with a bottomless rage the likes of which you can only imagine. Yet, even now, a part of me is plagued by doubt that what I want is wrong.” My fingers crept along the division. Another moment and he would be at my mercy.

  The priest swallowed nervously and leaned forward in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Before he could answer, I heard the sound of footsteps nearby.


  “Father Wilhelm,” a stranger’s voice reverberated through the sanctuary. “Are you there?” I eased my hand away from the division and bared my teeth, incensed at this inopportune intrusion. “I must speak with you at once.”

  “One moment, child,” the priest whispered hastily to me before exiting the confessional. “What is it, my son?” Wilhelm asked the intruder, obviously recognizing him. “Are you here to confess?”

  “Not today, Father,” the man answered. He had young voice, but there was something unmistakably familiar about it.

  “What is it?” the priest asked, and I listened carefully, hearing all that was said with ease.

  “Your influence is needed with the populace. The city is on edge. Things haven’t been this bad since…the day my brother died.”

  My brow furrowed. The young man’s voice was like an echo from the past. Where had I heard it before? From my vantage point, I could only see the bottom of the men’s shoes. I eased open the door to the confessional for a better look. The pair stood with their backs to me, and I watched as the priest laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

  “These are troubling times, my son.”

  The young man shook his head. “It’s started again. Someone has been robbing graves again.”

  Victor, I thought suspiciously as he continued.

  “Just this morning, the patrolman found two dead men in an alleyway. They had been strangled to death.”