The Spirit of Frankenstein

I wasn't ready for that, not with her so close to coming home again.

I looked at the clock on the VCR.

5:41 a.m.

Back to work, I decided. I'd eat and shower later.

I made my way back to the garage, my mind picking up exactly where it had left off. The body was complete, the brain fluids already injected. Only one ingredient to go, then time for reanimation. I flipped through the notebook that served as a homemade instruction manual until I came to the right section.

DNA.

That's the tricky part. If my theories and research were correct, and I had the utmost faith that they were, then the DNA would have to be distributed throughout the entire body. Every cell would have to be affected.

And that meant carefully placed injections, stimulation of the endocrine systems and stimulation of the circulatory system; in short, stimulation of the entire autonomic nervous system, affecting every involuntary action the body required to function. Her heart would beat; she would breath. The body would function fully as though she were living, while the conscious mind still ceased to function, ceased to exist in a sense.

It was while all these bodily reactions were taking place that the work I'd done on her memory would begin to take effect. Her thoughts would fall into alignment; her feelings would reconstruct what had once lived in another body. Another injection, to spur the conscious mind back into the world of the living and my wife would come home to me, to word it simply.

Once these things took place, once the body warmed enough for the various systems to become active enough to spread the DNA messages to every cell, once the brain began to decode and decipher the memories and emotional patterns I was injecting into it, there was no turning back.

It was a matter of waiting for her eyes to open.

Less than twenty-four hours, I thought, maybe as few as twelve, and she'll be with us again.

I got to work, removing the body from the freezer yet again and placing it on the table. This time, other attachments were necessary, those that would induce and monitor the nervous system and the bodily functions that would have to take place in order for the DNA to be properly dispersed.

Once she was connected, I switched on the heater and allowed it to warm the body while I skimmed through the notebook to see exactly where the injections should go.

It wouldn't take long for the body to warm to the needed temperature, but the dispersion of DNA would take hours if I wanted to be certain it was done properly. Saturate the cells; that was key. Saturate the cells, inject the re-animation serum, the last touch that the body would need to fully stimulate the nervous system and awaken her conscious mind, then wait.

It was the wait that would drive me nuts. Reaching that point where everything that I could do to help things along, to even keep busy, were behind me. The waiting is the hardest part, as Tom Petty had once informed us.

And by 6:00 p.m., that was all that was left. The waiting.

I sat back in the office chair before the desk, looking at my handiwork from where I sat in wonder I had actually done it. It was then that doubt began to sink in. Only then, after two years of work and sacrifice, of never looking back push and pull.

After a few minutes, I glanced over at the clock.

6:07 p.m.

The kids would be getting ready to eat dinner. Why not head into the house and eat dinner with them? It would pass the time. I tucked the garage key into my pants pocket and headed inside. As I opened the door, Halle turned toward the sound, freezing as her eyes met my figure and staring at me, looking as though she weren't quite sure whether it was really me or some figment of her imagination.

"Halle?" I asked, my voice sounding foreign in my own ears. How long had it been since I had spoken out loud, save talking to myself in the lab? How long since I'd actually listened?

"Dad," she returned, her voice plain. She stared a moment longer, then blinked, appearing as though she were waking up, and went back to what she had been doing, setting the table with two sets of silverware. She focused so strongly on that silverware (only a kitchen knife and forks) that I'd have thought she expected them to get up and dance, like some real-life version of Disney cartoon silverware, enchanted.

"Order a pizza?" I asked.

She nodded, not looking back up at me.

"Can you set an extra place? Or do you think there won't-"

"I can," she said, cutting me off, still keeping her attention elsewhere, now focusing it on the cupboard where we used to keep spices but now it seemed she kept the plates.

The one where we'd kept the plates had been too high for her, I realized, and she'd adjusted to make things more convenient. Good girl, Halle, I thought. Good girl.

She set the plate on the small round kitchen table (there was no use in using the one in the dining room, not when there was only the three of us; only two of them, my mind insisted) and lay a set of silverware next to it, adding a napkin to it before speaking again.

"Are you...finished?" She asked, looking at the place-setting all the while, inspecting it for perfection.

"Almost, honey," I replied. "Very soon."

She nodded again, then glanced up for a split second, an expression on her face that seemed to say she was afraid to smile at me.

"Daddy!"

I turned, seeing Timmy standing in the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes wide, smiling. I hadn't heard him coming, but seeing his face that way forced a smile to my lips, a smile that I hadn't realized had waited two years to spring to the surface again. He ran to me, his arms spread out. I went to reach down, to scoop him up and hug him, but I'd mistimed my movements, not realizing how much faster he was now than last time I'd picked him up this way. He wrapped his arms around my left leg and squeezed as though he intended to shut off the circulation.

I laughed for a few moments, surprised more than anything at his reaction, especially compared to Halle's. Just when it was beginning to seem he would never let go, the doorbell rang and he loosened his grip.

"Pizza," he announced, running through the entrance to the living room, from which the light from the television flickered various colors and the sound of Bart Simpson's voice echoed, informing his listeners of their right to eat his shorts. Halle took a few steps toward the living room, then looked up at me, catching my eyes for a second, then lowering her gaze again. She stopped then, uncertain of what to do. She'd been in charge, had taken care of everything during the time I'd been in the garage.

"I'll take care of the pizza," I said, giving her a little direction, and headed into the living room behind Tim. When I walked in, he was already sifting through the envelope on the stand, where I'd left money for them to pay for such things.

"Here, Dad," he said, holding up a twenty, then hurried back into the kitchen again, I watched him go, smiling a smile I'd forgotten I had in me. I had missed the little guy, irritations and all.

The doorbell rang again, reminding me why I'd come in here in the first place.

"Hurry up, Dad," Tim shouted from the kitchen.

I turned to the door and tried to pull it open, finding the deadbolt still latched. Good girl, Halle, I thought again, then unlatched it and pulled a second time, the door giving way then. On the other side of the door, seen through the gray tint of the screen door, stood a girl of about sixteen or seventeen, facing out toward the street, where her car sat running. When I pushed open the screen door, she turned, looking down toward my stomach with a smile on her face, no doubt expecting to see someone shorter than I was.

"Hey, Halle..." She trailed off as her smile melted away and her eyes found my face, a good deal higher up than Halle's would have been.

I smiled. "Hi, I'm Halle's father."

"Oh," she said, as if the idea that a parent might live here had never occurred to her. "I'm sorry, I just...was used to Halle answering the door."

She smiled, but nervously.

"What's the damage?"

"Fifteen," she replied, working the zipper on the insulated carrying case. She pulled the cardboard box from the holder and handed it over.

I handed her the twenty. "Call it even?"

She smiled, nervous still. "Thanks, Mister...um...well, thanks."

She made her way back to the street, her short blonde ponytail bobbing back and forth as she went. I watched the girl for a moment longer, her reactions to seeing me still sinking in, then shook my head slightly and went back inside, not bothering to latch the deadbolt.

When I got into the kitchen, Halle and Tim were already seated, Tim holding his fork and knife as though he intended to start pounding them on the table and demanding seconds. I set the pizza box in the center of the table and popped it open.

"Why don't you guys help yourselves?" I said. "Your dad needs a quick shower before dinner. I'll have a piece or two when I come back out."

"Okay, Dad," Tim said, then actually began tapping the handles of the silverware on the table's wooden surface. As I headed back the short hallway to the bathroom, I could hear Halle scolding him quietly, telling him how he'll wind up putting a knick in the table.

I took a longer shower than I intended, deciding that while I was in there, I might as well do the job right, then threw on clean clothes, not bothering with shoes now, and headed back into the kitchen to claim the remains of the pizza. When I reached the kitchen, the two were still sitting there, both doing so quietly with clean, empty plates sitting before them.

"What's wrong, guys? Pizza no good?" I asked.

"We just thought," Halle began, her face lowered slightly, as though she might expect to be scolded for speaking, "Since you were going to eat too, we might as well just wait for you."

I stopped for a second, smiling at the idea that they had waited but feeling a sudden rush of guilt building up behind it. That feeling eased some, but stayed with me as I flipped open the pizza box for the second time (Halle had closed it to keep the pizza warm, no doubt) and handed slices to each of them before taking a piece for myself. I sat down and took a bite before asking Tim how school was going.

"Good," he replied. "But not too good."

I looked to Halle. "You?"

She shrugged. "I'm doing okay."

"Doing okay," I repeated, nodding. "Doing good but not too good."

Timmy grinned when I repeated his words.

"Okay, tell me about it, both of you."

And they did, Tim getting overanxious every time Halle would talk for too long, and Halle letting him talk until he was finished, then starting again where she'd left off. When we'd finished eating, we took our conversation to the living room, turning the television to whatever show Tim wanted to watch, which gave Halle and I a few minutes of peace here and there to talk.

It was an odd feeling, having children again, but I'd noticed what was missing. How could I not notice? Throughout dinner, I caught myself glancing at the fourth chair as if she were still sitting there, having a pizza with the family the way we used to, crammed around that small table as if we all could fit.

As it neared nine-thirty, I decided it was time to put them to bed.

"No," Tim insisted, whining as his sister took him by the hand and tried to lead him to his room. "No, I wanna stay up with Daddy."

"Actually, buddy," I returned, crouching before him. "I've got to go to bed too, so we may as well all go, right?"

"No," he returned, shaking his head vigorously.

"C'mon, I'll tuck you in."

He continued to shake his head, but when I picked him up and carried him to bed, he didn't struggle. I tucked him in, listening to him insist that he wasn't tired, claims that were interrupted by yawns and eye-rubbing. He was asleep before I reached the door. I turned off the overhead light.

"He needs the nightlight," Halle said, catching me just as I was closing the door.

I went back inside, turned on the nightlight, then closed the door behind me, seeing Halle standing in the doorway to her room, the door open just enough for her to be fully visible.

"G'night, dad," she said.

"Good night, Halle," I replied.

"Um..." She glanced around, shifting her eyes as though she weren't sure how to continue. "See you tomorrow?"

I answered without thinking, the way a father does when asked the easy questions.

"Yep. Tomorrow morning."

"Okay," she replied, sounding far from convinced, then closed the door behind her.

I thought about going in and tucking her in as well, but I guessed that it would be best to give her more space than that for now. I'd been gone for too long, and for a while at least, Halle would find it hard to trust me.

I headed down the hall, wondering what all I'd missed. Had they needed help with their homework? Had they thought to knock on the door to the garage? Had they knocked? For all I knew, they might have. But I'd made it clear they weren't to come in and bother me. Not even Tim, persistent as he was even after so much time, dared more than once to open the door when it was closed. On that one occasion, I'd spanked him for the first time since we'd buried his mother and sent him to his room crying.

Those thoughts were moving through my mind when I unlocked the door to the garage and opened it, stopping dead. The stranger sat on the edge of the heating bed, looking at me from halfway across the garage, eyes meeting mine with confusion.

"Where are my clothes?" She asked.

I said nothing, couldn't say anything.

"Honey, what happened?"

There was no worry in her voice. But then, she trusted me, and here I was, with her, in our home.

I examined her from across the garage, considering the reality of what I was seeing. Just a few hours ago, the body had been motionless, lifeless, regardless of my intent to change that. Though I'd often referred to it as Gwen in my own mind, it had merely been an object to me, after all. A body. Lifeless; taking up space; really nothing more than the object of a dream.

But now, it was moving, sitting up, talking, the heart pumping blood through veins and arteries, lungs taking in air as if they'd always done it, without a moment's rest. Now it was Gwen, or almost her at least, alive and asking me where her clothes were and what had happened. And what could I tell her?

My heart thudded in my chest and I took a few half-staggering steps toward her, closing the door behind me. I stopped just a foot or so away from her, never once taking my eyes off of her.

She looked around the floor as I approached, wondering, I guessed, if the clothes she should have been wearing were there somewhere.

"Gwen," I said, my voice almost a whisper. I reached out, took her hands in mine.

"What happened?" She asked again, raising her face to mine. "Where are...my clothes?"

Her brow wrinkled as she looked at me, confused, then her face fell slack for a moment and a smile stretched across her lips, faltered, then returned stronger than before, her blue eyes lighting up as I never thought I'd see again.

She'd lost interest in what had happened, was no longer concerned about her clothing. She took a deep breath and blushed as she let it out, beginning to giggle lightly.

"You haven't looked at me like that in so long," she said, that smile taking over her face.

"How's that?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I was smiling or frowning, just that I was looking into eyes that were almost hers, touching hands that would one day very soon be hers.

She smiled, disbelieving.

"Like you're head-over-heels in love," she replied, her voice stricken with awe.

"You ever doubted that?" I asked.

She lowered her head then, hiding her blushes I was almost certain. Too much attention had always affected her that way, made her uncomfortable, though not necessarily in a bad way. She was pulling out of the immediate situation but if history proved correct, she'd return to it in a moment, still blushing I would bet.

Her cheeks were still red when she raised her face to mine again.

"At times," she said. "At times I wasn't so sure."

"Well," I began. "I am, and it's never faltered, or skipped a beat. We've just..."

"Been together for a long time," she finished. "I know. But right now, you don't seem that way, like you did yesterday when..."

The argument we'd had before we left the house, a few hours before the accident. I'd awaken in a bad mood, not over anything in particular except work and lack of sleep, nothing that I should have allowed to affect things at home. But I was brooding then. The fight had been over...well, I don't even remember why we'd fought; it was that trivial.

"Sometimes you don't know what you've got till it's gone," I replied, looking into her eyes like I might find buried treasure there, and in a sense, I had. A treasure I hadn't realized the value of until it was no longer mine.

But I wouldn't let her go again.

Never.

"Gone?" She asked, brow wrinkling again, shaking her head slowly. "Baby, what do you mean 'gone'?"

Her eyes had me though, locked in place and almost unable to speak. I couldn't say it yet, couldn't respond. Where would I find the words to? Faced with her, the reality of her, I couldn't force my mind to focus on the technical jargon to explain what I'd done and how I'd done it. I wanted to hug her, to tell her I loved her, and to cry in her arms for all the days I'd missed her.

"Baby?" She asked, her voice concerned. The word, no her voice, sent vibrations through me.

I stared at her for a second, realizing fully that there was no chance I was dreaming this. I was really standing there, awake and looking into the blue eyes of a woman who, somewhere inside, was my wife.

The wife I'd loved.

The wife I'd adored, though not often enough.

The wife I'd missed.

I took in a deep breath, my heart thudding to life in my chest, feeling as though it might burst out and sending a rush of adrenaline through me like I hadn't felt since well before she died. My bottom lip quivered, my hands shook slightly at the end of my arms, and my chest swelled as I inhaled.

I steadied my hands by gripping her hips lightly, the feel of her skin still a little clammy beneath my palms and fingers, oddly rubbery, though it had regained most of its natural texture. Time would solve that, but for right then, the skin would feel a bit surreal.

She sensed the change in me, her arms raising to my shoulders and sliding around my neck, pulling me closer, her breasts pressing into my chest. A new spill of adrenaline surged through me. Now, it was my crotch's turn to swell. I looked into her eyes for only a second, then leaned my head down and pressed my lips to hers. Gently at first; I was almost afraid to believe this was real. Then with more vigor as need overtook fear and I gave in to the situation, for better or worse.

Her arms squeezed tighter around my neck, her lips pressing back equally hard, her tongue parting my lips and stretching inside. Mine met hers, the two dancing roughly for a moment, before she pulled back some, parting our lips.

"Wow," she whispered. "You haven't kissed me like that in..."

I smiled, more at the sensation of her warm breath on my face than her words.

My hands were working her sides, rubbing the skin there as if I intended to warm her. I leaned lower, intending to kiss her again, but she drew her head away, keeping her lips just out of reach.

I opened my eyes then, looking into hers, almost expecting to see rejection awaiting me. Instead, I saw a pleasant joy. She grinned up at me, apparently having forgotten the oddness of awaking naked in the oddly furnished garage for the moment.

"Are you...um...thinking what I think you're thinking?" She smiled, then glanced away, almost embarrassed it seemed, something else I hadn't seen from her in the last so many years of our marriage. Her cheeks were blushing slightly, adding more life to the newly created body.