The Spirit of Frankenstein

"What...?" Her eyes fell to my chest, eyeing the skin there as though it held the answers.

"What's that last thing you remember, honey?" I asked.

"We had an argument," she said. "Then we got quiet, and we didn't talk for a while, then you decided we should take a ride. My mother had the kids, so..."

"Is that all?"

She thought for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"The car was here," she said, pointing. "Right here."

"I know, baby," I returned. "But more happened that day."

"That day? It was just..." She trailed off.

"When we went out for that ride," I began.

"Wait," she interrupted. "Someone pulled out in front of us, while we were talking."

"Yes."

"A semi," she said. "There was..."

"An accident."

She nodded, then glanced up at me, even more confused. I looked away, unable to hold that gaze for another second.

"This is going to be hard for me to explain, honey, but I need you to listen to me," I looked at her, meeting eyes with her for a moment, ensuring I had her absolute attention before I continued. "There was an accident, and we were both hurt, you worse than me, okay?"

She nodded her head, shifting her glance away in thought, appearing as though she remembered something about that. I was relieved to have those eyes removed from me once again.

"But I...I was..." She stuttered, unable to continue.

"You were hurt very badly," I replied, my hand finding hers without looking. She gripped it tightly and held it to her chest.

"But, baby," she began again. "I don't remember anything after that...and I'm..."

"Shhh," I insisted. "This is the hard part, and I need you to listen carefully."

And I told her, watching her eyes become narrow, her face shocked, her lips retreating from her teeth in a scowl. I didn't hesitate in my telling, or pause, or leave anything out. How could I? If I stopped for even a second, I might not be able to get started again.

When I had finished, she let go of my hand, and recoiled, finding the edge of the mattress and looking back at me, disbelieving but still believing. She was piecing things together, searching for other explanations, and hopefully finding none.

Finally, she shook her head slowly.

"No," she muttered. "No, there's no way. How could I have...and still...?"

I reached out to her. She pulled away, getting to her feet and leaving me on the mattress alone. I watched as she moved toward the workbench and scanned the notebooks I had laying there, open to whatever page I'd last used them for. She leafed through a couple pages, then examined the far corners of the garage, eyeing the cobwebs that had gathered there.

"How long?" She asked.

"Two years," I replied, getting to my feet. "Far too long to be without you."

I wandered over to where she stood, her body froze as she looked at the vials of fluids I'd left on the workbench, then to the lab table in the center of the room.

"How?" She asked.

"It wasn't easy," I replied. "But with the right motivation...I missed you. I couldn't live without you in my life."

She saw it then, and her eyes grew. I should have known better than to leave it there, but it simply hadn't occurred to me to move it. My mind had been on other things; her mostly. It'd been there for years, since she'd removed it from the master bedroom, not knowing where else to put it. When she'd died, it had already been there three years. She rushed over to it, no doubt thinking back to what I'd told her and finding herself unable to resist. She wiped at the dirt and grime that had settled on the mirror as though obsessed, managing to clear out a large enough circle to see her face in. She froze then, staring into eyes that should have been her own but belonged to someone else.

She shook her head, disbelieving, then closed her eyes, lowering her head and reaching out blindly to continue wiping at the mirror's surface. Tears spilled down her cheeks as her lids closed, but she didn't open them again, just wiped at the glass, clearing a space large enough for her to clearly see her face and some of her upper body.

When her eyes opened again, tears fell from them in steady streaks, but she focused them on the image that stared back from the glass.

"How...?" She lowered her head, leaning her weight against the mirror with her right hand and cupping her face in the left.

"That'll change, honey," I insisted, stepping closer, reaching out to take her in my arms.

As my hand touched her elbow, her left hand darted out from her face and struck the mirror, spider-webbing it in a move so quick I recoiled, startled. She inhaled, fighting back a sob, then drew back her right hand and punched it forward as well, sending the mirror to the floor in long shards, several of which shattered in turn into tiny fragments.

She cupped her face in both hands, sobbing and moaning as she did.

I reached out to her again. When my hand touched her this time, she shoved me back with a motion just as sudden as the jab at the glass had been, sending me backward a few steps, staggering, my hips finding the corner of the workbench and sending several of the glass vials there falling to the floor, shattering and spreading their contents across the cement.

I found the bench with one hand and steadied myself, watching her backpedal toward the mattress, her face again in that disbelieving scowl. I watched her go, staying perfectly still, afraid that any movement might set her off again. I should have seen this coming, should have realized that it would be incredibly difficult for her to accept what had taken place, what I'd done, but I hadn't thought this far ahead, hadn't thought over how she would deal when things were finished, but merely how to get her breathing again, how to bring her back to me. I wondered if her psyche would hold up; the strain had to be intense.

She wrapped herself in the sheet and wept silently for what must have been twenty minutes, her head hidden beneath her hands. When she finally raised her head again, she saw me standing in exactly the same place as when she'd first sat down there.

"So," she said. "I guess it doesn't matter that I wasn't a part of this decision? That this might not have been what I wanted?"

I had no answer. I hadn't even thought of it, to tell the truth.

She dropped raised her knees before her and rested her chin on them. I decided it was safe to move and carefully made my way over to the mattress. She made no movements as I sat down next to her and placed an arm around her shoulders.

Silence between us, a silence like we'd never had between us. It seemed to sink into me, to make my skin crawl with discomfort. I opened my mouth to speak, uncertain what I would say but knowing that the silence would eventually drive me mad. She spoke before I could.

"Something isn't right," she said, her hand rising to her chest. She held her palm there for a moment or two, her face showing an odd discomfort, making her appear as if she had indigestion or heartburn.

"It's all right, honey," I said. "It's just the difference in bodies. It'll take some time to adjust, and by the time you do, the genetics factored in will..."

I trailed off, seeing her shaking her head. "No," she said. "It's not that. It's something else. Something's...something's wrong."

Her face looked worried, but that expression was gone in a second as her face contorted suddenly in an expression of pain.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "Describe the pain, maybe I can..."

She shook her head, her face contorting again. A sharp pain, I realized, then it passes, then another comes, apparently sharper than the first. What could...?

I stood up. "Baby, describe the pain."

"Sharp," she said, then her face contorted again and she held her breath until the next pain passed. "Sharp, right in the center of..."

In theory, it could have been anything, and my judgment was greatly dulled by my concern for her. I kept thinking, I just got her back, how can I lose again her so quickly?

Her face contorted a fourth time, then she turned away from me, supporting her weight on her palms as she heaved onto the floor. I expected a dry heave, given that she had consumed no food. Instead, blood struck the floor in thick drops.

"No," I gasped, realizing what was going on. Her body was rejecting the DNA injections.

I hadn't expected this. It had been the least probable failure, and I'd taken it for granted it seemed. I was at the workbench then, shifting through sheets of paper that I should have known would be useless to me now.

A second heave, this one producing a small, thick puddle of blood beneath her face. She inhaled deeply then heaved again, producing even more blood this time. I stared at her for a moment, blood hanging in strings from her lips, which were peeled back, revealing red-coated teeth beneath. One hand supported her weight; the other gripped her stomach as she heaved again.

More blood; the puddle grew.

Four heaves now; all of them producing blood. I wondered if it would be worth the effort of beginning a transfusion and dismissed the idea. I could have a bag up and ready in a minute, if that, but what good would it do? A race to replace the blood as fast as she lost it, while the reason for losing it persisted?

She gripped her chest with the hand that had held her stomach a second ago, her body tensing, her face freezing in an expression of severe pain.

"Honey," I mumbled, but she couldn't hear me. With the pain she was apparently in, she might not have even known I was there with her. And a second later, I was right next to her, sitting on the floor and pulling her closer to me, cradling her.

I felt her body relax as the pain passed, and she settled back against me, crying now in loud sobs of both pain and fear. Blood, mixed with saliva, was running from her bottom lip, hanging in strings down to her chest, wetting my arms.

Is this why I brought her back? I asked myself. How could I have failed her like this? Put her through the pain of dieing all over again?

"I'm sorry," I spat, realizing then that I was crying as well. "I'm so sorry, baby."

She didn't turn her head at all, didn't try to speak, but I felt one hand reach back some, gripping weakly at my left side. Were it not for that hand, I would never have known I even existed to her then. Having felt it, though, made me want to squeeze her tighter to me. I fought the urge, afraid such actions might restrict her breathing or cause her more pain.

It seemed better that I had, as a moment later, her body tensed again, her hand leaving my side and gripping her chest again, met by the other hand. For a moment, she was dreadfully silent, not moving, not making a sound, her body frozen in place like a statue, face contorted in that expression of pain again, then the contraction passed, the pain lessened, not much but enough to allow her to breath again, to seem alive again. She let out a loud whine then, inhaled and began to sob again. Only for a few moments though, then her stomach tightened and she heaved a fifth time, blood spilling from her mouth and pouring down her chest in a sudden rush. More this time than in any of the others, or at least it seemed so. Too much in any case.

I held her, not knowing what else to do. She cried, then vomited a sixth time, then cried again, her sobs becoming weaker. I closed my eyes, lowering my head to her shoulder as her body reacted less intensely to the pain it was facing. A quick almost reflexive jerk, then relaxation. A seventh vomit, this one almost like a child spitting up while burping, then the body tensed a last time and lay limply in my arms.

I held her, waiting for the body to become tense once more, or for her to vomit again.

A sob even.

Nothing.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, holding her unresponsive body, no longer feeling her sobs or even any breaths. When I opened my eyes and turned her head to look at her face, I saw the eyes open, bright blue staring lifelessly out from beneath half-open lids. I tucked my head into her neck and let loose my own sobs then, holding her tightly to me, half-expecting her hand to raise to my head and cradle it like she'd done when my father passed away, to tell me that life would go on without.

When I finally came to my senses, I eased the body down to the mattress and slipped from beneath it. Knowing that it couldn't be allowed to sit lifelessly in the warm air. I went to the freezer and opened the door, then lugged the body over and placed it carefully inside. The body would need some minor repair, but things could go different the second time around.

I looked down at her, taking in a deep breath, telling myself that it wasn't over just yet, then reached inside the freezer and closed her eyes, whispering another apology. I closed the freezer door, gathered my pants and put them on, and went back to the mattress, letting myself fall onto it and curling into a ball. I wrapped the sheet around me, suddenly feeling cold and alone, and dozed.

It was a deep, dreamless, seemingly endless sleep that I fought to hold onto even as I swam out of it, my body being shifted back and forth by some unknown force. I took in a deep breath, smelling the remnants of several chemicals in the air. The smell was distant, and I knew that their spilling had taken place some time ago.

The rest of reality was catching up to the smell in the air, and as it did, it registered that something really was shaking me. A small hand carefully gripped my shoulder, rocking me back and forth. A child's voice, familiar and concerned, asked repeatedly, "Dad? Dad, are you okay? Dad?"

I opened my eyes, looking at Tim and seeing him about to cry.

"I'm okay, Timmy," I returned, hearing a whisper instead of my own voice.

He smiled, a few tears dropping from his about to overflow eyes and leaving trails down his cheeks, but didn't stop shaking me just yet.

I reached up with one hand and patted his. He stopped shaking me then.

I fought to sit up, groaning in the process but managing without much effort. I wasn't hurt, after all, just tired, exhausted in fact. I looked over at Tim and wondered how long I'd been laying there.

"I'm alright, Timmy," I said, my voice louder and clearer than before. "I'm just tired, that's all."

I scanned the room, seeing the mess that remained after the long night before and remembering what had happened. I found the jars that had fallen from the workbench and panic set in, my heart leaping suddenly in my chest.

"DNA," one label stated. The fluid from inside the jar lay spilled on the cement, mixed with another fluid that, by the color, I recognized as cerebral fluid. Both my whole supply; both useless. I had the blood, and the body, and all the equipment, but without those two fluids...

I leaned against the wall and lowered my head, wanting to cry at what I was left with. Was she truly gone forever? Had I really lost her again, for good this time?

"Dad?"

I fought the tears, not wanting to believe it just yet. Couldn't I construct the DNA from a combination of Halle's and Tim's? And it wasn't as if the plans weren't still tucked away in the same manila envelope, in the same drawer of the same desk, where they'd been for months now.

"Dad?"

I glanced over at Tim. He looked back at me, his sky blue eyes focused solidly on my own, eyes he could only have gotten from his mother. I had noticed them the day he was born, those brilliant blue eyes shining up at me as I held his crying form, still waiting for the doctor to cut the umbilical cord. His sister had those eyes too.

He stood there, his eyebrows crunched slightly and his lips set, the same way his mother's always were when she was concerned about something.

"Are you sure you're okay, Dad?"

I looked at him squarely for a few seconds, the urge to cry over having lost her suddenly seeming distant and foolish. I smiled back at him, suddenly faced with the urge to cry for a more important reason.

"Yeah, Tim," I replied. "I'm fine."

I looked at him, wondering when I'd last looked at him like this, taking in how he'd grown and what he'd brought to my life.

"When was the last time I told you I loved you?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It's been a while."

"Well, I do," I replied.

I reached out to him, drawing him near and hugging him. I held him for a few long but too short moments, then stood and took him by the hand, leading him toward the door to the kitchen.

"What do you say you and Halle go clean your rooms while your Dad here takes a nap. Then, later tonight, we'll go see that movie you wanted to see? What was it called?"

"Space-Age Nazi Hunters," he replied, excited.

"Yep," I agreed. "That's the one..."

Maybe I'd even call Krista (such a pretty name) and see if she'd like to go. The name had come back that easily, and it made sense that it should. She'd saved my life, after all, had patched my wounds and cared for me until I got to the hospital and had been a good friend after the fact.

Once we were through the doorway, I turned and glanced back into my makeshift lab, eyes wandering over the items there. Standing there, I thought back to how she'd felt to me, not quite real, not human. It was the fantasy, I thought. That's all it was. It could never have really been her. No matter how much I wanted it to be.

I shook my head, a man waking long overdue from a foolish dream. I'll clean this mess up later, I thought, then flipped off the light and closed the door behind me.