Chapter 13

…

Uncle and I both froze. My eyes darted to him to see if his hand had flown to a weapon of some kind. He seemed to have nothing on him, but his eyes had darted briefly to a china hutch across the room.

"Adam, it's too soon," I murmured to the doorway of the hall. We could see nothing but a shadow thrown against the opposite wall of what part of the dim hallway we could see. "This sort of news… It has to sink in for a time. What you've done…it's still too fresh."

"If I am to have satisfaction of meeting you, come out where I can see you," Uncle told him firmly. His voice was a little hoarse, but still strong and deep.

"No—Adam—he might shoot you like Victor did," I argued quickly, standing. "Adam—don't."

"He doesn't have a pistol, Chandelle. It's alright." Adam's hood was drawn down, casting his face into dark shadow, but he moved into the doorway and seemed to take it entirely up with his size. I glanced at my uncle, who sat rigid in his seat. His face had gone whiter, but he was careful not to let any telling emotion show.

Prompted by custom and education, I gave introductions, though my voice shook. "Uncle, this is Monsieur Adam. Adam, this is my uncle, Monsieur Alphonse Frankenstein."

"It is good to meet you, monsieur," said Adam in a low and calmingly smooth voice, "though I know you cannot say the same."

"I got your letter."

I stared at my uncle and then at Adam. "You left him a letter?"

"Yes," Adam replied to me gently. "I thought perhaps it would be the best way to communicate. In it, I expressed my feelings, my shame, and my wishes as best I could. I'm sorry I could not tell you. You were out in the city all day."

"Elizabeth received one as well," Uncle told me, not taking his eyes from the cloaked figure in the doorway.

"And…Ernest?" I asked.

Adam shook his head. "I did not write to Ernest. I thought perhaps it would do more harm than help."

"Enough," said Uncle impatiently. "You know what I want. I refuse to believe this absurdity until I see the proof. Lower your hood."

Without any further prompting, Adam reached his hands up and pushed off the cloak's hood.

Uncle put a hand to his heart, but sat very still and white, staring. His mouth worked soundlessly. My hands had moved to my mouth. I moved across the room to Adam.

"Go," I murmured. "That's enough. Please. I'm afraid he'll faint. He's not young." My voice was shaking.

"He might have things to say. I'll wait." He attempted a reassuring smile and tucked a bit of my hair behind my ear. My arms were clasped around myself. This was so difficult… I looked at Uncle again. He had not moved.

"Perhaps…sit down, then," I murmured to Adam. "If you must wait."

Adam nodded and moved slowly with me to the divan I had been sitting in before I stood. I sat down beside him.

"Is—is your arm alright?" I asked him.

"It's fine."

"Let me see. Have you rewrapped it today?"

"This morning." He pushed his cloak back across his shoulder so I could see the bandages around his arm. I nodded, satisfied.

"Is there any new pain or change of color?"

"None. No need to worry."

I nodded and looked back at my uncle, who was gazing at us with a grimace that kept rearranging on his face. The lines of his face were deep, his mouth twisted with disgust.

"Well, do you have your proof now?" I snapped at him.

Uncle rubbed his mouth with his hand. His throat worked for a moment, then he answered hoarsely, "I do. He certainly…looks the part." He swallowed with effort. I knew it was bile he was forcing himself to swallow. The same had happened to me when I first saw him. At least he was not screaming.

Adam was also watching Uncle. His expression was unreadable. He told him in a low, understanding voice, "I will leave if you would like."

"And never come back?" Uncle's rough words bit the air.

Adam's expression was weary but resigned. "You will not have to see me again."

"But you'll be—you'll be skulking around my niece."

"Monsieur, as difficult as I understand it is for you to believe, the unequivocal truth is I would never harm your niece. I only wish her happiness. If at any point she no longer wishes wants me near her, she needs only to say so. I swear to you that this is the truth." His voice was smooth and low, and its eloquence and refinery I hoped might have a similar effect on my uncle as it had had on me. Such a voice spoke to the civility and gentlemanliness of its owner.

My uncle said nothing, but I was surprised at how he was comparatively keeping his composure under the circumstances. I had expected him to shout and fight and call for the police. It seemed perhaps that this letter that Adam had written had done an impressive job of preparing its reader. If Adam had been able to tell his side of things, it was possible my uncle might be able to call up some tiny measure of empathy.

"I never expect to ever be welcome in this house or among you after the things I have done," Adam said slowly. "I know acceptance is not possible. But it is important—to all of us, I think—that the truth be fully understood. I am giving you the proof you demanded. You, your family, and your son…my…my father…will not be troubled by me again."

Uncle seemed affected by his phrasing. He looked Adam over more closely. Then he eyed me, his mouth working. His eyes were tight with pain and disgust, but his voice was relatively even. "You trust him, Chandelle?"

"Yes, I do."

"There's nothing for it, then. You'll do as you like."

"But do you believe what I told you? About what Victor has done? About what Adam is?"

His jaw worked again, his hands fisted tightly. "I don't think there can be any doubt." His lip curled slightly, but then he rubbed his face with his hand and the look of disgust dissipated somewhat.

"Chandelle, I'd like you to go sit by your uncle, please," Adam told her quietly.

"Why?"

"Do as I ask, please. And remain there."

I obeyed him, confused, and went to sit toward with my uncle whose eyebrows had pulled together tightly. He demanded, "Why? What is this?"

Then we heard the steps that Adam must have heard before us. Ernest's easy voice came from the hall.

"Uncle, is that you? Are you still awake? Curse it, I can't sleep either, not—"

He was standing in the doorframe then, staring, and then he was launching himself across the room at Adam.

"YOU! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" he cried, face contorting with fury, fists swinging. I tried to rise with a cry, but Uncle held my arm very tightly.

"Uncle—Ernest—stop!" I cried, but neither of them listened to me, and I watched, my free hand flying to my mouth as Adam even knelt on both knees to give Ernest a better target. The boy had no weapons on him but his own fists and teeth, and he kicked and hit Adam repeatedly while the large, cloaked man knelt and took it silently.

"Ernest, stop it!" I shrieked. I began to try to pry my uncle's hands off my arm frantically, but he yanked me hard down onto the divan, more roughly than he had ever been toward me.

"He told you to remain here, Chandelle," he reminded me, watching Ernest beat Adam bloody. A multitude of differing emotions were cycling through his expression.

I stilled. Adam had instructed that. But—

"YOU KILLED WILL AND I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU DEMON! YOU MONSTER! JUSTINE! SHE WAS LIKE MY SISTER! YOUR FAULT! YOU! YOU GODDAMNED FUCKING DEVIL! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!" Ernest was shouting. His screams and ferocity shocked me deeply. I had never imagined Ernest could behave this way, like a wild boy off the streets. I didn't even knew he knew such language.

"CRYING, YOU BASTARD?! GET UP, GET UP YOU DEVIL'S MONSTER—DEVIL'S—FUCKING—MONSTER—" Every time he shouted, he kicked Adam brutally.

"STOP THIS INSTANT!" I screamed. I ripped myself from my uncle and ran to them, raising my arms to force Ernest from Adam. Ernest's hand flew toward my face, but quick as a cobra, Adam's fist closed around the boy's arm, stopping him from striking me.

"Lock the door, if you would be so kind, Chandelle," Adam told me quietly. His face was a mess of blood, but still his voice was even and normal. "The house is waking and Ernest is not finished yet."

"Adam, no…"

"Please do as I ask, dear one."

With a shivering, tortured look at Adam's sincere, tearful eyes, I turned from the two to close and bolt lock the heavy door. People were indeed waking and running through the house—I could hear them now.

"I'm sorry, Ernest," Adam murmured.

Ernest's face contorted and he struck Adam terribly hard on the chest. The boy's own hands were bloody.

"I will never cease to be torturously sorry for the lives I have taken," Adam continued. "For the pain I have caused."

Ernest slapped him furiously, and then again, his face screwed up with tears, a streak of blood across his jaw.

"How dare you even speak to me?!" he hissed, his voice ugly and broken. "How dare you come here?! How dare you kneel here and deny me the satisfaction of fighting the monster who murdered my brother. How dare you pretend to be anything but that monster."

"That man is gone, Ernest. This is who I am now."

"YOU EVIL, UGLY, FUCKING DEMON LIAR!" He kicked him.

"Adam, I can't watch this anymore, god, Adam, please," I begged.

Someone came pounding down the hall, tried the door, and then started banging on it. "Ernest?!" Victor called, frantic. "Ernest, is that you?! Open the door!"

Uncle stood and commanded every eye in the room.

"Victor, it's alright," he called loudly. The pounding stopped. "Have the servants return to bed. Ernest has been shouting. But he is finished now." Ernest opened his mouth to call to his brother, but his father stopped him with a quick word. "Boy," he said sharply. "Sit down."

Ernest trembled with emotion. "How…how can you…father…it's here! It's right here! Help me kill it!"

"Sit down, boy," Uncle ordered again, more strongly this time. He took a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and handed it to his son. "Wipe your face and hands."

I moved toward Adam, but he shook his head sharply, his blood dripping down onto the hardwood floor. More tears spilled from my eyes, but I stopped, and instead I went to sit across from Uncle again.

"He is a man, Ernest," Uncle said in a resigned tone, sitting back down himself. "A murderer, but a man. Your brother Victor dug through fresh graves for half a year in Ingolstadt, brought pieces them back to his lab, preserved them, pieced them together, and animated it all with bursts of electricity. He created this man here before us, who calls himself Adam."

Ernest gazed hatefully at the huge, kneeling man dripping blood in the middle of the room.

Uncle continued, "When he awoke, born, if you will, he was like a babe. When Victor saw he had succeeded at creating life, he fled in horror and madness and self-hatred, leaving this man alone and frightened."

Ernest spat bloodily onto the floor. "He has no fucking soul. That's what Victor saw. Only God can create life."

"That is untrue, as it seems." Uncle leaned forward. "Victor cursed this man every time he approached him. Rejected him and over. And when he approached other people, they shot him and cursed him and hated him." Ernest opened his mouth again, but my uncle's words cut across him. "Quiet! You'll hear this. This man learned to hate people, and he began to take his revenge on Victor. Beginning with William and Justine." Uncle's voice had grown tight with pain. "Then Henry Clerval. Then he planned to kill Chandelle. Then Elizabeth. Until Victor killed himself, and then Adam planned to set himself afire and die lastly." Uncle sat back in his chair. "So why is Chandelle not dead?"

"Because she's a fool," Ernest spat.

Uncle chewed the side of his cheek, his face dark. "She spoke to him as if he might be something other than a monster. And he became so."

"You're wrong, papa!" he cried.

"I am not, Ernest. Half the blame for the deaths in our family is your brother's. He sewed evil, and he reaped it." Uncle's cool and deadly tone struck Ernest silent. His mouth twitched as if about to form words, then thought through them. My heart trembled, my love for my uncle fresh and burning.

"And even while we were all in danger, and Victor knew it, he still did not tell us of his man. Of what he had done. For pride. Do you hear me?"

Ernest shook his head slowly, anger welling again in his face. Denial was plain in his expression.

After a silent moment, Uncle rose and crossed to Adam, still kneeling and dripping onto the floor.

"Go," he said in a low voice. "I hope never to see or hear of you again."

Adam rose, fluidly for the pain he must have been in. "Your words have been undeservedly kind, monsieur," he murmured. His eyes were on Uncle's. "I take my leave."

Uncle turned to me. "It is time for you to return to London, Chandelle." He attempted to soften his expression somewhat, for my sake. I scrubbed my cheeks with the backs of my hands as I stood, sniffling. Adam paused at the door, then unbolted it, and slipped silently away.

"I'll pack tonight," I whispered.

Uncle nodded, and I followed Adam out the door, wincing as I saw the bloodstains on the floor. I went alone up to my room. I wanted to tend to his bruises and wounds, but I felt with a sort of animal instinct that he wanted to be alone tonight. I too wanted to be alone. As I walked away down the quiet hall, I could hear Ernest's muffled sobs as he wept in my uncle's arms.