PLEASE SEE CHAPTER 1 FOR DISCLAIMER, NOTES, ETC.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The hour is late, but Steven is there to greet me at the door. He has
been the trusted butler in my family for as long as I can remember.
If I recall correctly, he has surpassed the age of sixty. Though he
is not as fast on his feet as in his youth, the clarity of his mind
has not diminished.
I hand him my coat and hat. He asks if I will be retiring for the
evening. No, not quite. My mind is too overwhelmed with thoughts to
rest easily.
"Have a cup of tea with me, Steven," I say. Often, on nights like
this when I know sleep will escape me, we sit in the kitchen over
a hot drink and talk. Tonight is no exception.
The familiar warmth and aroma of the tea soothes me. I begin to talk
about the visit I made today. A visit to the mental asylum. To see
my father.
Roland Carter was once a good man; a fine, upstanding citizen and
a loving father. But when I reached adolescence, he began to change.
For no apparent reason, he became abusive towards me and my mother,
both physically and verbally. His behaviour was unpredictable.
At one moment he could be perfectly normal and at the next, he would
fly into a rage. I began to try avoiding him at all costs, sometimes
managing to dodge the beatings and sometimes not. By the time I began
to study medicine, the situation at home was unbearable.
Then one beautiful spring morning, I awoke to find my mother dead on
the cobblestone path at the rear of the house. She had fallen from
the balcony of the third floor. Breakfast had been served to my
parents in their room just minutes before her screams were heard.
Steven had rushed into the bedroom to find Roland standing outside
on the balcony, looking down at the broken body of his wife. He didn't
utter a single word and to this day, he continues to be locked in silence.
Whether it is an intentional prison he has built for himself, I do not know.
Did my mother somehow lose her balance that day or was she pushed? Accident
or murder? More questions that I shall never know the answer to unless,
by some miracle, my father regains his speech.
Is he the reason why I am so driven in my quest to perfect the chemical
formula? Perhaps. If the evil forces that have claimed him for so long
can indeed be extinguished, why shouldn't I continue with my work? How can
I let the ignorant Board members stop me now when I may be the only hope my
father has? I still recall the man he had once been. I know he can be that
man again.
Steven and I converse some more and I relate my father's condition.
He still speaks to no one and I can see no recognition in his eyes
when he looks at me. His stare is blank and he appears void of
any emotion. I would almost prefer him to be wild and angry once
more, instead of this hollow shell of a man.
In time, Steven announces he is going to bed. I bid him goodnight and
retreat to my laboratory. An idea has been brewing in my mind ever
since Doctor Benton and I parted on the street. It will be risky.
Terribly risky. But it appears I have no alternative.
I am going to use myself in this experiment. Inject the formula
and recite a prayer. Perhaps this is the way it should be, after all.
Is it fair of me to force the formula on another human being when
I don't know what the result will be? Although I am confident in
my work, I must be honest. As a scientist, I concede that I cannot
say for sure what will happen. But this must be done. It is the
only way.
Rolling up my sleeve, I make the preparations to inject myself. Finally,
with syringe in hand and my arm at the ready, I pause to think of Lucy.
My dear Lucy. I believe she will come to understand why I am doing this.
That is, I hope she will understand. I need her to understand.
No more procrastination. It is time.
With one sure plunge, I smoothly inject the contents of the syringe.
There. It is done. Reaching into my desk drawer, I withdraw a notebook.
I must document everything that occurs from this moment on. Now, there is
no turning back.
***************
September 13, 1888 11:56 p.m.
The formula has been injected. No noticeable changes in me yet.
My heart is racing, but that is due to anticipation and more than
a little fear.
11:58 p.m.
A warmth is starting to spread. Pulse is still pounding. A touch
of dizziness. A strange urge to laugh is bubbling through me.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A blot of ink mars the page as I gouge too deeply into the paper,
shuddering from a sudden pain that seizes my gut. Though I feel
as if I'm on fire, beads of cold sweat run down my forehead.
Agony. Piercing agony.
Perhaps this was a mistake after all. I'm not ready to die.
Unable to remain standing, I fall to the floor, writhing with
uncontrollable twitches. I cannot breathe. Cannot think.
What is happening to me? I'm being torn in two. It is
unbearable! Please God, help me...help me...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The stone floor feels cold against my cheek. I blink, shaking my
head to clear the cobwebs. Slowly, I rise to my feet, my breathing
deep and even. I feel so alive. Reborn. Blood singing through
my veins. The heady feeling of freedom bursts through me and I want
to shout to the world...
"Free!"
I can't stand the confines of these laboratory walls any longer.
There is someplace else I need to be.
***************
Somehow, my feet take me directly to the destination I had in mind.
Entering the establishment of drink and sin, I immediately spot
my prey. She is seated alone, a meal of bread and stew in front
of her.
Without a breath of sound, I slip onto the seat next to her. Glancing
at me with surprise, she doesn't hide her annoyance. "I'm not lookin'
for company tonight," she declares. I do not utter a word. A flicker
of recognition seems to cross her face as she stares at me, closer still.
"Don't I know you?"
I smile, my voice low and soothing. "I think not, love. We've never
met before. But after tonight, you shall never forget me."
Her eyes wide with curiosity, her meal now sits untouched. "What's your
name?"
"Truman. Nathan Truman."
"I'm Abby Lockheart."
"My dear." I stroke her hand, feeling the fine and fragile bones
beneath the skin. "Think of me as your guardian angel. Your protector.
You deserve better than a place such as this."
"Well, aren't you the smooth talker. But I like your style." She leans
towards me, searching my face. "I'm sure I know you," she whispers.
My voice lowers to match hers. Soft and seductive. "Yes, Abby.
You know the real me. I am yours and you are mine. We have a
destiny, you and I."
She blinks, looking unsure. "Destiny?"
"Mmmm hmmm. You have a room upstairs, do you not?"
Abruptly, she withdraws her hand from mine. "Look, I don't know what
kind of woman you think I am, but I'm not that kind!"
I chuckle at her indignant tone. "Easy, love. Don't take offense.
I only want to get to know you better."
"Right. I've heard that line before."
Sensing I won't be getting anywhere with this approach tonight, I feel
it is best to retreat. A temporary setback, but I shall return soon.
Rising to my feet, I tip my hat to her. "I bid you goodnight, then."
"You don't have to leave. Sit and talk with me. My shift is over so
The Spider won't be buggin' us."
Her dark eyes implore me to stay and though I am tempted, I feel a hint
of mystery may serve me better. Leave her wanting to know more.
"Some other time, perhaps." Once again taking her hand, I brush my lips
against the knuckles, my gaze never straying from hers. "Goodnight,
Miss Lockheart."
She swallows visibly. "Goodnight."
Once outside, there is a bounce to my step and I take no care to conceal
my grin. It seems I cannot stop smiling. It feels so damned good to
be alive! What to do next? Nathan Truman is unstoppable. He can do
anything he pleases. Why, the possibilities are simply endless.
***************
September 20 11:00 a.m.
Nightmares consume me every night, making sleep difficult. Every
transformation racks my body with horrible pain. Others have begun
to notice I am behaving oddly. It is now the second week of the
experiment and no matter how difficult, I am determined to continue.
September 25 8:10 p.m.
The chemical formula has been altered and I am hopeful this will strike
the right balance. I must be able to control the dark impulses that
have invaded me. Truman's evil persona is strong but John Carter must
be stronger. Still, I must admit, there is some hidden part of me that
takes delight in my alter ego's wicked ways.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts and my voice is laced with
irritation. "What is it?"
"Miss Knight is here to see you, sir," Steven calls out.
"I'm busy! Tell her to come tomorrow."
There is a pause before the butler speaks again. "But I told her that
yesterday, sir. Could you not spare a moment?"
Had she tried to see me yesterday? I honestly don't recall. With a sigh,
I tell Steven that I will be there presently. After jotting down a note,
I make my way upstairs into the parlour. Lucy greets me by taking my hands
and kissing my cheek.
"John, you look exhausted," she admonishes gently.
"I haven't been sleeping well," I admit. The sight and smell of her
fill my senses with pleasure. I truly am glad to see her.
"You have been working much too hard. Please, let me take you to dinner."
"No, I can't. I'm in the middle of something important right now."
The disappointment in her expressive face causes me some guilt, but I
brush the feeling aside.
"We wouldn't be long. There is that place around the corner that you
like so much..."
"I said I can't, Lucy!" I snap, walking away from her. My nerves have
been stretched taut lately and I inwardly scold myself for letting
it show so easily. Turning around, I find myself facing her anger.
"Am I asking so much of you? I have only seen you once since the party!
All I ask for is some civilized conversation over dinner, before you
lock yourself up in the laboratory. And speaking of which, when will
I be allowed to assist you again? Why are you keeping secrets from me?"
I have been dreading this moment, for I knew it would come soon. Until I
decided to test the formula on myself, Lucy was an integral part of
my work. When the Board rejected my proposal, she was as disappointed
as me. But I simply cannot tell her that I have made myself the subject
of this experiment. I cannot tell anyone.
"Please, be patient with me," I say.
"Is it because you don't trust me? Or that you doubt my abilities?"
"No, not at all."
"Tell me the truth, John," she insists. "I can bear it. I just need you
to be honest with me."
Placing my hands on her shoulders, I look directly into her lovely eyes.
"The truth is, you have been a brilliant assistant. I could not have
come so far without you. But right now, I need to be alone in my work.
In time, you will know everything. But for now, it is you who must place
your trust in me."
She ponders my words and finally, nods her acceptance. "I do trust you.
But that doesn't stop me from worrying about you. Is Steven making sure
you eat properly?"
"Yes, my love. There is no need to worry."
With a slight sigh, she places her head against my chest and I hold
her close, breathing in the scent of her. We stay in the embrace until
she breaks away. "I'll leave you to your work, then." Her voice is
quiet and resigned.
I know she is not happy, but she has always known how important my research
is to me. Other women would have long ago abandoned me for lack of proper
attention. The very fact that Lucy does not cling to me like others I
have known, make her all the more endearing to me. Sometimes, I think
she does deserve better. "Thank you for understanding," I say.
After seeing her to the door, I return to the laboratory and continue on.
Minutes later, another sharp rap severs my concentration. "What now?"
I bark, glaring at Steven as he partially enters through the doorway.
"I'm sorry, sir, but another lady is here to see you. I have never
seen her before but she claims to know you. I would have turned her
away but she does have your card."
Frowning, I start to say that I will receive no more visitors, but something
stops me. "Let her in, Steven."
Scribbling another note to remind myself of my train of thought when
I return, I once again enter the parlour. A petite woman with dark tresses
and a red dress is examining the large portrait of my father. She gives
me a nervous smile when I approach her, smoothing down her hair with one
hand.
"Remember me, Doctor Carter? From Magoos?"
"I do. Abby, isn't it?"
"Right. Um, you gave me your card that night." Reaching into her pocket,
she shows it to me. "'46 Harding Street'."
"'Harley Street', you mean," I correct.
She looks flustered. "Right, that's what I meant to say. Usually I
would've thrown something like that away but you were so nice to me when
The Spider, well, you know..." Talking very quickly, her voice trails
away, perhaps in embarrassment. "Nice place you got here. Real nice."
She spins on her heel, throwing her arms wide, as if to encompass the
room. With a sudden wince, she brings her arms back to her sides,
seeming to favour her right shoulder.
I step closer to her, concerned. "What's wrong? Has he hurt you again?"
"No, not this time. This time it was a customer." I lead her to a chair
and as she sits, she begins to unbutton the top portion of her dress.
Again, she speaks quickly, her words tumbling forth in a rush. "But I
don't want you gettin' the wrong idea, sir. This isn't somethin' I usually
do with a customer. Some of the other girls do and The Spider is always
on me to bring in more money. Pushin' me in that direction, you know?
I always expect him to kick me out but I guess he doesn't because I'm
a hard worker. Anyway, when this fella showed up again, I took him to
my room because I liked him. He was...different than anyone else.
Romantic. Talked about destiny. I never heard words like that from
a man before."
Standing behind her, I gently push down the neckline of her dress to
reveal her wounds. My breath is emitted in a hiss as I regard what
appears to be bite marks and fingernail gouges, extending from her upper
shoulder to almost midway down her back. The wounds are red; angry and
swollen. "The man is a monster," I say sharply.
"Not a pretty sight, is it," she says, a sardonic edge to her tone.
"I'll never forget his name, though. Nathan Truman."
This revelation sends a cold chill down my spine and I take a step
backwards. "Are...are you sure?" I stutter.
"Oh, yeah. Like I said, I'll never forget it." I am silent for so long,
she turns halfway in her seat, clutching the front of her dress together
to glance back at me. "Is somethin' wrong?"
"No, I, excuse me a moment. I have some medicine downstairs." Beating a
hasty retreat to gather some supplies from a cabinet in the laboratory,
I pause to gather my wits. I am sick. Utterly sick at what Truman has
done. But how can I deceive myself? My own two hands have done this to
her. Bloodied her ivory skin and caused her suffering. I *must* regain
control of the beast!
Returning upstairs, I set the supplies on a tray and begin to treat her
injuries. As I start to cleanse the area, she flinches involuntarily,
her breath catching in her throat. "It stings, I know. I'm sorry."
I continue on and she stoically remains still. I can only pray that the
area does not become infected. The final step is the placement of
protective gauze over the wounds, and I am finished. I place a gentle hand
on her unaffected shoulder. "There, now, I am done."
"Thank you."
Her voice sounds strangely hoarse as she briefly covers my hand with one
of her own. I help her adjust her dress to regain some modesty again.
A silent, lone tear slips down her cheek and the shame slices through me
again like a ragged knife. "I'm sorry, Abby. I can offer you something
for the pain."
She shakes her head, her fingers trembling as she fastens the last
button. "It's not that. I'm just...you're so...wonderful to me.
Nobody has ever been kind to me, like you are."
Her sorrowful admission touches my heart. "No one? Surely your family
or your mother..."
She interrupts with a bitter laugh. "My mother? She's completely crazy.
She's probably dead by now, but I haven't seen her in ten years. No, sir,
you are the only bit of kindness in my life. Not that I deserve it,
but I appreciate it all the same."
Rising from the seat, her face downcast, I lift her chin up until she looks
at me. "Don't say such things, Abby. You deserve every bit of kindness.
I'm only sorry the world has been so cruel to you."
Her eyes fill with tears again, spilling over, and she brushes them away
impatiently. "Please stop sayin' 'I'm sorry'. You don't have anythin'
to apologize for."
Grabbing my hand, she kisses the palm and presses it against her cheek.
From this distance, I can discern the bruises beneath the makeup that stain
her cheekbone; testimony of the cruelty she endured the other night. Our
eyes meet and neither one of us seems able to look away. As she strains on
her toes, tilting her head back, my head is drawn down, pulled by an
invisible force. Before my lips manage to graze hers, I come to my
senses. "I can't do this," I murmur, straightening up again.
"Why?"
"I'm engaged. To a woman I adore. I'm sorry."
"I told you, stop sayin' you're sorry!" she snaps. With a contrite look,
she covers her mouth with one hand. "Oh God, what must you think of me?"
she mumbles from beneath her hand. Abruptly, she uncovers her mouth.
"Now I'm the one who's sorry. Here I go throwin' myself at you and you're
just takin' pity on me."
"It isn't pity. I don't want you thinking that. If I wasn't involved
with someone else, I...there might be something between us."
"Really?"
A tender smile curls my lips as I hear the mixture of hope, doubt, and
wonder in her voice. "Yes, really."
"Well." She clears her throat and tries again. "Well, you certainly
know how to make a girl's day, Doctor Carter. Thank you for your help.
Again."
"You're quite welcome." I walk her to the door. "Abby, please promise
me one thing."
"Anythin'."
Although it is on the tip of my tongue to warn her about Nathan Truman,
I find I cannot do it. Besides, she must have the good sense not to
go near him. Not after what he did to her.
"Just...take care of yourself."
After closing the door, I go to the window and look outside. Abby is
making her way across the path with slow steps, her head slumped down once
more. At one point she stops, bringing her hands to her face. Though I
cannot say for sure from my vantage point, I imagine she is crying. With a
final heave of her shoulders, her head comes back up and for several
seconds, she remains as still as a statue. Finally, she begins to walk
towards the street, disappearing from sight.
Back to the quiet confines of my laboratory once more, I try to continue
from where I left off, but my mind wanders. I cannot erase the image
of those bloody, swollen welts on Abby's skin. I have no memory of
inflicting those injuries, yet I must have done so. Truman is to blame.
I must alter the formula again. The current one still does not allow
me to have complete control over my evil twin. There is much work to
be done.
CURTAIN DROPS...INTERMISSION...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The hour is late, but Steven is there to greet me at the door. He has
been the trusted butler in my family for as long as I can remember.
If I recall correctly, he has surpassed the age of sixty. Though he
is not as fast on his feet as in his youth, the clarity of his mind
has not diminished.
I hand him my coat and hat. He asks if I will be retiring for the
evening. No, not quite. My mind is too overwhelmed with thoughts to
rest easily.
"Have a cup of tea with me, Steven," I say. Often, on nights like
this when I know sleep will escape me, we sit in the kitchen over
a hot drink and talk. Tonight is no exception.
The familiar warmth and aroma of the tea soothes me. I begin to talk
about the visit I made today. A visit to the mental asylum. To see
my father.
Roland Carter was once a good man; a fine, upstanding citizen and
a loving father. But when I reached adolescence, he began to change.
For no apparent reason, he became abusive towards me and my mother,
both physically and verbally. His behaviour was unpredictable.
At one moment he could be perfectly normal and at the next, he would
fly into a rage. I began to try avoiding him at all costs, sometimes
managing to dodge the beatings and sometimes not. By the time I began
to study medicine, the situation at home was unbearable.
Then one beautiful spring morning, I awoke to find my mother dead on
the cobblestone path at the rear of the house. She had fallen from
the balcony of the third floor. Breakfast had been served to my
parents in their room just minutes before her screams were heard.
Steven had rushed into the bedroom to find Roland standing outside
on the balcony, looking down at the broken body of his wife. He didn't
utter a single word and to this day, he continues to be locked in silence.
Whether it is an intentional prison he has built for himself, I do not know.
Did my mother somehow lose her balance that day or was she pushed? Accident
or murder? More questions that I shall never know the answer to unless,
by some miracle, my father regains his speech.
Is he the reason why I am so driven in my quest to perfect the chemical
formula? Perhaps. If the evil forces that have claimed him for so long
can indeed be extinguished, why shouldn't I continue with my work? How can
I let the ignorant Board members stop me now when I may be the only hope my
father has? I still recall the man he had once been. I know he can be that
man again.
Steven and I converse some more and I relate my father's condition.
He still speaks to no one and I can see no recognition in his eyes
when he looks at me. His stare is blank and he appears void of
any emotion. I would almost prefer him to be wild and angry once
more, instead of this hollow shell of a man.
In time, Steven announces he is going to bed. I bid him goodnight and
retreat to my laboratory. An idea has been brewing in my mind ever
since Doctor Benton and I parted on the street. It will be risky.
Terribly risky. But it appears I have no alternative.
I am going to use myself in this experiment. Inject the formula
and recite a prayer. Perhaps this is the way it should be, after all.
Is it fair of me to force the formula on another human being when
I don't know what the result will be? Although I am confident in
my work, I must be honest. As a scientist, I concede that I cannot
say for sure what will happen. But this must be done. It is the
only way.
Rolling up my sleeve, I make the preparations to inject myself. Finally,
with syringe in hand and my arm at the ready, I pause to think of Lucy.
My dear Lucy. I believe she will come to understand why I am doing this.
That is, I hope she will understand. I need her to understand.
No more procrastination. It is time.
With one sure plunge, I smoothly inject the contents of the syringe.
There. It is done. Reaching into my desk drawer, I withdraw a notebook.
I must document everything that occurs from this moment on. Now, there is
no turning back.
***************
September 13, 1888 11:56 p.m.
The formula has been injected. No noticeable changes in me yet.
My heart is racing, but that is due to anticipation and more than
a little fear.
11:58 p.m.
A warmth is starting to spread. Pulse is still pounding. A touch
of dizziness. A strange urge to laugh is bubbling through me.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A blot of ink mars the page as I gouge too deeply into the paper,
shuddering from a sudden pain that seizes my gut. Though I feel
as if I'm on fire, beads of cold sweat run down my forehead.
Agony. Piercing agony.
Perhaps this was a mistake after all. I'm not ready to die.
Unable to remain standing, I fall to the floor, writhing with
uncontrollable twitches. I cannot breathe. Cannot think.
What is happening to me? I'm being torn in two. It is
unbearable! Please God, help me...help me...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The stone floor feels cold against my cheek. I blink, shaking my
head to clear the cobwebs. Slowly, I rise to my feet, my breathing
deep and even. I feel so alive. Reborn. Blood singing through
my veins. The heady feeling of freedom bursts through me and I want
to shout to the world...
"Free!"
I can't stand the confines of these laboratory walls any longer.
There is someplace else I need to be.
***************
Somehow, my feet take me directly to the destination I had in mind.
Entering the establishment of drink and sin, I immediately spot
my prey. She is seated alone, a meal of bread and stew in front
of her.
Without a breath of sound, I slip onto the seat next to her. Glancing
at me with surprise, she doesn't hide her annoyance. "I'm not lookin'
for company tonight," she declares. I do not utter a word. A flicker
of recognition seems to cross her face as she stares at me, closer still.
"Don't I know you?"
I smile, my voice low and soothing. "I think not, love. We've never
met before. But after tonight, you shall never forget me."
Her eyes wide with curiosity, her meal now sits untouched. "What's your
name?"
"Truman. Nathan Truman."
"I'm Abby Lockheart."
"My dear." I stroke her hand, feeling the fine and fragile bones
beneath the skin. "Think of me as your guardian angel. Your protector.
You deserve better than a place such as this."
"Well, aren't you the smooth talker. But I like your style." She leans
towards me, searching my face. "I'm sure I know you," she whispers.
My voice lowers to match hers. Soft and seductive. "Yes, Abby.
You know the real me. I am yours and you are mine. We have a
destiny, you and I."
She blinks, looking unsure. "Destiny?"
"Mmmm hmmm. You have a room upstairs, do you not?"
Abruptly, she withdraws her hand from mine. "Look, I don't know what
kind of woman you think I am, but I'm not that kind!"
I chuckle at her indignant tone. "Easy, love. Don't take offense.
I only want to get to know you better."
"Right. I've heard that line before."
Sensing I won't be getting anywhere with this approach tonight, I feel
it is best to retreat. A temporary setback, but I shall return soon.
Rising to my feet, I tip my hat to her. "I bid you goodnight, then."
"You don't have to leave. Sit and talk with me. My shift is over so
The Spider won't be buggin' us."
Her dark eyes implore me to stay and though I am tempted, I feel a hint
of mystery may serve me better. Leave her wanting to know more.
"Some other time, perhaps." Once again taking her hand, I brush my lips
against the knuckles, my gaze never straying from hers. "Goodnight,
Miss Lockheart."
She swallows visibly. "Goodnight."
Once outside, there is a bounce to my step and I take no care to conceal
my grin. It seems I cannot stop smiling. It feels so damned good to
be alive! What to do next? Nathan Truman is unstoppable. He can do
anything he pleases. Why, the possibilities are simply endless.
***************
September 20 11:00 a.m.
Nightmares consume me every night, making sleep difficult. Every
transformation racks my body with horrible pain. Others have begun
to notice I am behaving oddly. It is now the second week of the
experiment and no matter how difficult, I am determined to continue.
September 25 8:10 p.m.
The chemical formula has been altered and I am hopeful this will strike
the right balance. I must be able to control the dark impulses that
have invaded me. Truman's evil persona is strong but John Carter must
be stronger. Still, I must admit, there is some hidden part of me that
takes delight in my alter ego's wicked ways.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts and my voice is laced with
irritation. "What is it?"
"Miss Knight is here to see you, sir," Steven calls out.
"I'm busy! Tell her to come tomorrow."
There is a pause before the butler speaks again. "But I told her that
yesterday, sir. Could you not spare a moment?"
Had she tried to see me yesterday? I honestly don't recall. With a sigh,
I tell Steven that I will be there presently. After jotting down a note,
I make my way upstairs into the parlour. Lucy greets me by taking my hands
and kissing my cheek.
"John, you look exhausted," she admonishes gently.
"I haven't been sleeping well," I admit. The sight and smell of her
fill my senses with pleasure. I truly am glad to see her.
"You have been working much too hard. Please, let me take you to dinner."
"No, I can't. I'm in the middle of something important right now."
The disappointment in her expressive face causes me some guilt, but I
brush the feeling aside.
"We wouldn't be long. There is that place around the corner that you
like so much..."
"I said I can't, Lucy!" I snap, walking away from her. My nerves have
been stretched taut lately and I inwardly scold myself for letting
it show so easily. Turning around, I find myself facing her anger.
"Am I asking so much of you? I have only seen you once since the party!
All I ask for is some civilized conversation over dinner, before you
lock yourself up in the laboratory. And speaking of which, when will
I be allowed to assist you again? Why are you keeping secrets from me?"
I have been dreading this moment, for I knew it would come soon. Until I
decided to test the formula on myself, Lucy was an integral part of
my work. When the Board rejected my proposal, she was as disappointed
as me. But I simply cannot tell her that I have made myself the subject
of this experiment. I cannot tell anyone.
"Please, be patient with me," I say.
"Is it because you don't trust me? Or that you doubt my abilities?"
"No, not at all."
"Tell me the truth, John," she insists. "I can bear it. I just need you
to be honest with me."
Placing my hands on her shoulders, I look directly into her lovely eyes.
"The truth is, you have been a brilliant assistant. I could not have
come so far without you. But right now, I need to be alone in my work.
In time, you will know everything. But for now, it is you who must place
your trust in me."
She ponders my words and finally, nods her acceptance. "I do trust you.
But that doesn't stop me from worrying about you. Is Steven making sure
you eat properly?"
"Yes, my love. There is no need to worry."
With a slight sigh, she places her head against my chest and I hold
her close, breathing in the scent of her. We stay in the embrace until
she breaks away. "I'll leave you to your work, then." Her voice is
quiet and resigned.
I know she is not happy, but she has always known how important my research
is to me. Other women would have long ago abandoned me for lack of proper
attention. The very fact that Lucy does not cling to me like others I
have known, make her all the more endearing to me. Sometimes, I think
she does deserve better. "Thank you for understanding," I say.
After seeing her to the door, I return to the laboratory and continue on.
Minutes later, another sharp rap severs my concentration. "What now?"
I bark, glaring at Steven as he partially enters through the doorway.
"I'm sorry, sir, but another lady is here to see you. I have never
seen her before but she claims to know you. I would have turned her
away but she does have your card."
Frowning, I start to say that I will receive no more visitors, but something
stops me. "Let her in, Steven."
Scribbling another note to remind myself of my train of thought when
I return, I once again enter the parlour. A petite woman with dark tresses
and a red dress is examining the large portrait of my father. She gives
me a nervous smile when I approach her, smoothing down her hair with one
hand.
"Remember me, Doctor Carter? From Magoos?"
"I do. Abby, isn't it?"
"Right. Um, you gave me your card that night." Reaching into her pocket,
she shows it to me. "'46 Harding Street'."
"'Harley Street', you mean," I correct.
She looks flustered. "Right, that's what I meant to say. Usually I
would've thrown something like that away but you were so nice to me when
The Spider, well, you know..." Talking very quickly, her voice trails
away, perhaps in embarrassment. "Nice place you got here. Real nice."
She spins on her heel, throwing her arms wide, as if to encompass the
room. With a sudden wince, she brings her arms back to her sides,
seeming to favour her right shoulder.
I step closer to her, concerned. "What's wrong? Has he hurt you again?"
"No, not this time. This time it was a customer." I lead her to a chair
and as she sits, she begins to unbutton the top portion of her dress.
Again, she speaks quickly, her words tumbling forth in a rush. "But I
don't want you gettin' the wrong idea, sir. This isn't somethin' I usually
do with a customer. Some of the other girls do and The Spider is always
on me to bring in more money. Pushin' me in that direction, you know?
I always expect him to kick me out but I guess he doesn't because I'm
a hard worker. Anyway, when this fella showed up again, I took him to
my room because I liked him. He was...different than anyone else.
Romantic. Talked about destiny. I never heard words like that from
a man before."
Standing behind her, I gently push down the neckline of her dress to
reveal her wounds. My breath is emitted in a hiss as I regard what
appears to be bite marks and fingernail gouges, extending from her upper
shoulder to almost midway down her back. The wounds are red; angry and
swollen. "The man is a monster," I say sharply.
"Not a pretty sight, is it," she says, a sardonic edge to her tone.
"I'll never forget his name, though. Nathan Truman."
This revelation sends a cold chill down my spine and I take a step
backwards. "Are...are you sure?" I stutter.
"Oh, yeah. Like I said, I'll never forget it." I am silent for so long,
she turns halfway in her seat, clutching the front of her dress together
to glance back at me. "Is somethin' wrong?"
"No, I, excuse me a moment. I have some medicine downstairs." Beating a
hasty retreat to gather some supplies from a cabinet in the laboratory,
I pause to gather my wits. I am sick. Utterly sick at what Truman has
done. But how can I deceive myself? My own two hands have done this to
her. Bloodied her ivory skin and caused her suffering. I *must* regain
control of the beast!
Returning upstairs, I set the supplies on a tray and begin to treat her
injuries. As I start to cleanse the area, she flinches involuntarily,
her breath catching in her throat. "It stings, I know. I'm sorry."
I continue on and she stoically remains still. I can only pray that the
area does not become infected. The final step is the placement of
protective gauze over the wounds, and I am finished. I place a gentle hand
on her unaffected shoulder. "There, now, I am done."
"Thank you."
Her voice sounds strangely hoarse as she briefly covers my hand with one
of her own. I help her adjust her dress to regain some modesty again.
A silent, lone tear slips down her cheek and the shame slices through me
again like a ragged knife. "I'm sorry, Abby. I can offer you something
for the pain."
She shakes her head, her fingers trembling as she fastens the last
button. "It's not that. I'm just...you're so...wonderful to me.
Nobody has ever been kind to me, like you are."
Her sorrowful admission touches my heart. "No one? Surely your family
or your mother..."
She interrupts with a bitter laugh. "My mother? She's completely crazy.
She's probably dead by now, but I haven't seen her in ten years. No, sir,
you are the only bit of kindness in my life. Not that I deserve it,
but I appreciate it all the same."
Rising from the seat, her face downcast, I lift her chin up until she looks
at me. "Don't say such things, Abby. You deserve every bit of kindness.
I'm only sorry the world has been so cruel to you."
Her eyes fill with tears again, spilling over, and she brushes them away
impatiently. "Please stop sayin' 'I'm sorry'. You don't have anythin'
to apologize for."
Grabbing my hand, she kisses the palm and presses it against her cheek.
From this distance, I can discern the bruises beneath the makeup that stain
her cheekbone; testimony of the cruelty she endured the other night. Our
eyes meet and neither one of us seems able to look away. As she strains on
her toes, tilting her head back, my head is drawn down, pulled by an
invisible force. Before my lips manage to graze hers, I come to my
senses. "I can't do this," I murmur, straightening up again.
"Why?"
"I'm engaged. To a woman I adore. I'm sorry."
"I told you, stop sayin' you're sorry!" she snaps. With a contrite look,
she covers her mouth with one hand. "Oh God, what must you think of me?"
she mumbles from beneath her hand. Abruptly, she uncovers her mouth.
"Now I'm the one who's sorry. Here I go throwin' myself at you and you're
just takin' pity on me."
"It isn't pity. I don't want you thinking that. If I wasn't involved
with someone else, I...there might be something between us."
"Really?"
A tender smile curls my lips as I hear the mixture of hope, doubt, and
wonder in her voice. "Yes, really."
"Well." She clears her throat and tries again. "Well, you certainly
know how to make a girl's day, Doctor Carter. Thank you for your help.
Again."
"You're quite welcome." I walk her to the door. "Abby, please promise
me one thing."
"Anythin'."
Although it is on the tip of my tongue to warn her about Nathan Truman,
I find I cannot do it. Besides, she must have the good sense not to
go near him. Not after what he did to her.
"Just...take care of yourself."
After closing the door, I go to the window and look outside. Abby is
making her way across the path with slow steps, her head slumped down once
more. At one point she stops, bringing her hands to her face. Though I
cannot say for sure from my vantage point, I imagine she is crying. With a
final heave of her shoulders, her head comes back up and for several
seconds, she remains as still as a statue. Finally, she begins to walk
towards the street, disappearing from sight.
Back to the quiet confines of my laboratory once more, I try to continue
from where I left off, but my mind wanders. I cannot erase the image
of those bloody, swollen welts on Abby's skin. I have no memory of
inflicting those injuries, yet I must have done so. Truman is to blame.
I must alter the formula again. The current one still does not allow
me to have complete control over my evil twin. There is much work to
be done.
CURTAIN DROPS...INTERMISSION...