Edward started at the sound of the knock. The echo of it carried
throughout the house, all the way up to the attic where he was sitting. He
snipped his fingers as he trembled with an all too familiar dread, and
stared at the doorway that led downstairs--but then suddenly he became
optimistic. Had Kim come back? Excitement rapidly wiped out his fear. He
quietly shuffled down the steps to peer around the corner down into the
foyer. A girl with a long blonde ponytail was coming through the front
door.
Mackenzie stood in awe and let the door behind her hang open in order to properly light what she was seeing. Before her was a massive contraption of some sort. There was a conveyor belt and several generators that looked as though they could have been steam-driven. This place had to be at least a hundred years old. Most definitely more.
She moved forward towards the assembly and noticed a large storage rack full of cookie cutters in all different shapes and sizes. She heard a small sound behind her, but dismissed it as the door creaking in the breeze. She almost leapt out of her shoes when someone behind her spoke.
"Kim?" a plaintive voice asked.
Mackenzie whirled around. The startled pale face she saw before her indicated that she was not whom he expected.
"You're not Kim," he said, backing away quickly, suddenly realizing his dire mistake of revealing himself to her.
She stared at him in horror, unable to speak or scream. The black-clad man was holding what appeared to be large blades. He was holding them out in front of himself defensively, and she subconsciously wondered why on earth he should be afraid of her. He was the one that looked like he had come straight out of hell.
They backed away from each other rapidly, and Mackenzie caught her foot on the large storage rack. She tripped and fell over backwards. Frantically, she reached up to grab onto something, but instead succeeded in only pulling the large heavy rack over onto herself. Cookie cutters toppled everywhere. She frantically tried to push it off, afraid the man with the blades would take advantage of her misfortune and try to chop her to bits. The rack wouldn't budge. After several more moments of panicky attempts to haul it off of her, she stopped to catch her breath. She considered yelling for help, but knew no one would be able to hear her all the way up here.
Something moved into her field of view. A face emerged first, a horribly scarred, pale face. The man didn't look vicious at all, only frightened and curious. The hair atop his head was a tangled mess, as though he didn't have the faintest idea of how to use a comb. The metal blades moved into view next, and her eyes widened. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, he spoke again.
"Please--" his voice was so soft. Mackenzie stared at him.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Edward," the plaintive voice answered again. He had come closer and was warily analyzing her predicament.
"You're not going to hurt me, are you?" she asked, clutching the rack to her, afraid for her life. He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving her. They stared at each other for a moment, both unsure of what to say next.
Mackenzie suddenly realized being pinned to the ground by a large metal object was quite uncomfortable, and ask for Edward's help. He approached her, raising his scissored hands out, and then paused as though unsure of how to proceed. She drew back at the sight of them.
"Those--" she began quietly. "Those are your hands?"
Edward nodded silently as he braced the palms of his bladed hands against the storage rack. He was incredibly strong; probably more so than he realized, and within moments, he had lifted it up enough for Mackenzie to squirm out from underneath it. She scrambled to her feet and dusted herself off. The two then stood and studied each other for a moment.
Suddenly realizing that she should introduce himself and thank him, she spoke. "I-I'm Mackenzie Tate--"
A small smile pulled at the corner of Edward's mouth.
"--And, thanks. For that," she gestured to the rack that remained on the floor. He nodded again, visibly a tad more comfortable with her presence, for he had stopped snipping so insistently.
Mackenzie pressed further conversation while eyeing his hands. "So, do you live here all alone?"
Another simple, timid nod.
"And," she asked delicately, "how did you come by those hands of yours?"
Edward's eyes widened a bit and paused, as if he was trying to find the best answer. He then gestured to the easel in near the window where his father's illustrations were mounted. "I'm not finished," he said simply.
Mackenzie didn't quite understand. "Not finished? With what?" She walked towards the easel to see what he was indicating. On the first page appeared to be some sort of mechanized food-chopper. It looked if had a personality all its own, as though its creator liked to surround himself with human-esque machines of burden. She flipped through the pages and saw that the apparatus was progressively transforming into a person. Bits and pieces of metal gradually formed into live limbs of flesh and blood. The machine's lifeless eyes turned into the eyes of a timid man, filled with intelligence and curiosity. She realized it was the development of Edward, and she gaped in awe.
The genius of it all. Being a scientist herself, Mackenzie was enthralled. A man had created a human being from--well, God knows what. He managed to recreate not only the human body, but also the human spirit.
But there was more. The finalized vision of Edward consisted of a well- tailored man.whole and complete. And yet, as he was now standing beside her, she saw that something had gone drastically wrong.
"Edward," she whispered.
He turned his hollowed face to her, his eyes curious.
"Where is your-your father, Edward?"
He had heard that question before. He remembered that day clearly and what he had said. He found himself repeating those very same words.
"He didn't wake up."
Mackenzie stood in awe and let the door behind her hang open in order to properly light what she was seeing. Before her was a massive contraption of some sort. There was a conveyor belt and several generators that looked as though they could have been steam-driven. This place had to be at least a hundred years old. Most definitely more.
She moved forward towards the assembly and noticed a large storage rack full of cookie cutters in all different shapes and sizes. She heard a small sound behind her, but dismissed it as the door creaking in the breeze. She almost leapt out of her shoes when someone behind her spoke.
"Kim?" a plaintive voice asked.
Mackenzie whirled around. The startled pale face she saw before her indicated that she was not whom he expected.
"You're not Kim," he said, backing away quickly, suddenly realizing his dire mistake of revealing himself to her.
She stared at him in horror, unable to speak or scream. The black-clad man was holding what appeared to be large blades. He was holding them out in front of himself defensively, and she subconsciously wondered why on earth he should be afraid of her. He was the one that looked like he had come straight out of hell.
They backed away from each other rapidly, and Mackenzie caught her foot on the large storage rack. She tripped and fell over backwards. Frantically, she reached up to grab onto something, but instead succeeded in only pulling the large heavy rack over onto herself. Cookie cutters toppled everywhere. She frantically tried to push it off, afraid the man with the blades would take advantage of her misfortune and try to chop her to bits. The rack wouldn't budge. After several more moments of panicky attempts to haul it off of her, she stopped to catch her breath. She considered yelling for help, but knew no one would be able to hear her all the way up here.
Something moved into her field of view. A face emerged first, a horribly scarred, pale face. The man didn't look vicious at all, only frightened and curious. The hair atop his head was a tangled mess, as though he didn't have the faintest idea of how to use a comb. The metal blades moved into view next, and her eyes widened. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, he spoke again.
"Please--" his voice was so soft. Mackenzie stared at him.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Edward," the plaintive voice answered again. He had come closer and was warily analyzing her predicament.
"You're not going to hurt me, are you?" she asked, clutching the rack to her, afraid for her life. He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving her. They stared at each other for a moment, both unsure of what to say next.
Mackenzie suddenly realized being pinned to the ground by a large metal object was quite uncomfortable, and ask for Edward's help. He approached her, raising his scissored hands out, and then paused as though unsure of how to proceed. She drew back at the sight of them.
"Those--" she began quietly. "Those are your hands?"
Edward nodded silently as he braced the palms of his bladed hands against the storage rack. He was incredibly strong; probably more so than he realized, and within moments, he had lifted it up enough for Mackenzie to squirm out from underneath it. She scrambled to her feet and dusted herself off. The two then stood and studied each other for a moment.
Suddenly realizing that she should introduce himself and thank him, she spoke. "I-I'm Mackenzie Tate--"
A small smile pulled at the corner of Edward's mouth.
"--And, thanks. For that," she gestured to the rack that remained on the floor. He nodded again, visibly a tad more comfortable with her presence, for he had stopped snipping so insistently.
Mackenzie pressed further conversation while eyeing his hands. "So, do you live here all alone?"
Another simple, timid nod.
"And," she asked delicately, "how did you come by those hands of yours?"
Edward's eyes widened a bit and paused, as if he was trying to find the best answer. He then gestured to the easel in near the window where his father's illustrations were mounted. "I'm not finished," he said simply.
Mackenzie didn't quite understand. "Not finished? With what?" She walked towards the easel to see what he was indicating. On the first page appeared to be some sort of mechanized food-chopper. It looked if had a personality all its own, as though its creator liked to surround himself with human-esque machines of burden. She flipped through the pages and saw that the apparatus was progressively transforming into a person. Bits and pieces of metal gradually formed into live limbs of flesh and blood. The machine's lifeless eyes turned into the eyes of a timid man, filled with intelligence and curiosity. She realized it was the development of Edward, and she gaped in awe.
The genius of it all. Being a scientist herself, Mackenzie was enthralled. A man had created a human being from--well, God knows what. He managed to recreate not only the human body, but also the human spirit.
But there was more. The finalized vision of Edward consisted of a well- tailored man.whole and complete. And yet, as he was now standing beside her, she saw that something had gone drastically wrong.
"Edward," she whispered.
He turned his hollowed face to her, his eyes curious.
"Where is your-your father, Edward?"
He had heard that question before. He remembered that day clearly and what he had said. He found himself repeating those very same words.
"He didn't wake up."