I sit by my colleague's deathbed, transfixed with horror as he unfolds his story. Can such a monster, as he claims to have created, truly exist? Yet his eyes do not hold the fevered gleam that would persuade me to dismiss his tale as the ravings of delirium, and his knowledge of the sciences are at least equal to my own. When one eliminates the impossible...
His thin hand lifts from the blanket and clutches at mine. "Swear to me, Watson, that he shall not escape! Your friend Mr. Holmes must seek him out, ensure that he answers for his crimes!"
"As you have done for yours?" I frown as his face darkens. "It is not justice you seek, Victor, but vengeance, for crimes ultimately of your own doing."
"Have you no pity?" he cried. "No compassion? Will you suffer this daemon to live, knowing what horrors he may yet inflict?"
"Holmes would give you the same answer, Victor: this wretched creature is what you have made him. You will answer for that soon enough, I fear... and it may be that your death will grant him the peace he deserves." I shall not even relate this case to Holmes, knowing as I do that such a harrowing tale would be too terrible a burden for that great heart to bear.