A Last Embrace - Chapter 2

Dr. Frank tries his hand at reanimation

 

Nice pad, said Frank to himself. Frank admired Vince’s taste. He was also thinking about what might happen with Alice. Was he imagining it, or was she giving off signals? Maybe the whole Vince thing was a ruse to aid in her seduction of him? It had been so long since Frank had gotten involved in any sort of romantic situation, but that was probably the sort of thing women did these days. He was a good catch, being a doctor and everything. She was definitely giving off some signals, he was almost sure of it.

Before Frank could knock, she was at the door, she threw her arms around him, and embraced him tightly: “Oh, Dr. Stein, thank you so much.”

“Please, call me Frank.” He was almost overcome by her touch and the scent of spring that seemed to enamate from her.

“I’ll take you to Vince’s lab,” she said. “He died down there.”

Vince’s lab was the cellar. Dimly-lit and brimming with beakers, cauldrons and other paraphernalia of the amateur chemist or alchemist. The place was enveloped by an evil smell, as of a giant breaking wind.

She brought him to Vince’s body. “It’s still on the floor where I found it,” she said. Frank bent over Vince’s body and checked for vital signs. “He’s dead, all right.” He had been dead about 4-6 hours, it appeared. Rigor mortis was just setting in.

“I’ll just need about half an hour to get the potion ready, according to these notes, and then we’re ready to go.”

“Well, I’ll just leave you to it, then,” she said, and went upstairs.

He soon found that Vince had meticulously labelled everything that was to be used in this procedure and he had very little to do by way of preparation. He really didn’t know what he was doing, but he was able to follow the instructions. When the preparations were complete and the concoction had been placed on the hob to heat, he lifted Vince’s body onto the steel table in the centre of the lab. Vince was heavy, a man of powerful build. Then he went upstairs. Alice was in the sitting-room, tension and expectation etched on her face. She was biting her underlip, her sweet, soft underlip. “It’s ready,” he said. “I’m just about to inject him. Would you like to be there to see?”

“No,” she said. “I couldn’t bear to watch. I’ll wait.”

So he went back down, and filled the syringe with the almost-boiling liquid. He knew he would have to use a hell of a lot of force to get through his big, muscular chest to his heart. Placing one hand on his chest, he raised the other high over his head and brought it down with a violent stabbing motion, using all the power he could muster. He felt it penetrate the breastbone. He pressed down to empty the syringe into Vince Mogul’s heart. He watched his face for any sign of life but it remained still. Then he felt a movement under his hand, a very slight expansion and contraction of the chest, it seemed. In sudden fright, he withdrew his hand and stepped back.

Now he saw the arms begin to move, slowly and blunderingly; it seemed a great force was being expended in every movement, in an effort to recall the body to life. The eyes were now open, too. Open, but still the cold, empty eyes of the dead. This brought the first misgiving to Frank’s mind; had he made a terrible mistake? An agonized groan came from the body on the table; it was as though there was a great will within the body that was clinging to death, and another that sought reanimation. Frank turned his eyes from the terrible rictus on Vince’s face. When he turned back he saw Vince rise lumberingly from the table and set his feet unsteadily on the floor. His vacant eyes were rolling in his head and drool rolled from the corners of his mouth.

He came towards Frank and Frank dived out of the way, but he was not coming for Frank; he didn’t even seem to see him. He made for the stairs, and let out a hollow, strangled cry. Something disyllabic with a falling cadence; Frank thought it was “Alice.” Now, all fear forgot, Frank ran for the stairs, easily outpacing his rival. He raced up and into the living-room, where Alice waited, sitting stiff, tense and pale. “Quick!” said Frank, “Get out of here!”

“What?”

“It’s gone wrong. He’s a monster.”

Her eyes grew wide: “Is he alive?”

“He’s a monster. Get away from here quick.”

She ran past Frank, heading straight for the cellar. Frank followed and saw her fling herself into Vince’s arms, as he let out a bellow of brutish joy. Frank ran onto the stairs to wrench her from the monster’s grasp, but with one sweep of his massive arm, Vince swept Frank away, his head smashing against the wall, and he fell into a deep swoon.

 

When Frank awoke, his head ached and his thoughts were hazy. Before he even remembered what had happened, he saw them, at the foot of the stairs, locked in a last embrace. Vince’s arms held Alice tightly, having now crushed the life from her, and Vince’s own face had now relinquished the brutishness of his reanimated self and in its second death had regained its humanity. Frank tried to prise Vince’s hands from around Alice, but failed. He touched Alice’s brow; it was cold as marble. So he went upstairs and closed the cellar door behind him. He went out into the cold, bracing air of the street. He considered calling the police, but couldn’t face all the questions; let all that take care of itself, he thought. He turned his collar against the cold and, without regard for direction, set off for a long walk through the cold and lonely streets.