Tears stung her eyes as the frigid salt spray splashed her face, but she kind of liked it. It reminded her that she was alive.
It wasn’t too long before her dock came into view, and she was disappointed to see yet again that hers was the only boat in evidence. He said he’d find her when the time was right and so she waited.
She hoped.
And sometimes, hope was a miserable bastard. Nothing could be so sharp a blade as the yearning behind hope.
Elizabeth guided the boat into the docking system, and it was locked down into position. If she wished, she could use the system she’d installed to carry her all the way to the secret lagoon under her house and from there, into a decontamination room.
Kythnos had inspired her, and Roanridge hadn’t given her limit on her spending. Not that she’d gone crazy. Her home was made of old shipping containers, powered by the sun and the wind. Gray water and rainwater systems, the whole works.
Technically, she could survive an apocalypse, zombie or otherwise. She hadn’t neglected a panic room, a bunker, or an extra layer of security. She’d found herself a cold water rusalka who was more than happy to play guardian.
Everything was as she wanted it, except for Adam.
After she disembarked, she hiked up the rocky incline, breathing deep and enjoying the air.
She carried a package in her bag, and she couldn’t wait to get inside and open it.
Inside, were the original three, hand-written installments of Frankenstein.
In the months following Kythnos, she’d become obsessed, collecting everything about her family that she could.
Her study contained some gruesome, yet fascinating items. Percy’s calcified heart, wrapped in his poetry. Mary had kept it after it had refused to burn when he was cremated. Mary’s mother’s secret journal, and the bone of her left pinkie. This, and many other items were said to contain the key to the true alchemy behind life ever-lasting.
The spark that made Adam.
If Roanridge was aware of her new proclivities, it wasn’t addressed.
Unwrapping the books from the pouch, she carefully laid them out side by side and turned to chapter seven in each volume.
There, in the chapter heading were alchemical sigils.
The same elation she’d felt watching PrPM attack that glioblastoma flooded her. She’d found it. She’d found the keys.
Now, all she needed was Adam and his willingness to rip his chest open and give her a rib. Elizabeth didn’t doubt for one second that he would.
She watched the door, half expecting to see him there. He’d said when the time was right, and it had never been more right.
But life didn’t happen in perfect plot arcs. It couldn’t be wrapped up so neatly. She sank down in the chair.
“It’s not like you to give up so easily.”
There he was. Just as he’d promised. When the time was right.
She ran to him, and he swept her up into his arms. “You know how to do this?” He whispered against her lips.
“I have a lab we can use to operate. It’s ready.”
“Then so am I, because I want to give you forever.”
The monster carried his bride to the lab where he did, indeed, give her forever with his rib bone grafted to her own that caused a second heart to grow in her chest and electricity to crackle around her fingertips.
Epilogue
The Ever After
Dr. Elizabeth Wollstonecraft still works for Bureau 7. She plans to cure brain cancer someday and still believes reprogrammed prions are key. Under interests in her company biography, she’s no longer ashamed to list “reanimation” as one of her hobbies.
Adam is a content house monster and lives to care for Elizabeth and, after writing his memoirs, has decided to pursue a career in fiction.
Dr. John Polidori washed up on an uncharted island populated by sirens. The giant electric eels have taken up patrols to keep him from leaving. He contemplates his life choices and decides that perhaps he should’ve turned left at Albuquerque.
Mad Dog Whitman officially returned home to Sleepy Hollow for some R&R, but she’s really there on a secret mission for Bureau 7. There’s a killer loose in Sleepy Hollow, but it’s not the Horseman. It’s something much worse. Read her story in The Horseman’s Lady.
About the Author
Saranna De Wylde has always been fascinated by things better left in the dark. She wrote her first story after watching The Exorcist at a slumber party. Since then, she's published horror, romance and narrative nonfiction. Like all writers, Saranna has held a variety of jobs, from operations supervisor for an airline, to an assistant for a call girl, to a corrections officer. But like Hemingway said, "Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it." So she traded in her cuffs for a full-time keyboard.
@SarannaDeWylde
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