“I don’t know.” He knitted his eyebrows together. “Did you bring me here? I’m sorry. I don’t remember you. Victoria.” The way he said it was apologetic. Like one of those overly contrite British fellows from a Jane Austen novel, but without the accent.
Owen and I had never thought to consider how re-instigating the brain patterns might affect thought, especially memory. Naturally, we’d expected there to be complications. We’d just expected those complications to be those of a rat, or in other words, relatively uncomplicated.
Explaining the situation to a walking, talking corpse? Considerably more difficult. I took a deep breath. “Okay, then, there’s something I need to tell you.” I felt my mouth twisting to the side the way it did when I wanted to tell a lie. “Yesterday there was an accident.” I stopped. “I feel like you should be sitting down for this. Do you want to be sitting down? The reason people are usually asked to sit down before receiving bad news is that it lessens the distance to fall, you know, if you faint or something.” Like now was the time to play Human Encyclopedia. He didn’t move. Just stood there, arms pinned to his sides. “Okay.” I hesitated over how to proceed. Owen, of course, was being no help. I could tell him how he died. Or I could remind him he was walking the streets at close to 2:00 AM. I wasn’t sure how much information was too much and how much not enough.
The point was he was here now. Breathing. He had a heartbeat even if he had no memory. I decided the best approach was clinical. Give him the facts that mattered. I would ease him into the full picture later. When it made sense.
“All right then.” I clapped my hands together. “I … came across you last night,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “And, well, there’s no easy way to say this, but you died.”
A strained gargle rose up in the boy’s throat. For an instant, a look of panic flashed over his face like he was dying all over again. “Died?”
Owen moved to my side, adjusting his glasses to get a better look at the man-creature occupying space in our laboratory. “Great bedside manner, doc.”
“I was going for the Band-Aid approach,” I said out of the side of my mouth. “Rip it off and the worst is over.”
“Do these look like Band-Aid problems to you?” Owen retorted in a stage whisper.
“Shut up.” I jabbed him with my elbow, and he jabbed me right back. I pressed my lips together and tried to seem in control. “I brought you here,” I said. “Because I thought I could help.” My words were coming rapid-fire now. “See, I’ve been working with Owen on reanimation. And”—I could hardly suppress a smile—“and, as you can see, it worked.”
The boy blinked, once, twice, three times, and then he lurched forward. I shrank into myself. I had a vision of him mangling me to death like a grizzly bear, but then, when I was about to scream for help, he wrapped me inside a stiff hug.
His skin had the coppery tint of blood, and he smelled salty and a little sick with my nose pressed into his chest. “Thank you,” he said. “Victoria. Thank you.”
My lungs tightened at the word thank. I was the reason he was dead. A confession prickled on the tip of my tongue.
Just then, though, there was a pounding at the hatch door. “Tor! Are you in there?” Mom beat her fist against the entrance, and Einstein’s howl joined the chorus.
I squeezed the boy’s shoulders hard and wondered briefly if he was cold without any clothes on. “Don’t say a word, ’kay? Owen,” I said. “You two hide.”
“Hide? Where?” He glanced around the knickknack-filled room. But I was already bounding up the stairs.
At the top, I slapped my cheeks and tried to rearrange my face into something that looked less guilty.
“Victoria Frankenstein, are you in there? It’s seven forty-five in the morning. You’re gonna be late for school.”
Seven forty-five, I mouthed. I had a physics quiz first period. “One second, Mom,” I said, shrinking back farther from the door. There was a crash of metal from down below. My shoulders jerked up to my ears.
“We’re okay!” said Owen’s muffled voice.
“Be. Quiet.” My molars ground into one another.
“I hear you in there.” Mom shook the latches on the door. She wasn’t a morning person.
“Mom, I said I’m coming!” I licked the palm of my hand and used it to flatten the mop of hair sticking out from the top of my head, then added more saliva to try to smudge off eyeliner using my thumb.
“I’m counting to three, Tor. One…” I heaved the inner latch up and over, unlocking the hatch. “Two…”
With both hands I shoved open the door and climbed out. “I’m here,” I said breathlessly, kicking it closed behind me. The sun assaulted my eyes. I felt like a vampire and immediately threw both arms over my head to block the light.
“What happened to your car?” Mom said without introduction.