Mary looked at the operating table—it was empty! Hyde was still standing beside it, although Prendick had retreated a few steps, as though unsure what to do. Where was Justine? Standing beside Catherine, leaning on the wall, trying to draw a clear breath. But nevertheless standing. How had she managed to get off the table?
JUSTINE: When the ether sponge was taken away, I could breathe again. I pretended to be less conscious than I actually was. Then, I noticed that one of my wrists was untied. I reached over and untied the other. No one was paying attention to me—everyone was looking at Adam. Except—I think Hyde gave me a quick glance. He didn’t do or say anything to give me away. My ankles were already untied, I don’t know how, although I remember seeing him lean down and say something to the Orangutan Man. Once I was free, I rolled myself off the table and staggered over to Catherine. I felt so sick from the ether that I could barely stand. I was afraid the whole time, afraid that Adam would see me. But it seems to me now, thinking back, that Hyde stood between us. I wonder . . .
MARY: I wonder too. I wonder very much.
Adam screamed with rage and lunged toward Justine. A shot rang out, then another. It was Holmes—no, Watson, or rather both of them. They had both shot Adam, and a red stain was spreading down his shirtfront. He stepped back and put a hand to his chest, then looked at the red on it, as though surprised. For a moment, the room was silent, except for the sounds of the Beast Men in their cage. Then Adam looked up, grinned, and began moving toward Justine, not as quickly as before, clearly in pain, but as though nothing could stop his progress.
“You’re mine, you will always be mine. You know that, Justine. You know it in your heart, where you love me, despite yourself—as I love you. Come to me now, and there will be an end to all this. Your friends will be safe, no more women will be murdered. Those murders are on your head, my love. I killed them for you, for no other reason. But if you come to me, if you love me, everything will be all right again.”
Mary raised her revolver, aimed carefully at his forehead, and shot. The recoil jarred her—she had known it was coming, but it still took her by surprise and almost knocked her back against the doorframe.
Adam howled and fell to his knees. Blood ran down his face, from his temple and into one eye. He wiped it with the heel of his hand, presenting an even more horrifying visage than before, with blood smeared over one cheek. He glared at her and said, “Who the devil are you, girl?”
“I’m Mary Jekyll,” she said. “Stop, or I’ll shoot again.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Jekyll’s daughter! Oh, that’s rich! Do you hear that, Hyde? Jekyll’s daughter, with a toy gun in her hand . . .” The laugh turned into a howl, and the Wolf Men howled with him. The Boar Man shook the bars of the cage.
Mary raised her revolver and aimed at him again.
“No!” It was Renfield, standing by the cage of the Beast Men. “He promised me lives! Many lives, as many as I wanted, if I would be good. And I was good, Master! I said that I killed those girls. I said everything you told me, and I want my lives now.”
He turned toward the cage.
“What is he doing?” asked Watson. That corner of the room was dim—too far away from the lantern, and the lamp on the desk did not cast its light so far.
“He has a key!” Catherine shouted. She had been able to see what they rest of them could not, but the result was evident to them all. In a moment, the door of the cage opened with a metallic clang, and the Beast Men were out—all but the one in the corner.
The Wolf Men were coming directly at them. They were men, but they were still wolves—they came with mouths open, teeth sharp and tongues hanging out, slavering. Mary braced herself for a second shot.
But Watson shot first. One of the Wolf Men fell, whimpering, to the floor. The second leaped at Watson and sank his fangs into the doctor’s shoulder. Watson screamed—the sound shocked Mary. Holmes stood between her and the second Wolf Man, his revolver still trained on Adam, who was shouting with pain. Mary ducked under Holmes’s arm. The room was a chaos of noise and movement, and her arm ached from the first shot she had fired. But she shot again, aiming at what she could, which was the Wolf Man’s side. He gave a bark, stumbled, then fell. Watson staggered back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting, his knees drawn up. Mary crawled over to him. The shoulder of his jacket was torn and hung down, but worse than that, the flesh beneath it was torn as well. Blood dripped down the sleeve. She was almost afraid to touch it, but she must do something. What?
“Tell me what to do, Doctor,” she said. He looked so pale that she was afraid he was going to faint. She felt a pull on the hem of her skirt and looked down. It was the Wolf Man, not dead but clearly dying. He looked at her with the eyes of a wolf, pleading. He did not understand death, any more than an animal does. He raised his head and howled. For a moment, she pitied him. But Watson would bleed to death if they didn’t get him out of there, soon. That was what she must focus on right now.
Mary heard a sound behind her. More Beast Men? Surely there could not be more. She turned—there, standing in the doorway behind them, were Diana and Beatrice. Thank you, she thought, not sure whom she was thanking—God, or Diana, or both.
“Do you think you can defeat me? Me, Adam Frankenstein?” Mary turned back to see Adam stagger forward, blood running down his face, once again moving toward Justine. “You can kill these pitiful creations of Prendick’s. You can kill them all. But you’ll still have to contend with me! And you, Justine. Understand that you were made to be mine! You are mine forever. I would rather kill you with my own hands than see you live without me.”
“Come any closer and I’ll tear your throat out!” It was Catherine. She stood in front of Justine, in her nightgown, with Watson’s jacket hanging open, and screeched with rage. It was a wild sound, the sound of a puma in the mountains, inhuman and frightening.
BEATRICE: It was indeed! I’d never heard anything like it.
“Beasts! Bring her to me!” Adam shouted. The Boar Man lunged at Catherine, while the Bear Man turned and lumbered toward Holmes, reaching for him with misshapen hands. Once again, Holmes shot—he hit the Bear Man in the forehead, and with an almost puzzled expression, the Bear Man stumbled forward and fell at the detective’s feet.