Mister Creecher (29 page)

When he stepped out of the shop, he looked down the alleyway. He walked towards the warehouse and stood staring at the ivy-covered building, wondering where the story would end, but content to let it go on without him.

He was just turning away when he thought of Clerval. Borrowing the man’s name had made Billy think of him more and more in the past few days.

He had always liked Frankenstein’s friend, and somehow he felt a bond with him. He sympathised with Clerval, for he, too, was a victim. Through no fault of his own, his fate, like Billy’s, had become entwined with those of Frankenstein and his creation. Billy wondered if he did not have a duty to warn him.

Then there was a loud thud and everything went black.

CHAPTER XL.

Billy took some time to come round. Different levels of consciousness seemed to wash over him like waves, each one leaving him more awake than before, his blurred vision slowly focusing, the echoing sounds in his ears gradually sharpening.

The more awake he felt, the more the pain in his head kicked in, and he groaned and winced as he tried, unsuccessfully, to sit up.

He was lying on a raised surface. He couldn’t move his arms or legs and slowly realised he was tied down. He blinked again and shapes began to materialise out of the dimly lit gloom.

‘Ah,’ said a voice. ‘You’re awake.’

Billy looked towards the sound and saw a figure with his back to him. He knew where he was and who the figure was before Frankenstein had even turned round.

‘What were you doing here?’

‘Nothing,’ said Billy, struggling to break free of his bonds. ‘Let me go. You’ve got no right.’

He began to yell until Frankenstein clamped a hand over his mouth. In his other hand, Frankenstein held a knife with a long, sharp blade.

‘If you shout once more, I will have to cut out your tongue,’ he said calmly. ‘Now, you either talk to me, or never speak again.’

Billy closed his mouth and Frankenstein removed his hand.

‘All right, I was just looking for something to pinch,’ said Billy. ‘Turn me over to the Justice of the Peace if you want.’

‘I’ve seen you before,’ said Frankenstein.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Yes. You were at the warehouse in Oxford. And I think I saw you before that in London – at the British Museum. But you were a ragged urchin then. Why are you following me?’

‘I’m not following you,’ said Billy. ‘I’ve never seen you before in my life.’

‘Stop this silliness at once.’ Frankenstein leaned towards Billy’s face with the knife. ‘It is very tiresome.’

Billy nodded.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘What of it? I ain’t done nothing wrong. I’m English, mate. This is my country – I can do what I like.’

‘Is that so? I thought that even in this wonderful country there were laws to govern its people.’

‘None that says I can’t walk in the same direction as you, Frankenstein.’

Frankenstein grabbed Billy’s face and Billy was surprised at how repelled he was by the touch of those hands.

‘You know my name?’ said Frankenstein. ‘How do you know my name?’

Billy made no reply but stared sullenly into Frankenstein’s eyes.

‘Answer me!’

‘I know what you’ve done,’ said Billy, tiring of Frankenstein’s voice. ‘I know what you are.’

‘What do you know?’

‘I know everything.’

Frankenstein snorted.

‘Then you are a lucky fellow, my young friend.’

‘Don’t talk to me like I’m a fool. Creecher told me all –’

‘What’s that?’ said Frankenstein. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Creecher,’ Billy replied. ‘It’s what I call him. I thought it was his name. But he was saying “creature”, wasn’t he?
Your
creature!’

Frankenstein smiled. There was a wildness to his eyes that Billy had never seen before.

‘The thing of which you speak – it is a monster. A foul and hellish monster!’

‘And whose fault is that?’ said Billy. ‘No one asked you to bring some great giant to life! You ain’t God!’

Frankenstein smiled.

‘God! How quaint. Even scum like you turn to God at their end. I have no need for God.’

‘It’s wrong!’ shouted Billy. ‘It’s wrong to think you can just make something and then turn your back on it.’

‘Come now,’ said Frankenstein. ‘Do fathers not do this every day? Has God not done that with his own creatures? Am I so very different? And with more reason. The thing I made is a foul horror.’

‘But what if you’d been kind to him?’ asked Billy. ‘He can’t help the way he looks. You made him that way.’

Frankenstein shook his head.

‘You sound a lot like him,’ he said. ‘He has obviously worked his spell on you, and I suppose, in some ways, you must be a remarkable young man to accept such a creature as a friend. But I wonder if he has told you the whole truth.’

‘About what?’

‘Has he told you anything of his life before he came to England?’

‘Yeah. He told me all about you, for a start.’

Frankenstein smiled.

‘Did he now?’ he replied. ‘And did he, I wonder, also tell you that he is a child killer?’

‘What?’ said Billy, startled.

‘Ah.’ Frankenstein smiled bitterly. ‘So he did not tell you all of the truth, I see. Yes! He murdered my brother. Poor William! Strangled him. A small, defenceless boy.’

‘No!’ said Billy. ‘I don’t believe you.’ But as he said it, he remembered the giant’s hands around his neck. The pain in his head returned with even more force.

‘But you know it’s true, don’t you? You cannot have been with him so long without seeing his murderous rage?’ Frankenstein peered at Billy and seemed to read something in his eyes. ‘My God – you’ve seen him kill, haven’t you?’

Billy did not reply but looked away.

‘Is that it? Did he kill for you? Is that why you travel with him?’ Frankenstein leaned closer. ‘He is a monster, an evil monster. He killed my little brother for no other reason than he bore the same name as me.’

‘No!’ shouted Billy. ‘You’re lying.’

‘Why would I lie?’

Billy tried to blink away the tears that sprang to his eyes.

‘And as if that were not bad enough,’ continued Frankenstein, ‘he deliberately placed the blame with poor Justine – poor innocent Justine – who hanged for his crime. The monster placed the boy’s locket on her sleeping body to incriminate her. He is a murderer and a coward.’

‘And whose fault is all that?’ said Billy. ‘Who built him? It’s your blood in his veins!’

‘Can a father be responsible for every action of his son? How could I know that I would make a monster?’

‘Then why are you planning to build him a mate?’

‘What choice do I have?’ Frankenstein replied, a wild desperation in his eyes. ‘If I do not do as he says, he will exact his revenge. He will kill my family, my friend Clerval, my own Elizabeth, whom I am to marry: everyone who is dear to me.’

He turned away and leaned on a nearby bench.

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘I was moved by his request. I did have some responsibility to him, after all. And he promised that he would leave Europe once and for all and never bother mankind again.’

When Frankenstein turned back to face Billy, there were tears in his eyes. The small knife had been replaced by a much larger one.

Billy shut his eyes.

‘Oh God . . .’

But instead of cutting Billy’s throat, Frankenstein cut the ropes that tied him to the table, and he slid off, panting with fear.

‘I should report you to someone,’ said Billy. ‘I should get you arrested.’

Frankenstein grabbed his arm.

‘If you do anything to prevent me from building his mate, that monster will kill you. Whatever friendship you imagine you have with him, do not think to test it in this way. If I told him that killing you would speed the process of building his mate, he would do it in a heartbeat, you can count on that.’

‘No!’ said Billy. ‘He wouldn’t kill me.’

Frankenstein grinned.

‘Truly? You are quite sure of that?’

Billy’s heart fluttered.

‘He wouldn’t kill me!’ he repeated quietly. ‘I know it. He’s my friend.’

Frankenstein merely smiled and shook his head. He let go of Billy’s arm.

‘Look at what you’ve done!’ said Billy, moving away from him. ‘Don’t you feel guilty or nothing? Look at the lives you’ve ruined. You make me sick!’

Frankenstein was calm now, his voice quiet. ‘Have you ever lost anyone you loved?’ he asked.

Billy did not respond.

‘Have you ever seen someone die?’ continued Frankenstein. ‘Have you ever seen someone you love fade away, never to return?’

‘Yes!’ Billy replied. ‘My mother. What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I saw my mother die also,’ said Frankenstein. ‘My beloved mother. I vowed then that I would seek to conquer death – and I have!’

‘You haven’t conquered death! You haven’t even conquered life! All you’ve done is make a monster!’

‘I did what I did with the best of motives,’ said Frankenstein. ‘And I regret nothing!’

He leaned towards Billy.

‘Tell me, if you could have saved your mother’s life by killing another, would you have done it?’

‘And did you save your mother from death, then?’ Billy answered, avoiding the question.

‘No. But my work may help others. I have succeeded where the great have failed. I have created the first in a race of immortals!’

‘Immortal
monsters
,’ Billy corrected him. ‘What good is that to the rest of us? We’re all going to die and Creecher and his mate are going to live for ever. They’re going to breed. They’ll take over the world. You’re insane.’

Frankenstein waved Billy’s protests away.

‘Soon I will leave for Scotland,’ he said, opening the door to the warehouse. ‘I need only one more item to complete my work. Do nothing to stop me, or the monster will destroy everything you hold dear, and then – then he will come for you.’

CHAPTER XLI.

Billy searched the farm for the giant but found only the old man. He looked up and saw Creecher silhouetted on the ridge where he often went to sit and read. Billy climbed up after him.

Believing there could be good inside a monster like Creecher had made Billy believe there might be good inside him, too. But now that belief had been shattered by a lie. Creecher was a child killer. He was just a monster, after all.

‘You lying freak!’ yelled Billy, trying to focus his tear-smeared vision.

He searched for a weapon and saw a rock near his foot. He picked it up and, without further hesitation, hurled it at the giant. It struck him on the forehead and he groaned and took a step backwards.

Creecher put one of his great hands to his head and then held it in front of his face, staring at the blood now smeared across his fingers.

‘It was you who killed that boy in Swissland, wasn’t it?’ Billy shouted at him. ‘To think I ever listened to you . . .’

‘What is this?’ said the giant. ‘Why do you suddenly say these things?’

‘Frankenstein told me!’

‘Frankenstein?’ snarled Creecher. ‘Why have you spoken to him? I forbade you –’

‘What does that matter?’ Billy cut across him. ‘Did you murder his brother or not?’

Creecher did not reply. Billy put his hands to his face.

‘It’s true, ain’t it? Frankenstein was telling the truth!’

‘You believe his –’

‘Don’t!’ shouted Billy. ‘Don’t you lie to me again.’

Creecher stood in silence, the blood already drying on his face. He lowered his head and looked at Billy from under his eyebrows.

‘There is not a single day goes by that I do not regret that boy’s death, or the death of Justine,’ said Creecher. ‘I was a child myself in age. I . . .’

The giant opened his mouth to speak again, but the words would not come.

‘Why?’ said Billy. ‘Why would you do something like that?’

‘The boy stumbled upon me by accident,’ said Creecher, after a moment. ‘I had no idea who he was.’ He looked at Billy. ‘I had a notion that I might take him away and make him my companion . . .’

Billy closed his eyes and shook his head. Is that what Creecher had done with Billy? Taken him away to be his companion? Tears dripped down his cheeks.

‘So what did he do then?’ asked Billy. ‘What did he do to annoy you?’

Creecher’s face twitched a little before he spoke.

‘He struggled,’ said the giant. ‘He called out and I tried to quiet him by putting my hand over his mouth. He called me an ogre.’

‘What? You killed him because he called you an ogre?’

‘No!’ yelled Creecher. ‘I killed him because he told me that he was a Frankenstein! And when I killed him I clapped my hands in triumph because I realised that I had power, too. Frankenstein could give life, but I could take it away!’