Of Monsters and Madness (25 page)

I rush upstairs to my room. Reaching for Mother’s book, I trace the indentation of words on the worn front cover. I don’t know what to do. With Grand-père gone, I have no one to confide in. I tuck the book inside my bodice, keeping it close to my heart.

A knock on the door startles me, and then Maddy
says, “Are you still awake, Miss Annabel? Yer father has returned.”

“Thank you, Maddy,” I call out. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

A sharp rattling against the window punctuates my words as raindrops start to fall hard and fast. The wind gusts against the panes of glass and the unmistakable sound of thunder echoes ominously. It seems a fierce storm has followed Father home.

The rain is so loud it sounds like troops of soldiers on the march. With lightning streaking the sky, and thunder echoing all around me, I nervously fidget with my scarf.

Finally telling myself that I can wait no longer, I go down to the kitchen. The door to the laboratory is open, and I hear sounds of someone cursing faintly down below. Steeling myself, I touch Mother’s book again for strength. I don’t want to go down there. Especially with the storm. But I
must
speak with Father. Edgar needs to be stopped.

Black smoke stains cover the walls, and the air becomes heavier as I descend. I stop outside the door that leads to Father’s operating theater.
You must go in
, I tell myself.

When I finally enter the room, the damage is devastating. Parts of the ceiling have collapsed, the table is cracked in two, and broken glass covers the floor. What remains of the surgical instruments are melted lumps of silver. I draw in a sharp breath.

Father’s voice surprises me. “Annabel, what are you doing down here?” He’s standing near a damaged wall on my left, amid a pile of debris. Where I expect to see anger, I see only sadness. “It’s not safe.”

“I need to speak with you.”

He steps toward me, but his eyes are glazed over. As though he’s seeing something from another time and place. “You look so much like your mother,” he says suddenly. “Do you know that?”

A flash of lightning fills the room and makes me glance nervously toward the narrow windows and touch my scarf.

“She was the only one who truly understood me,” he says, almost dreamily. “Or at least, I thought she did. Did you know she helped me perform my surgeries?” He chuckles. “No. Of course you would not know that.”

Another flash of lightning comes, followed by thunder so loud it makes me clench my fists with terror.

Father looks to the windows and then back to me. “Are you frightened of storms?”

I nod.

“How long have you felt this fear?”

“For as long as I can remember.”

Another crash of thunder sounds, and it feels as if the very house is being shaken. My panic rises. The room feels like it’s closing in. “I need to speak to you about Edgar, Father,” I say urgently. “We are in danger. I saw him standing over the body of Mrs. Tusk last night, and he was the one who set the fire.”

Father scowls. “He was responsible for the fire?”

“Yes. He came to me in the garden and told me I have to persuade you to find a way to make him stay. To rid him of Allan forever. He is mad, Father. He said something about a serum. The next time Allan drinks it, Edgar wants to be the only one who remains.” I reach for Father’s arm. “I know what you’ve done.”

“What
I
have done?” Father asks in surprise. “You say Edgar was standing over the body of Mrs. Tusk. Has he harmed her?”

“She’s dead, Father. He said you are the teacher, and he is the student. I thought you were helping him. But now …”—I close my eyes, remembering the awful
thing Edgar has shown me—“now he’s taken to murdering on his own.”

“How could you think I would have anything to do with taking a life?” Father sounds genuinely confused.

“I overheard your conversation with Mrs. Tusk. She said she and Mr. Williams were waiting. She threatened to expose you. Edgar told me they were blackmailing you, and I thought …” I glance away.

“You thought I told Edgar to
murder them
?” He looks baffled. “Williams knew of some illegal deliveries I’d made, and he told Mrs. Tusk about them. Although I’m still rather upset by the notion that they were trying to blackmail me, I would not
kill
either one of them because of it.”

“What of the day we were having tea, and I told you I heard of Mr. Durham’s death? You said that was to be his comeuppance.”

Father waves his hand. “Thoughtless words said in anger. Nothing more. Durham once stole some notes from my library.”

“What were you having delivered, Father?” I think back to the two men carrying burlap bags. “I have witnessed these deliveries as well.”

He clears his throat. “When necessary, I employ
people of a … certain nature to bring me cadavers for my work. There has never been a need for me to kill someone for such purposes. I’m interested in preserving human life. Not taking it.”

“And the serum? What’s in it? What did you create?”

“I thought it would be a cure for typhus. That if I approached it as a disease of the brain, and created a compound to treat it as such, I might have success. I hired Allan to assist me on the project so I could have a controlled subject.”

“But he doesn’t have typhus. Did you give him the serum
knowing
he did not have the disease?”

“I had to know the effects on a healthy subject.”

I’m horrified by his words. “Allan is not a
subject
, Father.”

“I’m not proud of my actions, Annabel, but it was necessary.” He picks up a glass bottle from the shelf beside him that’s been spared from the fire. Wiping away the soot, he peers at the brown liquid inside. “The experiment was not a success, and I quickly noticed the serum was flawed. It brought out a different side of Allan—a darker side. I began to study him, and soon realized he was behaving as if he had two distinct
personalities. One was the upright, moral Allan, while the other refused to be recognized by that name. He was Edgar—the embodiment of all of mankind’s darkest urges and flawed emotions. When he was Allan, he could not recall what Edgar had done. And when he was Edgar, he could not recall how he acted as Allan.”

“You
studied
him? How could you do such a thing. You were the cause of this!”

“Don’t you see?” Father beseeches me. “I may have failed at finding a cure for typhus, but I created something even more powerful! The ability to separate good and evil. Just think of the possibilities. This serum can erase man’s imperfections.”

“So we are all to be split into two personalities?” I shake my head at his logic. I cannot fathom how he thinks such a thing should even be possible. Such callousness runs deep within him. Perhaps that is his curse as a scientist. As a physician.

“We could be stripped free of our
flaws
,” he corrects me. “Imagine, pairing this cure with the technique of bringing the brain and the heart back to life. We can make—”

I interrupt him. “Father, please … listen to what you’re saying.” He looks up at me, his eyes wild. Gently,
I take the jar he still holds and place it back on the shelf. “We cannot be separated into two personalities. Look at what it has done to Allan.”

“I can fix him. I swear it—”

“How can you be sure?” I cut him off. “What if you have another failure? And another, before it can be made right? Because of what you did to Allan, that other part of him—
Edgar
—set this fire. And Grand-père is dead because of it. So are the other victims of Edgar’s rage. You may not have committed the physical acts, but you are surely just as responsible for their deaths as he is.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not so.”

“It is so, Father! Why can’t you see it?”

“All I’m responsible for is creating a serum. What he does because of it is not in my control.”

I’m dumbfounded by Father’s refusal to accept any culpability. “You gave it to him, and you keep giving it to him! Allan would not be this way if not for you.”

“I stopped supplying him with the serum a week ago,” Father argues. “And I did not have enough of it stored so he could keep taking it. He must have been able to replicate the process on his own.”

“That may be true, but whatever he’s done is
insufficient. He said you must find a way to keep him as Edgar permanently.”

“Only one side can have full control. If it’s going to be Edgar, then Allan shall cease to exist.”

I inhale sharply. “Edgar cannot be allowed to be the one who remains. You must—”

“So it will be him, then? You’ve chosen.” Edgar enters the room. In his hands is a flintlock pointed directly at me. “It’s a poor decision, but one I cannot say is entirely unexpected.”

“Turn that pistol away from my daughter, Poe,” Father demands.

Edgar complies, and turns the weapon on Father. “You know what I’m after. Come now, don’t make me ask again.”

“I cannot give you what you seek. Your circumstances were an accident. An unknown quantity. It cannot be controlled or duplicated. The conditions would have to be exactly the same as they were before, and that is not possible. I cannot recreate it.”

“That’s a lie. I’ve already replicated the serum by using my own blood. But it doesn’t last as long. I need something stronger. Something that cannot be undone.”

“Allan cannot be undone!” I say. “He is your true self. You are just the side effect.”

Edgar’s jaw tightens. “Then why does he need me to fuel his writing? Why does he need me to fulfill his darkest urges? He’s not the one in control … I am. And soon I won’t have to wonder where he goes …”—he reaches out and touches a piece of my hair, letting it slide through his fingers—“or who he spends his time with.”

“Get your hands off of her,” Father says.

Edgar gives him a sly smile. “Acting the part of the affronted Father now, are we? My, my. What a change.”

“I have always … cared for my daughter,” Father sputters.

“Yet you thought nothing of allowing her to stay here while you continued to study me.”

“I told the staff to keep her away from you! I was protecting her.”

“And when news came of a murderer roaming the streets of Philadelphia?” Edgar continues. “Why did you not send her away to a safer place? When she wandered the house at night? Did you know, she was secretly meeting with me?”

My cheeks burn at his words. How he’s twisted the
truth. “I came upon the library by accident one night, and he found me there. I left as soon as I was able. It was nothing more.”

“Your words wound me, my dear Annabel,” Edgar says. “You think so little of our time together?” He grabs my hand and rubs his thumb over the fragile skin at my wrist. “You knew it was me when you saw I had the taffy wrapper you gave to Allan. Admit it.”

I pull my hand back swiftly. “I knew no such thing!” The room has grown warmer and my heart suddenly wants to beat right out of my chest.

“Enough of this,” Father says. “Why don’t we adjourn to the study, Edgar? We can continue our discussion there in private.”

“I think we can continue this discussion right here,” Edgar says. He pulls back the hammer of the flintlock, and Father’s face grows pale.

“Surely, you cannot mean to shoot me, when you’ve gone to so much trouble to convince me to help you.”

“You’re right.” Edgar points the weapon at me again. “I can find some … 
other
 … motivation to prompt you to do as I say.”

I look frantically at Father.

“I cannot think with that thing so near my
daughter!” he explodes. And then I know what he’s about to do.

I take a step toward him with an outstretched hand. “Father, please. You must not—”

But he moves faster than I do.

Suddenly, he’s upon Edgar, and they struggle for control of the flintlock. Father tries to pry Edgar’s fingers from the steel locked tightly in his grip. And Edgar’s face goes red as he fights to keep his hold.

A sharp cry of pain fills the air as Father bites down on Edgar’s thumb. Then there’s the sound of flesh being struck and shattering glass. Father rears back with a dazed expression. A thin line of blood runs down his face.

I look down at my feet, seeing the scattered remains, and realize Edgar grabbed the glass jar off the shelf next to Father and used it to hit him. I glance desperately around for something else to hand to Father, but there’s nothing.

Father stumbles. His leg threatens to buckle beneath him.

“Father, no!” I yell. I launch myself at Edgar, pushing my way in between them.
If I can just grasp the flintlock
—

But there’s a pop. Something suddenly wedges itself in my chest. It feels as if I am being tied with a thousand corset laces all at once and the air has been sucked from my lungs. I stagger backward.

And fall to the ground.

Twenty-Five