Peter Ackroyd - The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein

“One of them yelled, and made to run down the alley. Before he could move I took him by the arm and held him firm.

“‘You see,’ I said, ‘the dead can move very quickly. Now where is my sister?’

“One of them, the oldest, was in a state of fear so excessive that he could not speak. The other stared at me with an expression of exquisite alarm. I shook him roughly, and I suppose that I fractured a bone in his arm; he gave out a yell.

“‘That is not the least injury I will inflict upon you,’ I said, ‘if you do not give me the location of my sister. You must remember it. You took my body from there and conveyed it over the water to Mr. Frankenstein. You bartered me for guineas. Where is she?’

“‘By Broken Dock. In Bermondsey.’ He seemed too confused, or alarmed, to continue; so I shook him again. ‘She lives in the last tenement on the left as you approach the river. On the third floor. A toy-maker.’

“‘What is her name?’

“‘Annie. Annie Keat.’

“I squeezed his arm tighter, so that once more he yelled in pain. ‘And mine?’

“‘Jack.’

“I released him from my grasp. Once his companions realised that they were free, they turned and ran down the alley. I stood there for a moment, watching them flee, and then I fastened the stock across my face and returned to Smithfield.

“Like some distant echo I recalled the name of Jack Keat; it might have been revealed to me in the low rolling of the thunder, or the instant of the lightning flash, so subdued and sudden that I scarcely grasped it.

“It was too late now to call upon my sister. So I returned to the estuary, by means of the river, and laid myself down in the blackened ruin of the cottage. No one had come back to that place, and I believe that no one ever will. It has been marked down in the vicinity as a spot of darkness.

“I endured a few days of repose and silent thought. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed to the ground; on these occasions I had rather have been a stone than what I am. Is it not better to die than to live and not be loved? I yearned for extinction. Can any being die twice? So I encountered tempests without the hope of their blasting me. The light revived me. The sun revived me. I longed and prayed for utter oblivion, but my despair was stronger than my prayers. I cannot die. I must endure. That is my destiny. That which I am, I am. I am no longer Jack Keat, but something deeper and darker than any individual doom.

“After some days and nights had passed I resolved to visit my sister. I again took the precaution of wrapping myself well, and swam one evening from the estuary to Bermondsey and Broken Dock; I could escape detection only by travelling at night, when a dark shape in the river provokes no interest whatever. As I climbed the stairs, the water fell from me; I took the hat-your hat-from the pocket of the cloak and placed it on my head. Then once more I wound the stock about my face. The villain had told me the location of the tenement: it was a ruinous building close to the side of the wooden dock, and sharing its general air of dilapidation. There were some stubs of candlelight in one or two of the rooms, and some shreds of linen or cloth had been draped across the windows. I stared up at the window on the third floor on which there glimmered some fitful illumination, as if an oil-lamp had been placed in a far corner. That room had been the scene of my death. I glimpsed my sister’s figure, and watched her as she moved back and forth across the room; she seemed restless, as if my presence had unnerved her. When she came over to the window and looked out, I moved into the shadows. I could see her only dimly in the half-light, but she seemed to me then the most beautiful creature in the world; there was something indefinably familiar in her bearing, as if I could recall her bowing over me in my last sickness. I have no real memory of that time, but it is as if I have . After a few moments apparently lost in thought she moved away, and the light was extinguished.

“I crossed the threshold, and entered a dim hallway that seemed like the phantom of something half-remembered. To the dead, does the real world appear to be wraith-like, populated by ghosts? There were two doors on the third landing, and as a matter of instinct I turned towards the left one. It seemed that my physical body had some memory of the past buried within it. I hesitated before the door; how could I present myself to my sister, without terrifying her perhaps beyond reason? I had an earnest desire to talk to her, but she could hardly view the appearance of her dead brother with equanimity. I put my ear to the door, and could hear sounds of movement. On a sudden instinct I tapped and whispered, ‘Annie!’

“‘Who is there?’

“‘Annie!’

“‘I know that voice. Who are you?’

“My fear of frightening her now returned, and I hurried down the stairs into the street. I concealed myself when the window was opened, and she leaned out. ‘Annie!’ I called again.

“She closed the window. Then, a few moments later, she came out into the street with a shawl but no bonnet; her long hair fell across her shoulders, and she seemed to be in a state of some excitement or distress. Still she could not see me, as I had retreated at once into a doorway which hid me from view; when I peeped out from my vantage I saw her hurrying down to the riverside, looking about her. I followed her, at a distance, but I could no longer curb my desire to talk to her; so I advanced slowly towards her. ‘Annie, do not be afraid. You can come to no possible harm. No. Do not look around.’

“‘That voice-’

“‘Do you know me?’

“‘If I were dreaming, I would know you.’

“‘This is not a dream. Do you remember your brother?’

“‘Oh, God. What are you?’ She turned and, on seeing me, screamed out. ‘My God! Out of the grave!’

“In a frenzy of fear she ran towards the bank of the river; she did not stop or even hesitate, but in her terror she threw herself into the water. I stood for a moment, utterly horrified and helpless at her reaction to me. Then I flung myself into the river and swam towards her. The Thames is deep at this point, and the current of the ebbing tide had already carried her a little way. In a moment I was beside her and I lifted her out of the water; but she gave no sign of movement. I took her back to the shore, and laid her down upon the cobbles. There was no life in her. She had died-of panic fear, of immersion, I did not know the cause. I knew only that I was responsible for her death. I, who had sought her out as a companion or as a friend, was her murderer. I howled upon the bank, prostrated over her body in a state of abject grief. But then I heard the sound of running footsteps, and of shouts. In my extremity I still possessed the instinct of self-preservation, and I dived into the water.

“I believed that I had not been seen, under the cover of darkness, and I made my way back to the estuary.

“I have read somewhere that suffering shares the nature of infinity; that it is permanent, obscure and dark. Such has been my experience. I was a being so repugnant that my own sister cast away her life in an effort to escape me. I had hoped that, pardoning my outward form, she would come to cherish me for the excellent qualities that I was capable of unfolding. This was a fond hope. She had run from me screaming in terror. I cannot cry. Do you have an explanation for that? I have no tears. I presume that the heat of my birth has blasted me. Yet if I could not weep, I could still lament. I cursed the day when I regained life, and I cursed you with a bitterness for which there is no expression. Yet I expressed it in a different fashion. I sought you out. I found your lodging. At first I considered myself to be your executioner, but there is a bond between us which no human force may break; I stayed my hand. I watched instead for those dearest to you, and chose one who like my sister was young and innocent of any wrong. You know the rest.”