Sordid Tales

The Model and the Mad Scientist
Chapter 1

Edited 4.28.09

She was running. She didn't quite know what from, but the fact that it had been quick enough to have clubbed her movie star boyfriend on the head, then bitten it completely off in one fell swoop was enough to assure her that she didn't want to be next.

After taking a momentary respite in an alleyway, holding her hand dramatically up to her forehead and whining something prosaic, the heel on her Prada boots suddenly snapped off for no particular reason. She gasped, brushing long, wispy locks of blonde hair out of her gaunt, painted face as she looked down to inspect the damage. Her eyes were smeared with brown eyeliner - it had been in Vogue that season and she had gotten an amazing discount on it. And really, when it came down to it, what woman couldn't resist a discount? It didn't keep her from looking like a tricked out raccoon, however.

Kicking an emaciated leg up to inspect the failed heel, she cried out in horror, a weak bleating sound that echoed through the alley. Five hundred dollars down the drain. Her soul wailed. Her lower lip quivered as tears started to pool in her eyes. The howling of a very large animal brought her head snapping up as she looked around, fearfully. She made a small yipping sound before turning to flee down the passage, limping along and whimpering as she went. It seemed to go on forever, this chase, and her eyes were wild as they frantically scanned the walls for possible means of escape. She was suddenly angry at her gruesomely dispatched ex-boyfriend, annoyed that he was now unable to save her from the jaws of some great slavering beastie.

Well, that's Jared for you. He KNEW we had an important shoot in the morning. He just HAD to go get himself killed...

Her brows furrowed in anger as she sped towards the end of the alley. She rushed out into the street, looking around in earnest for someone that could help her. A voice excitedly called out her name and her stomach dropped.

Oh god. A fan.

A middle aged man was running towards her, grinning as he breathily stated that he wanted an autograph. She couldn't help noticing the angry looking woman he was dragging along with him. The man's companion was outfitted in a fairly outdated 'off the rack' outfit behind him; his wife she presumed.

She sized them both up and winced inwardly. And they both look like they shop at Target. It gave her the willies. The woman glared over at her as the nebbishy tourist proceeded to fawn over her, saying, "It's her! Omigod. I love your work..." with a faraway expression in his eyes that plainly said that he was thinking about the pair of them doing something that she really didn't want to think about. The blond model forced a shaky grin and reached out to collect the piece of paper that the man was waving at her, stopping for a moment to look behind her to make sure that the beast wasn't about to burst forth from the alley at any moment.

Maybe it found someone else to eat... She thought as she took the pen that the man placed in her shaking hands and turned back around to meet his idiotically admiring gaze. She felt very far away as she put pen to paper and asked him in a quavering voice, "Who should I make this out to...?"

Completely oblivious to her obvious distress, the man beamed up at her, cleared his through and said, "F-Fred Sanders. Wow...as I live and breathe..." His voice had dropped an octave and she swore that she could hear his female companion grinding her teeth as she glared angrily over at him.

The blond quickly nodded and signed with a trembling hand, the pen leaving a wobbly trail as she finished and handed the items back to him. The man grinned and thanked her, waving happily before he cried out and looked over at his woman friend who now had a smug, dangerous look on her face. The model almost laughed as she saw him wince and reach down to gently stroke his leg, where his the woman had angrily kicked him. She watched them walk off and breathed a sigh of relief.

It could've been worse...at least there's no...

As soon as the thought came to her, a flock of paparazzi seemed to appear out of thin air, rushing towards her as they asked her question after demeaning, awful question, eagerly taking pictures of her extremely dishevelled state. Her hands flew about her face and body, trying to repair the damage that she'd done to both her hair and the dress in her flight.

My agent is going to LOVE this..., she thought angrily as she scanned the street for an escape route. Her eyes widened as an unearthly howl echoed out of the alley she'd just exited. She began backing away from the reporters, her hands tightening into white-knuckled fists as she spied a building off to the right that could provide a safe haven if she could get to it quickly enough. None of the press people seemed to notice the strange noise for some reason. The blond cried out and quickly darted through an opening in the crowd, limping away from them in an ungainly lope. They turned to follow her, waving microphones, pens and pads of paper with quickly scribbled notes in shorthand as they called out for her.

The exertion of the night's activities was beginning to take its9 toll on her since she'd been effectively starving herself to maintain the proper weight of 110. At 5'10, god knows a girl had to watch her figure. Her energy was fading fast. All she'd had to eat earlier in the day was a hearty helping of wheatgrass tonic and soy broth, and it definitely wasn't enough to keep her running for however long this creature was going to track her. She was surprised that she'd lasted this long. A bloodcurdling scream rang out from behind her and she turned in time to witness a huge wolflike apparition pulling apart one of the paparazzi with a savage abandon. The rest of the pack of reporters continued to follow her, seemingly undaunted by the demise of one of their own. They were an equally savage breed.

One by one, the nightmarish creature picked them off and she stumbled into the gutter, her breathing now a wheezing, choking sound as she scooted across the sidewalk and up against a wall. Her features contorted in horror as she watched it tear into the throat of an earnest young woman whose hand was still flailing in the air towards her with a microphone. The sounds the woman was making were dreadful, not to mention the wet popping and snapping sounds that the bodies made as the beast tore into them. You'd think it would be stuffed at this point with everything its eaten, she thought to herself. Finally, the woman's hand went limp, the microphone dropping from her fingers to bounce on the pavement below. The sidewalk was now a gruesome collection of wet, fleshy pieces strewn about in a bloody pool that extended almost an entire block long. Eww. Ok, he hasn't been eating all of it.

She could hear what sounded like a dark chuckling in the back of the creature's throat as it slowly stepped towards her, it's grey eyes gleaming as it reached out with a bloody, copper furred claw to delicately trace the lines of her face. She swore she could hear it saying something before she cried out and slumped to the pavement, unconscious.

When she awoke, she was surrounded by an array of unusual equipment that she couldn't easily identify. An insane giggling filled the small room and she looked up at into the eyes of a tall man with a shock of raven black hair. He was wearing a laboratory smock and a pair of huge industrial black rubber gloves that went up to his elbows. A pair of what appeared to be welding goggles perched in the nest of his spiky hair. Her eyes widened as his face moved down towards her, but she relaxed as he backed away and quickly rubbed his hands together as the corner of his mouth twitched in anticipation. He looked down at her with an awed expression and fairly vibrated with excitement.

He kept repeating the same phrase, "Alive...You're Alive..."

His expression changed as he reached out to her, his hands fumbling with something at her side. Her brow furrowed as she slowly came to the realization that she was strapped to a table, covered with a long, white linen cloth. Strap by strap, he unbuckled her from the table, tossing the large leather straps over the table, causing the buckles to clank loudly on the granite flooring. Her head movements were jerky and awkward as she looked up at him, her eyes darting quickly back and forth as the odd man finished and ran back to a table across the room, quickly scribbling down notes on what appeared to be a large whiteboard covered with strange numbers and symbols. She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell he was talking about, and was startled when a choked gurgle came out.

He quickly swiveled around, eyes wide as he scurried back over to her, his expression intense as he looked her over. She tried desperately to get her mouth to form words, but she could only manage guttural groans and grunts. Her brow furrowed with the effort and a cold wind skittered up her spine as her mind began trying to figure out what was wrong with her voice.

What the hell happened to me? I can't be dead, or I wouldn't be moving...right? Oh dear god, please don't let that thing have screwed my voice up. I have to read for that bit-part on Friends on Friday.

Her thoughts raced as she struggled to utter something remotely understandable. The crazy man's features softened slightly as he made a calm, shushing gesture and said, "It's OKI. You'll probably be disoriented and a little confused for the first couple of days. You were in pretty bad shape. Do you feel better?"

She cocked her head jerkily, the corner of her mouth ticking frantically and she nodded in an awkward, halting motion that looked somewhat painful as she grimaced up at him. He smiled and patted her shoulder gently, his tone soothing as he spoke. "You'll be just fine. Let me get you something to eat. You're probably starved..."

She recoiled from him at the mention of sustenance. Her voice became a high pitched yowl and her head jerked crazily back and forth as the words, "Guh wahh furrr...." croaked out of her throat.

He gave her a strange look, then held his hands up in a placatory gesture and quickly replied, "Ah...no food. Okay?"

She instantly calmed down, relaxing against the table as she lay back and let her eyes continue to sweep the room, something about this all seeming strangely familiar for some odd reason. The man grinned down at her, then wandered back to the whiteboard, quickly jotting down more notes as he mumbled something to himself that she couldn't hear. She tried to get up, but found that her body wasn't responding at all the way it used to. Her limbs were sluggish and when she tried to move them, they either stayed still or flew up into the air uncontrollably into a tense, rigid position over her. Unbidden, her leg swept sharply upwards, kicking the sheet off her and letting it slde to the floor. It took her a minute or two to register that her leg was now a strange, sickly greenish color as her foot hovered in the air in front of her. Her mouth curled into a strange snarl as she gaped up at one of her legs, positive that she'd never gotten a tattoo on either of them - yet there it was...a hideous lizard of some sort.

Her leg fell back to the table bonelessly, as if there were an unseen thread attached to it that had been suddenly snipped and her arm flew up again, startling her as it almost smacked her in the head. She jerked away from it, her eyes widening in horror as she saw that it was that same sickly green color as well. Her head cocked sharply to the side and a painful grimace crossed her features as she noticed that there now seemed to be large, black stitches that trailed around her forearm, wrist and elbow. A high pitched whine began low in her throat as she winced at the sight, completely baffled by what was happening. Was she in hell?

The strange man came into sight again, a pad of paper clutched to his chest and he seemed to inspect her, scribbling furiously as he looked from her to his notes. His tone was clinical and detached as he looked over at her.

"I couldn't salvage all of your original parts. Luckily, there was an abundance of spares left in the same area..."

She could have sworn for a moment that he looked almost guilty. He then continued jotting down notes as a cold fear began to creep up her spine. Something was seriously wrong here, she was certain of it. Her head jerked to look over at him, her eyes filling with a sickening comprehension as a tear rolled down her cheek. A low whine began building in her throat and she looked up at him, her eyes wide and her mouth trembling as she desperately hoped for him to explain it to her.

A brief flicker of annoyance played across his features, then he looked down at her and frowned. He couldn't really blame her for being upset. After all, she'd just been torn apart and reassembled from pieces of meat that he happened to have handy. Hell, he'd be upset as well. His expression softened and he said, "There, there...It'll be alright." His tone was gentle and reassuring and she relaxed a little, the fear fading a little as she looked up at him. He looked around the room briefly, then said, "Let me see if I can't find you more...pleasant accomodations. Would that help?"

A small gurgling noise rose up from the back of her throat and she nodded her head in a jerking motion. He smiled down at her, then leaned over and picked her up, holding her close as he turned to walk through the lab. She was again horrified to realize that she was now naked in this strange man's arms, but since he didn't seem to be taking advantage of it, she just tried not to think about it..

He strode towards a set of stone stairs, leaning forward to open a huge, wooden door that led into what looked to be the basement of a relatively nice house. The decor was fairly inocuous and nothing really screamed Mad Scientist except for the laboratory he'd carried her out of. She was surprised to find that the house was actually fairly posh, seemingly located in a very scenic location of what looked like the hills of Southern California. There were enormous panoramic windows that displayed everything surrounding the spectacular view to best advantage. She found herself briefly wondering what the annual income of a Mad Scientist could possibly be as he walked through a lavishly decorated living room with a large, black leather couch in the middle of it.

He had an impressive collection of books, electronic toys and audio and video equipment. The television across from the sofa was enormous, and looked to be top of the line. The corner of the right side of her face twitched gruesomely in appreciation. The kitchen off to the left of the living room was equally roomy; a gourmet cook's wet dream given ceramic tiled life. She fought to take it all in as he moved into to a lush bedroom with a kingsize bed. The room was an unusual mix of tasteful décor and urban decay. The windows had royal blue and black shades that matched the bedspread. The walls and ceiling were painted black and decorated with various posters of legendary scientific figures done up as punk rockers. It was extremely disconcerting.

He leaned down and gently placed her on the bed, pulling the covers out for her on the other side. After tucking her in, he grinned down at her, his voice echoing off the walls of the room slightly as he said, "A little sleep will do you good...will you be ok?"

Her lips twitched into a horrific rictus of a grin and she jerked her head, mutely nodding back at him. Maybe if she slept, she would wake up and find that she was just having a horrible nightmare.

When she woke it was dark outside and the muffled sound of music filtered through the door. It sounded vaguely like heavy metal. The strange man had closed the door to the bedroom to try to give her a little privacy and was apparently 'jamming out' in the living room, doing whatever Mad Scientists did on their off time. She groaned as she came to the realization that this wasn't a dream. At least her limbs were a little easier to control this time around and she was happy to find that she was able to lift up the covers. Sitting up, however, was a different problem. Her body jerked upright rapidly, and her head spun as she fought to get her bearing. With a strange groaning noise, she tried to bring her hand up to rub what felt like sleep out of her eyes. Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as a foreign hand smacked her in the forehead, and she cried out in surprise. This was going to take a little getting used to.

OK, a LOT getting used to.

She slowly got to her feet, her body lurching and jerking as she finally stood, giving her movements the appearance of a marionette that was being controlled by a drunken crack addict. Walking wasn't any easier, she found as she slowly made her way to the door, step by agonizing step. Her head jerked sharply around as she moved, seeming to follow her eye movements; and the corner of her mouth had developed what appeared to be a permanent tick that went along with her movements. Her hand twitched haltingly as she forced it to reach out, wrapping shaky green fingers around the doorknob..An annoyed noise croaked from her lips as she tried turning the knob.

Her hand fumbled with it, slipping off the smooth surface several times before she was finally able to get a good grip on it. She breathed a sigh of relief, happy to have accomplished what was now apparently an incredibly difficult task, then jumped with startlement when the handle broke at it's base, coming off in her hand. A low whine issued from her throat as she gaped down at the offending knob accusingly. Her teeth ground together painfully as she tried placing it back into the ruined piece of metal left in the door. After several very frustrating minutes, she dropped it and cried out in a gutteral yowl before clawing and banging at the door. It quickly opened, knocking her in the head and causing her to blink rapidly as she backpedaled furiously into the room, unsteady on her feet before she finally toppled over in a heap.

The strange man gasped and quickly ran over to her, touching her here and there as he checked for damage or pulled stitches. His expression was pained as he asked, "My god...are you alright? What happened?"

She looked up at him, then pointed over to the ruined doorknob on the floor with a jerking movement. He had to move quickly to avoid being smacked in the chest. After turning and giving the door a precursory glance, he let out a short, sharp bark of laughter before turning back to her, his voice gentle and soothing as he said, "Don't worry...I'll keep the door open from now on. You've been asleep for two days now. You should really eat..." He trailed off as he continued checking her over.

She sighed and let out an annoyed gurgle, rolling her eyes slightly as he picked her up and placed her back on the bed. She wanted to cry, to shout and scream at him, desperate to find out what was happening to her. He seemed oblivious, his tone distracted as he looked around the room. "We really should get you dressed...I think I have something in here..."

He strode over to a large black dresser with silver handles and designs, opening a drawer and pulling out a large black T-Shirt with the image of a caffeine molecule on it, along with a pair of black boxers. He padded back over to her, holding them out to her and asking, "These should fit. Are you going to be OK getting into them, or do you need help?"

Was he kidding? She'd be lucky if she didn't shred the damned things at this point. As she looked up at him, she noticed that he was now dressed completely differently from the giggling sociopath she'd initially encountered downstairs. He had on a plain black t-shirt, a pair of jeans and black motorcycle boots. She reached out and took the clothes from him in a jerking motion, the right side of her face twitching into a grimace as she realized that he was actually attractive, his black hair unruly and spikey with sharp points of it coming to rest just above aqua colored eyes. She found herself wondering why he became a Mad Scientist. He was obviously good looking, and he could have easily taken the same path she did and gone into modeling. She would have to remember to ask him sometime when she could actually talk without making that horrible gutteral groaning noise.

She placed the black boxers on the bed and began trying to get into the t-shirt, but found that she didn't have enough coordination to get it anywhere near her body. Her arms kept jerking away from her or knocking her in the face. He stood off ot the side, watching her with an expression of muted amusement as she struggled with the shirt. She looked up at him, an aggravated mewl in her throat as she thrust the offending garment at him, an eyebrows twitching furiously. He nodded silently and took it from her, having to pry her hands away from the fabric. He then reached down and gently began helping her into both it and the boxers.

She felt the rising heat of embarrassment as he dressed her and she looked away from him, trying to focus on something else in the room. Once he was finished with the daunting task, she looked down at herself, a little happier now that her body, which was still a distressing greeish hue, was now mostly covered. She felt a sick fear in the pit of her stomach as she realized that she appeared to have gained at least thirty pounds. With a horrified expression, she looked back up at him and gurgled out, "Wii greee gowayyy?"

The man looked at her, his brow furrowing as he desperately tried to decipher what she'd said before finally understanding and replying, "I'm afraid not. It's the solution I used to bathe the parts in before reattaching all of them. It tends to permanently dye them." He could tell that this obviously distressed her and quickly added, "I'm...sorry." His voice trailed off as he looked at her, sounding weak and impotent to himself in the large room. He honestly didn't know what else to say. Hell, he was surprised and pleased that she'd revived at all.

His expression fell a little at her obvious discomfort. Throughout the entire process, he had stayed focused on the goal of bringing a human being back to life as his great, great grandfather had long ago. During it all, he really hadn't given a moment's thought to what the subject would go though afterwards; and now, as he gazed at the effect of his actions, he frowned. Had this knowledge been too much for his long dead mentor, causing him to abandon his creation, leaving it to learn it's place in the world frightened and alone?

He came to the rather startling realization that she would never be able to go back to the life she once knew, that she would probably be an object of scorn and disgust for the rest of what remained of her life. He was passionate about science and a societal outcast in his own right, but was not entirely without feelings. He reached out, laying a tender hand on her shoulder as he quietly said, "You're going to be OK. There will be an...adjustment period to be sure, but I'll be here to help you through it, alright?"

This brought a twitchy rictus that resembled a smile to her face and she relaxed a little as she gave a rough, jerking nod. He seemed nice enough, and for some reason she was beginning to trust him. He hadn't hurt her so far, and seemed to be eager to help her. Her lower lip quivered a little as she opened her mouth and rasped, "Mi...rrrr...wannn sseeee..." He nodded and helped her up, walking her to the bathroom, her motions haltingly mechanical as she wobbled beside him in a strange mixture of what looked like St. Vitus Dance and palsy.

"Now...it's not as bad as it looks..." he said as he led her through the door and turned her towards the mirror, turning the light on. He watched her intently as she gaped openly at her reflection.

Her jaw dropped and she made a little gagging noise as she gazed at her reflection. Her eyes were wild as she saw that entire body was the same sickly greenish color as her extremeties. Black stitching trailed unceremoniously all over her legs and arms, the skin swelling under the strange surgeon's thread as her body tried to heal around them. Her face was still hers, from what she could see, but it looked like the rest of her body was now comprised out of seemingly spare parts. Oddly enough, she found herself thinking that he'd done an admirable job of putting her back together. She was, of course, rightly horrified that some of the parts were larger than her original ones. She was going to have to go on a diet again.

An ugly scar ran from her right temple up into her hairline and halfway around her head. Her long blond tresses had been shaved off, leaving a soft growth of stubble that was about a quarter inch in length. She ran her fingertips along the length of the stitching, her mouth trembling into a frown as tears rolled down her cheeks. A choked whine bubbled out of her throat and she closed her eyes, her hands shaking violently. She took a deep breath and in a sharp jittery movement brought her hands down to the bottom of the black shirt, slowly pulling it up so she could see the gruesome patchwork monstrosity that she'd become.

She ground her teeth tightly as she surveyed his handiwork. Green fingers trailed down her abdomen gently playing over the stitching on her ribs and hip. She gave a sobbing cry and dropped the shirt, breaking down as she crumpled in anguish. The raven haired man quickly reached out and caught her before she hit the tile, hefting her in deceptively strong arms before heading back to the bed. He gently placed her on the bed, wincing a little as she rolled over on her side, weeping in loud, unpleasant sounding hitching breaths. He draped the covers over her and quietly left, giving her time to grieve.

He sighed heavily as he closed the door behind him, his shoulders slumping as he looked over towards the kitchen.

Shit...What a mess...

He strode across the room, going into the kitchen and pulling a Jolt from the fridge. He knocked it back before padding to the couch and dropping unceremoniously down onto it. He reached over, picking up the remote control and turning the television on. He dropped it back onto the couch and ran a hand through his hair, frowning as his thoughts hammered at him about what he'd done. As he ran through the process in his head, he groaned.

It'll take her about a month to fully heal...physically. I had no idea that the entire process would be this traumatic for her.

Something inside him forced the emotions in him to the back of his mind as he became engrossed in the program that he'd tuned in to. Trauma Center was always so relaxing. And educational. He shrugged and leaned back into the comfort of the couch. There wasn't really anything he could do about the situation now. What was done was done.

Ah well, forwarned is forearmed I guess...I'll know better next time.

He hoped she'd recover relatively quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was to become a babysitter, but he felt obligated to at least get her to a point where she could make her way back out into the world.

Either that, or I could just kill her and put her out of her misery...

He let out a short, sharp bark of laughter then frowned and shook his head, unable to see himself killing what he considered his first 'offspring' of sorts. He quickly flicked the tv off and rose from the couch, tossing the remote behind him as he strode purposefully to the coat rack at the front door. He grabbed a battered leather jacket covered in punk epithets and pointed metal studs, shrugging into it as he grabbed a set of keys off the table next to it. He needed to get out of the house for a little bit to clear his head. She definitely wasn't going anywhere and there really wasn't anything he could do for her at this point but let her grieve. He opened the door and strode out to the driveway and the flat black Volkswagen Thing in the driveway. It was battered and battle scarred from his many midnight runs to local clinics and hospitals, but it still ran great after everything he'd put it through.

On the hood, he'd painted a huge, white skull and crossbones with the words 'Reanimator' underneath it in neon green. Hardly subtle, but who cared? It's not like the idiots around him actually believed in raising the dead. The doors had bright orange biohazard symbols on them and the interior was covered in what looked like blue faux fur. Yep...it was his baby. He grinned as he slid into the driver's seat and jammed the key in the ignition, suddenly feeling much better. He chuckled as he turned the key, his voice a menacing rumble as he growled, "I like the nighttime...I've got to boogie..." under his breath as the stereo system flared to life. The Meatmen song Fast Food Fistfuck blared throughout the car.

Right about this time, the nurses would be changing shift at the memorial hospital downtown, and he had always been able to coax supplies out of the hands of at least one or two of the overeager medical strumpets.

At least being attractive is good for something...

He grinned wickedly as he pulled the car out of the driveway and headed out into the night.

Kaspar Frankenstein was a strange young lad with a morbid fascination for the infamous work once performed by his great, great grandfather. The family never spoke of it, but it was always there, just under the surface. His parents tried desperately to forget the horrendous experiments performed by 'the deranged, raving asshole' as his father had referred to the old man during one of their 'father son bonding moments'.

Over the years, Kaspar grew to hate his parents, becoming disgusted with their denial and familial 'guilt by association'. He was, however, more than happy to use their rather extensive funds to put him through medical school. They had hoped that he would become a reputable surgeon and he was well on his way towards doing just that when he had an epiphany.

After years of searching, he had finally tracked down Viktor's notes and frantically pored over the tomes, eager for any new information about 'the experiment' performed by the old man. The pages of his notes had yellowed with age and he had to handle them delicately in order to keep them from crumbling in his hands. In the first month, he spent uncountable hours carefully scanning each page into the computer so that he had a permanent copy that wouldn't deteriorate after repeated readings. There was a lifetime of knowledge, vivid and exciting, and he found himself itching to reproduce the experiment, just to see if he could fare any better than his ill-fated relative. After over twelve years of schooling, he found himself in a posh hospital appointment at a large medical facility downtown.

Kaspar had always been a rebellious type, and although he held a considerable amount of power as a noted surgeon, his increasingly erratic behaviour and odd appearance started making the staff uneasy. After several extremely profitable years, he made the unfortunate decision to begin trying some of his experiments on 'samples' from the morgue. All went well at first, but when a nosy head nurse decided to follow him one night during one of his excursions, everything went downhill rapidly. His family was properly horrified at the revelation, but he was beyond caring at that point. Luckily, his antics didn't land him in jail and he'd only ended up having his license taken away. A slap on the wrist, really, considering the fact that he'd robbed the hospital blind of supplies and old machines that he knew wouldn't be missed.

He had invested well during his stay at the hospital and had squirreled away a considerable chunk of change, enabling him to purchase and furnish his current swank bachelor pad; outfitting the basement so that he could continue his research at home where could be certain that he wouldn't be bothered. And now, after years of hard work, it had all finally paid off. The only problem was that he was actually beginning to feel guilt and honest remorse about the poor girl who was back at the house bawling her eyes out in his bedroom. Sure, he would have reams of priceless data to poke through from this entire thing, which made him ecstatic, but what about her? He shook his head, annoyed at the fact that his thoughts kept going back to it.

As he drove around the back of the hospital, he scanned the parking lot, hoping to run across his 'partner in crime' as it were. She should be getting off shift soon. Sure enough, there she was, walking across the tarmac with a large canvas backpack. She was a fairly plain looking thirty-something woman with brown hair that had been pulled back in a severe bun. She quickly strolled across the parking lot towards a sky blue honda that was as unremarkable as she was. He grinned in the darkness of the car, glad that he wouldn't have to try to track her down. He pulled up next to her car, waving and forcing a smile as he parked and hopped out.

"Hey Debbie..."

She brightened and returned his smile as she made her way towards him, calling out, "Hey K. Where have you been? It's been three weeks..."

He walked up to her, reaching out to help her with the bulging backpack that was draped over her shoulder. His tone was casual as he shrugged and replied, "Busy. Big project." He flashed her a devastating smile and asked, "Got anything for me tonight?"

She laughed and followed him over to her car, putting a little sway in her hips as she walked. She'd always had a soft spot for him, and he realized relatively early in their relationship that she could deny him nothing. He was like a kid in a candy store when he came to visit, and was more than happy to oblige her with her more...base needs in order to get what he wanted, which suited her just fine. It was an arrangement that worked out well for them both. He whistled appreciatively when he saw the haul she'd made, and was thrilled to find out that she had stashed even more supplies at her house. He followed her back to her place and performed his perfunctory duty, then made off with the mad cache of purloined medical items. On the drive home, he found himself hoping that his new 'roommate' had finally stopped crying.

He arrived back at the house to find that she'd cried herself to sleep and was now curled up in a tangle of sheets snoring softly. He breathed a sigh of relief and headed back outside to began unloading the car, wanting to quickly and efficiently escort the various and sundry items down to the lab. When he was finished with this task he went back upstairs to check on her. One of her arms was splayed across the bed, and the other was gripping the covers so tightly her knuckles were whitening with the pressure. She was making little moaning noises, but was still under. He sighed and padded back to the door.

Damn. I guess I could sleep on the couch...letting her have the bed is the least I could do at this point...

He yawned and pulled an extra blanket and pillows out of the closet before bedding down in front of the tv for the night.

The next morning she woke feeling marginally better. She wasn't quite to the point where she felt that she could make the best out of a bad situation, but she wasn't weeping uncontrollably anymore and she figured that this at least counted for something. Her muscles were a little more accomodating this morning as she sat up and stumbled to the bathroom. She hoped the uncomfortable jerkiness of her movements would fade over time. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life looking like some reject out of a fifties horror flick. Truly a fate worse than death.

She walked to the bathroom, then winced as she spotted herself in the mirror. The area around the stitching still looked a little inflamed, but it seemed to be going down a little.

At least that's something...

Maybe at some point she could find a plastic surgeon that could whiten her skin, hopefully getting rid of the horrible sickly green sheen. With a twitchy hand, she slowly traced the stitching on her cheek, then stuck her tongue out at her reflection. She sighed and turned, walking in a jerky stroll to the door and peering out into the living room. The strange man had passed out on the couch, his arms and legs splayed out onto the coffeetable and the floor as he snored loudly. She raised an eyebrow at the scene before her, then began walking towards him; the strange tick coming back to tug at the corner of her mouth as she made her way to the couch. She cocked her head sharply at him, twitching a little as she watched him. He was dead to the world, it seemed, and she jerked almost violently as she felt the first pang of hunger. She made a guttural grunting noise and stumbled shakily to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and finding the top shelf stocked with packets of blood and various other unidentifiable liquids.

She made a retching sound and slowly backed away from the sight, knocking into something that clattered loudly to the floor, causing her to cry out. A head of touseled, raven black hair popped over the top of the sofa with an alarmed expression. He frowned, then sleepily rubbed at one of his eyes as he looked around for the source of what snapped him awake. She cringed and closed the refrigerator door, her voice a choked burble as she said, "Soooeeee"

He breathed a sigh of relief, then quickly ran over to help her, picking up a small metal tray and the scattered tools from the floor that she'd knocked off the counter. He looked over at her, his voice a little gravelly as he asked, "Now you're hungry, right?"

She blinked spasmodically and nodded, grunting her assent and touching her stomach.

He waved her off towards the couch, saying, "Go sit down. I'll make you something."

She turned and made her way to the couch in halting, jittery steps. Kaspar began looking around for something to feed her when she plopped down on the sofa, her lips pulling away from her teeth in a horrific rictus as she leaned into the soft leather and sighed. She reached out for the remote to the television, grappling with it for several moments before finally grabbing it and hitting the power button. It took her a few minutes before she figured out how to change the channel. The brief stuttering of channels changing lasted several seconds before she finally settled on a popular soap opera and slammed the controller down beside her. She quickly drew away from it, giving it an accusatory glare. It was taking her longer than she wanted to figure out how to operate things.

In the kitchen, Kaspar winced at the dialogue between the show's various stereotypical characters, horrified that people actually WATCHED the swill. He never understood what was so goddamned mesmerizing about it. He began cooking her some eggs and bacon as she blissed out in the world of drama, feeling immensely better now that she was watching characters who continually found themselves in situations almost as appalling as the one she found herself in. Granted, none of them had ever managed to find themselves in a situation quite like this, but some of the complicated relationship patterns that the characters endured seemed somehow more painful and garish.

"How can you watch that shit?", he called out as he poked at the eggs with a spatula, his tone clearly disgusted.

She jerked her head around to look back at him, a frown forming on her lips as she blinked rapidly back at him. She frowned and struggled to form the words as she asked him, "Whuaa...oooo....ock?", interested to know what peaked the particular interests of insane individuals that went around bringing people back to life simply because they could.

His brow furrowed with the effort as he tried to decipher what she was saying. His brain was quickly spinning, trying to figure out a way to hook something up to her so she'd be capable of speaking in something other than that horrible indeciperable gurgling. It was becoming annoying. He shook his head and sighed, saying, "Never mind..."

She looked dismayed and her eyes began tearing up as she turned back to watch her show. It was so frustrating not to be able to say what was on her mind. Not that much had been on it to begin with. She curled up on the couch, her lower lip pouting out and tears streamed down her face as she strove to cry silently. She was, unfortunately, failing miserably. Kaspar ground his teeth, rolling his eyes as he struggled with the temptation to throw the pan of eggs at her. He had never been good at relations with living people, much less women. The only reason things seemed to work out with Debbie was because she honestly seemed to want nothing but sex from him. Emotional women distressed him, mostly because he had absolutely no idea of what to do with them.

He took a deep breath and tried to sound more patient than he felt as he pleaded, "Don't cry...please? Your breakfast is almost done. I didn't mean to sound upset..." Killing her was actually beginning to sound more attractive as the day went on. She seemed fairly useless as a human being, as far as he could assess, and he began wondering if he could perhaps place a different brain inside that tormented little skull of hers. It'd probably do them both a world of good.

He usually operated in two modes, scientific and agitated. He desperately tried to force himself into scientific mode, so that he wouldn't become more impatient and actually cause her damage. He wasn't at all used to having people around and so had never really developed many social graces. He could apply a thin veneer of what appeared to be caring over his true personality, but it didn't last long under the stress he went through when he had to deal with people. The only reason he lasted so long at the hospital was because the patients he worked on were anesthetized and therefore were usually in no condition to complain about his shitty bedside manner. He had never personally conducted follow-up visits with them, instead preferring to leave that to the rest of the staff.

Her breath hitched a little as her tears stopped, comforted by the sound of his voice as he apologized. She reached over and picked up the blanket lying on the couch, bringing it up to her chin and sniffling softly, her lower lip still pouting out slightly before again becoming entranced by the empty drama onscreen.

He just doesn't understand, she thought to herself. It was addictive. Once you started watching, you found yourself hooked. It was like a car wreck. She couldn't look away. As she quieted down, he relaxed, releasing a stressed breath. Once the food was done, he slipped it onto a plate and padded over to her, placing it on the coffeetable in front of her. She was probably going to need help eating as well, he realized.

He sat beside her and picked up the plate, finding himself grinning despite her behaviour. She was acting like a child that had just gotten swatted with a belt. "Alright.." His voice was soft and a little amused as he picked up the fork and scooped up a helping of eggs. "Open up."

She backed away from him a little, her brow furrowing indignantly at his presumption that she couldn't feed herself. He shrugged and handed her the plate, saying, "Fine. If you toss food, you get to clean it up."

He watched her carefully as trembling green fingers danced along the edge of the plate, almost dumping the entire meal into his lap. Once it was in her grasp, she steadied the plate, reaching towards it with her other twitching hand to get the fork. The next few moments were tense as he watched her jerking fingers get closer...and closer... She was trying so hard to make calculated moves and was failing miserably. He choked back a bark of laughter as she miscalculated and sent a forkful of eggs across the room, splattering the curtains. She grimaced, causing the stitching on her cheek to pucker up grotesquely.

"Soooeeee..." Her voice was a gurgling moan as she gave him an apologetic look.

"Would you like me to HELP you now?", he chided her, openly grinning now.

She frowned at him, pooching her lower lip out as she nodded her head, the corner of her lip beginning to twitch maddeningly.

He sighed and took the fork and plate from her, scooping another helping of eggs onto it and slowly moving it towards her, not wanting her to accidentally stab herself in the face with the fork while he was feeding her. It proved to be a difficult task, at best, and by the time she was finished eating, he was positive that there was more food on the couch and floor than was in her stomach.

He looked back at her and said, "Gotta work on that muscle coordination. I've got some exercise equpiment in the other room. Maybe that'll help"

He needed to get her healthy enough to present her to his 'esteemed colleagues' that had spent most of their mutual association pointing and laughing at him. He was pretty much considered a raving lunatic by most in his field, and everybody gave him an unusually wide berth whenever he was around; as if they were unsure of whether he'd just cut loose and hurt them or not. He had no illusions of what their opinion of his project would be, but still wanted to rub their noses in it simply because he was a caustic bastard.

He pat her wrist gently before getting up and patrolling for stray bits of egg that had escaped. She smiled as she watched him, that same rictus grin that made it look as if she were being electrocuted by something that was supposed to make her appear painfully happy. It would've been disconcerting if the look in her eyes wasn't so warm and happy. It went without saying that she was to stay with him until she was capable of functioning on her own, if for no other reason than to prove his great, great grandfather's research correct and viable. He'd developed a strange fondness that bordered on obsession for the old, long dead man, and it meant a great deal to him to prove his naysayers wrong. That, and he couldn't very well send her on her way - a shambling monster incapable of speech.

As he walked into the kitchen with the plate and the failed remnants of her meal, she seemed to notice all the tattoos covering him for the first time. Large tribal swirls curled around old school standards and various arcane symbols. Any one of the designs would've looked out of place on him, but for some reason, the collection fit just right. It accented his well defined body very nicely, and she found her mind wandering to rather obvious thoughts.

He's really cute. If he just wasn't such a grouch at times...

As he placed the dishes in the sink and ran water over them, she watched him raptly, fascinated by him and the way him moved. She envied his easy grace now that she was a shambling, jerking mess.

He looked over at her and chuckled a little, walking toward her and saying, "Ok...exercise time...follow me."

Chapter 1 :|: Chapter 2 :|: Chapter 3

The Model and the Mad Scientist :: Children of the Deadlands

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