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  I knew the route that Herr Klemmen would take to arrive at his home, and I moved swiftly to an area that would be mostly in shadows so I could intercept him. I waited until he walked past my hiding spot before I called out to him.

  He turned, alarm showing in his face. “Do I know you?” he asked.

  I did not want my size or my appearance to frighten him, so I remained crouched in the shadows, the black cape that I wore mostly hiding me.

  “Herr Klemmen,” I said, “I come to you as a friend and not to do you harm.”

  “Then show yourself to me.”

  “I cannot do so, for the hideousness of my appearance would distress you far more than the coarseness of my voice. I need to tell you that Friedrich Hoffmann never betrayed your trust. He was innocent of the murder of your beloved niece, Johanna.”

  Herr Klemmen put his hand to his heart, as if to keep it from breaking any further.

  “That is impossible,” he said, his voice pained. “My dear niece’s locket was found in that villain’s pocket, and his coat stained so with her blood. I demand that you tell me how he could be innocent!”

  “The night before your niece’s murder, a poison was slipped into an ale that Herr Hoffmann drank after his day’s labor at your apothecary. This poison caused him to collapse into a state of unconsciousness in that same alley in which he was later found. While he lay helpless the true murderer stained his coat with blood and placed your dear niece’s locket within Herr Hoffmann’s trouser pocket, all so that he would be unfairly blamed for her murder.”

  Herr Klemmen’s lips trembled as if he were on the verge of weeping. “How … how could you know this?” he asked.

  “I will tell you, but first answer me this. In your heart do you believe Herr Hoffmann capable of this crime?”

  Herr Klemmen’s face appeared to crumble as he fought the tears that were struggling to come loose. He shook his head. “No,” he said at last. “Friedrich was like a son to me. It is unimaginable to me that he could have acted in such a vile manner. Explain to me how you know of Friedrich’s innocence?”

  “I too have been greatly victimized by the same man whom I believe is responsible,” I said, my voice sounding as a mere echo in my ears. “Once I have proven his guilt, I will avenge your niece’s death. You have my promise.”

  “Has this villain disfigured you? Is this why you refuse to show yourself to me? You do not need to be afraid. Perhaps I have medicine within my store that could help you. Let us go back there together.”

  “I am beyond the help of medical science,” I said. “Or anyone’s help. Herr Klemmen, I do not wish to cause you any further sadness, and greatly regret the amount that my intrusion has caused, but I need to ask you a question that could further distress you.”

  “Do not regret anything, my son. Your words have the air of truth, and your visit has lifted a great weight from my heart, for now I can mourn Friedrich instead of despising him. What is it that you wish to know?”

  “How long ago did this terrible crime occur?” I asked.

  Herr Klemmen’s jaw muscles tightened as he steeled himself to answer me. “We are two months short of the one year anniversary,” he said.

  Ten months! That was all it was? Herr Klemmen looked as if he had aged a decade, if not more, but it had only been ten months! I understood it. He never had children and had grown to think of his niece, Johanna, as his own child. I had also felt the warmth of fatherly love from him, so the circumstances must have been doubly tragic for him as Herr Klemmen had to suffer both grief and hatred together, and it took its toll. As I looked at Herr Klemmen’s eyes brimming with tears, I felt the same tenderness and aching of love toward him as if he had been my true father, and I knew then that I had a soul. I don’t know how that could have come to be, but I knew it was true, just as I knew that my memories of Johanna and my life as Friedrich Hoffmann were real, and not imaginary.

  I hesitated before asking where Johanna was buried, Ingolstadt or Leipzig.

  Gravely, his face aging even more, Herr Klemmen said, “My niece is now with her father and mother.”

  My voice barely came out as an animal growl as I said to Herr Klemmen, “You have my promise, sir. The man responsible for these terrible crimes will be made to suffer. Johanna Klemmen and Friedrich Hoffmann will be allowed to rest in peace.”

  I stole into the night then.

  CHAPTER 8

  I waited until dark before climbing over the twenty-foot wall that circled the city of Ingolstadt. The agility and strength within my new body was more that of a wild beast than a man, my limbs showing themselves to be sinewy and powerful, and I was easily able to leap so that I could pull myself over the wall and drop to the ground below. Once I was on the other side, I made my way down the banks of the Danube river and drank until I quenched the thirst that the earlier bottle of wine had merely tickled. Then I slipped into the woods, and using the stars to navigate, headed north toward Leipzig.

  During my lifetime as Friedrich Hoffmann I had traveled to a few cities and villages outside of Ingolstadt, but never farther than Munich, and never outside of my homeland of Bavaria. Leipzig was over two hundred miles away, and in Saxony, which was unknown territory to me, but I had a burning need to visit my Johanna’s grave. There was no longer any doubt that the memories I possessed as Friedrich Hoffmann were real, as was the compassion and love that I had felt for my betrothed, and the terrible grief that now weighed so heavily on me.

  I thought about what Herr Klemmen had told me. That ten months had elapsed since Johanna’s murder. From my own tally, I was held captive within Frankenstein’s laboratory for almost seven months. Although it seemed as if it had only been seconds, three months had actually passed from my dying on the executioner’s wheel to waking up in Frankenstein’s company. For three months I had clearly been dead, and yet my soul and memories survived.

  I had no idea where Frankenstein had run off to. No clues were left behind in his living quarters, and I could not recall him ever mentioning a destination that would be safe for him in the event he needed to flee. I did not know how I was going to find him, only that I would. Justice required it. But first I needed to travel to Leipzig so that I could leave flowers by Johanna’s grave and say my prayers. Later, after I had paid the proper respects, providence would help me track down Frankenstein wherever he might be hiding.

  As I made my way through the woods, I felt my senses keener than I could ever recall. I picked up smells in the woods that I never knew existed before, and I heard the distinctive cry of night owls far off in the distance, as well as small animals rustling in the underbrush. My vision changed the most dramatically. It was more that of a nocturnal beast than a man, and instead of stumbling in the dark I had little trouble making out my path. I should have been terrified with all the dangers that lurked around me, but instead I felt exhilarated. After all those months housed within the oppressive evil of Frankenstein’s lair, the fresh air of the woods was a gentle balm to my spirits. For a time I even forgot about the hideousness of my present form, and imagined myself once more as I had been. But before too long those pleasant delusions vanished and my exhilaration proved short-lived.

  I moved swiftly through the woods. Just as my agility and strength had grown greater than that of any man, so did my speed, and I ran more like the red deer that I had once hunted in my youth than I ever could have as Friedrich Hoffmann. After many hours of this I began to grow weary and for the first time since I had been brought back to life I desired sleep. I found a small cave to rest in, and after lying down I closed my eyes and silently said a short prayer.

  Please, allow Johanna to visit me in my dreams. Even if it may only exist in the world of dreams, let my beloved bestow upon me one last sweet smile.

  I dreamed, but it was not of Johanna. Instead my dreams were of a troubling and dark nature, as if I were being urged to turn away from Leipzig to instead head southwards. Before waking, an ominous gray castle appeared as if it were there
to beckon me. The castle was of a ruined state and a foulness hung about it, the sight of it causing a cold chill to run through my heart. A great sense of relief overcame me when I woke and found myself back in the cave, and realized that that castle and the evil it represented were only phantoms.

  I must have slept for only several hours, for it was not yet dawn when I awoke. The stars were gone, and without the sun rising to guide me, I had no method to determine which direction was north, but I chose to let my heart lead me to Johanna’s grave. I had only traveled a short distance when I spotted the wolves. There were four of them facing me, all with their blue unmoving eyes staring intently at me, their gray and brownish fur matted, their backs hunched in a feral manner. They were silent as they began to move toward me, and as they broke into an all-out run, a primal fear swallowed me up and I turned to flee.

  At first their snarls filled my consciousness and I felt their hot breath as they snapped at my ankles, but before too long I was outrunning them! That relief was short-lived as I realized I had been chased toward one of their waiting companions. This wolf was larger than the others. It stood crouched, its fangs glistening as it snarled. And then it was airborne as it sprung at me to rip out my throat. What happened next surprised me as much as it did this beast. I caught it in midair, one hand around the wolf’s neck, the other gripping it by its hindquarters. Over a hundred pounds of beastly ferocity, and I held the animal suspended in midair, with the impact budging me only a step. The animal tried to little avail to squirm out of my grasp. I snapped its back as if it were little more than a dry tree branch and tossed its body onto the ground. For the first time I truly understood the strength that I possessed.

  The other wolves had caught up to me and were circling me warily, with certainly some confusion as to why their time-honored hunting maneuver had failed to work. But they were hungry and even given my greater size, they mistook me for a man, which was a type of creature that they could normally overpower. I was no longer afraid. Instead I felt only regret that I was going to have to kill these beasts. As they circled me they edged closer, and two of them sprang at me at the same moment. I batted one of them away and caught the other by the scruff of its neck and threw it with enough force at one of the still circling wolves that I killed both of them. The last remaining wolf was not to be deterred. With all the beastly fury that it could muster, it charged at me and suffered the same cruel fate as its companions.

  As I looked at their broken bodies lying on the ground, I felt only sympathy toward these animals. The wolf that I had batted away had landed against an oak tree and lay whimpering on the ground. A closer examination showed that its hindquarters were broken and that it had no chance for survival. Trying my best to soothe the animal during its last moments, I ended its suffering with a quick twist of its neck.

  With a heavy heart I left the area and continued onwards, trusting my instincts to lead me north. An hour later when the sun began to rise, I was relieved to find that I was on the right path.

  My journey to Leipzig took three days. Several times I had to steal into villages to get my bearings, and once I surprised a gang of bandits, who, while blanching severely at my appearance, provided me with the directions that I sought. A few times I came across wayward and seemingly dispirited troops from Napoleon’s army, and while I considered doing my duty as a Bavarian citizen and sending them into flight, images of the wolves that I left dead on the ground invaded my thoughts, and instead I chose to avoid them. They seemed miserable enough as it was without having a daemon chasing them away.

  During those three days I didn’t feel the need to sleep again, but did rest several times. I also found that a diet of the mushrooms and berries that I came across in the woods was sufficient.

  Near the end of my journey I approached a woodsy area, maybe three miles from Leipzig, and there I spotted a distinguished-looking man who appeared to be searching for different varieties of plants. He was a short man of slight build and possessing a highly pronounced forehead, and dressed finely in his white silk stockings, short tight trousers and dark coat. I watched curiously as he examined different plants. I grew suspicious, however, when he stopped at a nightshade plant to collect its leaves. As I watched him my anger boiled over.

  “Another Voisin?” I yelled out.

  My voice startled him and he nearly jumped out of his buckled leather shoes. I stepped out from the trees that had hidden me. His complexion paled as he saw me, but he didn’t run away as others of late had done.

  “Sir,” he said, his voice showing none of his fright, his eyes holding steady on me, “I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage. But no, I am no Voisin. I assure you that I am not a poisoner, notorious or otherwise.”

  Even with the hood hiding my face, I must have been a frightful image with my enormous height and the ominous way in which I was clothed. Still, he stood his ground as I approached him.

  “That is a nightshade plant whose leaves you are picking,” I said. “I know for I was once a pharmaceutical chemist in the employ of the Ingolstadt Apothecary, as well as also having an interest in botany. The leaves are deadly and their only purpose is to poison. If you are not picking these leaves for mischief, then why are you?”

  “I am collecting them for curative reasons and not harmful ones.” His eyes all at once blazing with indignation, he added, “Sir, if you have been employed in the preparation of medicines, then you too have been up to your own share of mischief.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Why? Because the accepted medical profession is barbaric!” He made a face to show his disdain, and had to take several deep breaths before he could continue. “I know of what I speak,” he stated, his voice only slightly calmer. “I was trained as a doctor, and was employed as such for many years, and I can tell you that the tried and true methods employed today are absolutely primitive! Tell me, what is the point of bloodletting? To rob the patient of the vital fluids necessary for the restoration of health? And the harsh purgative medicines that doctors prescribe only to leave the patient in a weaker and more debilitating state? Bah!”

  “I never performed any medical procedures,” I said. “My profession required me to prepare the medications that were prescribed. Whether the purgatives that I would prepare were too harsh, I cannot say. But I do know that herbal balms that I produced for burns and rashes were effective.”

  “Yes, I know, and I did not mean to condemn you and your profession.” He smiled at me benevolently, adding, “But I have seen firsthand the damage that doctors in their ignorance can cause, and it can be difficult for me at times to keep my temper in check. But I apologize for my outburst. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Samuel Hahnemann.”

  That left me at a lost for several seconds before grunting out that my own name was Friedrich Hoffmann, which seemed a better choice than to introduce myself as a wretched abomination brought forth into the world by a wicked sorcerer. I shook my head at the hand that he held out to me. I was beginning to feel an affinity to this man, and I did not want him seeing the monstrous construction of my own hand. “My skin is sensitive to the touch,” I said. “I cannot shake hands for that reason.”

  He peered at me curiously, but nodded. “You may believe that belladonna, or nightshade as you know it, can only be used as a poison,” he said, “but taken in very low dosages I hope to prove that it can be curative. In fact, it may even be able to prevent scarlet fever.”

  “I have never heard of such thing.”

  “Nobody has,” Herr Hahnemann said, smiling inwardly. “I have a belief of like curing like, and this is a theory that I have been experimenting with lately. The basic principle behind it is if a patient is showing symptoms similar to what the poisoning from a certain substance might cause, then that substance taken in minuscule portions will allow the body to heal itself. Just as belladonna poisoning will cause symptoms that are similar to scarlet fever, a small dosage of belladonna may very well act as a preventive treat
ment for that disease.”

  While Herr Hahnemann explained this to me, I could see him peering at me intently as if he were trying to discern what I might look like under my hood.

  “You desire to see my face?” I asked.

  “I apologize, Herr Hoffmann. You mentioned that your skin is sensitive to the touch, and I was wondering if that is why you are covering your head with a hood on such a mild day. Perhaps if you would accompany me back to my home, I could treat you using this new methodology that I am currently exploring.”

  “I do not wish to accompany you.”

  “Why? My home is only a short distance from here.”

  “It would be pointless. I am beyond the cure of any treatment.”

  “Nonsense! I do not believe that.”

  His face held only compassion. I shook my head. “Herr Hahnemann, I am a dead thing brought to life by dark satanic forces. There is no cure that could help me.”

  “Interesting,” Herr Hahnemann said softly. “This is the reason you did not wish to shake hands earlier, and not because of your skin being sensitive?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “My hands are of such a hideous nature that it would give you nightmares if you viewed them.”

  Herr Hahnemann stood rubbing his chin with one hand, his eyes appearing vacant as if he were deep in thought. When he looked back at me a light shone in those eyes.

  “Herr Hoffmann, with the symptoms that you have expressed to me, I believe I can help you. If you accompany me to my home I will prepare a remedy for you.”

  “I cannot do that.”

  My answer frustrated him. Muttering softly to himself he began searching through the leather satchel that he carried. At last he found what he was looking for and held an envelope out to me.

  “This envelope holds leaves from a jimson weed. I will explain to you how to produce a remedy from it. If you were once a pharmaceutical chemist, then you should be able to do this easily.”