The Resurrectionist The Lost Work of Dr. - By E. B. Hudspeth Page 0,13

to stand. Spencer laughed and clapped his hands together.

From the unlit shadows, further back in his lab, came a loud groan and then a crash inside a cage. It was then that we were aware that the poor beast on the ground was not the only animal. Elise ran outside pulling Samuel out with her. She tried to take Alphonse, but he refused, strong enough to wrest free of his mother’s grasp. She left him but I did not; I grabbed the wicked boy and commanded that he go to his mother.

Once alone with Spencer I screamed in anger, demanding to know: What had he done? What was he doing? I was angry with him, angry that he had performed such a cruel act. I did not know how he had achieved such a stunt. He told me that what he had done was clear enough, so clear that the bloody animal on the ground could nearly speak for itself and tell me what had occurred. As Spencer spoke the animal moved frantically. I told him it was dying. I nearly wept as I spoke, I was so overcome. I tried not to look at the creature; its claws scratched along the floor as each attempt to right itself failed. Its body excreted blood and bile from several places; it writhed at Spencer’s feet, but he paid his longtime pet no heed as he talked. He explained to me that it was not dying but, rather, living: it was being born. I began to protest his logic but then he screamed so ruthlessly I would have thought he wished me killed. Spencer said that his work was not for me, or for him, but was instead in and of itself a new species, a new science, a new world. He stood in front of the animal, as though he was protecting it. I knew there was nothing I could say to persuade him or calm his anger. I protested one last time.

He spat his words at me, condemning what he called the judiciary of morality and the imperious kings of good works. When he finished, he remained still. The lamplight directly behind him cast a shadow on his face, and though I could not see his eyes, I knew they were on me. I left. I remember those events perfectly, I can still hear his voice. I have not seen him since that day.

There is none who possess that healing power. Spencer holds it gently in his hand as though it were the knowledge of science itself, a living creature that he cradles and carries with him always––like a pet.

Bernard’s journal goes on to explain that Elise gave her boys to Bernard and asked him to leave that night, which he did. She told him that she needed to gather some things first and would leave soon after.

Bernard returned to New York, believing there was nothing more he could do for his deeply troubled brother. He tried to take custody of both boys, but Alphonse, then sixteen years old, refused and ran away (returning to the care of his father), and so Bernard arrived in New York with only Samuel, who was nearly four years old at the time.

What Bernard and no one else realized (until the release of Spencer Black’s journals many years later) is that Elise returned to the lab on the night of Bernard’s departure. Intent on destroying everything her husband had made, she smashed an oil lamp onto his desk, igniting a fire. She then began to shoot his animals with a small pistol. Spencer, hearing the gunshots and seeing the flames from the house, rushed to stop the blaze. Black described the confrontation in his journal:

I raced across the field, desperate to save my work. I dismounted from my horse with such haste that I nearly did myself in at that moment. I rushed inside and was greeted, without warning, by my Elise and her pistol. She fired and struck me in the leg. I know she had intended to strike my chest. It is fortunate for me that she didn’t aim for the ceiling, for then I would certainly be dead. Elise then shot my dog and, after it was killed, continued throughout the burning laboratory, killing all of my animals that remained. The conflagration was too intense and Elise was soon engulfed in its flames. I pulled her to safety.

Elise was nearly burned to death: she was blinded, could no longer speak, and