The Secret of Doctor Thatcher

]Dr. Thatcher clutched her medical bag to her chest and surveyed the scene in front of her. They were all dead, of that she had not doubt, but one question swirled in her mind. Was there anything here she could use? When she first saw the abandoned warehouse, she thought she struck gold. It was the perfect placed to hide from the medical board and the marshals until she caught a train to the west coast and found a more open-minded city to continue her research. The people here were too feeble minded and unimaginative to understand and appreciate her particular brand of genius. She only wanted to improve humans. They just didn’t get that.

           “Ignorant fools!” Her bitter voice echoed against the walls. She froze and listened. She senselessly assumed that who or whatever was responsible for this mess left. What if they or it was still here? When no footsteps or voices answered her silent question Dr. Thatcher pressed on.

           At first glance, six bodies littered the floor, but as she picked her way through them, several more peaked out from underneath to total at least ten. Judging by the fabrics and embellishments on their destroyed clothes these people were rich before their untimely and messy end. Rich meant metal of all sorts waiting for someone to liberate them from their previous owners and use them to their full and proper potential. You can’t take it with you, she thought and got to work. As she rifled through the corpses, she cut off buckles and buttons with her scalpel and stole jewelry and the metal fillings she could easily pry from their mouths. The more stubborn one would take some work, but as long as she was safe here Dr. Thatcher could and would return for the more difficult prizes. Ever careful of the blood and other bodily fluids pooling around her, she watched where she laid her medical bag down before stashing the purloined pieces safely inside. Once everything dried she wouldn’t need to be so careful, but she couldn’t wash anything at the moment so care was mandatory.

           The metal she took could be melted and remolded it into useful shapes like limbs, eyes, and organs and replaced on a human body. That was at the heart of her research. Dr. Thatcher studied anatomy and metallurgy to figure out ways to combine the two together to make better human specimens. All she wanted was to give the human race opportunities to live longer, live better. Imagine if we replaced missing limbs or diseased organs with fully functional mechanical ones. The possibilities of improving humans stretched infinitely before them. At least that was how she explained her research to the medical board, but they didn’t recognize the brilliance of her ideas. They mocked her and claimed it impossible to combine the two to create a successfully functional who could survive the trauma of the surgeries necessary for the changes as she described them. She knew otherwise. Dr. Thatcher presented her test subjects to the board and a small audience of potential investors and the curious, and the entire auditorium exploded in an uproar. They called it mad and inhumane. They accused her of testing her theories on unwilling subjects, but all of her patients volunteered for their surgeries. She tried to explain that over the din of the auditorium. Yes, some died, but they knew and agreed to the risk involved. She clarified that, although now few and far between, her “setbacks were opportunities to learn and improve,” and she had. Her successes proved that. She replaced men, women, and children’s limbs with working, mechanical ones, and she was close to getting the eye right. So close. She just needed more time, more funding, and a better working space with more technologically advanced equipment.

           They called her insane. They said her surgeries were just mutilation. The board left her with nothing and reported her to the marshals for crimes against humanity. Dr. Thatcher had no choice. Their malicious and ignorant beliefs forced her into hiding. Now, here she was, scrounging for spare parts to continue her life’s pursuit.

           The doctor, lost in her thoughts and outrage, wasn’t paying attention, and stepped in a puddle of blood and bile. With a shriek, she slipped and landed in an undignified a splat. Her face was only centimeters from what was a blonde woman. At least, she guessed it was a woman. Her body was smashed so forcefully and repeatedly that all that was left was mushed into a pulpy mess. The hairs on the back of the doctor’s neck stood up, and her arms erupted in gooseflesh.

           Now her guts-soaked coat and pants had to go. She would change and leave them here. She wiped her hands on the coat and started unbuttoning it when the sound of limping footsteps bounces off the walls. Move faster, she told herself and slipped and skidded through the gore. Some loose flesh tangled around the heel of her boot and kept her from hastily sneaking away. She landed on her knees next to the body of a young man with a partially severed leg when the limp’s owner came into view.

           “That’s noble of you, doctor, but my son’s dead.” A well-dressed man favoring his right foot shuffled over to the edge of the carnage and hung his head of closely cropped salt and pepper hair in sorrow.

           “I…I’m sorry.” Noble was never a word used to describe Dr. Thatcher. She adopted a sympathetic expression but didn’t correct his misguided assumption.

           “I’m Henry Spencer.” She nearly fainted. Henry Spencer was the railroad magnate and the wealthiest man on the east coast, and he thought she tried to save his son! Perhaps her luck had changed, and there was some profit she could make from this.

           “Dr. Thatcher.”

           “Let me repay you for your efforts, doctor.” He held out a hand to help her out of the massacre.

           “Um…” she uttered feigning humility.

           “I insist.” As gracefully as she could, she accept his offer of assistance and decided to extend some of her own.

           “I can help you with your foot,” Dr. Thatcher said as they walked out of the warehouse together.