Frankenstein 2.0

I ran his fingers over the naked skin of his subject lying on the table.  His fingers told him his specimen was perfect. The skin was like the skin on his own hands.  I was warned not to play God with the double helix, but once you taste the sweet juice of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, it's hard not to eat it right down to the core like Adam did when it was offered to him by Eve.

There was a strong heartbeat and his breathing seemed normal with a high percentage of oxygen filling his lungs.  His eyes fluttered and then opened. I, Dr. Dawson gasped when my subject reached up to touch my face, such a gentle loving touch.

Inorganic liquid polymers had turned into living, breathing tissue, this exceeded all my expectations.

"I shall call you Boris after my mentor and teacher." My voice was barely a whisper.

"Bor-us." He repeated in a voice that sounded like an angel or a child's first word, either way it was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. 

Boris' cognitive expansion was astounding to say the least.  I had engineered his DNA for above average intelligence, but even with the moderate adjustment, I noticed Boris cognitive growth was nearly exponential.  All of his reflexes were above average and his metabolic rate helped with growth potential.  While I had constructed him to be an adolescent, in three weeks time his homeostasis was that of a young adult.  There wasn't one flaw in his genetic make up, in using A sports metaphor, I had hit it out of the park.

"So who is that striking young man I've been seeing you with?." Lilith Dorchester asked me when I went into her bakery with Boris in tow.

"Lilith, this is Boris." I introduced him to her.  She was quite taken with his rugged good looks.

"Please to meet you, Lilith." Boris took her hand gently as I had taught him.  I could not be more pleased.

She flirted with him, but he was still learning some of the social graces.  He was still A babe, be it A very intelligent babe.

After purchasing our dinner at the market, I gave him A Wechsler Intelligence Test and was again astounded that he measured close to 180, well above genius level.  I did not score over 150.  It made me wonder if his cognitive abilities were limitless.  If this was the case, it made me wonder what might happen when he did reach his IQ for real.

Meanwhile my fellow researchers began to put together what I had managed to do in my laboratory.

"Dr. Dawson, did you tinker with some of the DNA coding we were working on?" Dr. Patricia Owens asked me.

"Of course not, that would be highly unethical." I pretended to be hurt by her comment.

"I am hearing rumors and I'm not sure how to react.  We have strict ethical rules about our genetic engineering guidelines.  These rules are internationally binding." She tilted her head as if this would help her determine if I was lying.

"I am well aware of the rules-"

"And consequences." She added.

"Yes, yes." I held up my hand.

"I hope so, because our research has not explored what would happen if we actually produced A living human prototype." She opened a cabinet and removed some peptic acid. "You have to tell me that you won't tinker with the parts of our research.  There are rumors that some government has hacked into our research, someone not bound by international agreements, has created a prototype they are calling Frankenstein 2.0." She poured some liquid in A beaker.  

  Frankenstein 2.0?  

I read that Mary Shelly classic work in school where she weighed in heavily on the moral quandary of bringing inanimate tissue back to life.  In her famous novel, she put heavy judgment on alchemy practices that were common in her time. What we were doing was not alchemy, but science in its purest form. We were not striving to raise the dead.  We were trying to use the building blocks of Deoxyribonucleic acid to create life.  Relying on Nature to take care of this process has produced its share of genetic mutations and disorders that we could repair with simple manipulation that could save A lifetime of suffering.

How could this be unethical?  

Her name was Beth Grayson.  She had gotten into her car after her shift at O'Malley's and someone concealed in her backseat slit the young woman's throat.  There were other details the press would not reveal to the public. It was quite disturbing, because O'Malley's was just around the corner of a cross street.  I did not know the unfortunate victim, but I was friends with one of the bartenders who told me there was a guy who kept trying to get her phone number.

"The dude just wouldn't leave her alone.  I asked Beth if she wanted me to walk her to her car, but she said she'd be alright.  I wish I had insisted more." He shrugged. "He used a butcher knife for Chrissake." 

When I got home, my thoughts filled with paranoia, I checked the drawer where I keep the silverware and saw one of my knives was missing.  I could feel my heart begin to race.  

Boris was not in the apartment.  I felt myself begin to panic. As I got my jacket to go look for him, Boris walked in the door.

"Going out?" He asked me with his crooked smile that everyone found so appealing.

"I was thinking about it." My laugh was forced and I knew I did not hide it very well.

 "I like to go out to stretch my legs every so often." He sat on the couch as if he owned the place.

"Sounds delightful." I hung up my coat on the rack.

"This is such a nice neighborhood.  I am getting to know some of them." 

I felt A chill run through me. I could not account for the deeds he did while I was not around. I did not want to bring up the subject of the missing knife at this time.  He turned on the television using the remote. 

"No wonder they call it the boob tube." He rolled his eyes.

"Why not listen to music instead?" I suggested.

"I'm not much into music." He sniffed.

I went to my room knowing that he was the one who killed Beth for no other reason other than he could get away with it. And since I was his creator, I was responsible for his actions or at least it felt that way.  Victor Frankenstein professed his guilt for his creation, I would do the same.  Would Boris take me to the four corners of the world to prevent him from committing his heinous crimes?

"Dr. Dawson." I heard my name called and nearly jumped out of my skin.  It turned out to be Dr. Edward Sykes. "Aren't you jumpy these days?"

"Got A lot on my mind." I tried to laugh it off.

"My, my, another slasher victim." He glanced at the front page of the newspaper that was delivered to our laboratory every morning. "I do hope the police catch that maniac." 

"Me too." I coughed into my hand.

The rest of the day, I was on the edge wondering what Boris was up to.

When I got home that evening, Boris was not there.  I opened the drawer and saw another knife was missing. I did not know what to do.  I grabbed my jacket and went to look for him on foot.  It was raining heavily as I sloshed through the city streets.  Each streetlight flashed images of violence and evil, but when I drew near, the images were nothing more than tricks of light and shadow.

When I finally stumbled into my apartment, Boris was sitting in my easy chair reading the newspaper.  As I hung up my soaking wet jacket, he looked up at me and smiled, "Where on earth have you been?"

"Searching for you." I answered collapsing on the couch.

"Why on earth would you be doing that?" He shrugged.

"I've been worried." 

"About what?" He chuckled.

"What do you do when I'm not here?  Be honest." I implored him.

"I keep to myself." He answered, "You don't seem to pay much attention to me, after all, Phillip."

"I'm sorry, but I've been putting extra time in the laboratory.  I'm due for some time off.  I thought we could spend some time exploring." I nodded.

"I don't need a babysitter." He laughed, "I do just fine on my own." 

"What is it you do when I'm not here?" I put my hand on my forehead that was throbbing.

"Do I ask you what it is you do?" He sneered.

"No, but I've told you about my time in the lab." I got up and got myself a beer from the refrigerator.

"Maybe if you drank less, it would clear your head." His comment was a direct attack on my habits that felt like an open handed slap.

"I made you." I said after taking a swig from the bottle.

"So am I supposed to worship you like my creator?  Be more human and fall at your feet for giving me life?" He tilted his head, his eyes seemed to penetrate my eyes on A straight path to my soul. I felt as naked as Adam in the eyes of God, "What you violated were the rules when you made me.  I was not born from a woman, I came from a glass test tube."

"You sound bitter and angry." I looked at him as his face turned red.

"I am.  You do not know the depth of my anger, Phillip." He looked away, "When you were putting the proteins together, did it ever occur to you that some of the peptic proteins might mesh against each other.  While my intellect is superior, so too is my anger?  I feel my heartbeat quicken.  I feel the heat rise in me until I can't tolerate it any longer and I ask myself why would someone do this to me...and you did this to me.  You didn't have any regard as to what you had done.  All I was to you was a giant jigsaw to prove you were just as powerful as God.  And what really makes me angry is this will be repeated and repeated and repeated!" 

He slammed his fist on the wall driving his hand through the drywall as if it was paper.

"I need to prowl."  His face was twisted and distorted as he yanked the door open and ran through the halls.  I tried to run after him, but he disappeared into the dark shadows of the moon less night.

The next morning, I did not want to look at the newspaper in the lab,   

But then Dr. Sykes delighted in broadcasting gloomy news and he was already telling everyone about the slaughter of a panhandler in an alleyway making sure to cover every single gory snippet of the poor man's dissection. He spoke as if titillated by the details written in the article.  He was identified as Amos Crabtree, a junkie who was not above using a weapon to rob citizens passing by.  

"Dr. Dawson, you look rather peaked." He observed as he noticed my pale face. I tried to turn away from him, but it was already too late.

"You killed that panhandler." I pointed my finger at him.

"No I did not." He did not look up at me.  

Silence. 

"His name was Amos Crabtree and he pulled a knife.  I was just defending myself." He said without a hint of remorse in his voice.  When he finally looked me in the eye, I could see what I had feared the most, his eyes had no light.  They were dead.

"You can't kill.  Killing is wrong." I felt foolish saying this, but I knew that Boris had no intention of ceasing his nighttime activity.

I began locking my bedroom door. Even with the door locked, I could hear him rant and rave like a lunatic.  If I called the police I would have to identify him and that would mean I'd have to admit to what I had done.  I was caught in a dilemma I had no wish to be a part of.  

I could kill him, but that would open up yet another Pandora's Box where I could be held for murder.  And then if I didn't kill him, the murders would continue.  He was far too smart and diabolical to be caught.     

Dr. Patricia Owens caught me in the hall.  She always had suspicions about me, "Dr. Dawson, can we have a chat?" 

"What's on your mind, Dr. Owens" I was washing some beakers in the sink.

"Have you created a genotype?" She asked.

"No, why would you ask that?" I felt as if a large electrical surge went through my entire body.

"These murders are random and have little or no motivation." She leaned on the sink in front of me.

"Random and no motivation?" 

"Exactly what I'd expect a prototype to behave like." She snapped her fingers.

"How would you know?" I said a little too defensively.

"You did.  I knew it." She nodded.

"No..."

"Is his name Boris?" She asked, the name sounded like an explosion going off in my head. "You were warned not to be fooling around with the research, but you did.  I have no choice, but to bring you up on disciplinary charges. I have sent the police to apprehend him." 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I warned her.

The next morning, Dr. Patricia Owens' body was found in her submerged car with her throat cut so deeply she was nearly decapitated. The entire company was in shock, but when I got home Boris was agitated beyond anything I had seen before.

"They took me in like a common criminal." He pulled his hair, "I am here to dispel justice."    

"Murdering Dr. Owens?" 

"She was the one who brought charges." He slammed his fist on the table. "She had to die." 

I had done this.  Dr. Owens was right, but it didn't do her any good now.  Something had to be done.  My turn was coming. Scientists were expected to give their lives to the studies like Madame Curie, but I felt in doing so, I would forever be linked to Frankenstein 2.0.  Circumstances of discoveries can yield unexpected results.

Boris was not at the apartment and judging from the looks of what he left behind, he had left for good.  The police came to the door after I ate dinner. They brought me into the station for questioning, but I felt that they did not believe my answers. 

I knew if Boris was to be found, it would be up to me to find him.

I was drawn to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, a bit of gothic architecture rising above the modern landscape of glass and concrete structures.  The rain continued to fall heavily as the lightning lit up the ebony black sky.  Along the edge of the roof of the cathedral some one hundred plus feet above the pavement.  Two police officers appeared screaming as they fell from the roof where gargoyles kept their silent vigil.  When they reached the concrete, their bodies exploded.

Boris was up there somewhere.  

I forced in the door near the side entrance and began to climb the stairs that led to the roof access.  Stepping out onto the roof, I did not see Boris, but I felt his presence as surely as I felt the rain. 

“Boris!” I called out to him, but he was keeping silent counsel with the gargoyles.  Each of their carved stone faces did not betray which one of them was not truly of their rank and file. “Boris!”

“You did this to me!” I heard the anger in his voice as he stepped forward from the flock.

“Did what?” I asked as my heart once again began to pound.  His presence was commanding as it had been from the beginning. 

“You found my murder gene.” His satanic grin told me that there would be no escaping his wrath this time. “You were reckless in your discovery, weren’t you? There are only four basic peptic acids, but there is an endless combination when assembled in the double helix.  One small error and you’ve created a monster, like me.” 

“I am sorry.” I held out my hands as he took a menacing step toward me.  He would surely throw me over the side like he did those two doomed police officers. 

“Sorry?  Sorry does not bring back Dr. Patricia Owens, now does it?  You wanted her dead and I took care of that for you.”

He put his hands on me, his fingers found their way to my larynx as he began to squeeze with his powerful hands.  I could feel the blockage as his grip tightened.  I began to swoon from the lack of oxygen.  As I felt my knees start to buckle, I readed in my pocket and pulled out the knife I had concealed.  With a quick upward jab, the gargoyle grunted just as the blood began to flow from his mouth.

“You…you…must come with me.”  He peered at me from the corner of his eyes.  I felt his hand loosen its grip as he began to fall.  I would not look to see him strike the pavement. 

Helicopters filled the sky as I lifted my hands up, dropping the bloody knife as I did.