Post Chapter Four - Malcolm

When Malcolm was about six, he had a nightmare. He dreamt he had been ripped from his mothers arms and stolen by a witch.  When he woke, he could feel it still.  The way his mother had tried to hold onto him. The bruises that had bloomed on his tiny arms as she tried to keep him curled against her chest. Her screams still echoed in his ears and when the witch had gotten her claws into him, she had ripped him away from love and safety and warmth, plunging him into a sticky green darkness.

He had woken Lucinda that night, telling her of the tale. Crying and shuddering because he thought someone was going to take him from her.  But when he had tried to crawl into her bed, he felt nothing but cold.

After lying still for several minutes, she had simply sent him back to bed, telling it it was a dream. One he should not speak of again.

Sitting within Victor Frankenstein's home, Malcolm remembered the nightmare vividly now.  He couldn’t recall the face of the woman who had given birth to him.  He had always been told he had two mothers, but Lucinda was the only one who was alive now. She was the one who raised him and therefore, the only mother he had known.

Over the years he had tried to fill in the gaps of the other woman but he was certain that it was just his own mind creating memories where there were none.  He wasn’t sure the moment even existed. But all he could think now was that the wrong mother had come back.

“Here.” A gruff voice came from his right. When he looked up, he saw Marie. The doctors… assistant? He wasn’t sure what exactly her role was here other than to intimidate some of the more unruly patients. She was holding a syringe though and looking at him expectantly. “If you wish to keep your form, you need to start taking your supplements again.”

Malcolm raised a brow. “Who says I haven’t?”

“Me.” She walked forward, sticking the needle in his arm.  He hissed a little as the cool treatment seeped into his veins. “Come back here every three moons, please. And I have a list of others you will need to make contact with in case you do not wish to come here for treatments.   The ones you probably saw when you were alive are dead now.”

Malcolm rubbed at his arm. “You’re very blunt.”

“Yes.”

“I can appreciate that.” Malcolm felt tired. Far more tired than he thought he had any right to be. But he also couldn’t remember a full night's sleep since coming back. Now, with the idea of Lucinda around, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to sleep again.  The fear of her coming into his home was far too real.  And the fact that Hazel was stuck in her clutches, filled him with a sickness.

“I do not know if I should be telling you this because of the ethical questions that arise, but I could provide you with a poison to stab Lucinda Albright with.”

Malcolm startled at that, looking at Marie as if she may be joking. “I– uh– my mother doesn’t go down easily.”

“No. But it would make her suffer.” She paused, frowning. “And do not say mother. She is not your mother. The ones who are privileged with that title are the individuals who love and care for their children. She does not love you.”

Malcolm didn’t know if he should laugh or tell this woman to leave. Though in the end, it was more telling to him that he didn’t disagree with her. “Thankfully I’ve already processed that or this moment might actually hurt.”

“The truth should be stated far more than it actually is. People are foolish to believe that softening their tone achieves anything.”

Malcolm nodded. Maybe they all needed eye patch wearing, no nonsense women in their lives. “I’ll pass on the poison for now. But I may take you up on the offer later. When I know it won’t somehow power her up.”

It was a thought that looked as if it had crossed Marie’s mind as well because she didn’t seem to think this an illogical request.  “Bring your sister to me for rehabilitation,” she said without a preamble.

“You think it’s that bad?”

“If you do not then you are more hung up on the nuclear myth of what a family is than I thought.” She was disposing of the syringe, placing it in a metal container that would later be put with the rest of the hazardous materials. “Your sister is being held hostage by a woman who selfishly only looks to her own means. Just because she birthed her does not mean that there is any form of affection there.”

“Marie, you just really get to the point, huh.”

“Yes.”

“I have someone I would like you to talk to,” he murmured.

“The one you speak of is out on the porch, pouting. I do not wish to waste my time with them.”

Malcolm snorted. Yeah, that sounded like Milo. “How’s Lamplight?”

“The Night Market is dehydrated and will need far more electrolytes injected into them. We have started pumping it into the land as a sort of experiment to see if we can treat the body's afflictions through the realm.  Victor believes that we have to fix the overall health of the beings in the realm to fix the Night Market as a whole.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think that is sentimental experimental science.  The construct shouldn’t exist. That is why it is sick.” It was said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Yet, all Malcolm could think about was what was actually under that eyepatch.

“But what about the market as a realm? They are sick too.”

“They are growing,” Marie said firmly. “Growing pains happen. And I believe they are being attacked.”

“They are,” Malcolm agreed.

“Then why are we saying it is a sickness as opposed to what it actually is. Murder.”

The intensity of which Marie said that last word made the hair on Malcolm’s arms stand.  There was just something about her.  Whether she was speaking out of her ass or not was hard to tell.

“Marie, you are a very succinct woman. I appreciate that.”

“Appreciate that more when you come back for more treatment. You do not go through back alley surgeries only to let it all go to hell when you are comfortable in life.”

“You know my past?” he wasn’t sure how he liked that.  But Marie never said anything further. Because Victor was calling, singing out for tea.  She disappeared from the room without another world, leaving Malcolm on his own.

Lucinda Albright didn’t deserve the title of mother.  For as crazy and slightly invasive as Marie seemed, she was right on one thing. Lucinda was not his mother. That was reserved for the woman who had tried to protect him from her.  Wherever she may rest now.