Act I, Scene V

                                    

                                          
"Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it."
~ Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
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The morgue?
The morgue couldn't possibly cause her more discomfort than the hospital had. After all, the people in the morgue were no longer suffering.
"I do not fear the dead," she said, more to herself than to the physician. "In truth, I pity them. And their loved ones."
Dr. Reed nodded, his eyes adopting an awareness that suggested he could relate all too well.
"One moment, please," he said.
With a brisk turn, he stepped to the far corner of the room. A basin was nestled there, and he poured clean water into it from a smooth, white pitcher. Using a cloth and a worn bar of soap, he worked up a lather and scrubbed his hands. At last, seeming satisfied, he thoroughly rinsed and dried them.
Lucy watched, fascinated. Every tic and motion of this man exuded grace. Was it learned, or innate? Would she ever be a creature of such elegance?
Dr. Reed noticed Lucy observing his actions, and gave her a wry smile. "Professional habit."
"And a good one," she said.
"Quite."
He held the door for her, and they returned to the maze of hallways, at last finding the stairs, and stepping outside into the fog.
The night was eerie around this hour, the air feeling both bitter and humid. It was only mid-autumn, but the nights were already beginning to bite with the frigid cold of English winter. The fog settled over every surface, so thick that they struggled to see the ground twenty feet in front of them as they walked. Even with his familiarity as a staff member, Dr. Reed had difficulty finding the gates that led to the courtyard.
After fumbling with the rusted padlock for a moment, Dr. Reed took a ring of keys from the pocket of his trousers. He used the longest of the assortment to unlock the gate. Ushering Lucy through, he closed the gate in haste, then led her across the silent courtyard.
On the far end, they stopped in front of a rotting door, the wood and hinges of which displaying a combination of neglect and poor weather. Using another key, Dr. Reed unlocked the door with a satisfying click. The door swung open, revealing a set of steep stone steps descending into a dark void. The oppressive odor of chemicals masking the stink of decay greeted them.
Dr. Reed paused, his expression unreadable.
"What's wrong?" Lucy asked. She touched his shoulder in concern, but withdrew her hand a moment later. The gesture was much too forward.
Dr. Reed didn't seem to notice. He gave an absentminded shake of his head.
"This mixture of smells...it reminds me of my maker."
Oblivious to the shock this statement had caused Lucy, he stepped through the doorway, offering her his hand.
"Permit me," he said. "The stairs are a bit uneven."
Lucy's breath caught in her throat. There was something unsettling about this situation. Something all too familiar.
She took his hand, and they descended the stairs. The stench of old death became more potent with each step. She longed to hear more about his maker, but this was not the time ask.
"It's so dark," she whispered.
"No need to worry."
At the bottom of the stone steps, Dr. Reed released her hand. He stepped forward and lit a small gas lamp which was situated upon a nearby podium.