Unwanted Interests
I am beginning to believe that not one day will pass without havoc running amok.
My night was interrupted by the sound of a muted thud. Not someone falling, no. But a dead body being placed upon the table across the way from my work station. I am becoming used to the odd habits of the one that shares the laboratory with me, enough that all I did was return to my work. I tried to tolerate the smell as long as it was possible though eventually I had to go upstairs to clear my senses.
Mr. Chagny was there, and so I questioned him concerning his wounds, ensuring that they were healing properly. They are, thankfully. Though this does not ease my concern when we do not know what is causing these wounds. I spoke with the Count for a few moments about them. The more we talked, the more I decided I must find what is attacking the people here. There was little wrong about it until the great illness of Mrs. Linton, as well as the fact that two had been attacked in the period of one night.
He brought up an interesting topic; what if others begin to think that I was the culprit? I have seen to each of them after they were bitten, and I am beginning to learn more about them than others. There are people around me when I tend to someone, and I am often among a crowd when the person is attacked. It could not be me. I had briefly assumed that it might be Hyde, though he would not attack another in such a manner. No, his attacks are quite less subtle.
Another mentioned that it could have been the madwoman, and here was something that Mr. Chagny had stated that gave me pause. He mentioned that Liza was the only other that was there when he was bitten. This was not too long after he told me he was bitten while he had been stolen away. Does Liza know where they had been? Where we could find them again should they become kidnapped? Perhaps I will speak to her later of that issue once I have solved this one with the blood draining.
Mr. Rochester made the mistake of going outside of the mansion and ended up being attacked by his woman. I tended to the wound, and while I did so, I studied it carefully. I was correct in my assumptions. The bites the others are being subjected to were nothing like the one the madwoman had inflicted. There were impressions of her bicuspids, incisors as well as pre-molars. Another thing that concerns me are the number of bites upon the man, one set of which appeared like the canine-only bites. Nevertheless, I kept my observations to myself and stitched him up.
How I wished that Mr. Rochester had simply gone upstairs once I was finished. He remained, though, and began asking me of interests. I tried to tell him, repeatedly, that I have no interest in any one at the mansion. Then he continued on, trying to pry something from me concerning who I might be drawn to. It eventually came down to that I enjoy women with hair and intelligence. Thankfully he ceased asking me questions and I wallowed in my own loneliness in silence.
What was I to tell him, truly? That there has been one that sparked just a bit of interest; someone that is completely out of my league and would first laugh at me before even considering the prospect. And most of all...someone that is already taken. It is only a silly passing interest. I do not know her, and being trapped in this mansion had only made me come realize that I am alone; truly alone. Everyone that has arrived knows someone else, and yet I sat and watched the door, hoping beyond hope that someone I know would come through it; Utterson, Poole, even that penant Lanyon.
I am a fool to allow myself to go as far as I have, to even think of being interested is not like me. If I had been back in London, trapping myself in my laboratory, it would be different. I could go on and continue being alone, knowing that I did not have to have contact with another unless I wish it. While I could remain in my upstairs room, or the laboratory all evening, I cannot. People are becoming harmed and I feel as if I have an obligation to help. Perhaps more than obligation...I just wish to be useful where I had been so neglecting of others before, including myself. At least in these trials and tribulations, there are brief moments I can steal away...
I have no time for women, I have no time for women, I have no time for women. Especially those that hardly notice that I am present in the same room. I will tell myself this day in and day out until I feel I no longer have to suffer myself through the mantra. I should be used to being invisible, but it somehow bothers me when I am trying to place myself out there among others. Just why has this happened? Is it because he has not been able to sate himself in many weeks? Or perhaps he is not getting the attention he had among the streets and it is projecting through me. Or perhaps it is simply from the constant exposure, like water weathering away stone?
He is sensing my torment and is trying hard to allow me to awaken him completely. I am tempted...so sorely tempted. Through him I can release these thoughts, these anxieties and brooding tendencies. I can hide behind his attitude, his temperament and words. I can speak of my frustrations and act upon them without qualm or guilt. He stirs, claws stretching; I can almost see him in the back of my mind, sleek and grotesque.
Perhaps it is time he came out for some air.
Just for a little while...
My night was interrupted by the sound of a muted thud. Not someone falling, no. But a dead body being placed upon the table across the way from my work station. I am becoming used to the odd habits of the one that shares the laboratory with me, enough that all I did was return to my work. I tried to tolerate the smell as long as it was possible though eventually I had to go upstairs to clear my senses.
Mr. Chagny was there, and so I questioned him concerning his wounds, ensuring that they were healing properly. They are, thankfully. Though this does not ease my concern when we do not know what is causing these wounds. I spoke with the Count for a few moments about them. The more we talked, the more I decided I must find what is attacking the people here. There was little wrong about it until the great illness of Mrs. Linton, as well as the fact that two had been attacked in the period of one night.
He brought up an interesting topic; what if others begin to think that I was the culprit? I have seen to each of them after they were bitten, and I am beginning to learn more about them than others. There are people around me when I tend to someone, and I am often among a crowd when the person is attacked. It could not be me. I had briefly assumed that it might be Hyde, though he would not attack another in such a manner. No, his attacks are quite less subtle.
Another mentioned that it could have been the madwoman, and here was something that Mr. Chagny had stated that gave me pause. He mentioned that Liza was the only other that was there when he was bitten. This was not too long after he told me he was bitten while he had been stolen away. Does Liza know where they had been? Where we could find them again should they become kidnapped? Perhaps I will speak to her later of that issue once I have solved this one with the blood draining.
Mr. Rochester made the mistake of going outside of the mansion and ended up being attacked by his woman. I tended to the wound, and while I did so, I studied it carefully. I was correct in my assumptions. The bites the others are being subjected to were nothing like the one the madwoman had inflicted. There were impressions of her bicuspids, incisors as well as pre-molars. Another thing that concerns me are the number of bites upon the man, one set of which appeared like the canine-only bites. Nevertheless, I kept my observations to myself and stitched him up.
How I wished that Mr. Rochester had simply gone upstairs once I was finished. He remained, though, and began asking me of interests. I tried to tell him, repeatedly, that I have no interest in any one at the mansion. Then he continued on, trying to pry something from me concerning who I might be drawn to. It eventually came down to that I enjoy women with hair and intelligence. Thankfully he ceased asking me questions and I wallowed in my own loneliness in silence.
What was I to tell him, truly? That there has been one that sparked just a bit of interest; someone that is completely out of my league and would first laugh at me before even considering the prospect. And most of all...someone that is already taken. It is only a silly passing interest. I do not know her, and being trapped in this mansion had only made me come realize that I am alone; truly alone. Everyone that has arrived knows someone else, and yet I sat and watched the door, hoping beyond hope that someone I know would come through it; Utterson, Poole, even that penant Lanyon.
I am a fool to allow myself to go as far as I have, to even think of being interested is not like me. If I had been back in London, trapping myself in my laboratory, it would be different. I could go on and continue being alone, knowing that I did not have to have contact with another unless I wish it. While I could remain in my upstairs room, or the laboratory all evening, I cannot. People are becoming harmed and I feel as if I have an obligation to help. Perhaps more than obligation...I just wish to be useful where I had been so neglecting of others before, including myself. At least in these trials and tribulations, there are brief moments I can steal away...
I have no time for women, I have no time for women, I have no time for women. Especially those that hardly notice that I am present in the same room. I will tell myself this day in and day out until I feel I no longer have to suffer myself through the mantra. I should be used to being invisible, but it somehow bothers me when I am trying to place myself out there among others. Just why has this happened? Is it because he has not been able to sate himself in many weeks? Or perhaps he is not getting the attention he had among the streets and it is projecting through me. Or perhaps it is simply from the constant exposure, like water weathering away stone?
He is sensing my torment and is trying hard to allow me to awaken him completely. I am tempted...so sorely tempted. Through him I can release these thoughts, these anxieties and brooding tendencies. I can hide behind his attitude, his temperament and words. I can speak of my frustrations and act upon them without qualm or guilt. He stirs, claws stretching; I can almost see him in the back of my mind, sleek and grotesque.
Perhaps it is time he came out for some air.
Just for a little while...