A morally questionable scientist accidentally creates a sentient child in an attempt to save his dying daughter.
“She is not a child. She is not my daughter. She is a failed experiment. That’s it.”
The Scientist’s daughter was dying and he was desperate to save her by any means necessary. He illegally and artificially created the Subject, the perfect donor body, but was taken by surprise when the Subject turned out to be a fully conscious child. Faced with the choice of taking care of the child he accidentally created or saving his daughter, the Scientist chose the latter. He kept the Subject locked in the basement with full intent to kill her to save his daughter.
The Scientist’s plan ultimately failed and his daughter died, leaving him with the “thing” meant to save her.
It’s been years since his daughter died and the Scientist has kept the Subject locked up alone in the basement, refusing to acknowledge that she is a child and treating her strictly as an experiment. He keeps a rigid routine when visiting her and attempts to be completely objective, which proves to be difficult as the Subject has grown to be a very friendly child who insists on trying to build some sort of relationship with him.
Nothing’s changed in a long time. The Scientist begins losing sleep because of his worsening mental and emotional states and his exhaustion leads to mistakes, which cause problems with the Subject. When the Subject’s health starts rapidly deteriorating because of him, the Scientist’s forced to reconsider his objectivity but he is adamant about remaining indifferent, endangering the Subject’s life.
Excerpt
She sits across from me with a pleasant grin on her face. She’s nearly always happy to see me. I’ve never understood why. She shouldn’t be.
It sickens me to see her happy.
I don’t return her smile and pretend to read something on my clipboard.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“I’m fine.” I pretend to write down her answer. It’s been the same for years. I don’t even bother to record it anymore.
“Do you have any complaints?” A routine question. I never take any complaints seriously, unless they pertain to her health.
“Nope!” Her cheeriness always confuses me.
She holds out her arm. I stare at her blankly.
“Don’t you need a sample?” she questions, tilting her head.
“Oh, yes, I-” I reach for a syringe but find my pocket empty. “I...I forgot a syringe,” I admit. Her eyes widen.
“But you never forget.” She’s right. I don’t. “Why did you forget?”
“I’m tired,” I mutter, instantly regretting my answer. It only opens the door to more questions.
“Why are you tired?” Her voice is full of concern. Why would she care? She’s most likely more concerned about who will take care of her if something happens to me.
I ignore her question. Over the years, she’s gotten very good at picking up on when I don’t want to talk about something.
“Do you have any questions before I leave?” Wait, no, I didn’t intend to ask her that today. I’m much too tired to think of any safe answers.
“Wait, I-” I can’t drop the question now, I’ve already asked. It is a routine question, though I sometimes avoid it because of our agreement.
“Do...you have a question?” I sigh. We’ve agreed that she is allowed one question per session which I have to respond to but only if I ask her for a question.
“Yes, I want to-um,” she pauses and pulls at the collar of her shirt. She takes a sharp breath and opens her mouth with a look of determination but we make eye contact and her courage seems to abandon her. She quickly lowers her head. “N-no, I don’t have any questions.”
“Fine,” I say, trying to hide my relief, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I stand and head for the door.
“Wait!”
I freeze. She hasn’t objected to my leaving in a long time.
I’d normally ignore her and leave anyway but something’s out of the ordinary. I turn around to find her standing only a couple feet from me. Her head is down and her hands are clenched tightly together. She’s clearly nervous about something. That is very strange. Something must’ve happened.
“What? Is there something wrong?”
“I...I do have a question,” she says, lifting her head, “May I ask it?”
I quickly debate on whether I should allow this. Something’s troubling her. I don’t want this to bottle up and become a problem later on. On the other hand, I don’t know if I can handle something like this right now and, honestly, I’m already sick of looking at her.
She seems to sense my hesitation and softly adds, “Please?”
I nod and motion toward the table. She quickly obeys and sits back down in her chair. I reluctantly return to my chair. This isn’t what I wanted for today’s session. She watches me silently, waiting for permission to speak.
“Well? What’s your question?”
“Why did you make me?”
Quite a concept! Seems to be an updated version of the classic, Frankenstein. But you haven't labeled it as Horror, yet, so it may be science fiction, although the idea of creating a perfect body (without a brain?) donor seems a bit far-fetched even with the possibility of cloning or printing organs for transplantation.
From your reviews, I would say that you have got a good job in writing this scientific thriller.
As deafness, illness, and demonic forces close in around him, Ludwig van Beethoven must summon his faith and genius to complete the Missa Solemnis—a sacred masterpiece he believes could bring divine light into a darkening world.
Part Three in the Mu Series - Sarah Thompson reluctantly abandons her desperate search for her soul mate on Maui and returns to her Montana hometown. Her brother has had a terrible accident...
