Monster

Chapter 19 - The End

Clerval kept his word and canceled his contract with Walt, who was immensely displeased and insisted on being paid a cancellation fee. Clerval had already covered all of Walt's expenses incurred while tracking me down, which was not an insubstantial amount of money. Without the prospect of a breakthrough in defying the aging process and the resulting fortune, he was unwilling to spend any more money on the endeavor.

The argument between the two was conducted over email, so I was thankfully able to keep track of the status of my manhunt. Having considerably more money at my disposal than Clerval, I came to the conclusion that I needed to end the whole thing and pay Walt's fee myself. It was ridiculous, really, basically paying for a bounty hunter to leave me alone, but it was that or spend the next several years, possibly decades, looking over my shoulder.

And so it was that Clerval entered his study one evening to find a thick stack of bills on his desk, along with a note thanking him for holding up his end of the deal and letting him know that I would be monitoring him to ensure he continued to do so. He broke into an alarmed sweat and looked around frantically. His panic nearly became a heart attack when the drone through which I was watching him lifted from the dark corner of the room and flew out the balcony door.

That having been settled, I decided it was best if I took another extended trip to keep myself out of Clerval's and Walt's minds. Once life had moved forward and they had moved on, I would consider returning to New York. Until then: Iceland.

Reykjavik was as beautiful as always. I had been to Iceland a few times in the past, and loved everything about it: the architecture, the people, and most of all the culture. The remnants of Norse history are deeply ingrained in Icelandic society, and it gives the people an air of timelessness. It suited me perfectly.

I did not speak much Icelandic, but enough Icelanders spoke English for me to get by without any difficulties and I rented a house on the outskirts of Reykjavik. I lived a simple life, keeping to myself mostly, and returned to a fairly normal routine of exercise, reading, and coffee. Once a week I'd explore a different part of the ever-changing landscape. There were many places that were nearly impossible to traverse in the winter months, but others that were even more breathtaking at that time of the year.

One of my favorite places had always been Hornstrandir, particularly the Hornbjarg cliffs, to which I'd hike and sit on the edge, staring at the sea. The enormity of the sky above, the danger of the water below, the crash of the waves, and the cries of the multitude of birds, all served to make me feel small and isolated. It helped that few people felt the same desire to hike several miles for the peaceful but less than spectacular view when Iceland had so much else to offer tourists and photographers.

But for me, nowhere else gave me the same feeling of being close to my Goddess. The moss-covered rocks were Her green-flecked brown eyes. The setting sun, reflecting citrine on the dark water, was the copper in Her auburn hair. The icy grey sky above was the silver of Her hair in the last three decades of Her life. In the lush landscape, I found the bed we had once shared and the sunlight was the soft warmth of Her body. The dichotomy of crumbling rock and flowering fields was Her sharp wit and Her vulnerability.

I found Francesca Von Stein in every aspect of the world around me, though I knew She was not there. She couldn't be. Her body had been lost, and no amount of ice, in the land or in a lab, could change that.

On one visit to Hornbjarg, nearly a year after I'd begun living in Reykjavik, I felt someone come up behind me as I stood above the cliff face. We were silent for long minutes, staring at the water and sky. A bird flew over head, calling to its flock.

I turned around and met Walt's cold eyes. "I knew you'd come for me eventually."

He stood there, looking for all the world like a tour guide in a parka, beanie, and hiking boots. His hands were in his pockets as he calmly turned his gaze to me. "There is a special bond between the hunter and his prey," he replied as though he were speaking of an arctic fox and a puffin instead of us.

"Once the prey realizes it is being hunted, it ceases to ever feel completely safe. And once a hunter has something in his sights, he can't rest until he has caught his prize."

"So you will continue to hunt me, even though you're no longer being paid to do so, just because I got away?"

He shook his head, pulling a Ruger LC380 from his coat pocket, and aiming it at me. "No. The hunt ends today."

I looked at his gun and then, after glancing around to make sure we were alone on the desolate cliffs, pulled my custom pistol out of my own parka. "Yes," I said simply. "I guess it does."

We stood still, aiming our respective guns at each other, waiting to see what the other would do. I cocked my head thoughtfully. "Why do you care, though? Why am I more than just a paid job for you? It can't really be just about the hunt – you're good at what you do and I'm sure you have plenty of other jobs lined up, people to track down and ensnare."

Walt's expression remained neutral, though his eyes hardened – just a little. "Clerval claims he was mistaken about you, but I've dug deeper into your past than that idiot would ever consider, and I know that he was correct. I suspect you bribed him to change his plans regarding you, but I'm not actually that interested in the money.

"I know that you're an abomination. You are the epitome of scientists breaking all the rules. You are an example of what happens when doctors think they are gods; a combination of harvested organs in a formerly dead body, with a mind manipulated to reflect only what the creator wants, without regard to the consequences." He cocked his gun, and I cocked mine in response. He took a step toward me and took two steps back. A rock crumbled and fell as my foot hit the cliff edge. Then he continued speaking.

"What is to stop scientists from manipulating life however they choose if there are no consequences for their actions? What's to stop them from bringing back the dead, or stealing peoples' lives, bodies, and memories for their own deluded glory?"

"Do you really think my death will change that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and adjusting my finger on the trigger.

Again, he shook his head. "No, but I will do my best to ensure that doesn't happen, and if it does, I will hunt down and kill every monster like you."

And without another word, he pulled the trigger. The moment I heard the shot ring out, my own followed. My bullet hit him in the chest, puncturing a lung, and ensuring he died painfully and slowly enough to feel the fear and agony of imminent death.

I had only a split second to notice this fact as the force of the bullet I'd taken to my own chest, combined with the minor recoil of the shot I'd fired, caused me to lose my balance and sent me reeling over the cliff to the deadly jags of rock and violent waves below.

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