Chapter Text
PART I
The house was disturbingly empty: spacious, silent rooms devoid of life, the only sound being Vesta’s footsteps against the floor.
When Strabo bought that house, so big it bordered on excessive, he had told Vesta it would be good for Sejanus. He said he was a boy and needed space to run, space to play. Maybe it was true, and maybe in the coming years Vesta would see her son running through the corridors and lying in the grass. Maybe. Who knows? No one could be sure.
There was no Sejanus anymore to fill the wide, empty hallways.
The house was far too large for a family of only three people. The year before, Strabo had given Sejanus a cat, a small, fluffy thing, begrudgingly so, as he believed a boy his age should have a dog, a dog that could fill the massive space. Vesta doubted it would have been enough, but now it didn’t matter. There was no one left but Vesta and the empty rooms. Sometimes, she wondered if she regretted insisting on staying in the house. The suburban construction, outwardly so similar to all the rows of other houses in the neighborhood, was internally so different, so dissonant, and had always been one of Strabo’s greatest prides. She was surprised he hadn’t insisted on keeping it during the meetings with the lawyer.
“Come home,” her sister had said after the funeral, holding her face. “Come back to San Juan. There will always be a place in my house for you.”
Maybe it would have done her good, going back home. Back to San Juan. Back to the place she perhaps should never have left, no matter how much she had wanted to give Sejanus a better life, and no matter how much Strabo had convinced her that it was in the United States that her son would have a better education than either of them had growing up on their native island. But Vesta couldn’t leave that house. She couldn’t leave behind the photographs hanging on the cream-painted walls, couldn’t leave the backyard where Sejanus’s bike still lay abandoned, waiting for its owner to return, and couldn’t leave his room, still untouched.
Sejanus’s room. Maybe that was why she had insisted so adamantly on being the one to keep the house. She could never leave his room behind.
It became part of her routine, a moment that repeated every day. Vesta would shuffle to his room, right next to hers, and open the door. She would run her fingers over the walls, painted a soft shade of green, and wander through his room, much larger than his old one in San Juan. Vesta would let her fingers trace over the small, dusty desk where his backpack still hung from the chair, as though he had merely gone to school and would be back later. She would open the closet, where his clothes remained untouched, without any creases to indicate recent use. The jackets, the shirts, the new sneakers. Vesta would sit on the bed, running her hand over the quilt, which had accumulated dust. She would lie down, placing her head on the pillow and hugging one of the many stuffed animals he had. Sometimes, his little cat would climb onto the bed and curl up beside her, nestling among the plushies. Vesta felt guilty for sometimes forgetting to feed the poor thing, too preoccupied some days with rotting in bed to do anything else.
Some days, she would sigh and find the strength to stroke the small head of the cat. Vesta would murmur:
“You miss him too, don’t you?”
It had been three months since Sejanus had died.
Three months since Vesta Plinth had forgotten what it meant to live.
Her little boy had turned nine at the end of last year, in an October when she had promised a trip to their old house to make up for forbidding him to celebrate Halloween, and to compensate for the birthday party without a single child from his school class. Sejanus was her life. He was the reason she had agreed to move to that country, the reason for everything she did every day. He was the sweetest little boy in the world. It was still fresh, but Vesta feared every day that she would forget what he looked like, forget the sound of his laughter, forget how he smiled.
(It was impossible. She could see it every day when she looked in the mirror. And perhaps that was why she could no longer do it. She couldn’t face a reflection that reminded her of what she had lost. In the early weeks, long and grueling days, her hand had bled. She had punched the bathroom mirror, seeing nothing but a reflection of the baby she would never again hold in her arms. Strabo had come to her aid in the bathroom while all she could do was repeat, over and over, endless apologies as blood dripped from her injured fingers.)
One day, Sejanus was fine.
He was playing in the yard, drawing in his room, skipping on the way to the market, and helping her bake cookies in the kitchen.
The next day, he was sick, burning with fever in bed. Vesta had to hold his hair back while her boy vomited into the toilet, crying, and had to give him cold baths in the dead of night. She didn’t know what to do. They went to doctor after doctor after doctor. No medication was enough. Until even doctors weren’t enough anymore, and Vesta remembered as if it were today the night she had to rush out of the house at dawn, her husband carrying their son in his arms to the hospital. She remembered trembling so much that she couldn’t sign the forms required for his admission, and she remembered being unable to think clearly enough not to mix languages.
Vesta remembered not sleeping for three consecutive days. She remembered not leaving that hospital room, her thumb nervously circling the rosary in her hand, muttering prayers so often repeated they seemed recited, memorized, word for word. She remembered all of it and also remembered leaving the room where her son was admitted for one hour. Just one hour, in the dead of night, to get some air, to breathe, and maybe cry in peace.
One hour was enough. When she left the room, Sejanus was alive.
When she returned, her baby was gone.
"Do you come here every day, don't you?"
Vesta blinked, lifting her gaze. She had gotten lost in her thoughts, caught in her memories. She hadn’t noticed someone nearby.
She went to the cemetery every day where Sejanus was buried, a habit woven into her monotonous routine. Her sister was worried about her, sending messages, calling, asking if Vesta wanted her to move in temporarily until she felt better. But Vesta would never feel better, and she knew it. That was why she always refused. It was better to be alone. That way, no one would question the long hours she spent lying on Sejanus’s bed, staring at the wall. No one would question the cookies she baked with no one to eat them. No one would question why she left the house every day wearing a black dress, one of the prettiest Strabo had given her, along with a heavy coat and sunglasses to hide her swollen eyes.
Just as she went to Sejanus’s room every day to do the same things, taking the same steps, Vesta made the same journey daily to the cemetery. She would get in her car, start it, and drive the thirty-minute route to the place. On the passenger seat sat her bag, which was never empty. After parking, she would follow her usual path, carrying a small stool she always borrowed from the cemetery office. They already knew her name and looked at her with pity. They weren’t the only ones.
Almost religiously, Vesta placed the stool in front of his headstone, which was never empty. She always brought something and always ensured it was clean. This time, she had brought one of his favorite stuffed animals, placing it next to one of the books he had loved most. Vesta ran her thumb across the engraved letters on the headstone:
SEJANUS PLINTH. Beloved Son.
And she would break down crying.
Except this time, her routine was interrupted. She tried to wipe the tears streaming down her swollen face, rubbing her hand across it desperately, sniffling. Vesta hated the idea of crying in front of strangers. She knew how people saw her: with pity, as someone pathetic. She wasn’t either of those things, and she refused to give anyone reason to think so. Vesta frowned, eyeing the person in front of her.
She had walked through that cemetery for months, every day. She had memorized faces, features, and sometimes even names. The janitor greeted her daily, and the office secretary always offered her a slice of cake. Even some of the other mourners, who visited regularly, were familiar to Vesta. But this woman? She was different. Someone Vesta had never seen before. Cold eyes studied her, accompanied by a smirk that sent a shiver down her spine. She wore what appeared to be a lab coat.
Vesta wondered if the woman worked in some medical capacity at the cemetery.
How did this woman know Vesta came to the cemetery every day if she had never seen her there before?
"I... I do," Vesta swallowed hard, trying to steady her trembling voice. "It’s been over a month now, actually."
"Yeah, I noticed."
"Funny," Vesta murmured, almost to herself. "I’ve never seen you here before."
"That’s because I usually stay in less visible areas," the woman shrugged, still smiling, her arms crossed. "But I see everything. I’ve been here a long time."
"A long time? Do you... work at this cemetery?"
"You could say that. I’m a doctor."
That made sense, considering the lab coat she wore and her gear, including boots and gloves. She was likely some kind of medical professional for the cemetery, as Vesta had initially guessed.
"My name is Volumnia Gaul, by the way. Dr. Gaul, actually."
"Vesta Plinth," she extended her hand for the doctor to shake.
"Oh, it’s not wise to shake my hand right now. You know, I’ve been working," she raised her hands, showing the gloves. "It’s not very sanitary, I’d say. But what brings you here every day?"
The tired, exhausted part of Vesta wanted to snap back: what do people come to cemeteries for, after all?
"Visiting my son’s grave."
"Oh. I’m sorry."
Vesta wanted to respond that it was okay. It wasn’t okay. She glanced back at Sejanus’s grave. Vesta expected the woman, Dr. Gaul, to leave her in peace. That’s what most people did when she mentioned losing her son. Vesta didn’t want to see more pitying looks, didn’t want to raise her eyes.
But Dr. Gaul didn’t leave. She stood there, arms crossed, watching her. Another shiver ran down Vesta’s spine. She couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under that gaze.
"Has it been long since he passed?" the doctor asked, her voice carrying a hint of insensitive curiosity.
"Three months."
"And how did he die?"
"I... don’t you think it’s rude to ask something like that?" Vesta frowned, still not looking up.
"My apologies if I sounded intrusive," the doctor clicked her tongue in that same unnervingly sing-song tone. "But I was merely asking to see if you might qualify for a program I have for some of the families I observe here at the cemetery."
"A program...? What are you talking about?"
"You know, the grieving process is long and painful. I’m developing research to ease that experience for mourning individuals."
"I... I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in therapy or medication or anything like that…"
"It’s not therapy, Mrs... Plinth, was it?" Dr. Gaul let out a soft chuckle, and Vesta finally looked up to see her handing over what appeared to be a business card. "It’s an experimental treatment. Although I can’t reveal details since it’s still in testing, if you’re interested, you can call me. We can schedule a meeting, if you’d like. Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Plinth."
Vesta hesitated, looking at the woman’s smile, then at the business card she offered. She took it, her eyes scanning the words as the woman walked away, her boots crunching against the cemetery soil:
VOLUMNIA GAUL
Researcher, Scientist, and Obstetrician.
Vesta didn’t notice that Dr. Gaul’s gloves were stained with dirt and blood.
In her lonely and empty house, on a quiet, solitary night, Vesta sat on the armchair in the living room, resting her cheek on her wrist while spinning the business card given to her by the woman at the cemetery.
Her sister had suggested she seek psychological help, but Vesta had said no. She had insisted she didn’t need such things. And she truly believed she didn’t. All she needed was her son, and no one could give her son back to her. There were no doctors, no medications, no treatments that could return Sejanus to her. There was no health professional who could make her hold her baby in her arms again.
There was no cure or treatment for the hole in her chest.
But…
That night, after the cemetery visit, Vesta returned home and took a bath. She remembered to put food out for Sejanus's cat and didn’t feel hungry. She sat on the armchair in the living room and, for some reason she couldn’t quite explain, decided to open her laptop on her lap while listening to the soft sound of rain tapping against the windows. All Vesta had was a cup of coffee she’d made, the same coffee she drank every day, every night, every afternoon, and every morning. Some habits didn’t die. Her heart clenched as she took another sip from the mug, remembering how Sejanus would ask:
“Ma, when can I drink black coffee like you?”
“When you’re a big boy,” she’d respond with a laugh, running her fingers through his curls, identical to hers. “But for now, you can only drink coffee with milk, got it?”
There would never be a day when Sejanus could drink coffee like a grown-up. After all, there would never be a day when he’d become a big boy. The thought made her set the coffee aside. The thought made her get up from the armchair and go to the coffee table in the living room. Vesta picked up the card she’d been given, analyzing the name printed on it, the details, the phone number. Odd. There was no address. Vesta had never had her own business card, but she knew that an address was usually one of the first things included on one, wasn’t it?
Anyway.
With her laptop open, Vesta couldn’t help but search for the woman’s name. Dr. Volumnia Gaul. She frowned, scrolling through articles. Her eyes widened when one of the first results was about how Dr. Volumnia Gaul, despite her significant research and vast knowledge in medicine, had her license and regional title revoked after serious accusations and disagreements with the ethics council.
What the hell…?
Vesta’s eyes scanned every article, every word, every paragraph. It was madness. Whatever that woman had done, it had been serious. But what could have been so grave to cause such backlash? The article published by the doctor, exposing the results of her abominable research, had been removed from public access. Vesta searched everywhere, spent hours looking online, and still… nothing. She found nothing. Finally, she came across a blog that hadn’t been updated in over a year. But there it was: a photo and a title that made Vesta’s eyes widen, made her world stop, made her forget how to breathe:
SCIENTIST IN UTAH CLAIMS TO DISCOVER METHODS OF RESUSCITATION THROUGH RAT EXPERIMENTS.
Vesta dropped the coffee on the floor, shards of her favorite mug scattering across the carpet. She immediately set her laptop aside. Vesta ran for her phone, dialing the number on the business card, her hands trembling like leaves. She felt she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t properly swallow, and her heart was pounding furiously in her chest. Her phone rang. She waited. Waited. Waited. And waited. Vesta thought she might cry.
“Good evening, who’s calling?”
It was as if she’d forgotten how to breathe, as if she’d forgotten she was on the phone speaking to someone else. Vesta forgot what words she was supposed to say. The silence on the line stretched until…
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Yes!” Her voice came out shrill as Vesta finally forced herself to speak. “Hello! I… my name is Vesta Plinth. I don’t know if you remember me, but I… we met earlier at the cemetery.”
“Oh,” the voice on the other end suddenly took on the same sing-song tone, the same almost mocking tone, but Vesta didn’t care about that now. “Mrs. Plinth. I thought you wouldn’t end up calling my number. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I… you mentioned at the cemetery that you worked with… an experimental process, didn’t you? For grieving people.”
“Yes. It’s not official, and it’s still something confidential, but…”
“I researched you, Dr. Gaul.”
A silence hung on the line. Vesta paced in circles, back and forth. With one finger, she nervously twirled one of the curls in her hair.
“You researched me?” The doctor’s voice sounded almost amused. “And what did you find out about me? I imagine you discovered the university where I graduated.”
“And I also found out that your license was revoked, along with your certification by the regional medical board.”
“You’re not naive, then, Mrs. Plinth. I can only wonder why you’re calling me, knowing all these facts.”
“Your research. The research that led to the revocation of your certification, your license, and your criminal investigation. Is it… is it true that you can… resurrect something… or someone?”
The profound silence that followed made Vesta feel fear—fear that this was just a madwoman. Fear that perhaps she herself was losing her sanity, losing her grip on reality by even considering such a thing, by even thinking that maybe… just maybe…
“Why don’t you come visit me here, in my lab, and see for yourself? I can give you the address.”
She rushed to grab the first coat she could find, slipped on the first pair of shoes she saw on the floor, and grabbed her car keys.
Perhaps Vesta truly was losing her mind.
Vesta checked the address once, twice, three times on the piece of paper where she had written it down, just to be sure, her brow furrowing. It didn’t make sense, but… it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it? Vesta swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before stepping out of her car seat, checking her phone. It was two in the morning. Not long before, she had sent the address to Strabo, just in case the worst happened. Vesta wasn’t sure she would care if the worst did happen. She had nothing left to lose, which was why she closed the car door, the wind blowing her curls into her face.
Dr. Gaul had said it was the address of her laboratory.
Vesta wasn’t sure what to expect, but she certainly hadn’t expected an abandoned laboratory. A large building with a sign indicating it was closed and no longer operational. Even so… Vesta narrowed her eyes. There were lights on. Someone was inside. She walked up to the main door, looking for a doorbell or something, but she noticed the handle was unlocked. Vesta opened the door and stepped inside. There was no turning back now.
“Hello?” Vesta called out, stepping into what looked like a waiting room.
She looked around, noticing some overturned chairs. She ran a hand over her arm, nervous, wondering if she should go on or if maybe she should turn around and return to her home, to her miserable life, to a life that made her want to die every day. It wasn’t long before a singsong voice echoed from a hallway:
“So, you actually came!”
Vesta blinked and turned around, seeing her, the woman from the cemetery. Dr. Volumnia Gaul. The hallway light flickered as she approached, wearing a lab coat and gloves. Dr. Gaul lowered the mask covering part of her face, a sly smile on her lips as she examined Vesta from head to toe. Vesta swallowed hard.
“I imagine you must be pretty desperate,” Gaul clicked her tongue, a habit Vesta quickly realized was common for her, “to be willing to come here at an hour like this.”
“I…,” she shook her head, “I just want to know… is it true? That you managed to… resurrect beings that were already dead.”
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that question,” Dr. Gaul smiled, the same smile that sent chills down Vesta’s spine, and gestured for her to follow. “Come, I’ll show you my masterpiece.”
If there was ever a moment when Vesta could turn back, this was it. Even so, she didn’t. She looked back one last time at the door leading to the street and decided to follow Dr. Gaul deeper into the endless corridors of the abandoned laboratory.
“So… this is your lab?” Vesta asked nervously, glancing around as their footsteps echoed in the open space. “I… thought it was just an abandoned building. At least until I saw the lights inside, I mean.”
Vesta kept looking around as she followed Dr. Gaul deeper into the place, through corridors that twisted and turned. The lab gave her chills. She observed the flickering lights and noticed abandoned desks and computers, rolling chairs scattered across the floor, broken windows. By accident, Vesta stepped on some shards of glass along the way.
“It is my lab, yes,” Dr. Gaul clicked her tongue, an almost irritating habit of hers. “This place used to be called Citadel. It was one of the largest scientific research complexes in the region.”
“And… you owned this place?”
“I still do, actually. The whole space is mine. It’s a shame I don’t have staff anymore because of… well, you probably know, since you did your homework.”
Vesta frowned at the comment but didn’t argue.
“And what was so abominable about your experiment that made the ethics board do what they did?”
“They just didn’t have the vision, I suppose,” Dr. Gaul finally stopped in front of a door with an electronic lock, shrugging. “Some people believe playing God is going too far. A shame, really. I thought we’d already killed God by now. But, well, since you’re here, I assume you don’t have a particular problem with that, do you? After all, you’re about to see my masterpiece, Mrs. Plinth.”
The door’s electronic lock clicked open. Dr. Gaul opened it, raising her eyebrows at Vesta, inviting her to step inside. Vesta felt a cold draft coming from within. She hesitated but ultimately swallowed hard. Vesta had nothing to lose. She had nothing to fear. What was there to fear, anyway? Finally, Vesta summoned all the courage she needed to step inside, her eyes narrowing against the sudden bright light and the cold wind hitting her face. The room was freezing.
“Mrs. Plinth, what do you think humanity could achieve if we could reverse our greatest flaw? Our only weakness?”
Vesta didn’t know what to expect. After all, she had never entered a scientist’s workspace before. It was her first time setting foot in a place like that. Even so, she imagined she might… see grotesque things. Poor creatures agonizing in jars. But that wasn’t entirely the case.
What seemed to be Dr. Gaul’s personal lab was surprisingly clean and antiseptic, with walls and furniture so white that Vesta felt she might go blind. Dr. Gaul moved around, humming to herself, until she finally picked up a small cage and brought it to a table. She gestured for Vesta to come closer.
Up close, Vesta could see what was inside the cage. Rats. Small rats that moved around, scratching their ears. She frowned.
“Your masterpiece… is rats?”
“Not just any rats,” Dr. Gaul opened the cage, taking one of the creatures out and showing the poor animal to Vesta. “These were the first test subjects of my experiment.”
Vesta narrowed her eyes. At first glance, it seemed like a normal rat, not much different from the ones she had seen in pet stores. But then, she noticed the details. Her stomach churned when she saw that the rat had no eyes, the sockets where they should have been were empty, and when she saw limbs stitched onto its body. This was no ordinary rat.
“I call it Project Shelley,” Dr. Gaul said proudly as she placed the rat back in its cage. “Everyone thought it was impossible to bring a dead living being back to life… but not me. I spent years of my life working on this.”
“And how does it work…?”
“Electrical principles combined with specific organic solutions. The key is finding a way to make the heart beat again.”
Vesta didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to react. She had been raised Catholic from a very young age, and the thought of someone wanting to play God in this way seemed abominable to her. It felt wrong.
“And you only tried this with rats?”
It seemed the only logical explanation.
“Now this is where things get interesting,” Dr. Gaul guided her to a corner of the room. “See, this here was my second experiment, shortly after my diploma and titles were revoked… I nicknamed this little one Laika.”
Dr. Gaul pointed to a cage in the corner of the room, where something was sleeping. Vesta crouched beside the cage to get a better look. It was a dog. And, in a larger creature, it was easier to see that it wasn’t something ordinary. It wasn’t a living being like the other dogs Vesta saw on the street. This was evident from its mutilated ear, its stitched limbs, and the way its jaw closed unnaturally. The glazed eyes of the little dog stared at Vesta.
"And it was dead?" Vesta asked, incredulously.
"The poor thing was hit by a car. If you look closely, you'll see there are stitches on its belly. Without sponsorship, it was hard, I won’t lie... but even so, I managed to recover most of her body and complete the revival process."
"What’s necessary for the revival process?"
Gaul remained silent before her laughter echoed through the room.
"You must be very desperate, aren’t you?" she said, almost to herself, in that tone that got on Vesta’s nerves.
"You gave me your business card. Maybe the desperate one is you."
"Hm," Gaul murmured, lazily scratching her chin. "Let me guess. You’d like to carry out the Shelley Project on your dead son, right?"
Vesta didn’t respond. She stood up, walking over to where Gaul was leaning against the wall.
"I have money," she said in a sober voice. "A lot of money. A whole lot. Tell me what it will take. Just..."
She couldn’t finish the sentence. It sounded insane. Perhaps Vesta really had gone mad, after all, suggesting things like that, things that might be considered a sin against God. But Vesta didn’t know if she could go another day without Sejanus. When he died, her life had ended too. And that was why, now, she found herself begging an insane scientist to bring her baby back. Vesta just wanted her baby back, no matter what it took.
"Well..." Dr. Gaul had a smile on her face, and it was clear she had planned this. It was clear she was pleased with the way Vesta spoke. "It won’t be a quick process. It’s long and requires many steps. I need to know first if you’re willing to do everything it will take. It often won’t be pleasant, nor pretty."
"I don’t care," Vesta said nervously, clutching the strap of her bag tightly. "The only thing I care about is: can you or can you not bring my son back?"
"Of course I can."
Dr. Gaul extended a hand, still smiling. Her hand was covered with a surgical glove, and Vesta felt her stomach turn when she noticed there were blood spatters on the glove. Gaul must have noticed her expression because she removed the glove, tucking it into the pocket of her lab coat with an unsettling smile.
"Do we have a deal, then?"
Vesta swallowed hard. She could have turned back. She could have said “no.” She could have called the woman insane and walked away. All of those choices would have been more rational; all of them would have been less dangerous. But Vesta no longer cared about danger, and she no longer cared about rational choices. All that mattered to her was the possibility that, perhaps, in a few months, she might be holding her baby in her arms, kissing the head of her Sejanus.
She shook Dr. Gaul’s hand.
The woman’s smile only widened, if that were even possible.
"Why don’t we sit down and talk a little more about this in my office?"
Vesta felt guilty for still carrying the rosary in her bag. It felt as if she had made a deal with the devil.
Months. Three long months.
"You okay, Tita?" her sister asked in a worried tone, the same tone that always filled their conversations, one of disbelief in Vesta's words. "You’ve... been a bit more distant these past few days. You know, I thought you were getting better."
"I am getting better," Vesta replied over the phone. "I just... I’ve been a bit busy these last few days."
"Busy?" Her sister sounded somewhat relieved upon hearing this. "So, you’ve been leaving the house?"
It wouldn’t be a lie if she said she had been leaving the house lately. After all, she had. But not to attend the anonymous groups her sister had suggested, nor for gardening classes, nor for walks. Vesta had spent the last few months going to the abandoned lab of the doctor she’d met at the cemetery. And she’d spent the last few months rummaging through Sejanus’ room, a place once almost sacred, untouched, where making any kind of change felt nearly sinful.
"I need items with your son's genetic information," Dr. Gaul had said to her early on. "Bone samples are even better if you have them."
Vesta returned to the lab with a bag full of things she had never dared move before. Clothes. A lock of hair she’d saved from his first haircut. God, even a little box she kept with his baby teeth. With a heavy heart, Vesta handed it all over to the doctor, who simply smiled and spoke in her usual sing-song tone:
"Very well. Now all you need to do is wait. Once it’s ready, I’ll let you know."
"And how long will it take...?"
"A few months. It’s not a quick process, I must warn you."
And as torturous as it was, as many nights as Vesta spent staring at the ceiling in the bed she now slept in alone, she waited. She waited through days that turned into weeks, that turned into months. Vesta stopped visiting the cemetery religiously. She tried to convince herself it wouldn’t make a difference. Soon, she would have her son in her arms again, and all she needed was a little patience. Vesta just needed to be a bit more patient. What were a few months compared to all she had endured?
(What if all of it amounted to nothing? What if it was a waste of time? Vesta didn’t care about the money spent, but she didn’t know how she would survive going through it all again, the pain of losing her Sejanus again. She wouldn’t be able to bear it.)
Then, one sleepless night, Vesta’s phone rang. Her eyes widened as she rushed to grab the device.
"He’s ready. You can come to the lab."
Much like the first time, Vesta grabbed whatever she could find: a coat, a dress, the nearest shoes. She snatched her car keys and ran out the front door. She drove through more red lights that night than she could count.
"You got here quickly."
That’s what Dr. Gaul said when she saw Vesta enter the lab once more, so similar to all the other times, except this time, Vesta was trembling. Her eyes were wide. She had no patience left.
"Where is he?" Her voice came out more unsteady than she would have liked.
Gaul smiled, that same sinister smile as always. But this time, Vesta couldn’t afford to let the chill run down her spine. She simply followed the doctor through the labyrinthine corridors, her fists clenched, her breathing rapid. Finally, Gaul stopped in front of the same lab she had taken her to the first time. She unlocked the digital door, and Vesta entered without waiting for any formal invitation.
The lab looked the same... except for the metal gurney at the center of the room, covered with a white sheet. Her hands were trembling.
"Are you ready?" the doctor asked.
Vesta nodded. And, like a proud creator unveiling her masterpiece, Dr. Gaul walked to the center of the room and pulled the sheet off the gurney.
Vesta raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It made no logical sense.
It was her baby. Her son. Her life. Her Sejanus.
Identical, as if nothing had changed. Vesta couldn’t believe what was before her eyes; she couldn’t believe it was real. It was her Sejanus lying on that metal gurney. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch his round, though now pale, face. His nose, the freckles scattered across his cheeks, the curls. It was Sejanus. Exactly Sejanus, despite the parts of his flesh sewn with visible stitches running along his arms and face.
"How did you...?"
"Do you really want the details?" Dr. Gaul arched an eyebrow. "Or would you rather remain ignorant?"
Vesta thought back to the doctor at the cemetery, to the dirt she had noticed on her gloves, only now understanding its significance. This time, ignorance seemed better. Vesta ran her thumb along his cheek, her eyes filling with tears. She brushed aside a curl that had fallen on his forehead.
"And now?" she asked, her voice trembling. "How... how does he come back to life?"
"Now comes the interesting part," Gaul said, walking to a corner of the room and returning with what looked like jumper cables. "The way life is restored is through continuous electrical discharges. But remember, this needs to be done periodically even after he’s revived, understood?"
Vesta was so shaken she could only nod. She watched as Dr. Gaul attached a cable to each of his fingers before finally turning on the electrical current, so powerful that the lights began to flicker. Sejanus’ body (could she really call it Sejanus’ body? Was it truly him? She still couldn’t believe it) convulsed on the gurney with the electricity until Gaul finally disconnected the power.
The smell of burning disturbed Vesta deeply.
Her hands trembled as she approached slowly.
And then, she raised a hand to her mouth once more as she saw Sejanus open one eye.
Large, brown eyes, though one was bloodshot with broken veins. One eye, at least, was large and brown. The other didn’t move, its mismatched shade of brown glinting unnaturally in the light.
"Sorry about the left eye," Gaul said. "I couldn’t recover it, so I placed a glass eye in the socket. Of course, if you’d like, you can remove it anytime."
Vesta couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it, and it felt like a dream, or perhaps even a cruel nightmare, to see Sejanus sit up on the gurney. His movements were slow, unnatural, but it was him. It was him. God, it was him.
Vesta couldn’t speak; she couldn’t do anything but cry, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face as a single sob escaped her lips. Sejanus (her Sejanus, her boy, her life) looked around curiously, as if seeing the world for the first time. His fingers, moving with the same slow, unnatural rhythm, played with the hem of the loose shirt he was wearing.
His one functioning eye focused on Vesta. He smiled, a wide smile, missing a tooth, just as she remembered. And to be sure it was real, that it wasn’t an illusion, a nightmare, or a dream, his voice came through:
"Ma!"