Chapter 5
Igor opened the refrigerated door and stared down at Vincent’s face, submerged in purple fluid. He felt like he had waited for this moment forever. The last three weeks seemed endless. In reality, Igor had bided his time, hiding in a small cavern underneath Monsterland, while Vincent’s head was bathed in a special container.
Reaching in, his gloved hands holding large tongs, he plucked Vincent’s head from where it had rested for three weeks and plunged it into a chest he’d prepared filled with icy water.
Igor sang while he worked, the words of the old Rosemary Clooney classic tripping off his tongue. “I ain’t got nobody, and nobody cares for me!” He chuckled at the irony of the lyrics. Igor couldn’t wait to see Vincent. Vincent Konrad was his special friend, he thought with a broad smile on his face.
He’d been born Andrew, but Vincent had renamed him Igor, and that’s who he became. He liked being Igor better. All the indignities he suffered as a child disappeared with his new identity. He was Igor, Vincent’s respected right hand. Well, respected by everybody but those damn vampires. Not that it mattered anymore, they were all dead. Killed by the werewolves, never to humiliate him again, just as Vincent had promised.
“I’m so sad and lonely, won’t somebody come and take a chance with me?”
He rolled the head round and round, letting the water clean away the muck. Once he was satisfied that the nose and mouth looked clear of the gelatinous substance, he raised the head and shook it, watching the clear droplets sprinkle the surrounding area. Vincent’s sightless eyes rolled in his skull.
Igor laid it on a soft towel and tenderly patted it dry. He then carefully wrapped it and tucked it under his arm like a football. He felt Vincent’s nose dig into his armpit.
Igor began his trip in the winding passageways of the chambers honeycombing the ground under the surface of Monsterland. His left foot dragged uselessly on the dusty floor. Every so often, he paused to check on the dead head, tsking at the bluish lips lying slack against Vincent’s teeth. A few of them had been chipped from the abuse it took from the werewolf’s mouth. Using his dirty finger, the hunchback pried open the mouth, examining the interior with sympathy.
He shuffled on until he reached the inner bowels of the tunnels. It was dark, but he didn’t need light. He knew his way around, because he had helped design the place with Vincent. Using existing tunnels that looked as if carved by gigantic hands, they added new conduits and finished it with a control center.
He paused in the gloom, his free hand feeling the walls until his fingers found the panel. He pressed a few buttons and the lights went on, the room sprang to life to the sound of gears grinding and machines humming.
“It worked, my friend. It may have taken some time, but Plan B is alive and well. You see,” he said, “nothing to worry about, Vincent,” Igor assured him, and then he cursed under his breath.
Vincent’s fancy scientist hadn’t arrived in time, and Igor wondered what held the mad doctor up. Now everything was on Igor’s crooked shoulders, and he would have to get the ball rolling.
He walked over to a passageway that diverted into a vast cavern of a laboratory. Here he picked up his pace to a central console in the middle of the room. It was on an elevated platform, as if it were the command center. Well, it would be, once Igor did what he was supposed to do. He shivered from the cold of the room and hugged Vincent’s head to his chest.
The structure in front of the command center was a large circular well separated from the room by a waist-high glass partition. Surrounding the pit was a wall of clear glass tubes. In the center of the pit was an enormous wheel-shaped object with glass spokes radiating from a central pillar. It looked astonishingly like a huge stagecoach wheel. Wires hung from the ceiling on either side of the column. Igor admired the contraption, marveling at the brilliance of Vincent’s great mind. “Time’s a wasting,” he said, his voice filled with rising excitement.
Igor unwrapped the head then reached over the railing to place it on the center spoke. It was further than he thought. He overreached, losing his grip, cursing as the head slipped from his fingers to bounce and roll to the other side of the sloped wheel. He watched it tumble down the slight incline, wincing with each jolt. “Sorry, Vincent. That has to hurt.” He looked around guiltily, glad no one was there to see his clumsy attempts to place Vincent’s head on the central pillar.
“Not a chair in sight, I knew we forgot something,” Igor said aloud as he searched the room for anything to stand on. “How am I supposed to get you in there?” He spied a stool and ran to get it.
He climbed the three-foot-high seat, trying to reach over the protective partition, but Vincent’s head eluded his grasp. He stretched as far as he could, his fingers catching on a loose flap of the skin on the neck. His movements only made it roll further away.
Igor pushed himself as much as he dared, only his toe remaining on the base of the chair. His tongue poked out of the side of his mouth while he concentrated. A long line of drool dripped onto the wheel’s pristine surface.
He wobbled precariously, falling onto the lab floor, unsuccessful in his effort to retrieve Vincent. He rose and moved the seat closer to the glass wall, attempting the climb again. He felt his back muscles scream with overuse, but stretched his hand until he hooked the head by the nostrils.
He inserted his fingers into Vincent’s nose, like a bowling ball, but the nose twitched, clear liquid coming out, making it slippery.
He dropped it, the flesh of Vincent’s cheeks slapping against the glass surface, thumping loudly as it rolled over to the far side of the wheel. “Oops,” Igor said.
The head lay still, and Igor’s brow wrinkled while he contemplated how he was supposed to retrieve it.
Igor muttered to himself as he looked at the wheel and the now-distant head ten feet away. He knew the wheel would not support his weight, and he grabbed the spoke, wanting to strangle something in his frustration. The wheel moved ever so slightly, sending Vincent’s head further away.
A slow grin spread across Igor’s face. Gritting his teeth, he spun the wheel, his hands eager to catch Vincent’s head. The wheel picked up speed, and Igor’s outstretched fingers looked like talons. Once again, Vincent’s slippery skin glided past him, and out of his grasp.
This time Igor stomped his feet and cursed as he waited for the wheel to slow. “I’ll take a vowel,” he snickered to himself.
“Now for the money shot.” He nudged with less force, so it spun lazily. Crouching, he waited for the head, grabbing it and cradling it safely against his chest.
He kissed Vincent on the forehead with a loud smack and said, “Let’s try this one more time.”