Redirecting the Blame

“But she will be tried today, and you will then hear all.” Ernest had relayed to him, recalling the tale of how even his own father, who had, at times, looked upon the girl as a second daughter, believed Justine to be the murderer of William. 

    But such was preposterous! Justine was looked upon by the Frankenstein’s as one of their own, and it was no secret that she often looked upon William in a similar manner. The girl had nothing to gain from such a crime, and the only piece of evidence damning her was a necklace found in her dress- Surely, this was purely circumstantial. 

    But Victor could not calm himself with such a simple statement. He was no fool- He knew well the very being he had created had to be the killer of William and had intended to frame Justine for the crime- Wicked, vile wretch that he’d created! How could it be that such a being, who had laid eyes upon him only once, could track him down and commit such atrocities? How could it be that his dream of bettering humanity had collapsed so quickly, had so quickly led to such violence? He felt faint: His condition had significantly improved than what it had been after he’d committed his crime, but the possibility, no matter how small, of blood being upon his horrid hands once more quickly brought his heart racing and he felt ill. 

His father and Ernest had left him be, but Justine’s trial would not be for several hours. He informed a servant that he needed to rest after hearing such heavy news and to wake him shortly before the trial, and retired to his bed. Sleep did not come easily in his paranoia, but when he fell into a light doze, his dreams were plagued with disturbing images. 

    He saw his younger brother in the monster’s arms, blue eyes wide and frantic, small hands clawing at the hands upon his throat, but as the boy grew paler and weaker, his horrible wretch disappeared, and Victor felt his own hands strangling the small boy, until he grew pale and blue-lipped with death. 

    He awoke gasping for air, and only feeling weaker after his rest. It was the being that he’d created that had murdered his dear, innocent brother, and if Justine were to be hanged for a crime Victor knew well she was innocent of, would that blood not be on his hands as well? Such was an impossibility, he reminded himself. Justine was without guilt, and he trusted that would be apparent. 

    Victor accompanied his family to the trial anxiously. Justine appeared calm, attempting to appear confident, but upon seeing her relatives peering at her, grew sorrowful. Both would work in her favor, Victor assured himself. However, his dread only grew as the trial went on. The woman was unseen at the time of the murder and the following morning, and only responded with confusion when questioned. However, when she heard the news of the boy’s death and she laid eyes upon the body, she quickly dissolved into hysterical sobs and fell ill for a period of days. 

    Such evidence would only appear against her favor to the thousands watching, and Victor trembled. He could barely believe that he could hear witnesses speaking against her, that he was sitting watching a woman almost as close as a sister to him accused of murdering his brother in cold blood. He was the one that ought to have been up there, or, rather, the true murderer. The thing of his own design ought to be up there, ought to be the criminal in the eyes of man. How could it be that a creature made by his own hands, that he’d spent months feverishly designing and perfecting, had taken the life of one so young and blameless, and was prepared to indirectly kill another? 

   

    Justine testified her account, she retained the position of her innocence.

    Her sweet, sorrowful voice rang out, “God knows, how entirely I am innocent. But I do not pretend that my protestations should acquit me; I rest my innocence on a plain and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced against me, and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my judges to a favourable interpretation where any circumstance appears doubtful or suspicious.”

    Victor was not the only one to listen and trust her every word, but from the murmured reception she received by many, his fears only grew closer and closer to reality. Justine’s story contained inconsistencies to many; before the locket was found upon Justine, theft was a believable motive for the murder. If this was such, why would the killer abandon it to the sweet girl so quickly? What man could have such a grudge against the Frankenstein family-all blameless but Victor himself- to frame such a poor girl for murder? 

Victor grew faint and pale, struggling to breathe. His distress was apparent to many, though went unnoticed in a sea of crying women, and red-faced men with fury for supposed justice. If he spoke, would he not be considered a madman? As much as he may be such for his crime, he was sure his horrid creation’s violence would not end with Justine. Even if he was believed, he’d surely be hanged for his crimes against mankind, and then who would be left to deal with the wretch he’d brought into the world? Even if Victor himself was gone, would the being not redirect his rage to humanity? 

His sweet Elizabeth attested to Justine’s character. “I am the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or rather his sister, for I was educated by and have lived with his parents ever since and even long before his birth.” 

    When she was finished, it was received with a renewed desire for justice, not against who Victor knew it should have been to, but for innocent Justine. Victor knew well how desire could drive men mad and perhaps violent, but he was sickened to think how both his own foolishness, and the fury of many over such a horrible crime, would lead to yet another guiltless soul being sent to a wrongful death. How could such be, in a system that ought to have favored the freedom of the innocent to the deserved captivity of the guilty?

   

    Victor felt himself shaking intensely with his miserable guilt and a growing fever. His physical condition only served to mock him, as he felt that even the slightest of physical exertion might leave him on the ground. He could not bear to handle it for another moment, and stood to rush out, but was struck with a wave of vertigo that left him where he stood. Several stared at him, eyes boring holes into him even as he refused to look. His father, next to him, grabbed his arm, whether it be to guide him back into his seat or out of the courtroom he could not be sure, but Victor found himself tugging it away with what strength he had. If it was a furious desire for justice that could stir up man’s thirst for violence, then could he not redirect such anger to himself, and even more so his wretched creation? How could he stand a second more of such an unjust trial, let another’s blood taint his hands? 

    “I wish, no, I am obligated to speak in this woman’s favor. I know with certainty that the accused was not my brother’s killer." Victor’s voice was shaky and panicked, and he raised yet more concerned glances from his dreadfully pale face. His family looked upon him apprehensively, but none had any counter to that. Victor headed to the stand, swaying but denying all help that he was offered. “It is I that you group ought to be eager for the death of, like some wild beast. I might consider this a confession of sorts, not to the boy’s murder, but I confess my role in it, yet I pray the blame will be directed to the true being that is at fault. ” 

    Several shocked gasps came from the courtroom, some disbelieving of his claim, others becoming as furious of him as they had been with Justine mere moments earlier. He could not bear to look upon her, or perhaps his beloved Elizabeth’s face, to see their grief at what may appear a false confession. 

    “I am aware many will take this as the ramblings of a madman, “ His voice struggled to project in the large space, but he had little doubt all were focusing on his words intently. “Even if you consider it so by the end of my tale, I plead that you all listen to my words as not that of a raving, desperate man, but one rallying for justice. “ 

    “The being that murdered young, hopeful William, my poor innocent brother,was not Justine Moritz, nor any man- if such a thing can even be considered as such- that any in this courtroom will be familiar with." The mumbles of the crowd grew louder, but Victor barely heard them over the beat of his own heart in his ears. He no longer felt truly faint, but exhilarated yet terrified. Why should he not be prepared to die, if he could trust these furious men to banish his miserable creation from the Earth? He was feverish, and his rant perhaps borne from the agony he'd experienced in his near endless silence.  “It was a wretch of my own creation- One I spent months on, toiling away for its creation.“

    He didn’t give any a chance to object, and one man even grew close, no doubt with the intention of dragging Victor off to be sent to an asylum, but was rewarded with such a fierce and wild glare from the normally calm and insightful Victor that he hesitated. Many were interested, if disbelieving, only reveling in Victor’s speech as that of a lunatic, but an interesting one, at that. Could it be that the young man had simply lost his mind with his brother’s death and convinced himself of an insane impossibility? Was it merely a pitiful attempt to protect the woman whom he cared for so deeply?

    “I found the means and the desire to reanimate dead tissue. “ Victor certainly spoke in the hurried, feverish tone of a madman, but with an odd certainty and gleam of intelligence yet madness in his eyes that left the courtroom silent. I committed a dreadful sin, I brought that wretch into existence, and dear William has been the consequence.“ The man sounded as if he might break into sobs, but forced himself to continue quickly fearing that if he fell silent, he may not be able to continue again. “And now, many of you will wonder how I might yet substantiate such a claim, if my words are not enough. " There were murmured whispers of disbelief, but they seemed to Victor an eternity away.

    “ I believe…” He paused to take a struggled breath, and went into a coughing fit for several moments. “I still retain some of my old notes in my possession, and if it is another living soul you require, my dearest friend Henry Clerval, while he has not seen this horrible being, with features more fitting of a corpse or a monster from legend than a man, at the very least, he can attest to my honesty, as following the creation of such a god-awful creature, I fell ill and he was the one to nurse me back to health. My dear friend, who did such a good deed, I fear even he knows little what I've done!" 

    Victor fell silent, panting for breath, and struggling to stay upright. He could hardly bear to meet the crowd’s judging, disbelieving, and furious eyes anymore, but they soon began to talk louder than before, drowning out all Victor’s logical thought, but before he could run, before he could attempt to defend himself, he felt as if the creature’s hands on his throat and he cried out in terror, but men were already rushing at him to apprehend him, whether it be in belief of his mad tale or simply to arrest a maniac, and Victor collapsed, his vision going dark.