Chapter 6 The Specimen Master's Confession
# Chapter 6: The Specimen Master's Confession
Andrea regained consciousness slowly, her mind struggling through layers of fog. The first sensation she registered was cold—a bone-deep chill seeping through her clothing. The second was restraint—her wrists and ankles bound to what felt like a metal chair. As her vision cleared, the nightmare surrounding her came into focus.
She was in the basement laboratory, but not the main room she had discovered during her sleepwalking charade. This was a smaller chamber beyond it, apparently the inner sanctum of Carl's macabre workshop. Glass containers lined the walls, each illuminated from within, casting an eerie blue glow across the polished concrete floor. Inside these vessels floated what appeared to be human specimens—hands, feet, facial features—all preserved in clear fluid.
"Welcome back," Carl's voice came from behind her. "I was beginning to worry I'd calculated the dosage incorrectly."
He moved into her field of vision, still wearing the formal attire he'd donned for the rehearsal dinner. The dinner she now remembered had been interrupted when she excused herself to use the restroom—only to find Carl waiting in the hallway with a syringe.
"What is this place?" Andrea asked, her voice hoarse. She tested her restraints—medical-grade straps, the kind used in psychiatric facilities, secured her to a stainless-steel examination chair.
"My workshop. My sanctuary." Carl gestured around the room with evident pride. "Where art and science merge in the pursuit of perfection."
"You're insane," Andrea whispered, the full horror of her situation becoming clear. The specimens, the meticulous records, the surveillance—all pointed to an obsession beyond rational understanding.
Carl smiled, unbothered by the accusation. "Genius is often mistaken for madness, especially by those unable to comprehend the vision." He moved to a nearby workbench and began arranging instruments with methodical precision. "But you're different, Andrea. You've always seen more deeply than others. It's why Leland chose you. Why I chose you."
"Where is Leland?" Andrea demanded, though she feared she already knew the answer.
Carl turned to face her, his expression softening into something almost tender. "Always so direct. So fearless." He sighed, setting down the scalpel he'd been examining. "I suppose you've earned the truth, after coming this far."
He crossed to the far wall and pressed a concealed switch. A section of the wall rotated silently, revealing a hidden chamber beyond. Inside, illuminated by the same blue light as the specimen jars, stood a glass tank large enough to hold a human body.
And it did.
Floating in clear preservation fluid was Leland—unmistakably Leland, not the frozen corpse she had glimpsed before, but a body maintained in a state of suspended animation. Tubes and wires connected to various monitoring equipment surrounded the tank, their soft electronic hum the only sound in the sudden silence.
"Is he—" Andrea couldn't finish the question.
"Dead?" Carl completed it for her. "Not exactly. Not entirely." He approached the tank, placing his palm against the glass with unmistakable affection. "My brother exists in a state between life and death. Brain function minimal but present. Cellular degradation halted. A perfect specimen, preserved at the moment before the disease could rob him of his dignity completely."
Andrea stared at the floating form of her fiancé, horror and grief colliding within her. "You did this to him."
"I saved him," Carl corrected sharply, his calm façade cracking momentarily. "ALS is a cruel master, Andrea. It destroys the body while leaving the mind intact—a prison of flesh closing in day by day." He tapped the glass gently. "Leland was diagnosed eleven months ago. The progression was unusually rapid. Within three months, he could barely hold a pen. By six months, he needed assistance to eat."
"But he seemed fine," Andrea protested. "We had dinner together the night before he proposed. He was perfectly healthy."
Carl's smile returned, tinged with condescension. "You had dinner with me, Andrea. Leland was already confined to a wheelchair by then, his speech beginning to slur, his fine motor control deserting him." He moved closer to her chair. "He couldn't bear for you to see him deteriorate, to watch the disease strip away everything that made him who he was. So he asked for my help."
"You're lying," Andrea whispered, though uncertainty crept into her voice. There had been periods during their courtship when Leland had been "traveling"—weeks when they spoke only by phone, when their communication had been primarily through texts and emails.
"Am I?" Carl reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, then turned it toward Andrea.
The video showed Leland in a hospital bed, visibly wasted, his once-strong frame diminished. His speech was slurred but intelligible as he addressed the camera: "Andrea, if you're seeing this, then things have progressed as we discussed, Carl." He paused, struggling for breath. "I couldn't bear for you to remember me this way. To watch me wither and die by inches. My brother has agreed to stand in for me, to give you the happiness I no longer can."
Andrea shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "This could be faked. Manipulated."
"Why would I bother?" Carl asked reasonably. "The truth is far more poetic than any fiction I could create." He put the phone away and moved behind her chair, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. "Leland asked me to take care of you. To love you as he would have. And I agreed—though my reasons weren't entirely altruistic."
His fingers traced along her collarbone, the touch making her skin crawl. "I've watched you for so long, Andrea. Through my brother's eyes at first, then through my own. Your intelligence, your passion, your beauty—I came to appreciate them even before we formally met."
Andrea twisted in her restraints, trying to escape his touch. "So this was your plan all along? To replace your brother? To steal his life?"
"Not steal," Carl corrected, circling back into her view. "Continue. Extend. Improve." He gestured toward the tank containing Leland. "My brother made his choice when he asked me to step into his role. What he didn't anticipate was how completely I would embrace it."
He moved to a nearby cabinet and removed a white garment bag. With theatrical flourish, he unzipped it, revealing Andrea's wedding dress—altered now, the sleeves she had refused reinstated, along with other modifications she couldn't immediately identify.
"Tomorrow, you will marry Leland Montgomery, as planned," Carl said, stroking the silk reverently. "The guests will see exactly what they expect to see: a beautiful bride, a handsome groom, a perfect Montgomery wedding."
"And which brother will I be marrying?" Andrea asked bitterly. "The one floating in a tank, or the one impersonating him?"
Carl's smile widened. "Both. Neither. Does it matter? The law recognizes Leland Montgomery as your husband. The man who signs the certificate, who speaks the vows—these are mere technicalities."
"You're insane," Andrea repeated, with greater conviction this time. "You can't possibly think you'll get away with this."
"But I already have," Carl replied, his confidence absolute. "For three months, I have been Leland to everyone who matters—his family, his colleagues, his fiancée." He leaned closer. "I've slept beside you, Andrea. I've held you while you dreamed. And not once did you suspect that the man in your bed wasn't the one you agreed to marry."
The truth of his words stung, but Andrea refused to show it. "Until I did suspect. Until I found your collection, your records, your sick shrine to obsession."
Something darkened in Carl's expression. "Yes, you proved more observant than I anticipated. More resourceful." He sounded almost proud. "It's one of the many qualities that make you perfect for the role I have in mind."
"What role?" Andrea asked, dreading the answer.
Instead of replying directly, Carl moved to one of the specimen containers and removed the lid. With gloved hands, he lifted out what appeared to be a perfect replica of a human hand—feminine, delicate, with a small scar across the index finger.
Andrea's blood ran cold as she recognized the scar—identical to one she'd had since childhood.
"Do you know how long it takes to grow functional human tissue from stem cells?" Carl asked conversationally, examining the hand as if it were a fine artwork. "With conventional methods, years. But with the techniques I've developed, combined with certain genetic modifications, the process can be accelerated dramatically."
He replaced the specimen and moved to another container, this one holding what appeared to be a section of facial tissue—a partial visage that unmistakably resembled Andrea's own features.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, horror mounting as the true extent of his madness became clear.
"Creating perfection," Carl replied simply. "Leland's mind deserves better than the prison ALS built around it. And your beauty deserves permanence beyond the fragility of natural aging." He gestured to the specimens surrounding them. "Together, you will become something transcendent—preserved at the peak of physical perfection, unified in a form that will never deteriorate, never age, never die."
Andrea struggled violently against her restraints, panic overriding reason. "You're planning to kill me. To turn me into one of your specimens."
"Not kill," Carl corrected, frowning as if disappointed by her limited understanding. "Transform. Elevate. Immortalize." He returned to her side, crouching to meet her eyes. "The wedding is merely a legal formality, ensuring that what belongs to Leland—including his considerable fortune—transitions smoothly to his widow. Who, after a suitable period of mourning, will retreat from public life to manage the Montgomery estate and philanthropic foundations."
The elaborate nature of his plan stunned Andrea into momentary silence. This wasn't a sudden psychotic break or a crime of passion. This was a meticulously orchestrated scheme years in the making—a deranged vision Carl had been working toward with scientific precision.
"No one will believe I'm still alive once you've..." She couldn't bring herself to articulate what he planned to do to her.
"They will when they receive your emails, your phone calls, your video conferences conducted from remote locations." Carl smiled. "Technology makes presence a flexible concept these days. And I've become quite skilled at replicating voices, mannerisms—the essential qualities that make a person recognizable to others."
He returned to the wedding dress, adjusting it on its hanger with obsessive attention to detail. "The ceremony will proceed exactly as planned. The witnesses will see Leland Montgomery marry Andrea Blackwell. The marriage will be legally binding and publicly witnessed." His voice took on a dreamy quality. "And then, during the reception, the happy couple will slip away—a romantic gesture, stealing a private moment amid the celebration."
"And we'll never be seen again," Andrea finished, the horror of his scheme becoming clear. "At least, not as ourselves."
"You understand," Carl said, pleased. "The world will continue to interact with Leland and Andrea Montgomery through carefully managed channels—digital communications, occasional public appearances at suitable distances, philanthropic work conducted through intermediaries."
While he spoke, Andrea's mind raced, searching for any possibility of escape, any weakness in his plan she could exploit. The restraints were secure, the room isolated. Even if she screamed, no one would hear her through the soundproofed walls of the laboratory.
Carl seemed to read her thoughts. "Don't waste energy on futile hopes, Andrea. Accept the honor I'm bestowing on you. Few humans achieve true immortality—you will be among that select company."
He moved to a nearby console and pressed several buttons. The tank containing Leland began to drain, the preservation fluid receding gradually. "I thought you might appreciate a more intimate conversation with your fiancé. He can't respond conventionally, of course, but brain scans indicate he retains some awareness."
As the fluid level dropped, Leland's body remained suspended in a complex harness of medical equipment. Tubes and wires connected to various parts of his anatomy, sustaining whatever minimal functions remained.
Carl approached the tank and placed his hand against the glass. "We're almost there, brother. The final phase begins tomorrow." He turned to Andrea, his expression softening into something almost religious in its fervor. "He asked me to love you for him, Andrea. To care for you as he would have. I'm fulfilling that promise—just not in the conventional way he might have imagined."
"This isn't love," Andrea said, her voice stronger now despite her fear. "This is possession. Obsession. Leland would never have wanted this."
Something flashed in Carl's eyes—doubt, perhaps, or anger at having his narrative challenged. He strode back to Andrea and gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You didn't know him at the end," he hissed, his carefully maintained composure cracking. "You didn't watch him lose control of his body function by function, dignity stripped away day by day. You didn't empty his catheter bags or suction the saliva he could no longer swallow."
Spittle flew from his lips as his voice rose. "I did those things. I cared for him when his precious Andrea was busy planning a wedding to a man who could barely hold a pen to sign his own name." His fingers dug painfully into her jaw. "So don't presume to tell me what my brother would have wanted."
In his emotional outburst, Carl had moved closer than intended. Andrea seized the opportunity, driving her forehead into his face with all the force she could muster. The impact sent him staggering backward, blood streaming from his nose.
"You bitch," he snarled, pressing his hand to his face. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining his immaculate shirt. "That was unnecessary."
"So is turning people into specimens," Andrea retorted, adrenaline momentarily overriding her fear.
Carl regarded her for a long moment, blood continuing to drip from his injured nose. Then, with deliberate calmness, he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his face.
"I had hoped for your willing participation," he said, his voice muffled by the cloth. "Your understanding. Your appreciation of the gift I'm offering." He sighed, as if genuinely disappointed. "But consent is ultimately irrelevant to the process."
He moved to a cabinet and removed a syringe filled with clear liquid. "This will help you rest before the ceremony. When you wake, you'll be dressed in your wedding gown, ready to become Mrs. Montgomery in every sense."
As he approached with the needle, Andrea thrashed in her restraints, desperate to avoid whatever drug he intended to administer. In her violent movement, she managed to knock over a small table beside her chair. Glass containers crashed to the floor, their contents spilling across the polished concrete.
Carl lunged forward, grabbing her arm to steady it for the injection. As they struggled, Andrea's wedding dress, still on its hanger, was knocked against a tank of preservation fluid. The impact tore the delicate fabric, revealing the lining—and the small electronic devices sewn into the seams.
"What are these?" Andrea demanded, stalling for time. "Listening devices? Tracking chips?"
Carl glanced at the exposed technology, momentarily distracted. "Insurance," he replied. "To monitor your vital signs during the ceremony. To ensure you don't say anything... inappropriate before the legal documents are signed."
In that moment of distraction, Andrea drove her knee upward, catching Carl in the abdomen. He doubled over, the syringe clattering to the floor. But before she could capitalize on her advantage, he recovered, backhanding her across the face with enough force to snap her head sideways.
"Enough!" he shouted, all pretense of calm sophistication gone. "You will comply. You will cooperate. The alternative is far less pleasant."
Blood trickled from Andrea's split lip as she glared up at him. "You'll have to kill me. I'll never willingly participate in this insanity."
Carl's breathing gradually steadied, his composure returning like a mask sliding back into place. "That won't be necessary. By tomorrow, your cooperation won't matter." He retrieved the fallen syringe, checking that it remained intact. "The ceremony will proceed as planned. And afterward—"
His words were interrupted by a sound neither of them had expected—a wet, gurgling cough from the direction of the tank. Both turned to see Leland's body convulsing slightly, fluid draining from his mouth, his eyes moving beneath closed lids.
"Impossible," Carl whispered, rushing to the tank. "He shouldn't have this level of autonomic function."
As Carl frantically checked the monitors surrounding his brother's preserved form, Andrea noticed something rolling across the floor from the overturned table—a glass container that had survived the fall. Inside, floating in clear fluid, was a human-like face—a perfect fusion of her own features with Leland's, the uncanny hybrid neither fully male nor female, yet recognizably both of them.
The sight of this final abomination—the physical manifestation of Carl's twisted vision—broke something inside Andrea. She screamed, the sound tearing from her throat with primal force, echoing off the laboratory walls like the cry of a wounded animal.
Carl turned from his brother's tank, irritation flashing across his face. "That's enough dramatics." He approached with the syringe once more. "Sleep now. Tomorrow, you become art."
As the needle pierced her skin and darkness began to encroach on her vision, Andrea's last conscious thought was of the message she had received—the mysterious "L" who had promised answers at St. Catherine's. Help that had never arrived. Hope extinguished like a candle in the wind.
The specimen master had claimed his prize. Tomorrow, the transformation would begin.
