Things returned to normal by the next morning. Booker was back to his confident self, obsessing over the corpses and tinkering down in his laboratory. Trinket began to wonder if the previous night had even happened. But that look in his eyes and his trembling hands were ingrained in her memory. Her image of him was changed forever. Despite all of his brilliance and boastfulness, he was human and had weaknesses like everyone else.
However, their definition of "normal" was again disrupted only three days later. It was the middle of the night, and Trinket was woken abruptly by a loud ringing. It took her a moment to realize it was the front door. She threw on her dressing gown and lit a candle before hurrying down the stairs. Booker was coming up from the laboratory, his jacket and vest missing and his shirt unbuttoned at the top. They met in the hallway, and she looked him up and down, her cheeks burning at the sight of his partially exposed chest.
"Were you sleeping down there?" she asked, pulling her attention away from his chest and focusing instead on his mussed hair.
"A quick nap," he said, blinking through bleary eyes.
The bell was still ringing, distracting her from the strange flutter in her stomach. She and Booker both turned to answer the door, finding Gin standing there in the dark, a big smile on her face.
"Boy, do I have something for you," she said.
That's when they noticed there was someone else with her. A woman. And though it was hard to see any details of her person, it was clear she was breathing heavily as she leaned against the brick façade of the house.
Booker and Trinket took hold of her arms and helped her inside. Gin closed and locked the door as they eased the woman onto the settee. Trinket rushed over to the fireplace to stoke the coals and start the flames up. When she returned to the others, Booker was already inspecting their new acquaintance, his eyes wide with wonder and his fingers twitching with excitement. Turning to the woman, Trinket swept her gaze over her, taking in her thick, tight curls, her dark skin, and her—gills?
No, it couldn't be. And yet, that's what the slits on the sides of her neck looked like, gaping open with every labored breath she took.
"Impossible," Trinket muttered.
"Not for him," Booker said, his eyes fixed on the fishlike organs still gasping for air.
"I was sleeping in one of the abandoned buildings down in St. Spittel when I suddenly heard a crash," Gin explained. "I got up and found her stumbling around in the street, knocking over crates and tripping over garbage. Looked like she was drunk. Then I saw those things on her neck and thought she might be something you'd be interested in, so I grabbed her and brought her here."
"You did good, Gin," Booker said, bringing his fingers to his lips and gazing at the woman as if she were the greatest gift in the world. "You did so very good."
Gin beamed at his praise, her cheeks coloring slightly.
"Hurry, let's get her downstairs," Booker said.
Trinket again grasped the woman's arm as he took the other, and together they led her to the laboratory. Gin followed them but stopped in the doorway. "I'll let myself out," she said. "But if you need any more help, I'll stay nearby."
"Thank you, Gin," Booker said as he struggled to get the woman down the stairs. "You have no idea what this means to me."
Barely able to hide her grin, Gin closed the laboratory door and left the three of them alone.
Once they got the woman downstairs, they lifted her onto the operating table. Booker rushed to his workbench and pulled out a number of tools while Trinket examined their patient. Aside from the gills, she was battered and bruised. There were fresh stitches all over her face and body, and she was drenched in sweat. Her eyes were distant and disconnected as she gazed up at the ceiling, her chapped lips parting with each breath. Trinket laid a hand on her head; she was running a high fever. Looking at the gills on her neck, she found that the skin on which they had been stitched was red and puss-filled.
"Booker, I think she has an infection," Trinket said as he rejoined her.
He inspected her extra organs, poking and prodding at them with a long probe-like instrument. The woman, though clearly in a feverish stupor, winced at the touch of the metal. Trinket bit her lip and swallowed hard. She wanted to relieve the woman's pain, but she didn't want to interfere again and cause trouble. Besides, this wasn't like with Emma; Booker wasn't purposely causing her pain. At least, she hoped he wasn't.
"They're drying out," he said after a moment.
"What do you mean?"
"Gills are made of very fine, sensitive parts. If they aren't kept in water, they begin to dry out. If they dry out, they're bound to rot, which will cause more infection."
Without asking, Trinket ran to the sink and drenched a cloth with water. She returned to the table and dabbed at one of the sets of gills, interrupting Booker's examination. He let out an annoyed grunt but didn't stop her. Rather, he moved on to the right ones and continued on as before.
"What can we do for her?" Trinket asked.
"Not much. Gills are meant to be constantly submerged. Humans, however, are not. It's not a feasible combination. Fascinating, but not feasible."
Having thoroughly wet the first set of gills, Trinket went to the other side and again interrupted Booker's inspection. "Then can't you remove them?"
He pursed his lips and crossed his arms as he watched her. "It's not quite that simple. The work done here is intricate and complicated. He's connected tiny pieces of muscle so expertly that to remove them would cause significant damage, much like with my mechanical limbs. Her chances of survival would be slim."
Trinket swallowed around a tight knot in her throat as she gazed down at the suffering woman. "So she's going to die?"
He shrugged. "Something like her should never have existed in the first place. And if she dies, I can dissect her and see exactly what he did to create her. It could give us a clue as to his whereabouts."
She turned on him, her blood boiling. "You're talking about her like she's not a person."
Gesturing at the woman, he raised his eyebrows. "Can you really claim she's fully human anymore?"
"I think she's as human as those you turn into partial machines."
His expression faltered momentarily, and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly.
"You have to at least try, Booker," she pleaded. "You're brilliant and you know it. Put your talents to good use. Please."
Hesitating, his eyes flickered to the woman, focusing on the gills. They darted back to Trinket and then to the gills again before he let out a sigh and turned to the stairs. As his footsteps ascended the steps, Trinket gritted her teeth and went to the shelves where he kept some of his medical supplies. She found the jar of cooling ointment and brought it to the table where she spread it over the woman's clammy skin, hoping it would bring her some relief. She then continued to keep the gills wet with the damp rag. Though it was likely a fruitless effort, she couldn't sit there waiting for the woman to die so that they could cut her open and examine her insides.
After several minutes passed, she heard Booker's footsteps again as he rushed down the stairs. Without a word, he scooped the woman up and brought her upstairs. Trinket followed after him, anxious to know what he was doing but afraid to ask. He continued up to the second floor and made his way down the hall and into the washroom where the tub was waiting, filled with water.
"What are you doing?" Trinket asked as he eased the woman into the water.
"That wet cloth isn't going to do much good," he said, steadying the feverish woman's head so that her neck was submerged but her head was still above the surface. "This way the gills will stay hydrated and her lungs will remain empty of fluid. And the cold water will help with the fever."
"So she's just going to live in our bathtub?"
Rising to his feet, he took a look at his work before turning to her. "Temporarily. She can stay in here until I figure out something else. But you'll need to watch her so that she doesn't slip under and drown."
Kneeling before the tub, Trinket smoothed back the woman's curls. The woman groaned at her touch. "What about the infection?" Trinket asked.
"I'll bring you some ointment and honey. You'll have to do your best to keep the stitches clean."
She glanced up at him. "You're really going to find a way to keep her alive?"
"I'll do what I can. Keep an eye on her. Hopefully once the fever breaks, she'll be lucid enough to keep herself from drowning. And maybe we'll even be able to get some answers from her."
With that, he left the two of them alone in the washroom. Trinket turned to the woman and swallowed. What could she do? She had no medical skills to help ease her pain, nor did she know what would comfort her.
She reached for her hand in the water. The icy cold was like a thousand tiny needles piercing her skin, and the sensation brought back a memory.
An old bathtub.
Filled with ice and water.
Being tied down and forced to sit in it.
For hours.
And hours.
And hours.
The washroom door creaked, pulling her from the dark flashback. Booker had returned with the ointment and honey. There was a hint of concern in his expression as he eyed her.
"Is that for the infection?" she asked as she removed her hand from the water, relieved to have an excuse to do so.
"Yes." His gaze flickered between the woman in the bathtub and her. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, it was nothing. Just . . . a memory."
Understanding dawned on his face, but the concern remained. "Are you going to be all right to do this? Because you don't—"
"It's fine," she said firmly, taking the containers from him. "Go, do your work. I can take care of things here."
He hesitated as she returned to the tub and knelt down once more. But as she began to apply the medicine to the infection, he heaved a sigh and left. The panic from her flashback still squeezed her heart, but she focused on the task at hand, ignoring the flies that had suddenly appeared on the walls. Even as they began to multiply, she kept her eyes on the ailing woman before her. This was more important than her issues. A life was at stake.
Still, she couldn't help but be reminded of that night in Elysium when she had been convinced her walls had transformed into hundreds of spiders. Unable to hold back a shudder, she scooped up another dose of honey and slathered it on the red skin surrounding the now hydrated gills.
~
Sleep must have taken her at some point during the night. She had been worried it would happen, so she gathered as many towels as she could and did her best to tether the woman's head to the edge of the tub so that if she did happen to drift off, the poor thing might not drown.
Trinket's eyes shot open when drops of water splashed her face. Realizing that she had fallen asleep on the edge of the tub, she panicked, terrified that her attempts to keep her upright had failed. Rather than finding a bloated corpse, though, she was met with tired but warm brown eyes and a weak smile to match.
"You're awake," she said.
The woman nodded and then glanced down at herself in the tub. She raised an eyebrow and turned to Trinket inquiringly.
"You had a fever," she explained. "From an infection that developed in your stitches."
The woman lifted her pruney hands and brushed her fingers against the gills on her neck. Her face dropped for a moment, but then she took a breath and nodded. That warm smile returned, and she reached for Trinket's hand, giving it a squeeze.
"Are you all right here by yourself if I go fetch Mr. Larkin?" Trinket asked. "He's a doctor who's hoping he can help you."
The woman nodded, and with her consent, Trinket scrambled to her feet and raced down to the laboratory. Booker was hunched over some metal and tools scattered over a workbench, as well as papers filled with sketches and designs. She was curious to see what they were, but she thought it more important to have Booker come see the woman. He looked up as she approached.
"She's awake," she said.
Abandoning his work, Booker followed her up the stairs and into the washroom. The woman, still conscious and submerged in the bathwater, flashed another warm smile when they entered.
"How are you feeling?" Booker asked as he knelt down.
She shrugged and wiggled her hand back and forth.
Laying a hand on her forehead, Booker concentrated for a moment. "Your fever has gone down significantly." He turned her head to examine both sets of gills. "The stitching is still a bit inflamed, but it looks much better."
The woman smiled again and pressed her hand against his.
Booker forced a smile. "My name is Booker Larkin, and this is my assistant, Miss Trinket. I'm a doctor and a scientist. As I'm sure you're already aware, you are something of a miracle."
She rolled her eyes and scoffed.
"Well, I think you're a miracle. And quite fascinating. May I ask your name?"
She hesitated, her eyes flickering to Trinket. Clamping her mouth shut, she swallowed and stared down at the water.
"Lovely, another one unwilling to divulge her identity," Booker mumbled. "Very well. Can you at least give me any information about the man who performed this surgery on you?"
Again, she hesitated.
"Anything at all. I'll even settle for a vague description."
Still, she did not reply.
"Do you remember anything about him?"
A nod.
"You just refuse to tell me? Let me remind you that I am likely the only person who has even a chance of saving your life."
"Booker," Trinket hissed.
His face fell, and he cleared his throat, pasting on another smile. "Please, in order to help you, I need to know a little more about the man who did this."
The woman's eyes darted about the room until she at last heaved a sigh and turned to them. She shook her head and pointed at her lips.
"You're a mute?" Booker asked, seeming confused.
She shook her head again and then opened her mouth wide. Trinket inhaled sharply when she saw that in place of a tongue, there was a stump of flesh. The woman snapped her jaw shut and sat back in the tub, folding her arms and looking away.
"Ah. A forced mute," Booker said, the disappointment clear in his tone. He gestured at her. "May I?"
Somewhat reluctantly, the woman opened her mouth, and Booker took hold of her jaw. He peered inside, moving her head left and right as he tried to get a better look. Finally, he released her, and she sank back into the water.
"Interesting," he said. "It appears to have been treated and stitched."
"Did . . ." Trinket swallowed, afraid to know the answer. "Did the man who did this to you," she motioned to the gills before pointing to the woman's mouth, "do that as well?"
Booker shot her a look, but he seemed just as nervous to find out the truth. The woman scrunched up her nose and shook her head. Relief flooded Trinket's chest, and Booker let out a breath beside her.
"So who did it?" he asked.
The woman opened her mouth but then closed it and shrugged her shoulders, waving away the question. Nodding, Booker cleared his throat and glanced up at Trinket, his eyebrows raised. Getting answers out of this woman would not be easy.
"Do you remember anything about the man who sewed the gills onto you?" he asked, turning back to the woman.
She nodded and lifted her hand up over her head, moving it back and forth.
"He was tall?" Trinket said.
She nodded and then made two circles with her fingers and thumbs and held them up to her eyes.
"And he had glasses?"
Another nod.
Booker ran a hand over his mouth as he took in this information. Standing, he turned to Trinket and led her out into the hallway. He glanced back at the woman and then leaned towards Trinket.
"How did you understand any of that?" he asked her.
She shrugged. "I don't know. I just did?"
"Well." He straightened up. "Perhaps you can see what more you can get out of her."
"Should we really leave her in the tub, though? I mean, won't she catch a cold?"
"I suppose you can have her go back in whenever her gills start to dry out. You'll have to keep a close eye on her, though."
"Have you figured something out to keep them hydrated?"
"Yes. I'm working on it now. I should be able to finish it in a day or so."
"So quickly?"
He grinned. "I'm a prodigy, my dear. Anyhow, continue applying the ointment and honey to keep the infection down. I won't be able to attach my creations if it worsens."
"I'll be vigilant. Will it be all right to set her up in one of the guest rooms?"
"Yes, yes, that's fine. Just be sure to check on her every hour. If the gills dry out, we'll have problems."
She nodded, and he gave her a smile before returning downstairs.
Trinket went back into the washroom and offered the woman a gentle smile "How about we get you some dry clothes?"