Genome Deviant

Chapter 1

(February 29, 1897)

It was a snowy afternoon of late February in the little town of Iping. I was working at the Coach and Horses Inn and had just finished serving a round of drinks in the bar, then went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Suddenly, I heard the front door swing wide open and slam against the wall, letting the blizzard wind whistle and swirl inside, silencing the chattering and music of the pub.

"A fire," cried a most horridly familiar voice, "in the name of human charity! A room and a fire!"

I felt my stomach churn as Mrs. Hall led him to the parlor to talk about a price. I stayed in the kitchen, hoping he'd leave. Mrs. Hall came in and started to cook and said, "Go fix the table for our guest, Millie."

I swore in my head, then took a cloth, plate, and glass to the parlor and began to lay them with the utmost eclat.

I glanced at the visitor. He wore his hat and overcoat, although a fire was burning, standing with his back to me, staring out the window at the snow in the yard falling. His gloved hands were clasped behind him. He turned and looked at me over his shoulder for a moment. He wore big blue shaded goggles with sidelights, and his coat collar was turned up completely, hiding most of his face but the shiny tip of his pink nose. He glared a bit and turned slightly more, and then I saw he wore a muffler over the lower part of his face, so that his mouth and jaw were completely hidden. Most of the rest of his face was covered in bandages. He must have noticed that I, too, wore an overcoat, gloves, shaded spectacles, and a muffler over my mouth. The way he looked at me was irritating. I finished, turned towards him, and let out a blunt, dry, "What?!"

He said nothing; just turned his head back to the window. I stared back at him for a moment. Nothing else was said; only the ticking of the clock. With a feeling of superiority, I left the room.

I returned to the kitchen and started to 'help' Mrs. Hall cook by mixing the mustard slowly. By the time she'd finished the visitor's lunch and was taking it to him, I was still stirring the mustard. I went over what I'd observed about the visitor so far in my head: the way he dressed, the sound of his voice, and that faint but lingering scent of Evening Primrose.

All the while, I was listening to Mrs. Hall and the visitor talking in the parlor. I would have imagined the visitor would still have been standing there, for she set the tray down with considerable emphasis and called more than said, "Your lunch is served, sir."

"Thank you," he said at the same time.

Then I listened as Mrs. Hall took three steps towards him and asked, "Can I take your coat and hat, sir, and give them a good dry in the kitchen?"

The visitor said no. There was a pause. Then,"I prefer to keep them on," he said with an emphasis.

"Very well, sir," she said. "As you like. In a bit, the room will be warmer."

There was no answer, so Mrs. Hall left the room, and the second she closed the door, the visitor rushed the table in an eager manner.

I was still churning the mustard as I listened to what he was doing when Mrs. Hall barged into the room. "Lamb's sakes, Millie, you'll be the death of me yet with your slowness!" she scolded. "Here we have a gentleman who wants to stay, and you forget the mustard!"

I waited until she just left the kitchen to give the stranger his mustard before I let a smirk form on my face. As I started peeling potatoes, I listened some more to what was happening with the strange visitor. I could hear Mrs. Hall's footsteps to the parlor at the same time I heard the stranger's fork against his plate. When she knocked on the door, the noise of him eating ceased. Her footsteps continued into the room, and I could faintly hear her rap the pot down on the table, and then she went towards the fire.

"I suppose I may have them to dry now,," she said, without any hint of denial. She was probably talking about the clothes, I thought.

I heard the muffled figure say, "Leave the hat." There was a moment of silence before our visitor repeated his last statement.

"I didn't know, sir," Mrs. Hall stammered before she stopped herself.

I then heard the visitor say, "Thank you," very drily.

Mrs. Hall then said, "I'll have them nicely dried, sir, at once."

I heard her slowly walking down the stairs, and I heard her muttering to herself, "I never…There!" She quite softly entered the kitchen, not even bothering to ask me what I was messing about with now.

As I continued peeling my one half-peeled potato, I listened to the upstairs. I heard nothing for a moment but silence. Then I heard him resume his meal again for another moment. As he took a mouthful, stopped, and then took another mouthful, and then I heard his footsteps go to the window. I heard him messing with the blinds, and then I heard him return to the table and began eating more heartily. All the while, I was trying to hear over Mrs. Hall talking to herself. Very hard to do, with that Cockney country bumpkin accent she has.

"The poor soul's had an accident or an operation or somethin'. What a turn them bandages did me, to be sure!" she exclaimed.

"I tried not to pay much attention to her as she put more coals on the fire and hung the visitor's clothes to dry.

"And them goggles! Why, he looks more like a divin' helmet than a human man! And holding that handkerchief over his mouth all the time. Talking through it… perhaps his mouth was hurt too, maybe."

I was startled at her change of tone when she turned around towards me and snapped, "Bless my soul alive, Millie, ain't you done with them taters yet?!"

I counted all the grammar errors that she had made through her little outburst, then replied politely, "You can't really rush perfection, ma'am."

"Perfection has nothin' to do with taters, Millie!"

I decided to cut off my argument there and reply with a simple, "Yes, ma'am," and then I sped up my pace peeling the 'taters'.

A little later, as I heard Mrs. Hall clearing up the plates and silverware from the stranger's meal, I did not hear the stranger move once from his spot at the fireplace. Suddenly, I heard him say, "I have some luggage at Bramblehurst Station. When shall you have it sent?"

"By tomorrow, to be sure," she replied with forced brightness.

"I couldn't help but giggle a little, hearing the anxiousness in his voice when he echoed, "To-morrow? There is no speedier delivery?" And then the disappointment when she answered, 'no.' He continued his questions, whether she was quite sure there would be no man with a trap who would go over. She replied with an explanation that once a carriage had turned over in a snowstorm like this, killing one man. When he made no reply, she tried to strike up a conversation about her nephew, and how he was cut by a scythe. She babbled how her nephew had been worried about having to have an operation.

The man let out a bark of laughter at this and merely said, "Did he?"

Mrs. Hall now sounded indignant as she said, "Yes! Yes, he did, and it was no laughing matter! There were bandages to do, bandages to undo, and if I may make so bold to say, sir—"

The visitor cut her off here. "Do you have a match? My pipe's out."

There was a moment of silence, and then I heard her approach the visitor, probably lighting the pipe, and then she took the dishes and left. When she came down, I could hear her mumbling to herself something about the visitor's snobbery before her attention once came upon me. "Millie, you finely finished them taters!?"

"I've been finished with them, ma'am." I said wiping the last of the peels into a pail and took up the broom as she remarked on how it took long enough. Although I mostly hoped it would end there I was unable to keep my big mouth shut. "...Have a pleasant chat with the stranger, ma'am?" That sent her off again.

"A pleasant chat indeed... Never in my life have met anyone so...!" She cut herself off, exasperated then restarted the rant. "Do you know what happened up there!?"

"Not re-"

"Well let me tell ya what happened..."She told the whole story of her snubbing with extreme emphases and exaggerations, repeating some of the details a few times, needless to say it was a long afternoon.

After Mrs. Hall's snubbing, the rest of the day passed without much incident. At least, for me.

Teddy Henfrey, on the other hand, had a little more of a rough time. As an excuse for Mrs. Hall to get into asking the visitor if he would like some tea, she asked Teddy Henfrey to look at the clock in the parlor, just to fix the hour hand. It was obvious Teddy was purposely delaying his job on the clock.

It was funny as hell when I heard the visitor's voice growl, "Why don't you finish and go? All you have to do is fix the hour hand on its axle. You're simply humbugging!"

It was only a few minutes before Henfrey left after that, obviously offended as he murmured to himself. Shortly after, Mr. Hall, my employer's husband, came back from Sidderbridge. He had stopped a bit , judging by his coordination. Upon his arrival, he was ratted by his wife on the length of time he spent in Sidderbridge. Meanwhile, I was snickering in the kitchen. Mr. Hall's inquiries about the stranger ensued as she persisted her nagging. He was obviously very suspicious of our new guest, and after our visitor went to bed about half past nine, Mr. Hall strode into the parlor. He very carefully inspected all of his wife's furniture, and I waited outside, idly watching. As soon as he left the room, I myself entered the room cautiously, and, seeing the mathematical computations on the table, I folded them neatly and tucked them away into my coat pocket.

It was very soon time for me to go home. But despite the blizzard from this morning finally letting up the cold weather was still savage and unyielding,(I was still virtually trapped here). I cringed at the thought of spending the night here with him here. But I knew it would be madness to go out into such bleak and frigid environment. Unfortunately, I had to abandon emotional prejudice and just listen to my common sense.

At night, as I lay in the bed of the room right next to his, I could not sleep. All I could do was lie stagnant, seething in the scornful contempt against my "neighbor" in the other room. I knew that the next morning would not be any easier than this night. It was some time before my mind began to wonder away from this place, to memories still as vivid and transparently clear as if it just happened.

. . .

(Fore and a half-quarter, years earlier)

Under normal circumstances, my parents wouldn't put me under my uncle's care during their six-month business trip. But under normal circumstances, parents didn't have a four-year-old child who knew how to make gun powder and accidentally blow up the kitchen while their nanny was trying to cook their dinner (not that she had been hurt… just a little frightened… and maybe a tad bit singed?). And under normal circumstances, parents wouldn't run out of nannies to nanny their child.

And so, since these weren't normal circumstances, I found myself in a carriage on the way to Great Portland Street to stay with my uncle, whom I had heard very little about. That is, other than my mother's reassurance that he was 'only a little bit eccentric.' Which, when reading between the lines, really translated to something along the lines of 'he's a nutter.'

As the carriage rode closer and closer to my uncle's, I could tell by the gradual decline of quality of the streets that this was not going to be a very pleasant neighborhood for a little four-year-old. Finally, as the carriage pulled in front of a shabby-looking building, I got out, along with my parents.

"But Mother, why is he a nutter?" I asked suddenly as my father approached the door and rang the bell.

To which my mother replied, "I never said he was a nutter. I just said he was a little eccentric."

I retorted, "So… not technically a nutter… but basically a nutter."

My mother said nothing.

The door opened, revealing a friendly-looking man of middle age, with a graying beard and a very small hat… too small for a grown man's head, but it would probably fit me well. He greeted us warmly with a funny accent, "Hello! Come in, come in, we've been expecting you!" As we entered, I thought to myself that it didn't seem too bad. Seemed my mother was right, and he was only a little eccentric. As the man stood over me, hands on his knees with a welcoming grin on his face, he said, "Hello, little one! I'm going to be the landlord for as long as you're staying here!

At this, I realized he was not my uncle, and my bright optimism was dashed, and pessimistic anxiety grew back.

As he commented to my parents what a cute little child I was, my parents just gave him a tight-lipped smile.

Next thing I knew, we were all trudging up the stairs, and I was taking up the very rear, holding very tightly to my mother's hand. My apprehension grew with every step. I wasn't very much listening to everything the landlord had to say… especially since it turned out he wasn't really my uncle. All I could do was think about what they had really meant by 'eccentric,' and having most exaggerated mental images flowing through my mind. We finally stood in front of the door of the room my uncle was supposed to be living in…. which was the door to the attic. Somehow that did not make me feel any better about this… little arrangement. As the landlord knocked on the door, I held onto my mother even tighter, because the idea of being alone with someone 'only a little eccentric' without my mother to protect me was frightening.

There was a moment where there was no response. The landlord knocked again.

I heard a haughty, clipped voice shout from the other side, "Alright, alright, I'm coming!"

I buried my face in my mother's skirt, intimidated half out of my wits. I didn't want to look up as the door swung open.

I heard the voice mutter something under his breath about '…forgot about babysitting the little ankle biter.'

I felt my mother's arm wrap around my waist, and she lifted me up to rest on her hip... Only then did I gather enough courage to look up. I turned to see a very pale, white-haired man with eyes that looked somewhat like little pink candies, with a slightly-annoyed, but forcibly-tolerant look on his face. I felt a kind of fascination with his appearance; I'd never seen a young man with white hair, and I'd definitely never seen a man with candy-colored eyes.

My mother carried me closer so that my uncle and I could get a better look at each other. He looked slightly bemused as he peered at me. I heard him mumble, "Is she supposed to be looking at me like that?"

My mother delicately introduced, "Sweetheart, this is your uncle—" but she was suddenly cut off as I threw my arms out and thrust them towards him, wrapping them around his neck.

He was momentarily stunned, not expecting my actions. It took a long while before I felt two hands under my arms, lifting me up and then setting me back on the ground. "Alright," he muttered. "That's enough affection for now," he said very awkwardly.

I blinked very innocently up at him.

He cleared his throat and glanced between me and my parents. Finally, he pointed to the corner of the room. "Er… why don't you go sit down, and I'll…" he looked between me and the chair he pointed at, as if trying to think of a good phrase to finish the sentence. "…deal with you later."

I promptly obeyed, crossing the room and struggling to sit in the chair. It took me a few tries to haul myself up.

My uncle looked on at my struggles with a raised eyebrow of skepticism.

My parents exchanged a look of surprise at my obedience. "She… did what she was told?" my father said with mild shock in his voice.

My uncle shot a look of slight panic to my father, as if catching on that I normally didn't follow orders.

My father gave my uncle an awkward smile and jumped right to the ground rules. "Please keep my daughter away from all of…" he glanced to the table covered in tubes and bottles of liquids, some brightly colored, some smoking, some fizzing, and some simply clear. My father seemed to search for the word for a moment, but then sighed and gave up, just gesturing vaguely to the collection. "This." He glanced back to my uncle. "You can expect a check every Friday until we get back.. Please take good care of my daughter… I don't have to remind you of what happened to the hamster when we were children." He gave my uncle a meaningful look.

The pale man crossed his arms and scowled. "I was five."

I suddenly felt very worried again."What hamster?" I piped up,(I could only imagine the worst for the poor creature).

The men glanced at me and muttered something along the lines of 'never mind the hamster.'

I gave them both very dubious looks.

My father turned away from me and back to my uncle. "Have her in bed before ten… and…" he tried to think of anything else important to inform my babysitter of. He shrugged and placed an arm on my mother's shoulder, starting to steer her towards the door. "I suppose… that's about all." He was already standing in the doorway by the time he turned and added one last thing, his hand on the doorknob to close it behind himself. "One more thing… keep her away from fire." The door was then quickly closed, leaving me alone with my uncle.

My uncle was staring worriedly at the closed door my parents had just left out of. He slowly turned to look at me, and we shared a long moment of silence.

He came to me and picked me up and then carried me to the window bench. He plopped me down on it. I watched blankly as he crossed the room to the table of chemicals and picked up a piece of white chalk. He returned to the window bench and drew a long, white line all the way across the room, about a foot away from the window bench. I continued to stare at him blankly.

He slipped the chalk into his pocket, dusted off his hands, and gave me a hard look. "Alright. Now. This side of the room…" he nodded to the side of the room behind the chalk line, including me and the window bench. "Is yours, you can do anything you want. This side of the room," he gestured to the side of the room with him on it, which also included the table with the chemicals, a bed, and a little more. "Is mine. I don't want you crossing that line. You cross that line, and you're going to be punished.

I looked down at the line. I really didn't have much room.

"Also. I don't want you making any noise… no annoying noises, I don't want you asking any stupid questions, no snippy comments, or any stupid sounds. Just… stay… silent."

I raised my hand like I was in a headmaster's office to be called upon.

He stared at me for a split moment and then asked slowly, "…Yes?"

"What if I have to go to the toilet?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then went to his bed and reached under it. He produced a chamber pot and handed it to me. "There you go."

I looked at the chamber pot, then up at him. "…What if you need to go to the toilet?"

"I have access to the door... The door is on my side of the room," he said arrogantly.

"What if I want to go outside?" I asked.

"If you went outside, you'd have a better chance of getting lost, wouldn't you? My dear brother wouldn't appreciate that."

"I won't tell," I simpered.

"No," he said shortly.

"But—"

"No." He waited a moment, as if expecting me to protest again, then turned away, satisfied that I understood his so-called law.

I thought to myself, This is going to be boring, isn't it? I turned to the window and looked out. Then noticed the awning, and just how closely the rooftops are crowded together, enough that a filthy little chimney sweep could hop from one building to another with ease. I smiled faintly, realizing I wasn't as trapped as I had thought before. I returned my gaze to the room to watch my uncle pour droplets from one test tube to another, and Watch the ensuing results as he scribbled something down in his big notebooks. It was rather curious, I thought as I continued to observe.

Note from M.E. James: So this is the first chapter of a long awaited story I've been concentrating on since junior-high. As you can tell this is very heavily based on The Invisible Man novel, but after this first story is finished I plan on putting out two sequels the aren't as restricted to the original novel as I have made this one, plus a crossover with LoquaciousQuibbler. They probably might suck spaghetti and meatballs as most sequels to anything would, but I don't care I'm going to write them anyway! I also plan on making this a comic so if you like it you've got that to look foreword to.

I also want to thank a couple of people that were a big help on this thing. A friend of mine named Jimmy Korzun came up with the title "Genome Deviant" which is great because I'm crap at names, and his critiques on my art made me strive to be better so thank you Jimmy. LoquaciousQuibbler really helped refine the story and did so much in helping type up this first, and soon-to-come second chapter, of this tale so thank you very much "Loqi-with-a-Q". You're good friends.

The updates will be inconsistent and will depend on how fast I can type the rest of this up, please leave a review to ether encourage or discourage me to keep going or give my pointers on what I could improve, and thank you for reading. See you later.