It all started with an innocuous advertisement in the local newspaper while he was staying at a hotel in Princetown. England wasn't the choice destination for a holiday in his opinion – a little too expensive when he was on a run, but better here than wandering the forests of Eastern Europe, utterly lost. Though, he supposed, sipping tea and glancing out of the window that looked over to the Dartmoor Prison, he might have to go there after all if the Organisation kept on pursuing him.

He closed the newspaper with a sigh and drained the rest of his tea. It sounded too good to be true, this proposition, and Frankenstein was a cautious, methodical man. Would it be worth a risk to take a jaunt to the countryside, working as a mere caretaker in an old mansion? It would be secluded enough to suit his purpose and he could even –

Well, no use wondering idly when he could just as well go and take a look. It wasn't as if he had much to do in any case.

The ad had given a London address for contact purposes, but no local address appended in case there was someone willing to take up the job. He went down and used a public telephone for calling the London office, and was greeted by a cheerful-sounding receptionist. He remembered to put on his best posh accent – he wasn't English, but he had enough skills to masquerade as one – and had a short conversation with her. Yes, he had called the right place, and yes, there was an opening for the job of managing the estate of a certain person. Yes, it was located in Devon itself and yes, he would need to contact the local address to get further information.

Frankenstein brought up the GPS app in his phone to mark the correct location of local office, by the name of Emsworth Holdings Inc. Frankenstein had raised an eyebrow at the name; it seemed to crawl straight out of a Wodehouse book, though he doubted it would be anything like that.

It wasn't too far, so he chose to walk and was there fifteen minutes before appointment time. The office was built into an old building and the street was mostly deserted around it, giving Frankenstein a feeling of foreboding. The sun had sunken a little lower and the sky started turning crimson, announcing the herald of a chilly winter evening. He drew his coat tighter around himself and stepped on the stairs, deciding to enter even though he was a little early. It couldn't hurt – it wasn't as if the business was booming. It was quiet, very quiet.

The door was made of expensive wood when he got to the door of the office. He knocked on it and it was opened, leading him into an opulent interior, lit with ambient lighting that gave the impression as if he'd set foot into the pages of history instead of the office of a realtor. There was only one man there: aged and slightly bent, but his eyes gleamed with shrewdness and Frankenstein didn't miss the calculation that passed through them the moment he set them upon his face.

"Mr. Frank Lee, is it?" He inquired, stepping aside to let Frankenstein enter.

"Yes, I called your London office."

"Yes, yes, do come in."

Frankenstein did as bade and stepped on the plush Persian rug, feeling his shoes sink into the softness. There were two red high-backed chairs near the fireplace with a table in between them. A decanter rested on the polished surface of the wood, with two whiskey tumblers next to it. The walls were lined with bookshelves and there was a proper table and chairs on one side, but the man did not head for that. Instead, he picked his way to one of the comfortable looking chairs and took a seat, gesturing for Frankenstein to do the same.

He poured for both of them and slid the glass towards Frankenstein, taking a generous sip from his own and sighed. "To be honest, Mr. Lee, I'm glad you turned up today. I was beginning to lose hope that I'd ever get to settle this matter."

Frankenstein tasted the liquor, acknowledging silently that it was good (and probably not poisoned) and tilted his head a little in question.

"As you can see, this is no normal job interview. There is a house here up in Dartmoor that belongs to a gentleman that I work for. He has moved to the States a while back and the management of his estate has fallen into my hands. I'm getting on in the years, as you can no doubt see." He smiled deprecatingly. "I need someone young and hardworking who can go live there in my stead."

"I see," Frankenstein said. "This is still highly unusual."

"Oh, there is a contract, and I do need your information and resume, you see, but I need to know you personally before I can even get to the paperwork."

"Personally?" He asked. He needed a hideout, a place to rest and fade away from the public life for a while, and this sounded like a golden opportunity, but Frankenstein wasn't an idiot. He didn't want to walk from one trap into another.

"The gentleman I work for is very dear to me and I don't want to leave his home into the hands of a man I can't even trust," the old man answered, taking another sip and looking at the fireplace. It wasn't lit, so that must be an ingrained habit.

"And you couldn't find the locals to do it for you?"

The old man glanced at him, eyes sharp. "No, because they are a superstitious lot and would do anything to avoid it. I'll be upfront with you, Mr. Lee, there are many rumours surrounding that place and if you choose to go live there, a many people will try to dissuade you. You mustn't let it bother you."

"I don't believe in superstition, but I find that there's usually something when people talk, even if they are mistaken."

"Quite, quite," the old man agreed readily enough. "The house I'm about to send you to is rather isolated, and was once the scene of a rather gruesome massacre, back in the medieval times. Before that, a lot of people used to live in the surrounding areas, but now, none are left. It's eerie, so people talk."

Frankenstein lifted his glass and took a draught. On the face of it, everything seemed to be all right, but his gut screamed at him. He finished his drink and gave the man in front of him a slow smile. "That's fine," he said, decided. "I don't mind a job like that. I'm not easily shaken anyway – this might be the perfect work for me."

"Excellent," the man grinned, tossed his head back to empty his drink as well.

The meeting was over half an hour later after Frankenstein handed over his (forged) papers and Mr. Emsworth – for that was his name – looked them over. Things went quickly afterwards: Frankenstein was to start working within a week, his pay was good enough to raise eyebrows but Mr. Emsworth insisted. A car would escort him to his new house and he would get necessary supplies every week through the same. Their contract covered a period of twelve months, and it could be renewed annually subsequently.

It was ridiculously simple and Frankenstein allowed it to happen. He half-expected to stumble on the base of some criminal organisation operating in the bowels of his new house. If so, he was going to have fun uprooting them. It would serve as a good learning experience when he had to inevitably face the men he was running from.

Therefore, that evening when he stepped out into the streets of Princetown, Frankenstein found himself full of a sense of self-satisfaction. Emsworth might have thought he had Frankenstein eating out of the palm of his hand, but that wasn't the case. And soon, he hoped, it would be the other way round.

The car picked him up at nine sharp, and the woman who billed him at the counter gave him a consternated look. He had stayed in the hotel long enough to get friendly with the staff, and he knew that he was easy on the eyes, prompting enough female (and occasional male) attention to facilitate conversation. They knew where he was heading off to, and none of them seemed to approve. Frankenstein, however, was a student of science and as such, he had a natural disinclination towards believing in the paranormal.

"It's okay, Lydia," he said soothingly, counting his change and pocketing it. "One year isn't a long time, and I'm allowed to come back for a visit then."

She sniffled a little, turning away, and Frankenstein took that as a cue to leave. He picked up his suitcase – the only piece of luggage he owned on this island – and walked out of the tiny hotel he'd called his home for the better part of this month.

It was a quaint and old little vehicle: a Citroën probably, but he couldn't be sure and he wasn't concerned enough to ask about it. It was, however, a little troublesome to get into it. The suitcase went in the back and the chauffer drove away without a single comment once he was properly seated. Frankenstein tried to make idle conversation, but the man didn't even seem to hear it, so he resisted further urges and sat back, watching the scenery drift away.

Princetown faded from view soon enough and the path grew more and more hilly, though the altitude never rose much. Frankenstein could feel his ears pop a little every time they climbed higher. As far as he could see, there were crags and tors, grasslands in the distance, and probably the bogs he'd heard so much about. He could see tiny rivers cutting through the land far away, bleeding life into the rocky earth and causing greenery to spout along its banks.

Clouds drifted lazily along the horizon, stealing away precious sunlight and soon the wind grew chilly. Frankenstein rolled the window up and settled back into his seat, closing his eyes for a while. His mind wanted to dwell on the past, now that he felt a little bit secure in his safety. He had imagined that Emsworth might be an agent of the Organisation, but why would he lure Frankenstein away to a deserted place? He could have poisoned Frankenstein the day they'd met. Why go through so much trouble when they had already located him?

Still. He had covered his tracks well, but even this driver could be a hired gun. Anybody could be. Frankenstein breathed softly through his mouth and closed his eyes tighter. It didn't pay to be so paranoid. He didn't want to die – not because he was afraid, no. He wanted to take these people down. They had lured him and his mind into working for them, and then he'd realised just how misguided he had been. His brilliance had been exploited and –

The car came to an abrupt stop and jolted Frankenstein out of his thoughts. He blinked and looked out of the window. They were smack in the middle of nowhere, and there was a horse carriage standing a little away from where he sat. Frankenstein blinked again, because the last he checked, this wasn't the nineteenth century.

"You've to go the rest of the way in that," the driver said at length in a thick accent. "Get off."

Frankenstein ambled out of the car in a daze, barely even noticing that the driver had chucked his suitcase out too. He turned around when he noticed the hum of the car's engine and watched it drive away. The carriage still stood there like a sentinel and its driver had a hat that obscured his face from view. Frankenstein had liked his gothic literature just as much as any other, but he had no idea when he'd shifted genres from crime thriller to gothic horror.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" The coachman rumbled then, startling Frankenstein.

"No, sorry," Frankenstein replied and picked up his suitcase. The carriage was made of wood and it had no windows. So now Frankenstein had no way of knowing where he would be going. A sliver of regret started to worm its way through his heart, making it heavy in his chest even as he clambered inside and shut the door.

The coachman opened the little window at his end and peered at him, giving him a gap-toothed smile peeking from between his bushy beard. "Strap in, lad. We're in for the long ride."

"How long will it take?" Frankenstein checked his watch in the dim light. It was almost one in the afternoon.

"We'll get there about nightfall is all I can say." That said, the man shut the window and the carriage became dark.

Frankenstein opened his mouth, then thinking better of it, closed it and settled in for a nap. He could have escaped this any time he wanted, but where would he go in this wilderness anyway? Whether for good or for bad, he'd taken his chance and wherever that took him, he would deal with it.