Patchwork -chp 3-

-Chapter 3-
Beyond the sound of the crackling, snapping fire, and raindrops tapping against the window outside, the Monster could hear footsteps below him.  He concluded that he was on the second story of the building, and there were people below him.  There were several footsteps that he could hear.  He listened to them, trying to measure their pace and decide how many people there were.
There was the light, steady gait of a woman.  It was quick, as if she were hurrying her task.  He figured it must have been Lillian.  
The second set of footsteps were heavy, decided, slow, as if the owner of the feet were moving without any express destination.  The Monster would have been greatly surprised if that stride belonged to a woman.  There must have been a man in the house.
The final gait he heard was slow, like the previous one, but it was not steady.  It was not heavy, but light, as if it were cautious.  Occasionally the steps would slur into a timid shuffling.  Perhaps there was a cripple in the home?  Or an elderly person?
As well, the Monster discovered the presence of a fourth presence in the house.  Not by the presence of four distinct footsteps, but by the music that was playing in the home.  While he could hear three people romping about the house, there was the sound of someone playing a piano.  The music was sweet, sad, lovely.  The Monster enjoyed it very much.  
"Niel, do play something happier," he heard Lillian's voice say.
"This is the music suitable to the rain outside!" said the voice of a boy.
The music continued awhile longer, then came to an abrupt halt.  He could hear the legs of the piano bench scrape against the wooden floor as it was violently shoved backwards.  The following sounds were that of someone excitedly running, tripping, and stumbling up the stairs.  The next thing he knew, the door to the room he occupied was flung open.  The door slammed against the wall.  The Monster sat up quickly, but the sudden movement made his head spin.  
His blurry eyes tried to focus on the person in the door.  As his vision cleared, he saw the figure of a young boy.  He looked to be fifteen or sixteen years of age.  He was tall, and his legs and arms were well muscled, but not thick.  His wavy, auburn hair was cropped short.  His soft brown eyes starred excitedly at the Monster from underneath a bright fringe of red eyelashes.
"He's awake!" he declared enthusiastically.  The thick accent of his Scottish tongue made the Monster flinch.  It was not because it was an ugly sound, but it was different than the gentle, flowing sounds he was used to in the land of his birth… creation…. whatever it was that had given him life.  
The boy took a step forward, but suddenly was drawn backwards by some unseen force.  Lillian shoved him out of the way and moved into the doorway, blocking his path.      
"Yes, he's awake, but by no means ready for the likes of you.  Go downstairs, Niel.  Now."
"But Lil-"
"Now!"
Niel sighed, glanced over his sister's shoulder to take one last peek at the monster, then had the door promptly slammed in his face.  Turning around, Lillian leaned against the door and sighed.  She carried a bowl of soup in her hand, the handle of a spoon peering over the brim, and a cloth was bunched up in her other hand.  
"I'm sorry about him…. He's been waiting for you to wake up since you got here," Lillian apologized, smiling and blushing embarrassedly at the same time.  The Monster made no answer, but starred blankly at her.  
Nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Lillian moved towards him.  She set the soup on the bedside table and moved her chair beside the bed.  
"You're sitting up.  That's good.  Your strength is returning.  Very rapidly, might I add," she continued, propping up two pillows behind him for him to lean on.
That was another thing the Monster noted about these Scottish people he suddenly found himself among.  Their discourse was so short, clipped.  It was not at all like the drawn-out, flourished and embellished speech of the citizens of Geneva.  
He glanced down as she propped pillows up behind him.  His yellow eyes momentarily flashed towards her face.  Instinctively, he drew away from her.  She was so close… and she did not flinch?  She did not scream?  Indeed, she acted as if he was any other man in the bed.  
As Lillian continued to adjust a few things in the room, the Monster noted the peculiarity of the bed he currently rested on.  It was, oddly enough, long enough for him.  As he examined it more closely, he discovered that two trunks had been pushed against the foot of the bed to accommodate his intimidating stature.  He counted four quilts covering him, and two separate sets of bed linens.
"I hope you don't mind…" he suddenly heard Lillian say.  He looked at her quickly.  Her cheeks were still pink.  "We're not used to having such… tall… guests.  We had to make due quickly.  You were bad off."
Another flinch.  What sort of phrase was 'bad off?'  Another striking difference between this rough-hewn female and the gentle, ivory-skinned maidens of Switzerland.
Sitting down, Lillian took the bowl of soup in her hands, and readied a spoonful for him, blowing on the spoonful gently so as not to scald him.  The Monster marveled at the care she took in tending to him.  Why was she doing this?
Lillian proffered the spoonful to him, and after a moment's hesitation, the Monster's hunger won and he opened his mouth.  While it was nothing more than a base vegetable broth, his hunger turned it into the most marvelous tasting fare he had ever had.  The young woman continued to feed him until the bowl was emptied.  
"Would you like another bowl?" she asked him.  When the Monster shook his head, Lillian nodded, took the cloth, and dabbed around his mouth.  He cringed and flinched away from her when she took his chin in her hand.  Lillian noticed this gesture, but said nothing.  
"Let me see your arm," she said at last.   The Monster stared blankly at her for a moment, and then suddenly realized she must have meant his burned arm.  When he lifted it towards her, he was all at once aware of the fact that it had been cleaned and bandaged from the wrist to the middle of his bicep.  He was also painfully aware of how massive and deformed his arm was when she took it in her feminine hands.  Worse still, he now realized he had no shirt on.  The contorted, hideousness of his misshapen torso had been hers to see this entire time.    
Slowly, she un-bandaged the arm.  A small gasp escaped her.  The damaged skin was already mostly healed, and looked as if there would be very little scarring.
"How is that even possible…. The burns were extensive, but his arm is already mostly healed?"  She glanced up at him, but the Monster was staring at his arm.  Though his eyes were trained upon it, his eyes did not see it.  
Without saying anything further on the miracle of his healing, Lillian began to bathe the appendage.  When she was finished, she dried it, then rubbed a poultice made of eyebright and fireweed over what was the burned area of his arm.  After wrapping his arm in fresh bandages, Lillian looked at his face.  She still had not grown accustomed to the various stitches and scars that marked his features, nor the strange, yellow-gray parchment color of his skin.
"How does it feel?" she asked him, referring to his arm once more.  The Monster met her gaze momentarily, then averted his eyes.  Lillian was struck by how sad and hallow his gaze was, and she wondered why he so strongly avoided eye contact.
"It does not hurt.  Thank you…" he said.  
A short, awkward silence ensued.  Lillian bit her lip awkwardly.  Her nervous habit bade her tuck her hair behind her ears again.  Her wavy, auburn hair was not pulled back in a braid as it usually was, but instead was free about her shoulders.  
"Why?" the Monster said at last.  Lillian glanced up at him curiously.  "Why are you doing this?  Helping me… mending me.  You are kind to me."
"Why should I not be?" was Lillian's simple answer, a question put to his question.  He turned to face her, his expression incredulous.  
"Why should you not be?  You would ask such a question as that?  How much longer do you have to stare at me?  How much more must you observe this grotesque silhouette of a man before you realize it is not human?  It is not… natural.  It is not a God-ordained creation!?"
"Who are you to say that?" she asked him.  There was an edge, a challenge in her voice.  The Monster laughed.
"God would create such a wretch as I?"
"He created everything."
"He did not create pure evil.  Evil is the handiwork of Lucifer and his demons."
"You believe yourself to be a demon?"
"I have been called such."
There was another long silence.  The Monster stared at Lillian, his expression that of someone who is tired of living.  Lillian's own countenance would be best summarized as that of a hopeful challenge.  
"You are one of His," she said.  Before the Monster could scoff at this, she held up her hand.  "You are one of my fellow man.  It would have been a crime for me to leave you to die on that beach."  The Monster looked down, then back at Lillian when he sensed she would speak again.  
"What is your name?" she asked him, smiling again.  "You know mine.  I know nothing of you, save your cynicism."  The Monster smirked in reply.
"I… I do not have a name.  My… father…. referred only ever to me as 'monster' or 'demon.'" He looked down once more.  The bitter, sorrowful hatred towards his creator and himself was welling once more deep inside his heart.  Lillian looked at him sadly.  After a moment, she gently touched his arm.  
"Then we'll give you a name."