These days, Aaron’s interest in her powers no longer made Calista proud. She had noted the rise in his arrogance. He snapped at her more often. He would grow impatient if she needed to rest or if she averted her eyes from the operating table. But more upsetting, was the cruel light glowing in Aaron’s eyes when he handled the subjects. Where in past years, she and Aaron would simply burn the dead, now Aaron wished to keep a severed part of the animal in a sealed jar, like a relic. Calista never questioned her husband but she felt the disquiet grow within her. There were now dozens of these trophies upon the shelves. Every day, the underground chamber acquired a nightmarish quality.
When Aaron began to experiment with stronger drugs, Calista somehow found the strength within her to continue.
On a tin tray, she would crush the contents of several drug pellets and blend this powder into the animals’ food. One day, she called Aaron.
“It’s gone. I’ve only just released the fox, and already, the food has disappeared before it could get to it.”
They looked everywhere and in the end, Calista was forced to setup another bowl of crushed biscuits where she had stirred in the powdered tablet.
In the evening of the same day, Aaron heard Willy had bitten Shannon. It had demonstrated aggressive behaviour all afternoon.
Soon afterwards, Aaron examined Shannon’s hand and dressed it. Calista had locked herself in her room and told everyone she was not having supper.
“I understand Mrs. Nightingale’s distress. I’ve had Willy tied up in the gardener’s shed. We shall have to put it down,” said Mrs. Cleary after dinner.
“You will do no such thing,” said Aaron.
“I beg your pardon Mr. Nightingale, we cannot have Mary’s dog running around like it did, and biting every living soul. Mary was quite upset about it. And Shannon is lucky she still has her hand. That dog might have had rabies, have you thought of it?”
Aaron had thought of it. He took Mrs. Cleary aside. “Now there’s no reason to put down that dog. I can assure you it does not have rabies. Besides, I know how attached Mary is to it. Let me examine it tomorrow and if it seems normal, as I’m certain it will be, we’ll untie it and return it to the little Mary.”
But Mrs. Cleary was adamant that the dog should be put down as soon as possible.
“Suppose I tell you, Mrs. Cleary that it was my fault. Willy has somehow found itself in the cellar and taken some tablets which it should not have.”
“Well I…how on earth did it find itself in the cellar?”
It was a sound question.
The following day, Willy looked quite sheepish. It had returned to normal and Mary was grateful to be reunited with her favourite companion.
Calista and Aaron looked in vain for the means by which Willy had crept inside the cellar. “There must be a hidden passage abutting this chamber. It can’t be far. Willy must have followed it and then crept out of a hole in the cellar wall. Wherever it is, we must seal it.”
But they had not found it.
“I shall make sure Mary does not let Willy roam around, don’t worry,” said Aaron.
And so the months followed and the gruesome operations grew more complex and dangerous. Now Aaron had control over two variables: the degree of aggression in his subject and the nature of the operation. Dozens of animals died.
After every procedure, Calista collapsed on a stool, shaking uncontrollably, her hands dripping in blood. Then she would weep, unable to look at the subject. Beside her, in a state of shock, and still strapped to the operating table, the animal groaned. Often it manifested such violence that Aaron would muzzle it.
“It is my belief that Calista is exhausted,” wrote Aaron. “I may even conjecture that the animals we have so far handled exhibit much too strong a will. They are, as I suspected, far too intelligent to let themselves be influenced. They remain fully conscious of their pain.”
And that was when Aaron had the fabulous idea of using the least intelligent animal he could think of.
For, if a wise Greek man which Aaron admired had himself spoken of it as so, it must indeed be stupid.
And Aaron set about sending letters and enquiring about what measures might be needed to have this creature sent to England. Not a simple endeavour, but he was ready to pay, as always.
“All along, a part of me,” he wrote “has longed to come face to face with such a creature though I had not imagined it would be for this purpose. But if it must be now, then I welcome it at last. And I deliberately do not name it, nor describe it, for I believe if anyone should come upon my notes and attempt to plagiarise my procedures, I wish for it to be difficult, if not impossible for them to do so.”
Those acts were frequent in the scientific world. Even Jeannette Power had discovered her work plagiarised by another Frenchman.
Aaron remembered this scandal, along with what Mrs. Power had warned of the creature.
“You must feed it well, for it will try to eat you.”
“Are you telling me that it eats flesh, Mrs. Power?”
“Oh, yes. It will eat human flesh. You must make the conditions of its home just right.”
They had spoken so passionately on this subject, that in Aaron’s memory, the conversation had even eclipsed his own wedding day. He replayed her advice in his head and was pleased with what he had learnt.
The Nightingales had now toiled in the cellar for five years.
The winter snow had not yet melted in Berkshire,
