12.22.1

My return to productivity was delayed by an unexpected reunion. I had never expected to see Daniel, my first and best assistant, again-- yet against all odds and by pure coincidence, we encountered one another here in Arkham. After a short period of reacquaintance, he has rejoined me in my endeavors, and it was necessary to introduce him to my more recent work and to consolidate our possessions-- both of which consumed valuable time. Still, his aid will far outweigh the immediate delay in the longer term. No mind, excepting my own, has greater familiarity with and understanding of the research.

12.5.2

I believe that I am close to a breakthrough in expanding the practical applications of my serum. Currently, its uses are limited by the necessary freshness of the tissues— liquidative necrosis can render a corpse worthless within a half hour. The more strenuous conditions of real-world medicine require some kind of healing factor, some way to repair neurological decay. I am pursuing two avenues of inquiry at this point, both of which show significant promise. I intend to begin trials with the suppression of glial scarring in the in vitro brain— my first battery of tests will require the altering, by hand, of the chemical environment, but it is my belief that I will eventually be able to make use of a vital vector to alter the immune response.

The tissues recovered from the monitors will allow me to begin a new round of neuroplasticity tests, as well— once my laboratory is functional again. In my chimeras, the physiological rewiring accompanying altered sensory input has already proven to be far greater than I had hoped. I hypothesize that the revitalizing effects of the serum allow for more significant flexibility and alterations to the structure of the adult brain.

I am feeling significantly more hopeful and positive about my affairs, in spite of the theoretical nature of today’s accomplishments. I believe this cafe is open all night, for which I am distinctly grateful. I had largely lost track of time until a moment ago, and I believe my newfound enthusiasm may be due more to coffee consumption than logic.

12.5.1

At this stage, I am merely waiting on the shipments of my glassware and chemical supplies-- there is little physical work for me to do in the meantime, which is infuriating. The canister of Dr. Wilmarth's liquid medium was mildly damaged in transport, and has leaked. The amount remaining is too small to allow me to perform his transfer. I hope that the theoretical work I accomplish this week will go some small way towards making up for this delay. I intend to pack up my notes, my computer, and a few vital books and papers, and work on the design of my next experiments in some local venue that offers light food and coffee. I hope the change of scenery will help to dispel this mood.

12.4.1

   The surgery on my posterolateral ligaments appears to have been successful. I am hoping to transfer Dr. Wilmarth to his full apparatus at some point tonight, or at least by morning. I am anxious to restore my laboratory to functionality before any more time is lost—I have acquired some basic furnishings, and though the mismatched cabinets lend my workspace a disreputable Bohemian air, they function as well as anything. I have placed a bulk order for glassware and certain necessary chemicals and I do not believe that there will be any difficulties in completing my immediate goals of Dr. Wilmarth’s relocation and the recovery of my tissue samples from the lizards.

I will need to reopen channels with the rather questionable chemical vendor who has supplied my projects with more obscure chemical agents in the past, and there is a pet store not far from here that will serve to supply me with rats—both for my next phase of testing and for the monitors, who are becoming irritable.

   I slept for several hours this morning, hoping to accelerate the healing process and give my mind time to adjust to the rapid changes and increased stresses of the last week. I have been worried about the acquisition of human subjects in Arkham, but, so long as there are other things to be arranged and animal trials to be run, I suppose I can afford to take my time with a solution. This morning, I distinctly recall dreaming that I had the help of my first assistant, who was apparently a doctor at Miskatonic’s hospital. Clearly, I have not quite succeeded in putting last week’s encounter from my mind. I believe I will stop by the hospital this evening to request syringes, saline solution, and other innocuous necessities, and rid myself of this superstitious dread of the place. I cannot allow myself to become entangled in the sorts of delusions I am studying.

12.2.2

A personal aside-- While the lease is under the name of Nathan Benjulia, I do not have quite enough faith in the illiteracy of Arkham at large to use such an obvious pseudonym in my daily affairs. Dr. Pokiliobolous is far preferable, and if the presence of other creatures in these rooms can be attributed to the elderly Wilmarth, so much the better. In the unlikely event of my landlord realizing the discrepancy, Benjulia can easily be written off as some executor or hospice official underwriting Dr. Wilmarth's expenditures. While I will need to remove the actual Dr. Wilmarth from his current vessel as soon as possible, it will therefore be important to maintain the vital functions of the body to familiarize the residents of this building with my "patient" for a week at least. This is the preferable course of action regardless, as I can hardly afford to waste fresh tissue so cavalierly. Dr. Wilmarth's external sensory apparatus is in the box to the right of the basement door, lest I forget, and I will endeavor to restore him to it as soon as my own health has been seen to, in the interest of both his stability and facilitating limited interactions between my fictitious charge and my neighbors. 

12.2.1

   The hospital was entirely obliging. I received nothing more than a raised eyebrow over my machinery, and it has all safely been moved into the new laboratory. I neglected to consider furnishings in my personal rooms, but my meager possessions have been transferred to the premises. I am attempting to avoid wanton expenditures, as the Clapham-Lee estate, while significant, is also distinctly finite-- which simply means I will forgo any unnecessary furnishings for the moment. A couch or armchair and a table will likely suffice for my personal needs, and free my funds for the cabinets, tables, and glassware that my laboratory will require as soon as possible.

   I remained in the basement during the unloading process, which was likely excused by my relatively small stature and increasingly pronounced limp. As such, I have thus far avoided my undoubtedly curious neighbors on the surrounding floors. The absence of other tenants on this floor is a distinct blessing-- I have not yet heard any sounds of life from the floor above, either, which gives me some hope that the only adjoining rooms are either unoccupied or well-enough insulated to prevent unnecessary bleed-through of any noise my work may produce. Ideally, I will never encounter any of the building's other inhabitants, but, as that is a dream I am unlikely to realize, I will settle for remaining undisturbed until I have been able to sterilize my basic supplies and make the necessary repairs to my leg. My immediate goal is the unpacking and reconstruction of the pieces most necessary for that operation. I fear that the longer I wait, the more likely it becomes that the connective tissues will require artificial stimulation or replacement to begin any significant healing. I availed myself of a small booster injection of back-stocked serum this morning, around 5:00AM, which should slow any degradation and preserve the vitality of the ligaments for the time being.

11.30.1

   I’ve managed to secure a stable laboratory space, at long last. There is an apartment complex near the hospital that fell victim to poor architectural planning, and a slightly smaller set of rooms adjoining the subbasement were available for my rental, along with the subbasement itself. The area will be ideal—it was wired for the significant electrical load of a building  laundromat that never came to term. The lease is signed with the name of a Dr. Nathan Benjulia, and, barring any unforeseen complications, I will take possession of it come Monday. I believe I will ask the hospital to deliver my equipment—I would prefer to avoid returning there, for the time being, and I would be hard-pressed to load or unload a round hundred pounds of sensitive instruments to begin with. 

   If all goes smoothly, rudimentary function will be restored to both my work and my posterolateral ligaments by Tuesday evening. 

11.28.1

   I had briefly managed to forget the significance of the date, until I made the mistake of attempting to leave the hotel for basic chemical supplies. Every single store is closed. I should, by rights, take this opportunity to retrieve my medical supplies, but, as I have yet to locate a permanent address, I will have nowhere to unpack any of my equipment. It will be fine at the hospital for a bit longer, I'm sure, and if it becomes an inconvenience to the staff, they know where to find me.

   This is a farce of a holiday. I spent a few moments wondering what I have to be thankful for, but I have built everything in my own life, for better or worse, and I do not believe there are any loved ones or higher powers for me to credit or blame. 

   I will work on more of my notes tonight. Even without my materials, there are many theoretical angles I am currently exploring and can expand upon. The delay is inconvenient for my leg, but not unbearable. Any progress I make I will summarize here.

11.27.1

   There was an incident this morning that may have drawn unwanted attention to myself and my operations in Arkham. I hesitate to even refer to it as such, as it lasted less than thirty seconds, but the repercussions have yet to fade. 

   I have torn a ligament in the posterolateral corner of my knee-- part of the delicate work that has yet to heal fully-- and I will be unable to make the necessary repairs until I have reclaimed my equipment from the hospital. Against all logic, I am hesitant to do so. I would summarize the events that lead to my injury, but I find my hands shaking when I try to recall the details. 

This morning, in the halls of Miskatonic Medical Center, I collided with a man I believe to be a doctor there. The human memory is rarely to be trusted, but I am certain of what I saw, certain beyond any doubt save that of my own sanity, but I must assume the veracity of my perception to continue as a scientist. So, suffice it to say, the man with whom I collided was perfectly identical to my first assistant, whose constant company I kept for most of my life. His face is more familiar to me than any but my own. I am not mistaken on this point. Of course, it cannot be the same man. He is too young, and my assistant would never be offered employment by Miskatonic University. 

   Still, the similarity was overwhelming. Even his voice seemed so viscerally familiar that I spoke his name without thinking. 

   Even that much I believe I could accept-- certainly, there are many possible explanations-- except that I am equally, horrifically certain that he looked at me and knew my face as I knew his. I am frightened. I do not know what to do.

   My flight will begin boarding soon. The lizards have been stowed, all paperwork has passed inspection, and Dr. Wilmarth has been successfully implanted into an elderly former patient, who is being kept under heavy sedation. I performed only the most rudimentary attachments to maintain cellular respiration without allowing full communication with the body, as I believe this will minimize stress damage. 

   It has only now occurred to me to consider the possible effects of the pressure and temperature changes on my own fragile physique. I do not have the luxury of monitoring my own vital signs, nor do I have an extra set of hands to revive me, should something go wrong. In fact, I lack even the luxurious prospect of loosening my scarf in the next six hours. I will endeavor to organize my immediate priorities on paper during the flight, and perhaps sleep for an hour or two. I believe it has been nearly four days since I last slept.

   The fire at the Clapham-Lee house has made the local news. I have not been detained. 

11.25.1

   My dissection on the 23rd has given me several new leads-- the precision of my work continues to suffer from my limited access to medical supplies, but the efficacy of the serum has not diminished with its glow. I suspect that the serum, in its repotentiation of the neurons, serves as an amplifier for signals that the living brain gives off too weakly to detect. This fits well into the overall pattern of its function, which mimics that of a powerful stimulant. Hopefully, I will be able to secure a living human subject for my next step, and gain access to a medical facility for the temporary use of an EEG. Alternatively, temporary access to medical records and equipment could bypass the necessity of securing a live specimen-- so long as I have comparable data from live and reanimated subjects, I do not need to secure it myself. 

   I accomplished very little yesterday, as most of my hours were eaten up in the thorough incineration of Eric's corpse and the organization of my materials for transport. Today I have undertaken the liquidation of the Clapham-Lee estate and the dismantling of all non-essential equipment. In a moment of strange panic, I booked a late-night flight that departs at midnight. I thought I felt Eric's cold gaze on my back, though I am confident that his consciousness has been entirely eliminated, and I was struck by the impulse to return to my old home and the memories of safety it provides. It was a foolish impulse, but I believe that the action is illogical enough that I will not be suspected. Besides which, it has been years, and the town has surely changed.

   Regardless, my flight arrives in Arkham at 8am. I have packaged my more common instruments and shipped them this morning, and done my best to disguise a few dismantled incubators and the majority of my reptile cell pluripotentiation rig amidst the boxes. I have sent them to the care of my alma mater, Miskatonic Medical School, under the guise of a private foreign doctor moving to the area with a reclusive and wealthy patient. My papers will identify me as expatriated Greek physician Victor Pokiliobolous, caring for an unusual older gentleman by the name of Albert Wilmarth. I am, at this junction, still uncertain about the best means of transporting Wilmarth to Arkham. He has been increasingly coherent of late, though his delusions persist, but I fear that any implantation into a body, however fresh or well-suited, may disturb the delicate equilibrium of his psychology-- not to mention the physical and chemical stress such a procedure would place on my most successful subject. Nonetheless, I cannot see any method of transporting him in his current state that would not involve such complex machinery and environmental requirements as to make his discovery unavoidable. Perhaps I should have retained Eric's body, though the very idea chills me to the core with an illogical horror I cannot express. How, after all, can I be certain of the destruction of his will and identity when any part of him survives? The likelihood of such a thing existing without the presence of the brain is, of course, astronomically low, but even I do not possess a thorough enough understanding of the human body to guarantee its impossibility. I will have to find another vessel for Wilmarth, and quickly. I am already cursing my manic impulse-- I am lucky to have had the forethought to purchase a second ticket, and I left myself barely the time to operate, much less stabilize him.

   Still, I am spared some of the panic-- in the last week I planned for some movement of my materials, though it was more a precaution in the case of Eric's survival than the premeditation of my sudden relocation. My most vital specimens-- not including Dr. Wilmarth, obviously-- have been implanted in the wombs of several large monitor lizards, which have been engineered to be supportive of non-reptilian life through alteration of the composition of the liquor amnii and some small changes to the permeability of the associated membranes. The size and number of the lizards strained both the credulity and regulated limitations of the airline, but they have also been secured passage. I will be forced into some highly creative endeavors in finding them space upon arrival-- assuming, of course, that they survive. This process becomes more and more complex and unattractive with every passing moment, but I find myself nearly sick with anticipation, regardless. But there is much to be done. 

11.23.2

   In the acquisition of human subjects, Eric has proven useful to me, but he is good for little else. He is many things, and still possess the ruthlessness and mental capacity that tempted me to bring him into my confidence during the war, but as a research assistant he leaves much to be desired. He is ever biased and egotistic, and, even with the success of my operation, barely suitable for the public eye. Still, I myself am even less so, and in spite of the brashness and unnecessary violence of his work, I am not certain how I will manage to secure materials without him. Nonetheless, his controlling interference and constant threats have made him a liability, and I have made certain that the next dosage of serum will be his last. 

   I will not miss his company, or his disrespect for the true potential of my work. In recent weeks I have found myself struck by unexpectedly fond memories of my previous assistant-- I have no doubt that he would disapprove of my current ventures and even suggest that my difficulties in locating the source of post-reanimation bodily impulses were evidence of the existence of the soul, which is as patently absurd as it has ever been. Still, for all his shortcomings, I believe he was a being uniquely suited to me. The direct opposition of our natures offered me a perspective I cannot hope to recreate. It is lucky for both of us that I have no means of finding him now, as I know my influence has never contributed to his happiness-- just as I know that I would be unable to resist contacting him again, if given the chance. He must be growing old, now, but I can barely imagine it. In my mind he is just as I last saw him. 

   This train of thought is accomplishing nothing. In half an hour, my preservative process will be complete for my latest subject and I will begin a dissection of the frontal lobe and musculature to identify any anomalous distribution of reagent. Hopefully, I will make some small progress.

11.23.1

   The physical source of the connection between segments of the body continues to elude me. I am certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that such a connection exists-- it has been proven in repeated experiments under various conditions, and I have personally experienced the phenomenon in ways I do not feel it necessary to discuss. I find it impossible to accept that there in no logical and physical basis for the communication of the consciousness and the dismembered elements of the physical form. My belief, of course, is that it stems from some portion of the brain involved in controlling motion, and is coordinated by the spine and extended nervous system, in a process that I have theorized to be similar to the transmission of radio waves, but even my simplest theories have thus far seen little validation.

   I have repeatedly attempted lesion trials on the brains of both human and animal subjects, but my results have been poor and unpredictable and subjects have, as always, been far fewer than I would prefer. Animal trials are nearly useless, as I suspect that the continued animation of the limbs and organs is largely a matter of willpower and bodily awareness-- meaning that my successes in even replicating the phenomenon have been scattered and statistically worthless. In humans, reanimate control of severed limbs is more common and more stable, but human subjects are far harder to access, particularly with the required freshness, and I cannot afford the necessary trial and error of blind lesion tests within the motor cortex-- particularly as my hands are no longer as steady as they once were.