The Ticking Heart Read online

  ‘Kitty?’

  ‘This morning Shirley discovered what the two of them were calling research. Has he told you about the Spero Machine? It’s become a messy situation. It’s actually what’s prompted me to visit you today.’

  The pale man hung up the receiver. Tilting himself forward, he examined Charlie’s clothes, the battered shoes, the wrinkles in his jacket, the imprecision with which his tie had been knotted.

  ‘This is how I appeared,’ Charlie said.

  ‘This is how I appeared.’

  ‘Then you know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Perhaps even more than you. Perhaps you could describe your association with Mr. Miller?’

  ‘It would be better not to say.’

  ‘Of course.’ The pale man ceased to conceal his smile. He clapped his hands three times and a glass staircase descended from the ceiling. With surprisingly nimble steps, he began to climb it, and Charlie followed him up. At the top of the stairs was a small white room that contained two stainless-steel sinks and a large vault door. The pale man took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and scrubbed his hands. Charlie did the same. They dried their hands on thick cotton towels, threw the towels into laundry baskets, then stepped in front of the vault door.

  The pale man unfastened the middle three buttons of his shirt. He pressed his chest to a square panel to the right of the vault. The sound of a single heartbeat echoed through the room. Several moments passed before a second followed it. After the third, the red light beside the panel turned green and the vault door began swinging open. The pale man stepped past the door and into a narrow hallway. They were forced to walk in single file. As the door of the vault closed and locked behind them, Charlie’s heart, still in the purple velvet bag, began beating faster.

  ‘Twiggy can’t recommend this place highly enough. He was quite persuasive, but I’d love to hear your pitch.’

  ‘Pitch?’

  ‘Sell me on your services.’

  ‘There’s not much to pitch. We keep your heart safe.’

  ‘So does this velvet bag.’

  ‘Have you not felt a certain objectivity since externalizing your heart?’

  ‘That’s … Yes. Exhilarating.’ This was a lie. More than objectivity, being away from his heart had provoked a profound despondency, a lack of joy, a significant reduction in Charlie’s optimism. While he would admit he also felt an increase in fearlessness, confidence, and self-regard, Charlie did not feel it all balanced out. He was only now realizing the depths his dejection had reached, now that his heart was nearby again. He had never valued his heart more than he did in this very moment.

  ‘Emotion wants to ruin you,’ the pale man continued whispering, but since the corridor was narrow and the walls were covered with tin, which reflected sound in unpredictable angles, his voice wasn’t just easy to hear but impossible to ignore. ‘Emotion wants to take control of your thoughts, your opinions, your decisions. Once you store your heart, you will be free.’

  ‘Your service eliminates emotions?’

  ‘You can no more stop the human heart from generating emotion than you can an anus from excreting waste. But – as I’m sure you’ve found – the farther away you get from your heart, the less those emotions are felt. The heart will continue to feel, there’s nothing anyone can do about that, but putting distance between you and those emotions lessens their impact. Absence makes the heart grow fainter.’

  The pale man stopped. The narrow hallway and the tallness of the pale man made it difficult for Charlie to see. Standing on his tiptoes, Charlie was able to glimpse a large steel door that blocked further progress. The pale man began crying. Wiping his tears with his index finger, he made an X on the steel door. It instantly swung open and Charlie followed him inside.

  The room was no wider than the hallway but so tall that Charlie was unable to see the ceiling. The walls were covered with thousands of square doors, each one six centimetres wide by eight centimetres tall. A human heart beat behind each one. Thousands of hearts beating behind steel doors. The sound filled the room. It was the most beautiful sound Charlie had ever heard.

  ‘The most favourable box currently unoccupied is #79. Eye level. Respectable neighbours.’

  ‘Sorry? Speak louder.’

  ‘This one. It’s for rent.’

  ‘Such a beautiful sound.’

  ‘Yes. Once you store your heart with us, you will be freed of these sorts of impressions as well.’

  ‘Why would I want that?’

  ‘Perhaps some time alone within our vault will convince you. It is a most secure environment. I’ll give you just a couple of minutes – #79 won’t be unoccupied for long.’ Before Charlie could agree or disagree, the pale man shut the thick metal door behind him and Charlie was locked inside the vault. He closed his eyes. He listened intently. The hearts completely drowned out the ticking. It was the first sound to do this. The sound of the hearts gave Charlie his first moments of peace since arriving in Metaphoria. He kept perfectly still for several moments, then found #117.

  ‘You need to open.’ Charlie put as much authority into his voice as he could muster.

  ‘Why would I do that?’ the lock answered.

  ‘Twiggy’s in danger!’

  ‘I think so too!’

  ‘I can save him!’

  ‘I don’t think that’s true!’

  ‘I can!’

  ‘What’s your plan?’ the lock said suspiciously.

  ‘To fight them off!’

  ‘Fight who off?’

  ‘They’re a powerful organization! They know who you are! They’re watching you!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The White Blood Cells!’

  ‘Well, if that’s who you’re worried about, you’re too late. They’ve already been here.’

  The keyhole rotated. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Charlie looked inside. Twiggy’s heart wasn’t there.

  12

  THE SPERO MACHINE

  Confusing what you want for what’s meant to be is a very common mistake. It is no stretch to say that Charlie’s tendency to do this greatly contributed to why he was stuck in Metaphoria. This was certainly a major factor in why he couldn’t let go of his marriage. Charlie felt like he didn’t deserve to be the kind of person with a broken marriage, so he believed that getting back together was destined and fated. It didn’t matter whether this was something he wanted or not. It was simply something that already existed, a point in the future that, after the right number of days had passed, he’d reach. What Charlie was calling fate was really just hope. And not the good type of hope: it was the dangerous kind generated by denial and the anticipation of things that are unlikely to happen.

  His tendency to confuse want and fate was why Charlie was so sure he’d find Twiggy’s heart inside Unit #117. That Shirley had sewn a bomb into his chest, leaving him with a literal expiry date, seemed so unfair that Charlie had started to believe that finding Twiggy’s heart would be easy. When Unit #117 opened and Twiggy’s heart wasn’t inside, he was devastated. Charlie believed that his faith had failed to be rewarded, when really the problem was that while the idea of fair is something that makes sense to us, the universe is entirely uninterested in the concept. Unable to admit how afraid this made him, Charlie’s fear turned into anger.

  ‘Where’s Twiggy’s heart?’ Charlie yelled at the lock. His voice was so loud and angry that all the hearts began beating faster. The soothing sound of the beating hearts turned into a torrential downpour on a tin roof. But the heart that beat fastest was inside the purple velvet bag.

  ‘Where is Twiggy’s heart?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where is it?’ Charlie grabbed the open door of Unit #117 with both hands. Using all his strength, he pulled downward.

  ‘Don’t! Stop it! I’m telling you – I don’t know!’

  ‘I’ll rip it right off!’

  ‘Please don’t!’

  ‘You’ll be scrap. D
o I not look like a desperate man?’

  ‘Okay. Okay! It was Twiggy!’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Six weeks ago? Not more than seven.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me!’

  ‘Stop it! Please! I’m not lying!’

  ‘What about the White Blood Cells?’

  ‘They were here too! But it was after. Twiggy had already taken his heart back.’

  ‘Why? Why did he take it? What was his plan?’

  ‘He didn’t say! He didn’t say anything! He was alone. He just came and took it. That’s all I know. Honest!’

  ‘That’s it? He came and took his heart?’

  ‘And left the book!’

  ‘What book?’

  ‘Look inside.’

  As Charlie took his hands off the security box, his heart slowed down. The other hearts began beating more slowly as well. Charlie had been so focused on the absence of Twiggy’s heart, he’d been unable to see that there was something else inside the security box. Charlie reached in and pulled out a yellow notebook. He opened it and flipped through the pages. He saw complicated diagrams for intricate parts. On the last page was an illustration of the assembled machine, a sprawling mess of tubes and wires and several potted plants. It was labelled:

  THE SPERO MACHINE

  Charlie slipped the notebook into the inside pocket of his jacket. He slammed shut the door of Unit #117. The hearts stopped beating, the cardiac equivalent of holding their breath, as Charlie walked toward the door of the vault.

  ‘Wait. You can’t take that! That’s not yours!’

  The lock continued to protest. Charlie ignored it. The lock’s voice could still be heard as Charlie shut the vault door behind him. He walked down the narrow hallway. He descended the glass staircase. The pale man had returned to his desk. He looked even paler. Once again he was slumped backward in his chair. He bolted upright when Charlie left the last step on the staircase.

  ‘Are you ready to sign?’ The pale man stood up, straightened his tie, and brushed the wrinkles from his pants. Nothing he did in any way rectified his rumpled appearance.

  ‘I don’t think it’s for me.’

  ‘Oh. Okay then.’ The iron bars slid away from the entrance. The door opened. The sound of traffic rushed in.

  ‘That’s it? No hard sell? You’re not going to try and pressure me at all?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll be back. Your type always comes back.’

  The pale man began to laugh. His laughter echoed off the walls. The sound did not fade. It got louder. The echoes echoed. Soon it sounded like ten pale men were laughing. And then there were hundreds.

  Charlie was unable to convince himself that the pale man was wrong. He feared that he had become the kind of man who could do that to his own heart. A part of him suspected he had. Charlie backed through the large open space. He tripped over the white carpet. The pale man laughed harder as Charlie picked himself up, turned himself around, and began running as fast as he could.

  13

  ZOMBIES AND WINGDINGS

  Charlie sat in the driver’s seat of the apple-red Corvette. He had not started the engine. His keys remained in his pocket. His eyes were closed. He did not know what to do next. His heart whimpered from inside the purple velvet bag. Charlie wanted to check his watch, but he knew he wasn’t currently strong enough for that information to have anything other than a negative effect. He reached into his pocket for his car keys, but his fingers found the walkie-talkie. The channel was already set to Wanda, so he turned it on.

  ‘You there? Over?’

  ‘Yup. Kinda in the middle of a couple of things, though. You okay?’

  ‘I think I’m broken.’ Charlie heard Wanda sigh. This was not the sort of support he was looking for. ‘What?’

  ‘☠