The Ticking Heart

by Andrew Kaufman

  Out of breath, Charlie rolled the ring along the sidewalk to his car. He opened the trunk, grabbed the sides of the ring, and lifted with his knees. He gave it everything he had, but it wasn’t enough to lift the ring into the trunk. Charlie rolled the ring back to the sidewalk.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Charlie got into his car. He started the engine. He put the car into gear, but when he pushed down on the gas pedal nothing happened. Taking the car back out of gear, Charlie shut down the engine. He walked back to the ring and searched the trunk, hoping to find something he could use. This impulse was rewarded. In the back of the trunk was a long length of chain. The links were thick and heavy. They gave off an orange glow and the sickly sweet smell of rotting oranges. Charlie recognized them as the same chains the Ghost had worn, so at least he knew they were strong.

  Charlie slid the chain through the middle of the Cyclops’s wedding ring. He looped the ends over the trailer hitch and inspected it. He tugged the chains. Everything seemed secure. He went back to his car, started the engine, put it into gear, and had just lifted his foot off the brake when the walkie-talkie let out a high-pitched bleep. Charlie dug the device out of his pocket, where it had sat since he’d left the office of the Epiphany Detective Agency.

  The channel had been changed from Linda to Wanda. He wondered if it’d been switched by accident or fate. He wondered whether living in Metaphoria rendered such a question obsolete. He paused, savouring the realization that simply being alive rendered that question obsolete. This was the first epiphany Charlie had in Metaphoria. He waited to be enveloped in purple smoke and the smell of burning cedar. Neither arrived. Charlie picked up the walkie-talkie and held it close to his mouth.

  ‘Hello? Wanda?’ Charlie said eagerly.

  ‘Charlie! How are you?’

  ‘I’ve been better.’ Charlie didn’t know what to say next. In the resulting silence, the sound of the ticking in his ears became loud. The longer the silence continued, the louder the ticking became. And yet Charlie was unable to break the silence.

  ‘Charlie, I’m … I’m afraid that I might have to break our date tonight. I’m in a bit of strange place.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘I doubt yours is as strange as mine.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it’s more.’

  Although Charlie rarely bickered with Wanda, this sort of one-upmanship was standard for them. Charlie was going to let it go, until something large and colossal screamed on the other side of town. It wasn’t the sound so much that disturbed Charlie – although as evidence that darker terrors existed in Metaphoria, it did send a chill through his body. What alarmed him was that the same sound came through the walkie-talkie.

  ‘Charlie, are you … Where are you?’ Wanda had heard it too.

  ‘Are you on a walkie-talkie?’

  ‘Are you in Metaphoria?’

  ‘How many settings does it have?’

  ‘Two. One for you and one for my –’

  ‘You really are married?’

  ‘Oh, Charlie.’

  ‘Why a Cyclops?’

  ‘He wasn’t a Cyclops back home.’

  ‘We’re both in Metaphoria?’

  ‘I am. How did you get here?’

  ‘A man in a purple hat … ’

  ‘ … purple smoke … ’

  ‘The smell of burning cedar.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Did you arrive as something?’

  ‘I’m a detective. I have my own agency. The Epiphany Detective Agency. You?’

  ‘Some kind of code-breaker? Adventurer, I think? Some sort of spy maybe? It’s not clear. Nobody will give me any straight answer. I work at the Library of Blank Pages. I’m afraid that my life is in jeopardy.’

  ‘I’ll come as soon as I can.’

  ‘I haven’t been out of the library. I don’t know what part of the city I’m in.’

  ‘I’ll find you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It’s Metaphoria.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘We need to talk about your husband.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Would you have stayed with me if I had?’

  For several moments the ticking in Charlie’s ears was louder than it had ever been.

  ‘Exactly,’ Wanda said.

  ‘Can you look on the small of your back?’

  ‘I can’t … Wait … There’s something there. I can feel it. Let me get to the bathroom…’

  Through the ticking and his impatience, Charlie listened to Wanda’s footsteps. He heard a door swing open and closed.

  ‘I’m here. I’m at the mirror.’ Wanda’s voice had become echoey. Charlie heard the rustle of her clothes.

  ‘What do you see there?’

  ‘It’s a name. Floral script. Hard to read backward.’

  ‘Who does it say?’

  ‘It’s your name, Charlie. What does that mean? Wait … I have to go.’

  Before Charlie could answer, the walkie-talkie began broadcasting nothing but static. Wanda was gone. Charlie stared at the machine. He felt uneasy and anxious. The underlying sense of despondency that had been within him since Shirley had taken his heart pushed itself to the front of his consciousness. He was unable to explain the sudden victory of all these negative emotions, until he realized this was the first time in their relationship he hadn’t hung up first.

  10

  THE PURPLE VELVET BAG

  With the Cyclops’s wedding ring dragging behind his car, the fastest Charlie could go was twenty kilometres an hour. The ring made a deafening clang and shot sparks up into the air as it repeatedly crashed against the pavement, although it still wasn’t as loud as the ticking in Charlie’s ears.

  The ticking changed timbre depending on what part of town Charlie was driving through. On the streets of First Love Village, the ticking ticked a little faster and quieter, which made the sound warm and optimistic but slightly doomed. In Revengetown, the ticking was pounding and steady, without hesitating or missing a beat. The exact opposite happened in the Middle-Aged District, where each tick seemed to come a fraction of a second too late, sounding tentative and unsure of itself. When the ticking took on a boisterous, overconfident sound, Charlie knew he was back in the N.E.E.D. Three minutes later, Charlie found the northwest corner of Pride and Power and parked across the street.

  The building that housed Forever Yours was an old bank building. It was highly fortified. Bars covered the windows. Barbed wire encircled the roof. It was so brightly lit with large, circular lamps that Charlie had to squint to look at it directly. A helicopter flew overhead.

  It did not look like the kind of place he could easily break into.

  Charlie remained acutely aware that every second counted – the ticking in his ears wouldn’t let him forget it – but the building’s impenetrability gave him permission to wait until morning. Even though there was very little room in the front seat of the apple-red Corvette, Charlie fell asleep so quickly and so deeply that his hands remained on the steering wheel.

  He dreamt of eating breakfast cereal and going to work in an office. He was not unique in this. No one living in Metaphoria has nightmares or even dreams they would describe as ‘weird.’ Everyone living in Metaphoria dreams in realism. It is one of the few attributes the majority of citizens agree is a positive thing about the city they live in. This is understandable when you realize that a statistically high percentage of the people who find their way to Metaphoria suffer from nightmares back home.

  When he finally woke up, Charlie felt incredibly refreshed. As he stretched, he noticed two things: the sun was rising, which cast the shadow of the very top of the Tachycardia Tower across the front door of Forever Yours, and Shirley sat in the passenger seat.

  ‘How’s our case going?’ Shirley held a purple velvet bag in her lap. Something beat inside it. Charlie checked his watch. He was shocked.
<
br />   7 HR 23 MIN 11 SEC

  ‘Jesus Christ!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just slept for, like, ten hours.’

  ‘Were you dreaming in realism?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘It’s hard to pull yourself from those. Happens all the time here. I once slept for twenty-seven hours dreaming I was stuck in traffic.’

  ‘Jesus! Fuck!’

  ‘I take it our case isn’t going that well?’

  ‘No. No, not at all. It’s … We’re good, actually. I honestly think we’re good. What do you know about Forever Yours?’

  ‘Is that why you’ve parked here? Is Twiggy’s heart in there?’

  ‘You’ve heart of this place?’

  ‘Heard?’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Do you value your heart, Charlie?’

  ‘More than ever before.’

  This statement was true. The absence of his heart had made Charlie realize not only how much he’d taken it for granted but how much he needed it. He looked at the bag on Shirley’s lap. He watched the heart-shaped object move the velvet as it beat, and he knew it was his.

  ‘Do you think your heart’s worth more than money?’

  ‘I do now.’

  ‘Well, those who operate and patronize Forever Yours don’t agree with you. They treat the human heart as if it were just another commodity, like jewels or stocks. It’s a place where men lock their hearts away as if they were just one more thing too valuable to use, something untouchable, precious, as if it were too delicate to withstand the wear and tear of everyday.’

  ‘How do you know it’s just men?’

  ‘Isn’t that what men want? To live without vulnerability? Without anyone knowing what they’re feeling?’

  ‘That’s a bit of a generalization.’

  ‘How many female hearts do you think are locked in there, Charlie?’

  ‘Half?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. The whole thing’s a scam. The men who rent those vaults believe it because they need it to be true. But just because you remove your heart doesn’t stop it from feeling. Sooner or later, one way or another, all that emotion is going to come out. That’s the thing about emotion – as long as it stays in the heart, those feelings are indestructible. You can hold it and hold it and hold it, but all that does is build up the pressure. The second it’s inevitably released, look out!’

  ‘I was told Twiggy’s heart is inside there.’

  ‘That would explain why I can’t feel his love for me. Who’s your source?’

  ‘It’s a good source.’

  ‘It isn’t Kitty, is it?’

  For the first time, Charlie had doubts about his plan, which temporarily inhibited his ability to speak. He was, however, able to sustain eye contact with Shirley, which is why he noticed that they were turning green.

  ‘I wouldn’t put much faith in anything you get from the likes of her.’

  ‘You might want to check out your eyes.’

  Shirley twisted the rear-view mirror. She looked at her reflection. She saw that her blue eyes were changing colour. She did not like them this way.

  ‘Do you have a wife?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘We’re not together.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here?’

  ‘I think so. Yes.’

  ‘You can’t let go?’

  ‘I cannot.’

  ‘And she already has?’

  ‘She’s convinced that it’s better this way.’

  ‘She no longer believes fighting for the marriage is a path to truth. You should believe her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re here and she’s not. There’s a good chance that she hasn’t been your wife, nor you her husband, for years. I suspect she understands that your describing her relationship to you as wife is a semantic hiccup on your part, a Halloween costume she has stepped out of, leaving you standing there, wearing nothing but an antiquated notion of yourself.’ Shirley looked into the rear-view mirror again. She was disappointed to see that her eyes had grown several shades darker green. ‘Regardless of all of that, you understand what I’m feeling.’

  ‘Your jealousy is misguided, Shirley.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Twiggy’s name is not upon her skin.’

  Shirley looked from the rear-view mirror to Charlie. Her face softened. For the first time since Charlie had known her – including those eighteen months they’d lived together after university – Shirley’s features held a hopeful expression. It was in this moment that Charlie understood how much she loved her husband.

  ‘How can you be sure?’ she asked.

  ‘I saw it with my own eyes.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you, Charlie. I wasn’t always like this. You remember?’

  ‘You were always a bit intense.’

  ‘Yes. I agree. But I wasn’t the sort of person who could cut open an ex-lover’s chest and put a bomb in it. What kind of person does something like that?’

  ‘Someone in love.’

  ‘You’re trying to be nice?’

  ‘On the contrary. I’m no believer in the idea of transcendent love. Love is not some redemptive force. Love inspires the worst in us, not the best. At least it does in me. The cruellest things I’ve ever done were committed in the effort to try to make someone fall into it with me. Or keep them from falling out of it.’

  Shirley raised her hand. Charlie held it. The tenderness in this gesture was the inverse of the cynicism their words expressed.

  ‘We think of love as fairy tales and hugs. When really it’s so … ’

  ‘ … ugly.’

  ‘Desperate.’

  ‘Ruthless.’

  ‘Cutthroat.’

  ‘Animalistic.’

  ‘Carnal.’

  ‘Uncontrollable.’

  ‘Passionate.’

  ‘Powerful.’

  ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘Gorgeous.’

  They fell silent. The rest of their thoughts remained unspoken. Charlie opened his pack of Ten Pints and offered one to Shirley. They sat in the front seat puffing out heart-shaped smoke rings. It was at this moment that Charlie felt a pain in the small of his back. Seeking an explanation, he untucked his shirt. Although Charlie could not see his back, his fingers made the discovery for him. There on the small of his back, in a raised cursive font, his fingers made out the words

  Shirley Miller

  Lost in her own thoughts, Shirley remained unaware that her name had just been written on Charlie’s back. She flicked her cigarette out the window, then tossed the velvet bag at Charlie. Charlie watched it beat as it travelled through the air toward him. He caught it with both hands. He pressed it against his chest.

  ‘It was wrong of me to take this in the first place, Charlie.’

  ‘You did it in the name of love.’

  ‘I’m sincerely sorry about the bomb. I’m afraid the only way to disarm it is to solve the case.’

  ‘Or to fail to solve it.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be disarming it. That would be detonating it.’ Shirley kissed Charlie’s cheek. ‘If you’re asked any question you cannot answer, tell them you were told it would be better not to say.’

  ‘Tell who? When?’

  ‘The people in Forever Yours. I’m assuming you’re going in to steal Twiggy’s heart?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I doubt that it’s there.’

  ‘I’m sure it is.’

  ‘I hope it is. I’m sure my doubts are misguided. Just don’t forget that Forever Yours is a confidence scam. Whenever you can’t answer one of their questions, act more confident than they are. As if your connections are so powerful their names cannot be mentioned. Since that’s exactly what they want to hear, they’ll fall for it.’

  Shirley got out of his car. At the very moment the passenger door slammed closed, the gr
een light bulb above the front door of Forever Yours turned on. Charlie assumed this meant they were open for business. He carried his heart across the street. The door was large and iron. Charlie stood in front of it, although he did not knock on it. He lifted the purple bag toward the security camera mounted above it.

  The camera refocused. His heart beat inside the purple velvet bag. The lock clicked and the heavy door swung open, all on its own.

  11

  FOREVER YOURS:

  A CARDIAC SELF-STORAGE FACILITY

  The interior of Forever Yours was impossibly clean. It was overly lit with fluorescent lights. It lacked dust and colour. The walls and the floors were white. Even the carpet that ran from the door into the middle of the room was white. At the end of the carpet sat a desk made of white plastic and sharp right angles. The man sitting behind it appeared dead. He was very pale and slumped backward in a chair in a position that did not appear sustainable.

  Charlie walked toward him. The closer he got to the desk, the more convinced he was that the pale man was dead. He could see that the man’s eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling without blinking. The moment Charlie set the purple velvet bag on the desk, the man bolted upright.

  ‘May I help you?’ he whispered.

  ‘Can you talk louder?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want me to whisper?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘I need a place for this,’ Charlie whispered. He pointed to the velvet bag on the desk. Together, Charlie and the pale man watched it beat.

  ‘Do you have a reference?’

  ‘Twiggy.’

  ‘Twiggy?’

  Thick steel bars shot across the entrance. This door, Charlie now noticed, was the only way in or out of the building. The pale man suppressed most of his smile as he pulled a rotary phone across the desk and began dialling a number from memory. This took some time. There were many digits to dial and most of them appeared to be nines. Charlie stopped counting at seventeen. He waited, patiently, until the pale man’s finger finished dialling the very last number and raised the receiver to his ear.

  ‘Let’s hope you don’t get Kitty,’ Charlie whispered.