‘Can you give me the password?’
‘For what?’
‘The iTunes password.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s a game I want to buy.’
‘Is it violent?’
‘Not really.’
‘How not really?’
‘It is. But there’s a creative mode too. You can totally make stuff in creative mode. And I really want to get it. Jake and I, we’re going to make a golf course.’
‘Why a golf course?’
‘Because there are golf carts.’
‘How much is it?’ Charlie asked, but he had already decided to let the kid have it. At this moment, under these circumstances, building a virtual golf course seemed like the most rational, logical thing he’d ever heard. Charlie looked up. He watched the purple velvet bag get smaller and smaller.
‘It’s twenty bucks.’
‘What?’
‘I can pay half.’
‘You can pay all of it.’
‘I will! Then I can get it?’
‘Sure. It’s FloatHopes100.’ Charlie picked up the purple velvet bag and set it in his lap. Then he held the walkie-talkie close to his mouth. ‘How come you can never remember that?’
‘Capital F, capital H?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t forget I have karate.’
‘I haven’t.’
Having returned to his full size, Charlie sat naked in the passenger seat of his car. He dressed slowly. Feeling a sudden affection for his heart, Charlie tipped it out of the velvet purple bag and set it on the dashboard. He returned to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and if it’s possible to take random turns in Metaphoria, Charlie took them.
Seven rights and four lefts later, Charlie noticed something quite interesting about his heart, or more specifically his superior vena cava. No matter which way he turned, his superior vena cava pointed in the same direction. Charlie took lefts and rights as his heart directed him, using his superior vena cava as the needle in a compass.
Thirty-five minutes in, Charlie began having doubts that this navigational technique was sound. He thought about how much time he was losing. The belief that his heart could actually lead him somewhere useful and important seemed naive and romantic and useless. Still, some part of him urged him to persist, so, having few other options, he did. He continued following whatever direction his superior vena cava pointed to for forty minutes, and then fifty. He’d pretty much given up all belief that he was doing anything but wasting extremely valuable time when, just after an hour of this, he arrived at the Library of Blank Pages.
15
THE LIBRARY OF BLANK PAGES
Charlie patted down his hair, straightened his tie, and attempted to push the wrinkles out of his suit with his hand. The more he did this, the messier his hair and the more rumpled his clothes became. Since he was in Metaphoria, Charlie was forced to accept that further grooming would be equally ineffective – he would look a mess in front of Wanda because he was one.
The frosted glass door to the Library of Blank Pages opened easily. Inside there were high ceilings, long tables, and empty shelves. Charlie saw books everywhere: standing in stacks, pushed into giant piles that reached the ceiling, a metre deep on the floor. And on top of the books were numerous zombie corpses. With great effort, Charlie waded through it all.
‘Wanda?’
‘Up here! By the microfiche!’
The stairs were book-laden and difficult to climb. When he reached the second floor, he saw Wanda leaning against a long wooden reading table, dressed in a uniform from the British army, circa 1942. A small puff of heart-shaped smoke drifted from the barrel of her machine gun. Her hair was dishevelled and her clothes wrinkled. She looked a mess, because she was one. They waded through books toward each other, but when they met, a strange and telling problem arose. As she opened her arms and Charlie tried to hug her, his body went right through her. Charlie was unable to touch any part of Wanda’s body with any part of his.
‘That’s … ’
‘ … weird.’
‘Is it metaphoric?’
‘Are you thinking about Linda?’
‘Why would you even ask that?’
‘Are you?’
‘No.’
‘That just makes it worse.’
‘How do you know it’s not you?’
‘Because I can touch you.’ To prove it, Wanda put her left hand gently on Charlie’s cheek. He closed his eyes. His heart beat faster, which attracted Wanda’s attention.
‘What’s in the bag?’ she asked.
‘My heart.’
‘Good one.’
Charlie upended the purple velvet bag onto the long wooden reading table. His superior vena cava pointed directly at Wanda in a way that was almost rude. Charlie’s heart jumped off the table and into Wanda’s arms. She cradled it, petting the aorta like she would the head of a dog.
‘Oh my god! Your heart is so ugly it’s adorable!’
‘Thank you?’
‘At least your heart can touch me.’
‘That seems metaphoric too.’ Charlie’s heart nestled into the crook of her arm.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘It was right after I left your house. There was a guy in the back of my car –’
‘Purple hat?’
‘Yes.’
‘British accent?’
‘Posh.’
‘Kept talking about this magical city, Metaphoria?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Smell of burnt cedar –’
‘ – and purple smoke. And the next thing I knew, I woke up in the Epiphany Detective Agency. How did you get here?’
‘After you left, I ordered dumplings.’
‘Comfort food.’
‘Sounds like my delivery man was the same person you met in the back of the cab. Says he doesn’t need a tip if I listen to him describe the city of Metaphoria. Next thing I know … poof! I woke up in the Library of Blank Pages.’
‘Why are all the books on the ground?’
‘Well, that’s an interesting story. At first, no one ever came here because all the books were blank. It was nothing but a library of books that had never been written. But then one day, a forty-seven-year-old forensic accountant named Maciek Guy stepped inside. It was his sixth day in Metaphoria. Overwhelmed by seeing his problems stitched into the fabric of the everyday, he ran inside the Library of Blank Pages to seek relief. He liked the fact that the books were blank. The complete lack of narrative felt soothing. He sat in the relative metaphoric silence for quite some time before curiosity got the better of him. Maciek approached the shelves. He plucked a thick red leather-bound book from an upper shelf. He chose the book randomly. He opened it randomly. And what appeared on the page was this … ’
Wanda looked down at the ground. She pulled a book from the floor. She opened it randomly. She nodded her head, then turned the book so that Charlie could see it. There were only three words printed on that page:
Yes, she does.
Keeping the book turned toward Charlie, Wanda closed it, then opened it again. She had opened the book at random and yet the same phrase was printed on the page. She did this three more times. Each time she did, those same three words were all that was printed there.
‘Maciek flipped through the book. To his great surprise, that phrase appeared on every page. This would not have had any significance had Maciek not been wondering whether his wife still loved him at the exact moment he’d pulled the book off the shelf. He flipped through the pages a second time, confirming that the same phrase was repeated over and over again. He became convinced that his wife did in fact love him, that the book was telling him the truth. He ran to the nearest payphone and called his wife. He told her that he loved her. She said she loved him too.’
‘Did he poof?’
‘He did.’
‘Lucky bastard.’
‘Right? So you can imagine how quickly w
ord got around. That there was a library of books that would answer, truthfully, any question posed to them. The Library of Blank Pages was the talk of Metaphoria! Crowds stormed the library. Soon the shelves were empty. Every book had been asked a question, and the book had given the answer, which appeared on every page inside it.
‘Now there isn’t a blank book left in the Library of Blank Pages. The books lie scattered across the floor, clumped into piles. And if you go through them, only four answers appear across all of these pages … ’
Wanda dug through the books at her feet. She opened and closed several, eventually selecting four. These four books she opened and put side by side on the long wooden reading table. On the pages of each book there was a single phrase. Each of the four phrases was only slightly different:
Yes, he does.
No, he doesn’t.
Yes, she does.
No, she doesn’t.
‘Such a goddamn waste.’ Using her arm and considerable force, Wanda swept all four books off the table. The books, travelling spine up, flapped several times as they flew across the room. ‘From the infinite number of questions that could have been asked, the untold knowledge that the Library of Blank Pages could have provided, the very secrets of the universe it could have revealed – the only question humanity asked was “Do they still love me?”’
‘The desire for love makes all of us weak.’
‘Is your life in danger?’
‘I have less than twenty-four hours to find Twiggy Miller’s missing heart or I will explode. How about you?’
‘A sinister organization bent on world domination has kidnapped David Templeman, and is using him to create an army of zombie clones. Their first mission is to kill me.’
‘Who is David Templeman?’
‘That’s your first question?’
‘The desire for love makes all of us weak.’
‘We lived together in university. I haven’t seen him in years.’
‘Do you still love him?’
‘I love the idea of him.’
‘It still doesn’t explain why I just found out about your husband.’
‘Proximity doesn’t make a husband, Charlie. Just because we share the same house doesn’t mean we’re intimate.’
‘That’s easy to say.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Explain why you lied to me!’
‘I was selfish, Charlie. I know it. But I didn’t try to fall in love with you. I tried very hard not to. And then when I did, I just didn’t want to lose you.’
‘So none of this is your fault?’
‘Don’t do that. Don’t turn me into a cliché, some sort of femme fatale with paranormal control over your feelings. I didn’t manipulate you. Why would I? Do you know how complicated falling in love with you has made my life?’
‘Then why didn’t you just leave him?’
‘If I could answer that question, I’d know the purpose of the human heart.’
‘True enough.’
‘I’m fucked up, Charlie. But so are you. That’s why we’re here.’
‘But not telling me about the fact that you’re married? That’s huge. That’s messed up.’
‘Kiss me.’
Charlie couldn’t refuse. He leaned close. He tried to kiss Wanda, but his lips touched nothing but air.
‘See? You’re not exactly without your own contribution to our fucked-up romance.’ Wanda swung the machine gun over her shoulder, pushed off from the table, and began walking away. She waded through the books. The elevator arrived at the exact moment she reached it. Wanda got inside. The doors closed.
All Charlie could do was watch the elevator take her away.
16
RETURN OF THE CYCLOPS
It was raining sheet music when Charlie came out of the Library of Blank Pages. Crisp white scores, lined with staves and dotted with notes, fell through the air. Each page struck a note as it hit the ground, producing random plunks, a Cage-like cat pacing the length of a piano. Charlie didn’t try to figure out what it meant. He allowed himself to become engrossed in the beauty of it. That is why he didn’t notice how quickly the Cyclops was approaching him.
‘You said you were going to stay away from her!’
‘I think I love her!’
‘You think?’
The Cyclops punched Charlie in the face. The punch knocked him off his feet and into the air. His bottom lip split open. He spat out a tooth. He continued to rise. The pain was intense but the view was amazing. Charlie saw the tops of trees. He got a brief glimpse of Wanda working in the west turret of the Library of Blank Pages. Soon the Tachycardia Tower was the only thing higher than he was. Having reached his zenith, Charlie hovered in the air, going neither up nor down, and it was at this exact moment that the Unnamed Ghost returned.
‘Have you figured me out?’
‘I’ve been a little busy,’ Charlie said, his nose filled with the smell of oranges drifting off the Ghost.
‘You have to take this seriously!’ The Unnamed Ghost rattled his glowing chains.
‘Does it look like I’m enjoying myself?’
The Ghost took a good look at Charlie. He saw the missing tooth, the bloodied lip, the vigorous pace with which his heart beat inside the velvet bag.
‘No, it doesn’t. But there’s something wrong. You’re holding on to something. I suspect it’s hope.’
‘Why does everyone keep talking about hope?’
Charlie wanted to ask more, but gravity reasserted itself. He could only watch as the Unnamed Ghost faded away. The closer Charlie got to the ground, the faster he fell. He fell through the sheet music without making a sound. He had no way of stopping. Flipping himself around, Charlie pointed his head at the ground. He reasoned that this would make it faster. Just as Charlie’s hair brushed the concrete sidewalk, the Cyclops caught him.
‘Why did you save me?’
‘Because I want you to suffer.’
The Cyclops ripped the purple velvet bag from Charlie’s hand. He dumped Charlie’s heart into his giant hand. Together, they watched it beat. The Cyclops smiled, although this smile was unfriendly. He turned his palm over and let Charlie’s heart fall toward the ground. The Cyclops pulled his foot swiftly back, swung it quickly forward, and kicked Charlie’s heart.
Charlie’s heart went like this:
17
THE SPERO MACHINE, SWITCHED ON
Charlie Waterfield’s heart ascended into the sky. Charlie ran underneath it. He ran as fast as he could, which was hard to do with a bomb where his heart should be. When Charlie’s heart reached its zenith, it hovered in the sky. Charlie stopped directly beneath it, trying to catch his breath. With his hands on his knees, he looked up at his heart. It was directly in front of the sun. Charlie’s own heart cast a heart-shaped shadow over him. Then it began to fall.
The closer Charlie’s heart got to the ground, the faster it fell, and the faster Charlie ran. He ran with his arms outstretched. His eyes remained on his heart. Cars swerved around him as he ran down the middle of the street. His heart fell faster. It came closer to the ground. Charlie dived headfirst through the air. His fingers caught his heart centimetres above the sidewalk.
Charlie’s heart was happy to see him. It beat quickly. It had sustained a small crack near the right ventricle, but otherwise looked no worse than when Shirley first took it out of his chest. Charlie patted it gently. His heart pushed its right auricle against Charlie’s hand. Charlie put his heart in the breast pocket of his jacket. His right and left carotid branches, subclavian branches, and innominate artery stuck out of the top like a pocket square. As the ventricles expanded and collapsed, they moved the fabric of his jacket pocket.
Charlie stood in front of an art deco movie theatre. The marquee proclaimed it to be the Kummerspeck Theatre. He wondered what part of Metaphoria he was in. Hearing a commotion behind him, Charlie, who was still standing in the middle of the street, turned around. Rushing down the street to
ward him was a vast collection of citizens, a roaring crowd that moved as one thing, like a flock of starlings.
They were all headed for the Kummerspeck. There were so many people, and they were moving so quickly, that Charlie got caught up in this wave of humanity. He was swept into the Kummerspeck. The crowd pushed him past the concession stand, into the theatre, down the centre aisle. Losing his balance, Charlie tumbled into an empty seat.
Although the crowd was in an extreme rush, the show did not start the moment everyone was seated. The house lights remained on. Charlie was free to leave, but some part of him made him stay. The wait seemed very, very long. And all through it, not a single member of the audience spoke, or coughed, or even fidgeted in their seat. Charlie looked at his watch.
3 HR 57 MIN 16 SEC
This meant he’d spent nearly an hour waiting for the show to begin. He decided he would not throw more good minutes after bad. But just as he was about to stand, the house lights dimmed.
The curtains parted. A blue spotlight shone on the middle of the stage. The crowd stood but remained eerily silent. Twiggy stepped into the spotlight. He wore a rumpled white lab coat. The arms of his shirt and jacket had been removed, revealing his sticks. His smile was open and encouraging. His hair was a mess and stuck up from the top of his head in various directions. He leaned close to the microphone but didn’t speak. The audience did not make a sound. Popcorn could be heard popping in the concession stand.
Twiggy held this silence. No one moved. Several of the people around Charlie were holding their breath.
‘Who wants to know if their love is true?’ Twiggy asked quietly.
The crowd screamed. The sound drowned out the ticking. Charlie stood. He did this because he was the only one in the theatre who hadn’t and he felt a sudden need to be inconspicuous. He had never seen a crowd this worked up before. And then, as Twiggy took two steps backward and pulled a black velvet cloth off a long wooden table, everyone became completely, instantly silent again.
Everyone, including Twiggy, stared at the complicated machine that sat in the middle of the wooden table. The device was a mess of wires and tubes and several potted plants. Charlie recognized it from the back page of the yellow notebook he’d taken from Unit #117 of Forever Yours.
The Ticking Heart Page 7
