The Ticking Heart

by Andrew Kaufman

  ‘I give you the Spero Machine!’ Twiggy stepped toward it. The crowd remained still and silent. Twiggy put his finger underneath a large silver switch. Several people in the audience gasped. ‘I almost forgot! How could I be so absent-minded? The Spero Machine will need a source of power! How could I forget my own heart?’

  The blue spotlight turned bright white. It shone on Twiggy as he unbuttoned his shirt. There, in the middle of his chest, was a rectangular door. His twig fingers opened it. Inside glowed an orange heart. In that moment, Twiggy’s heart was the most beautiful thing Charlie had ever seen. Using long silver wires, Twiggy connected his heart to the Spero Machine.

  ‘Now we’re ready.’ Twiggy flicked the switch. The Spero Machine began to emit a deep low-frequency hum. The windowpanes rattled. The sound slowly got louder. ‘Who wants to be first?’

  Everyone in the crowd called out to be chosen. Charlie did as well. He raised his hand higher. He jumped up and down, hoping to attract Twiggy’s attention.

  It was at this point that Charlie felt the unmistakable pressure of a circular piece of metal push into his back and, although this had never happened to him before, he knew without a doubt that he was at gunpoint.

  18

  ATTACK OF THE WHITE BLOOD CELLS

  Charlie raised his hands, turned around, and saw a tall, thin woman dressed in medical scrubs, whom he vaguely remembered but couldn’t place. He felt as if his attachment to her was of vital importance, so his failure to remember how he knew her disturbed him profoundly.

  That this was the first time in his life he’d ever had a gun pointed at him played into his unease as well.

  ‘You don’t recognize me, do you?’

  ‘Maybe it’s the scrubs?’

  ‘My name is Scarlett Royale. I used to have your job.’

  ‘Which job?’

  ‘Didn’t you check the wall? In your office?’

  ‘The pictures?’

  ‘I’m third from the right, second row.’

  ‘But that’s not how we know each other. Right?’

  ‘I used to have your job. The sole detective of the Epiphany Detective Agency.’

  ‘Did you like it?’

  ‘How are you enjoying the position?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m very good at it. I’ve never wanted to be a detective. To be honest, I’ve never been that intrigued by mysteries in general.’

  ‘I think that’s the point.’

  ‘What? That I fail?’

  ‘That you become intrigued by mystery and start looking for solutions.’

  ‘Let’s start with why you’re pointing a gun at me.’

  ‘See? You’re getting it. I want Twiggy’s heart. Just give it to me and the gun goes away.’

  ‘It’s right up there!’ Charlie pointed to the stage.

  The audience had begun forming a single line, with Twiggy at the head. His shirt and heart-door were still open. The spotlight bounced off his glowing orange heart.

  ‘Hate to break it to you, Chuck, but even in Metaphoria no one’s heart is that beautiful. Especially not Twiggy Miller’s.’

  This rang true. Keeping his arms raised and his toes pointed toward the woman, Charlie twisted his upper body to take a good look at Twiggy’s glowing heart.

  ‘Look closely,’ Scarlett said. ‘You’ll see that the glow flickers. Now look at the stage. It’s hard to make out, but there’s an electrical cord that runs across the stage and up Twiggy’s left pant leg. His glowing heart is a fake.’

  ‘Why do you think I have the real thing?’

  ‘We saw the security tape from Forever Yours. We know you were the last one into the vault.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘The White Blood Cells.’

  ‘I have to ask: are you guys racists?’

  ‘We’re not a racist organization! White Blood Cells, like in the body. Leukocytes that live in the blood and lymphatic system that protect the body from infections and foreign bodies. Just like white blood cells protect the body, we are dedicated to the preservation of love.’

  ‘Still, it’s coming off racist.’

  ‘Everybody says that.’

  Charlie didn’t know what else to say. They both felt slightly ridiculous, Scarlett for holding the gun, Charlie for having a gun held on him. The longer they failed to say anything more, the larger their sense of ridiculousness grew. So it was a relief to both of them when a bell began to ring and the crowd suddenly doubled its enthusiasm. Onstage an indicator light on the front of the Spero Machine began flashing green. Triumphant orchestral music burst through the speakers and hot pink balloons rained down from the ceiling.

  ‘We have true love!’ Twiggy’s voice boomed through the room.

  ‘Perhaps we could talk away from the circus.’ Scarlett kept the gun against the small of Charlie’s back. She directed him through the crowd. The walkie-talkie was in his pocket and he could hear Wanda calling him, but he didn’t dare reach for it. The barrel rubbed against a tender patch of skin at the small of his back. Charlie realized he was still sore from the appearance of Shirley’s name. Outside, an idling ambulance waited at the curb. Red and blue lights flashed. The woman opened the back doors of the ambulance and pushed Charlie inside, then climbed in after him. She closed the doors behind her and plucked Charlie’s heart from the breast pocket of his jacket.

  ‘That’s not Twiggy’s. That’s mine.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  The ambulance pulled away from the curb. Charlie couldn’t see who was driving. He kept his hands raised. With surprising dexterity, the woman flipped the gun into the air, caught it by the barrel, then used the butt to strike Charlie’s head, rendering him unconscious.

  19

  THE HEART’S INTERROGATION

  Charlie woke up in the back of an ambulance, which made him feel cared for. Sensing the vehicle’s forward motion, Charlie assumed he was being rushed to the hospital. He remembered being abducted by gunpoint and struck on the head by the butt of a gun and was thankful to be getting the medical treatment he required. But these feelings of goodwill evaporated instantly when he realized that the person riding with him in the back of the ambulance was Scarlett Royale, the same person who’d done those things to him.

  ‘Finally. Now that you’re awake, we can start. I want you to see this.’

  ‘How long have I been out for?’

  ‘Ninety-three minutes.’

  ‘Jesus. I hope these concussions are metaphoric.’

  Scarlett Royale’s left hand held both the gun and Charlie’s heart. With her right she pulled a worn leather suitcase from underneath the gurney. The suitcase did not, in any way, look medical.

  ‘Capitalism, to serve its own purpose, has made us believe we’re helpless to create our own happiness. Do you know how it’s done this?’ Scarlett opened the clasps on the suitcase one at a time.

  ‘By putting a price on it?’

  ‘Exactly, Mr. Waterfield. Impressive. Capitalism has co-opted our emotions.’ She opened the suitcase. Dust went everywhere. Inside were several pieces of clock-like machinery. ‘Capitalism has taken control of our hate and fear – but what governmental, political, or religious organization hasn’t used those to keep control of the population? There is nothing new about that. No, what late-period capitalism is doing is far more sinister. It’s taken control of the emotions we cherish the most: love and hope. It’s used our natural capacity to hope to make us crave something unattainable, and then, through the use of advertising, convinced us that thing is love. The consequences of this being nothing less than that, for the first time in humanity, love – or at least what the vast majority of people have been brainwashed into believing is love –is no longer free.

  ‘Do you know Morse code, Mr. Waterfield?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  A long coiled cord, the type of thing that used to connect the handset to the body of a telephone, attached the suitcase to a device t
hat resembled a stethoscope. Only, where the ends of a regular stethoscope would have been flat, there were three rows of sharpened metal teeth. Charlie saw his heart recoil from where it sat on the purple velvet bag.

  ‘It’s going to hurt just a little bit.’

  Scarlett Royale was lying to Charlie Waterfield. When she fastened the end of the Morse machine to Charlie’s left and right ventricles, it hurt quite a bit more than just a little bit. Even though his heart was half an ambulance length away, the pain Charlie felt was intense. His fingers curled. He screamed. Long, thin lines of blood squirted from Charlie’s heart.

  ‘What does that have to do with Twiggy’s heart?’

  ‘We know Twiggy’s at the centre of something evil. We know you have his heart. We saw the tape of you leaving Forever Yours. We just don’t know where you’ve stashed it. Or what Twiggy’s ultimate agenda is. Or, more importantly to me, how the Epiphany Detective Agency is connected to it. But that really isn’t a problem for us. Because one of the main tenets of the White Blood Cells is a belief that while the mouth lies, the heart never does. That’s why we’ve decided to talk to it directly.’

  Scarlett kept her pistol trained on Charlie as she adjusted various dials and switches. Whatever she was doing, it required trial and error. A high-pitched static, like a short-wave radio produces, became louder and then softer and then faded away.

  ‘We are the White Blood Cells. Have you heard of us?’

  ‘You just explained that … ’

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you’

  ‘♥♥ / ♥♥♥.’

  The sound of Charlie’s heart came through a speaker in the base of the suitcase. It beat in long and short thubs. Scarlett leaned close to Charlie’s heart. She patted the subclavian branches gently.

  ‘That’s okay. But you need to trust me. I know that you’re scared, but we need to talk. We are an organization dedicated to ensuring that the wisdom of the heart is allowed full expression. So, I ask this question with the greatest seriousness: where is Twiggy’s heart?’

  ‘♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥’ ♥ … ♥♥ / ♥ … ♥ / ♥♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥?’

  ‘No. That was a fake. It wasn’t Twiggy’s real heart, just a prop, a piece of the theatre that Twiggy was performing.’

  ‘♥♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥’ ♥♥♥ / ♥ … ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥…♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥ / ♥♥♥. ’

  ‘It was a pretty good fake, admittedly, but it wasn’t his real heart. But tell me – doesn’t Charlie know where Twiggy’s heart is?’

  ‘♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥ … ♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ … ♥♥ … ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥’ ♥?’

  ‘You’d be surprised what men try to hide from their hearts.’

  ‘♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥ … ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥ … ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥.’

  ‘Then why is he in Metaphoria?’

  ‘♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ … ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥ / ♥♥ … ♥♥ / ♥ / ♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥?’

  ‘True enough. I’m here too. But at least I’m fighting on the side of good. Our operatives saw Waterfield leaving Forever Yours with Twiggy’s heart in a purple velvet bag.’

  ‘♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥ … ♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥’ ♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥’ ♥♥♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥. ♥♥ / ♥ … ♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥ / ♥.’

  ‘Are you sure it was you?’

  ‘♥♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥ …♥♥♥♥ / ♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥ … ♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ …♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥ / ♥♥♥♥?’

  ‘How is he connected to the Sarzanello Project?’

  ‘What’s the Sarzanello Project?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Shut up, Waterfield! No one’s asking you!’

  ‘♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥’ ♥ … ♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥ … ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥ … ♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥ / ♥!’

  ‘I will talk to him any way I want to!’

  ‘♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ …♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥!’

  ‘What is the Sarzanello Project?’

  ‘♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ …♥♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥ / ♥♥♥!’

  ‘As goes the man, so goes the heart.’ Scarlett unhooked Charlie’s heart from the Morse machine, wound up the cables, and unplugged it. ‘It pains me to see a heart so loyal to a fool.’

  ‘Why did you say that? Tell me what my heart is saying!’

  Scarlett opened the back doors of the ambulance and then her arms. Charlie, confused but sincerely in need of affection, embraced her. The hug was the second nicest thing that had happened to him since arriving in Metaphoria. Charlie closed his eyes. He leaned into her body. She held him tightly. Then she twirled around, so that Charlie’s back was to the open doors, and pushed him out of the ambulance.

  ‘But I have to get my son to karate,’ Charlie said as he drifted through the air. He hit the pavement with significant force and tumbled down the middle of the road. When his momentum was finally spent, he sat up and spit out a tooth. He was bleeding from several locations. Looking east, Charlie saw the ambulance recede into the distance. Scarlett waved from the back.

  ‘I do this for love,’ she yelled. She held Charlie’s heart. They both watched Charlie’s heart beat. Then she let it fall, pulled back her leg, and kicked.

  Charlie’s heart went like this:

  20

  THE WISDOM OF POE TEXTERMAN

  Charlie watched his heart go higher and higher. His faith was attached to it; the higher his heart went, the farther away his faith was. At first he lost faith in beneficial yet unproven notions, like gravity, the benefits of compassion, that things have a way of working themselves out. Which was why Charlie felt that running after his heart wasn’t worth the effort. As his heart continued its ascent, Charlie lost his faith in humanity. And as his heart became a black dot in the sky, then got so small he could no longer see it, he lost faith in himself. He sank to his knees in the middle of the street, stopping traffic in both directions.

  One of the drivers affected by Charlie’s collapse was Poe Textermen. A tall, thin man with the head of a raven, Poe was driving a van for the Sarzanello Moving Company and was running late. He was also one of only twenty-six people to ever have been born in Metaphoria. Poe wasn’t trying to trigger a poof. Metaphoria was his home. Poe knew Metaphoria better than anyone else. His car was directly in front of Charlie. Having seen this situation before, Poe got out of his car and leaned against the hood. He gave Charlie what he considered enough time, and then he spoke.

  ‘Hey, buddy. Everybody breaks down, but you can’t do it in the middle of the street,’ Poe said.

  Charlie didn’t move. At this moment his entire belief system was unravelling like a poorly knit acrylic sweater. His belief in even simple th
ings, like that he had a right to continue existing, or an ability to heal himself, was so tenuous that even certain phrases would have shattered him into pieces too small to mend. Had Poe shouted at Charlie and demanded he move, he would have further lost his faith in humanity, which would have destroyed him. Had Poe thrown out a solution, suggesting that Charlie’s problem was so trivial it could be cured by casual words tossed out by a stranger, he would have begun shrinking so quickly that anyone watching would have assumed he’d disappeared.

  Poe’s response did something quite different, which produced a completely unexpected result. The absence of heavy-handed compassion made Charlie feel a little less breakable. Poe’s lack of a proposed solution acted as a form of permission, an acknowledgement that the act of falling apart, of losing one’s shit utterly and absolutely, wasn’t a sin, or even a weakness, but a shared part of the human condition.

  Charlie Waterfield stood up. He looked for Poe but couldn’t see him. Poe was already back behind the wheel. Having found the radio station he was looking for, he looked up and, seeing that Charlie was still in the middle of the road, began honking loudly and repeatedly.

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlie said.

  Charlie took several deep breaths. He looked up at the sky. He saw a tiny black dot falling through it. The black dot was too far away for Charlie to run after. He would never catch it before it landed. All he could do was keep his eyes on it as it fell to earth. But Charlie’s heart never hit the ground. It landed with a sudden and deafening boom on the roof of the Tachycardia Tower.

  21

  THE THEORY OF GIANTS

  Dishevelled, panicky, and out of breath, Charlie ran into the lobby of the Tachycardia Tower. The lobby was large and filled with people, but no one even noticed him. Dishevelled, panicky, and out of breath was how pretty much everyone entered the Tachycardia Tower. Charlie went shoulder-first through the crowd to the elevator. The Up button was already lit. Charlie pushed it several more times. He waited impatiently. His brain tried to make itself useful by reading the company directory, and Charlie noticed a company name that he recognized: Sarzanello Systems, with offices residing on the sixty-seventh floor.