The Alloy Heart

by Quinn Loftis

  “That’s because it sort of has,” Olivia said.

  Sophia looked up at her sister, her eyes wide and her mouth floundering open like a fish out of water. “What do you mean, it has?” Thomas was the one to answer her.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this because no matter how I say it, it will seem horrible, and impossible,” Thomas admitted. “So I’m just going to say it. Jackson operated on you, after the wedding. He implanted a mechanical heart in your chest. He saved your life.”

  Sophia looked confused, as if she hadn’t heard her brother correctly. “What do you mean a mechanical heart? That’s unbelievable,” she said. “He’s never said anything about an operation.”

  “That’s not all,” continued Thomas. “In order to perfect the procedure, Jackson had to have test subjects. He confessed to the murders of the three women whose cases I’d been investigating. And before I had figured it out, he’d performed the transplant on you. The heart in your body is one that he created for you. You are the first successful mechanical heart transplant.”

  Sophia’s eyes widened and then filled with tears. Thomas could only watch in sadness as his sister discovered that the man she loved was a murderer. He knew her better than anyone, except maybe Jackson himself. He knew her heart would be breaking for those who’d lost their lives, blaming herself for their deaths.

  Olivia, too, began to weep with her sister, bending down and hugging her gently.

  “What will happen to him?” she asked, as tears slid down her cheek.

  Thomas could see in her eyes she already knew the answer. “He will be tried and sentenced. More than likely he will be executed.”

  Sophia closed her eyes, shuddering as she wept. “He loved me,” she said between sobs. “I’ve seen it in his words and his deeds.” She turned to Olivia then. “Did he love me so much that he went mad? How can I hate him for saving my life, even if it was at the expense of those other women?”

  “I don’t know,” her younger sister whispered.

  “And I love him, more than anything. What kind of person does that make me? Am I a monster too?”

  “Never,” said Thomas quickly. “You are the most beautiful kind person I’ve ever known. Jackson was right about that, at least. His ends were noble, even if his means were horrific. Please don’t think on it now, sweet sister. Just rest. Jackson said you would need lots of rest to recover.” Thomas’ words sounded hollow even as he said them. He knew his sister would not rest for a very long time.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Friday, 3rd June 1887

  Sometime around 3:00 p.m.

  Hearing a sound, Jackson looked up from the book in which he’d been engrossed. When he saw his visitor, he leapt to his feet. Inspector Thomas Hill was staring at him from behind the bars. It had been almost two weeks since Jackson had climbed the stairs of his underground laboratory and left his friend behind, sitting next to Sophia’s sleeping body. Jackson hadn’t been sure he’d ever actually see his friend again. Jackson took a step toward the bars, then hesitated, collecting himself. After a moment, he crossed the floor of his putrid jail cell.

  “Thomas. How is she? You must tell me, please.”

  Thomas stared at Jackson for a long minute, his face unreadable. Was there anger behind those eyes? Contempt? Pity? It was impossible to tell.

  “She’s fine,” he said after a full minute of silence.

  Jackson let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. A giant grin spread over his face. Sophia was fine. He could rest easy now. What was the purpose this visitation, then?

  “Have you come only to deliver that information? If so, I am eternally grateful. I’ve been in anguish these past two weeks. I felt sure everything had gone perfectly, but having this confirmation … it means everything to me in here.”

  “I’ve not come only to deliver information, but also to gather it. I’ve pieced together the timeline rather well, I think. But there are still a few holes in it. Whether you cooperate matters little. We already have your confession. This is just professional courtesy. Or, rather, a favor from one old friend to another.”

  Dr. Elliot laughed. “Why wouldn’t I give you the information you seek? You see me as some monster, now, I can tell. I’m not. I’m the same Jackson. I’m still the boy your father took in so many years ago, the same boy that fell so hopelessly in love with your sister. I would do anything for any member of the Hill family. You need only ask.”

  “Fine,” replied Hill, his words clipped. “Tell me how you were able to create the device in the first place. You are not a mechanic.”

  “I’m not, that’s true,” replied Jackson. “And that was the most difficult part, as evidenced by the … collateral damage. The main thing you need to understand is that your partner, Mr. Foster, was wholly incorrect about doctors and mechanics in general. He claimed that mechanics were a sight cleverer than doctors. No disrespect to John, but that’s far from the truth. Mechanics work with machines and flux crystals. Sure, the crystals are tricky, but anyone with a basic knowledge of geology, quantum mechanics, and a steady hand can puzzle those out. And as for the machines themselves, well, they aren’t complicated at all. Like I said before, the human body is nothing more than a complex machine, but it is a sight more intricate than anything man has ever made. If a metal machine has an issue, let’s say … a broken pulley prevents a swing arm for operating, for example, the problem is easily identified and corrected. Undo some bolts, observe the broken pulley, and replace it with an identical one. Now look at a very similar problem in a human being. An individual has difficulty raising his arm. What is the cause? It could be hundreds of things, a pulled tendon, a broken bone, perhaps there is nerve damage preventing the correct signals sent by the brain from reaching the arm. To create the hearts, all I needed to do was apply my knowledge of the human body to that of simple machines. It was difficult, but not impossible.

  “Of course, Dr. Phillips was the real inspiration. He’d come to the same conclusion much before I had and was already trying to put the ideas of transplanting natural organs with mechanical into practical application. I gained extremely valuable knowledge while working with him. But he suffered with the same debilitations as George Watt. Yes, I know you were investigating Watt and I know Watt was working on a project involving mechanical hearts as well.

  “Neither Watt nor Phillips was willing to attempt their experiments on a human being. Both used animals. While some animals have similar physiology to humans, none would have ever been adequately similar enough to complete a successful trial. Animals just don’t have the same … well … spark of life, for lack of a better term, given to us by the Almighty. It would never have worked.

  “Their failures were not because of any lack of skill, intellect, or determination. Rather, it was a complete lack of the correct motivation. Watt wanted power for power’s sake. He wanted to look the conquering hero in front of his peers. The lust for power can drive a man to do terrible things, no doubt. But it didn’t drive Watt far enough. And what is the lust for power when compared to the power of unconditional love? It is merely a child’s wooden horse compared to a Clydesdale. Dr. Phillips, on the hand, truly wanted to help people, a goal not terribly unlike my own motivations. But there was one key difference. He was too concerned about helping mankind as a whole, a faceless shifting mass of humanity, where no single heartbreaking story could be identified. He wanted to better the medical community rather than save a single person. But the tragedy of one individual family, the experience of it, the struggle to prevent it, is much more motivating than the muted cries of an entire populace. Again, lofty ideals come up short to the true blunt practicality of necessity. As for myself, well, you know my motivations, and they ultimately proved the stronger.

  “The rest of the information I needed I learned from the mechanics themselves. After studying under Dr. Phillips, I was shipped off to the war. When I arrived, there were already scores of mechanics there fighting the I
ndians. Owing to the ferocity of the opposing fighters and the volatility of the Empire’s own war machines, injuries to the mechanics were plentiful. I spent night and day operating on them. In addition, I spent hours alongside them supervising their recovery. During this time, I befriended many a tinkerer. It’s amazing what someone will tell you when they owe you their life, and certainly the glut of painkillers they required after surgery helped loosen their tongues. When I wasn’t working in the medical ward, I walked the camp, talking with them, observing their work. The mechanics may be a prickly lot here on their own turf, but in the theatre of war, they are downright amiable. Over there, comradery is more valuable than bread and water. One never knows when the man he said hello to yesterday might be dragging his wounded body across the battlefield tomorrow. Such a state of affairs makes for strange bedfellows.

  “But don’t be mistaken, Thomas. When I was learning the techniques of transplantation from Dr. Phillips, or the intricacies of clockwork machines from the mechanics, I never had in my mind that I might one day be called upon to create a device to save the life of the woman I loved. But when I returned from the war and found out about your sister’s condition, things just seemed to fall into place. I realized all the knowledge I had attained had been specifically given to me for the sole purpose of saving Sophia. My goal was crystal clear to me then, I needed only to walk the path laid before me.”

  Jackson fell silent, staring intently at Thomas, gauging his reaction. Thomas removed his top hat and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. It was then that Jackson noticed how tired the man looked.

  “You’ve not been sleeping, I see,” said Elliot.

  “Of course, I’ve not been sleeping,” barked Thom in response. “How could I sleep? Don’t you see what kind of position you’ve put me in? I’ve gained my sister and lost my best friend. Every time I look at her, I can’t help but smile, just for a second, knowing that she is alive and whole. And then I realize that she is only here because three other women are dead. How can I live with that?”

  “You needn’t struggle with those poor women on your conscious. That cross is mine to bear alone. You are blameless.”

  “I’m not,” Hill responded. “I should have found you out earlier. I could have stopped you if I wouldn’t have been so blinded by our friendship.”

  “Is that what you would have truly wanted?” asked Jackson. “If you would have caught me sooner, then your sister would be dead right now.”

  “Dammit man! Don’t you think I know that? I lay down every night and thank God that I didn’t catch you. Then I crucify myself for having such horrible thoughts. That’s because of you, Jackson. And just imagine what Sophia feels. Her guilt is tenfold. You’ve cursed our entire family.”

  “Please don’t say these things, Thom. Your guilt will assuage in time. It’s not your fault. I’m to blame. I’m the only one to blame. Please, spit on me, curse me, strike me. Let the name of Jackson Elliot be a swear word for the Hill family for all generations, but don’t hold on to your guilt. Live your lives. Be happy. I’ll be gone soon. Bury your guilt with me and then move on.”

  “I wish it were that easy,” said Thomas.

  “It doesn’t matter how easy it is,” said Jackson firmly. “You must be strong, old friend. For Sophia’s sake, if for nothing else.”

  “Don’t worry about Sophia,” Thomas said venomously. “She’s our concern now.”

  Jackson inwardly smiled. He knew that Thomas, Olivia, and even John would care for her. That was all he needed to know before he left his jail cell for the last time.

  “Very good,” said Elliot. “That is settled. Now, what else is it you would like to know?”

  Inspector Hill thought for a moment then asked, “How did you get the crystals? The guild zealously guards them.”

  “The crystal I needed, the one that saved Sophia, was a black onyx, and that was gained though some difficulty and sheer luck, I will admit. The first three, the thulite, mica, and garnet, were given to me by men whose lives I’d saved in the war or who couldn’t pay their medical bills here in London. Unfortunately, none of those were powerful enough, or stable enough, to energize the heart successfully for a long period of time. Once again, the mechanics aren’t so secretive as they make out. Almost all of them keep their own personal crystals, even though I think the practice is specifically forbidden by the guild. Some of them carry them like talismans in their pockets, rubbing them for luck. Others keep them on their mantles as trophy pieces. Generally, the crystals in question likely have some sentimental value, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was the crystal that powered their first successful invention or maybe they just like the shine of it, who knows? Regardless, none of the crystals given to me worked. So I had to find something stronger and more stable.

  When the large cache of black onyx was found in India, I knew it was my last hope. How I thanked God when I heard the news. Once again, things seemed to be falling into place at the right moment. But now Sophia was fading fast, and I had no means to retrieve the damn things. Again, my services as a doctor proved invaluable. You remember Barnabas, I’m sure, the key man? I trust, with you powers of observation, you noticed the man’s somewhat pronounced limp. The limp comes from a badly broken leg that I mended for him. Regrettably, the leg was so badly broken that I couldn’t set it entirely properly, despite my best efforts. Still, it’s serviceable now, and Barnabas is eternally grateful. He was even more grateful when his son came down sick with rubella, and I was the only doctor in the city that could find some medicine for the child. Neither of these things the man could pay for. Barnabas is a good man, but he likes his drink, and key man isn’t necessarily the highest paid position in the guild. I happily did these things, pro bono. The man promised me nothing, and I asked for nothing. But when I surreptitiously needed to get into the mechanic’s guild for an evening to retrieve a piece of black onyx, only a couple of nights before the wedding, while Sophia and Olivia were making the final preparations, Barnabas was happy to oblige.”

  “But how did you get them out? Barnabas told me himself that the keys only open a few doors. Even if you got inside, I cannot imagine they simply allowed you the run of the place while you searched for the crystals.”

  “Actually, they did. But only because I disguised myself as the guild’s leader. If you’ll recall, the queen gave her State of the Empire address that evening, Friday, the fifteenth of May. You probably don’t remember, of course, you were helping your sister get prepared for the wedding ceremony, understandably unconcerned about national politics. But I knew that every dignitary in the city would be attending that speech, including Tesla, so there would be no chance of accidently running into him. After an hour in Madam Molly’s costume shop, I was the spitting image of Archimedes himself. Of course, I convinced the proprietor, Molly, that I was attending a masquerade ball and intended on playing a prank on some of the guests. She was delighted to help me step into the role of the most powerful man in London. Then it was a simple matter of Barnabas informing me of the location of Tesla’s office, where I knew the crystals would be guarded. I merely walked in, past the guards stationed outside Tesla’s office. Once inside, I leisurely picked the lock the man’s safe and took the final piece to the puzzle. It’s amazing how very few people even acknowledged my presence as I walked throughout the guild in my disguise. No one met my eyes, and some even visibly cowered from me. Anyone who gave me more than a mere cursory glance would have known I was an imposter. But the fear Tesla had inspired in his subordinates protected me like a suit of armor as I went about my crime.”

  “Fascinating,” said Hill despite himself. “You certainly called in a lot of favors to pull this off.”

  “Haven’t you ever noticed,” said Jackson, “how modestly I live? I don’t exactly have hundred-pound notes falling out of my coat pockets.”

  “I just assumed you were frugal,” replied Thomas. “You always were so.”

  “I’m frugal because I know what
it’s like to be without. And I know what it’s like to need something, truly need something, like food or medicine, and not be able to afford it. Because of that, I often render services without any expectation of payment. It’s a great boon for those in need, but it has residual value for me as well. A friend in need is a friend indeed, so they say. And I have lots of friends in this city.”

  “Well, that certainly explains how you were able to accomplish your grisly task,” said Thomas. “But I just have one more question.”

  “Anything,” said Elliot.

  “Did you ever stop to consider what father might think?”

  Jackson exhaled sharply, looking down at the ground. “Every day,” he said softly, shaking his head. “I’ve thought about that every day since I began down this road. I know my actions must seem like a betrayal to his memory, and they probably are. That is my only regret. I wouldn’t have changed what I did, but I do hate that he would have been ashamed of me. In a way, my actions represent the very things he fought against most—that Sophia still fights against—class distinctions. I preyed upon the city’s most vulnerable, all in an effort to protect one of the city’s wealthy elite. The very thought of it would turn his stomach. But, like I said before, I would have sacrificed anything to save her—even my own principles, even if that meant trodding on the memory of your father.”

  Neither of the men spoke for several moments. It was clear there was a gulf of understanding between them, forever separating them, their friendship lost somewhere deep in that pit. But then, Thomas took a step closer to Jackson and poked his hand through the iron bars. Jackson took his hand and shook it, but Thomas held him firm, pulling him to the bars, their faces inches apart.

  “This may be the last time we speak on this earth,” Hill said quietly. “I want you to know that I am grateful for what you did for Sophia. And I’m grateful for all our years of friendship. Curse you, Jackson, I am grateful.” He released the man’s hand and stepped away from the bars. “Your trial starts in two weeks.” With that, Inspector Thomas Hill turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his childhood friend behind forever.