A Clockwork Affair | Chapter One

A long time ago, I was a doctor. “Doctor Hyde Hannibal” was a household name in Midnight Hollow; I was good at my job, I had amazing bedside manner, and I was one of the last surviving doctors who actually performed house calls. I even volunteered at the local college to help teach young medical students, earning me the nickname “Professor.” I was a successful do gooder and I was happy.

Until tragedy struck.

I had never lost a patient before, not like that, but the explosion that rocked the art museum that night brought in so many injuries that casualties were inevitable. But hers … hers was the worst. She was young and beautiful and her eyes were so full of life, staring up at me right until she took her last breath. I could have swore she died with a smile on her lips. It broke me. I screamed and sobbed until I couldn’t make a sound … and then I became a statue. No tears, no smiles, no emotion. Only stone. I was worthless.

I quit my job the next day. People begged me to come back. “Doctor Hannibal,” They would begin, but I would cut them off. “Professor Hannibal.” I corrected them. I was no doctor. Not anymore. No doctor would have let her die the way I did, with my shaky hands and tear filled eyes. No doctor would have made it personal.

I continued to teach at the college, but soon I couldn’t bear it. I fell into a deep darkness, one that I was nearly unwilling to crawl out of. I wanted to stay there until I finally died. Until one day when my mind began to work in a way it never had before. An unnatural, devious way that was exciting and frightening all at once.

I awoke one evening in my study, and for some reason my gaze landed on one specific book in my shelf. The one piece of fiction nestled amongst various medical and science texts and personal work journals.

“Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.”

I picked it up, tracing my fingertips along the cover. The text was printed in thin gold, shimmering against the black leather front. I began to laugh at the absurdity of it all, laugh at the sheer insanity, all the while I was beginning to plan. It was unfair, I thought. I was a doctor … I had the ability to save life and take life … why couldn’t I give it as well? It was only fair, wasn’t it? My laughter increased. I felt like I was losing my mind, yet I also felt like I had never been more coherent.

So I began to plan. Simple sketches at first, because I wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing. But then they became more and more intricate, turning my design from a faceless entity into something beautifully human. It wasn’t until I was on my umpteenth draft that I realised who this drawing resembled. My heart lurched and I nearly threw up but it only made sense. She was what lead me to this wasn’t she? It’s only fitting that she be my experiment.

“I never meant to take your life,” I said to the sketch, feeling crazier by the second. “But by God, I mean to give it back to you.”

I went to the graveyard the next night, and it pained me to learn she had been cremated, aside from the organs that were salvaged from her wrecked body and donated to those in need. I should have known that because I should have gone to her funeral. I had planned to, but the pain and the guilt were too much. I didn’t think I could stand to be by her graveside as she was shipped away to the other side. That night was the first time I had even been to the graveyard since her death, despite my parents being buried there. I looked down at her gravestone and thought of something to say, but I couldn’t speak. I was too busy thinking of another plan. If I couldn’t use the original, I would have to construct a copy, and a damn good one at that.

So I threw myself into learning various arts that would help me in my endeavors. I knew I couldn’t complete my project using only these methods, but thankfully I knew my standings as a man of science would allow me access to any biological specimens I might need without raising much question.

I even took to digging through the local junkyard for scrap and materials that I thought I might need. Believe it or not, it was one of my most helpful suppliers.

I was there searching when I got a phone call from one of my past associates. I had contacted him recently (after my trip to the graveyard) to ask him about the whereabouts of the people who had received her organ donations. “It would just … it would make me feel better to know that her death wasn’t completely in vain.” I had lied to him, and he pitied me and promised me he would look into it. I felt sick to my stomach about my lie, but I dealt with it. It had to be done.

Standing in the junkyard, I listened to him through the static of my outdated cell phone. “I was only able to locate one recipient.” He told me, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Alana De Maurier. She’s in the hospital here in Midnight Hollow. She has the heart. Her heart.”

My pulse quickened. I calmed the quiver in my throat before speaking. “Oh. Is … is the heart failing?”

“No … the heart is the healthiest part of her. She’s dying of cancer. Her doctor says she likely won’t last the next few days.”

I feigned heartache, said my goodbye, and hung up before he could respond. I then made a mental note to keep track of any and all deaths that happened at the hospital before I headed home to begin constructing.

That heart would be mine.

I didn’t leave my basement laboratory for nearly two days as I built and studied and sketched. The time was getting closer I knew and this twisted experiment would either succeed beautifully or fail miserably. I had no idea which it would be, but I prayed for success. Let me give back a life I took … let me wrong this right … let me find my happiness again. Did I not deserve it?

When I finally emerged into daylight, the newspaper that awaited me announced the death of cancer stricken Alana De Maurier. I was sorry that she died, and suddenly felt selfish for awaiting her death in order to take her heart to give life to another. But these were different circumstances. And besides, the heart wasn’t hers to begin with. In reality, she had done the same thing … waiting for someone to die so that she may live.

I justified my actions the whole time I waited for dusk. As night fell, I got in my car and drove to the hospital, parking in the shadows across the street and waiting. Sometime after midnight, I knew it was safe. I still had the hospital master key from when I worked there and I used it to gain access to the morgue. There, I performed an impromptu autopsy on Ms. De Maurier. I removed her heart and packed it safely into a medical ice chest.

My own heart quickened to such a pace that I felt faint as I fled the building.

It would be tonight.

It rained that night, harder than I ever remembered it raining before. I made one last stop before going home to put my plan into motion completely.

I went to her grave and took several deep breaths. I was beginning to grow afraid and I hated myself for it. I had to do this, I told myself. I had to. She didn’t deserve to die so young … no one did. But especially not her.

I stood there for what felt like hours, before I finally spoke.

“I hope you’ve been as restless as I have,” I said quietly, the rain drowning out the sound of my voice. “I never wanted you to rest in peace. I wanted you to put up a fight until you got kicked out of wherever you went. You didn’t, apparently. But that’s okay. I’ve fought for you. I’ve fought to bring you back, and now … now I’ll see soon.”

I turned and ran back to my car. I was ready.

I just prayed that she was as well.

I returned to my lab in order to complete one final step. It was the step I had been dreading even more so than stealing a heart out of a dead woman.

I was no fool. I knew science alone would not get me to where I needed to be. I had been studying alchemy as well as everything else and it had been the trickiest of all to learn. After gathering the necessary ingredients and locating the specific incantation, I cast a spell on the heart. Then I performed another ritual on the body I had created. It was the strangest feeling to channel this mystical power when I had spent my whole life absorbed in the world of science and logic.

Once that was done, I set to work securing the heart in the cavity I’d hollowed out inside my creation. It connected to various other conduits and crannies that hopefully would help her live. Science and alchemy working hand in hand is what I hoped for.

I looked down at the base of my creation … the draft, the sketch, the beginning. When I flipped the switch, electricity would mingle with alchemy and science and bring her to life. It would make her beautiful, put light in her eyes, give her breath to laugh.

And if it didn’t … well, I could say that I tried. And then I could crawl back into that darkness and make sure that I never came out.

I pushed those thoughts aside. I had to focus on success. I took a deep breath. I said a prayer.

And then I flipped the switch.

It wasn’t as cataclysmic as I thought it would be. I thought it would be bolts of lightning, lights flickering, smoke filling the air. Instead it was a quiet thrum that filled the room and made goosebumps form on my skin. The lights went out and came right back on and I gasped as I looked down at my creation. She was completely changed.

She wasn’t exactly whole. Not entirely. But she was there. She was alive. She was breathing. I nearly fainted, but I was too busy staring at my success. I had done it!

She blinked and looked at me, her visible eye a shade of pale violet like nothing I’d ever seen before. That wasn’t right, she was supposed to have brown eyes, but it didn’t matter. She was seeing me. I could tell by the way she stared at me like I was something completely unknown to her. I supposed I was.

“Hi.” I stuttered, for lack of anything else to say. What the hell do you say to a woman you’ve half created-half brought back from the dead? She continued to stare at me silently. Moments passed in utter quiet as she studied me like a lab rat. I didn’t know what to say. I was dumb founded.

Finally she stumbled out of the chair. I reached out to help steady her but she soon got the hang of it. She was standing on her own, taking in her surroundings, continuing to take in the sight of me. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. I was beginning to worry that I had gone wrong in the vocal chords department. But finally she spoke.

“I …” She began, looking down at herself. I could imagine the sight of her metal arm and the stitches in her skin were frightening to her. “Who am I?” She asked, and looked up at me. Her voice was smooth and soft, nothing like I remembered. “How did I … how did I get here?”

I winced. Did I tell her the truth? I didn’t want to lie to her, but the truth would be all too frightening for her I was sure. Lying was my best option.

“You don’t remember?” I said, and she shook her head. “Well, I … ahem … I found you. You were injured badly and I took care of you. I’m a … well, I used to be a doctor.”

She stared at me curiously, and then shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. I guess that sounds … hmm. I can’t remember anything. I can’t even remember my own name!”

I half-smiled. Something about her was innocence personified. She had been reborn with a clean slate … or had she been reborn at all? Was this her, or someone new altogether?

“Your name is Al …” I began, and then bit my tongue. I stared into the violet of her eye and felt a pang in my chest. It all sunk in then. I had created her, I had given her life, but she wasn’t what I intended. She wasn’t brought back to life, she was given new life. She was her own entity, her own being. Whatever or whoever she was I hadn’t learned yet … but she wasn’t her. Everything about her was the complete opposite; I knew that from these few moments we had shared.

I thought fast. “A…Ashelia. Your name is Ashelia.”

“Ashelia?” She repeated, sounding out each syllable. Then she giggled softly. “That’s kind of pretty.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, it is.”

She looked around my basement laboratory, frowning. “Is this your house?”

I shook my head, “No, no, this is only part of it. If you feel up to it I can take you upstairs and show you the rest.”

She nodded and took a few steps. She stumbled a bit at first, but got the hang of it after that. I watched her and felt like I was watching a child take their first steps. Only this child was a grown woman who had no idea about how she came to draw breath, or why. I began to shake as a nauseous feeling crept over me.

“What’s your name?” She asked me as we walked to the spiral staircase.

“Hyde,” I replied. “Hyde Hannibal, but you can just call me Hyde.”

She nodded her head, and stayed silent as we made our way into the house.

I gave her a brief tour and she stared at everything in wide eyed wonder. At first I thought this was odd, until I realised that technically she had never seen a house before, nor furnishings or electronics or wall art. She stopped beside an old framed map of mine and her excitement was written all across her face.

“This place is beautiful!” She exclaimed, laughing. “You live here by yourself?”

The question hurt. My house was rather large, and yes … empty aside from me. It hadn’t always been, of course, but I didn’t tell her that. I simply nodded. “Yes. Just me. And, well, now you.”

“But I don’t live here. Do I?” She mused, thinking for a moment. “I mean, I can’t remember anything. For all I know, this is the only house I’ve ever even stepped foot in!”

My heart was in my throat at this point, sweat trickling down the back of my neck. Who is she? I thought, but she wasn’t her. She wasn’t.

When I zoned back into the moment, Ashelia had disappeared.

I found her in my study, gazing at a replica of an ancient fantasy map. It depicted a section of Middle-Earth from The Lord of the Rings, a book series which she — or who she was supposed to be — had loved. When I saw this, a glimmer of hope bloomed in my chest. Maybe there was a part of her in there somewhere. Maybe I had to find it. Or maybe she had to find it for herself.

“Where is this? Is this where we are?!” She asked excitedly when I entered the room. I stared at her incredulously.

“No, we live in a place called Midnight Hollow.” I told her.

“Well, can we go there?!” She asked, pointing at the map again. A light shone in her eye. “It looks amazing!”

I scratched the back of my head nervously. “No … um … that’s a fantasy world, Ashelia. It’s not real. It’s from a book.”

“Oh.” Her face fell, and I felt bad for her, but I wasn’t about to lie to her about Gondor existing! I sighed and put my hand on her shoulder which caused her to look up at me.

“Come on. I have a room fixed for you. You’re probably tired.”

She frowned, her nose scrunching. “Haven’t I been unconscious since you found me?”

I laughed softly. “Yes, but .. you’ve been recuperating. You’re tired from it. You still need rest.”

 

Rain still poured down outside as I showed her to the spare room I had fixed up to serve as a bedroom for her. She stared out the window briefly before walking around the room, looking at every little thing, running her hand over the bedding. Judging by the smile on her face, I assumed she liked it.

She hopped onto the bed and immediately yawned as she relaxed. I was glad to see she liked it, despite the ball of nerves and nausea that had formed in my stomach.

“I didn’t even say thank you, did I?” She asked suddenly, turning her head to look at me. Her gaze bore into mine with such intensity I felt weak, and I wasn’t sure why. “Thank you, Hyde.”

I plastered a nervous smile on my lips and nodded. “You’re welcome, Ashelia. Get some sleep.”

I didn’t have to tell her twice. She was unconscious before I could even leave the room. I dimmed the lights on my way out, closing the door behind me as I made my way to my own bedroom across the house.

With every step I took, I felt colder. A numbness seeped over me like I had never experienced before, not even the night she died. This was strange. This was unnatural. I felt proud and elated and scared and angry and excited and horrified and intrigued and disappointed all in one. I felt more, but I was too tired to even comprehend the correct words. I stumbled into my room and locked the door behind me, wishing my hands were steady enough to pour myself a drink. I sat down in the chair in the corner, my hands clenched in my lap as I rocked back and forth and thought about what I’d done, what I’d created.

Or rather who I’d created.

I didn’t know who she was.

What have I done?

She was beautiful, she was sweet, she was innocent, she was kind, she was lively. But I didn’t know her. Whoever she was, she wasn’t who I intended to bring back from the grave.

She wasn’t the woman who died at the hospital in my shaking arms as she stared up at me and begged me not to cry.

She wasn’t Alessa Valentine Hannibal.

She wasn’t my wife.