Around 5:00 p.m.
Inspector Hill clutched his younger sister to his chest, both of them weeping. He knew that must look ridiculous, Olivia in her gown, and him in his best suit, standing outside of Jackson’s house, openly sobbing. John Foster stood next to them, also dressed to the nines, glaring out at the passersby, daring any of them to make a comment. Thomas and Olivia both clung to the hope that they would see their sister alive again, but both of them knew in their heart of hearts that she was gone.
Just then, a nondescript hansom cab pulled up and out climbed a very elegantly dressed Lady Templeton. Her face was puffy and her eyes were swollen with tears. She walked over to the siblings and embraced them, joining in their grief. After several minutes, she pulled away, passing tissues all around. She blew her nose and then took Thomas by the arm.
“Young man,” she said, “I could use a drink. And you’re buying.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning in spite of his pain. The four of them walked down the street, ducking into the first public house they came to—Paddington’s—an Irish tavern. It was quiet inside, a fact for which Thomas was grateful. A single fiddler played a mournful love song in the corner. Altogether too fitting for the occasion, Olivia thought.
They all took a seat at a round table except Foster, who went to the bar and ordered four pints. He soon returned with the drinks on a tray. When they’d been distributed, Lady Templeton shocked Olivia by taking a long draught and then delicately wiping her mouth with a napkin.
“Irish stout,” she said holding up her mug. “I can think of no better drink for the occasion. If no one objects, I would like to toast the happy couple. None of us knows what the future holds, but we do know this. Love is a precious and fleeting thing. I had it for forty-three years, and believe me, even all those years wasn’t enough. I’d do anything for just one more minute with my Henry. Jackson and Sophia may have only had it for a few moments, but none are more deserving of the gift than they. I’ve known them both for most of their lives. No two finer people ever walked this earth.”
“Here, here,” said Foster, raising his glass. Thomas and Olivia followed suit, the four pints clinking in the middle of the table. Eight eyes were pouring tears after the speech, but Lady Templeton’s words had brought a measure of peace to Thomas’ heart.
The foursome spent the better part of two hours swapping stories about Jackson and Sophia, the tale of young Elliot’s ascent up Big Ben relayed to Foster at least three times. They laughed hysterically and they cried uncontrollably, but there was no question that the time was a balm for the souls of the Hill siblings.
Thomas was distraught over his sister, but something else began to trouble him as they sat and talked about old times—the killer of three young women was still out there. At first, the happy occasion of his sister’s wedding preparations had briefly distracted him from his case. Now, her impending death stole his thoughts. But in the deep recesses of his mind, the case wouldn’t rest. He’d been assigned to stop the killer, and so far he’d failed miserably. He was so sure that it’d been Watt when they’d cornered him in that alley. And while the man might be a ratbag, he wasn’t the murderer, Thomas knew. None of the women appeared to have been attacked. Whatever had lured them to their dooms, had done so without force. The worst part was that he knew he’d missed something. As the others talked, he began going over the clues in his mind, replaying the conversations in his head. Somewhere along the way, a detail had slipped through the cracks. Thomas knew if he could just find that one simple clue, everything else would be made clear.
Thomas raised his hand to order another round for the group. He wasn’t sure how long they would sit there, but he knew that none of them wanted to leave. If they left that pub, each of them would have to face the harsh reality that their loved one might be gone forever. Thomas grew quiet. He felt a storm brewing inside of him, a raging tempest boiling in the clouds, waiting to drop out of the sky and take him unawares. Thinking back to the ceremony, Thom realized that he’d been so preoccupied that he had barely heard the words spoken by the vicar or the bride and groom. A large wooden cross that stood on its own had been placed near the front of the ceremony area, close to the wedding party, and he found himself staring mindlessly at it, his thoughts simultaneously shifting between both happiness and grief for Jackson and Sophia, and to his determination to solve the murder case. At several points during the ceremony, he’d almost felt he’d had a breakthrough. There was something about the cross resting so close to the happy bride and groom that was calling out to him. There was something about that symbol of ultimate sacrifice that was related to his case. But how it was related, he couldn’t seem to figure out.
Just then, the fiddler struck up a lively tune, and a couple of people began dancing a jig on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the pub. Lady Templeton placed a hand on Foster’s arm and then one on Olivia.
“I think you two need to dance,” she said, her moist eyes glinting.
“Oh, no,” said Olivia blushing. “I don’t feel much like dancing.”
“Do you think your sister would want you sitting here mourning her, moping around like a bump on a log, when there was a chance to live your life? The time is now. If your sister’s condition has taught you nothing else, let it teach you this. Time is precious.”
“She’s right,” said Thomas. “Sophia would want us to celebrate her life right now, not mourn her death. Go ahead, Foster. You’ve been pestering me for days now. You have my blessing.”
“Eureka!” He grabbed Sophia by the waist and practically flung her onto the dance floor, moving in step with the beat as began twirling her around. The man had many talents, almost all of them, it seemed, had been perfected in the confines of a public house.
“Now, for you,” said Lady Templeton to Thomas once the pair was alone. “The hurt for you will be much deeper than for Olivia and will pass much slower. You’ve known Sophia longer. Yes, they had a special relationship because they were sisters, but you were her brother and her friend even before Olivia was born. And as a brother, you’ve been her protector. Until something came along that you couldn’t protect her from. I know how helpless that has made you feel. Take your time in mourning, Thomas, but promise yourself that you will move on. She was even more a protector of you than you were of her, simply because it was her nature. She was a carbon copy of Edward Hill. If not in looks, certainly in character, in intelligence, and in capability. You feel lost without her, like your anchor has been cut loose. It has. But you must be the anchor for Olivia now. You must be strong for her.”
Thomas felt fresh tears building up in response to her words.
“Now I must be going, Thomas,” she said rising and kissing him on the forehead. “A woman of my age doesn’t need to be out after dark. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he managed to choke out.
He sat there, unmoving, long after she’d gone. Thomas cried, and when the tears stopped, he brooded, absentmindedly scraping his thumb along the wood of the table, scratching a small cross in the smooth wood. His little sister, breaking away from her dance partner, twirled her away over to his table, taking him by the hand.
“Get up, you stick-in-the-mud,” she begged Thomas. “Today was supposed to be a happy day. Sophia wouldn’t want you sulking.”
Thomas didn’t move. “Please, Olivia—” Something glinted around her neck. Her small golden cross necklace, the one given to her by their mother before she died, dangled before him as she leaned down to pull him out of his seat. Then, in an instant, a switch was flicked on inside his head. He jumped to his feet, even as his heart dropped to his knees. “No, no, it can’t be. Foster, we have to go.” He grabbed the larger man, who was now sweating from his vigorous dancing with Olivia, by the arm and pulled him to the door. “Olivia, go straight home, do you hear me? Do not go back to Jackson’s.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, frowning at him.
“Just do it,” he commanded, pulling Foster outside. “Come,” he yelled to his assistant as he began sprinting back to Coventry Station.
“What’s going on, boss?” John asked, huffing and puffing as he ran alongside Thomas.
Thomas stopped abruptly and grabbed Foster around the shoulders, pulling the man in front of him, looking him in the eyes.
“Which of my eyes is closed?” he asked, winking his right eye.
“What?” Foster asked looking perplexed.
“Which one?” Hill shouted at him.
“Uh, your left, no, no, it’s your right. It seems backwards, like in a mirror.”
“Precisely.” He took Foster and faced him out toward the street. “Now imagine a man is walking toward us, coming up on our left, his head low, his eyes downcast. You notice a scar on his face. Which side of his face is toward us? Which side has the scar?”
“The right. But I might just have easily answered left, since the man is on my left-hand side.”
“Correct again, Foster, just like in a mirror. And which side did Ruth tell us the man’s scar was on?”
“The left.” He breathed.
“She was mistaken. The scar is on the right.” Thomas hissed and began running again. When they reached the station, he sprinted inside.
“So I assume you know who did it?” panted Foster, doubling over.
“Shh,” Hill rebuked, “one second.”
Thomas reached into his desk and snatched out the copy of A Primer on Organ Removal and Replacement Jackson had given him. He opened it to the second page and reread the “Acknowledgements” section.
The author of this book would like to thank his research associate, Dr. Clarence Evans, for his tireless hours spent in the laboratory dedicated to uncovering the secrets of the amazing wonder that is the human body. Your contribution was invaluable. This book never would have been written without you. †
There it was, screaming at him from the end of the sentence. The two small marks forming a cross, denoting a postscript at the end of the book. Thomas furiously flipped the pages, stopping at the last one. In small letters at the bottom of the page were the following words:
ᶧThe author would also like to thank Jackson Elliot, a medical student at the Royal University, for his assistance during my brief stay on the island of Britain and with his continued correspondences. His help with research, ideas, and a passion for helping others provided the spark I needed to complete this book when no one else believed in me. He will make a fine doctor someday.
Thomas gripped the book tightly in disbelief. A thousand-stone weight landed in the pit of his stomach. The room swam, and it felt like the floor had disappeared from underneath him. He fell back into his chair, shaking his head. He snapped out of his stupor and yanked out his notepad, going over the timeline. The first victim, Lorraine Tanner, had been found on Tuesday, April 26th. Thomas had no idea as to the whereabouts of his friend on that day. The second victim, Elizabeth Stroud, had been found on May 3rd in the wee hours of Tuesday morning. He and Jackson had played darts together that evening. Could his friend really have killed the poor girl and dumped her body in the park, only to have reveled with him later that evening? It didn’t seem possible.
And what about the hole in the woman’s chest? How had that gotten there? Jackson wouldn’t inflict an injury like that upon anyone. Then the words of Dr. Evans came hauntingly back to him. What actually killed the women—the doctor, or the device?”
The most recent victim, Mary Knight, was found Monday, May 9th, in Regent’s park, only a few blocks from Hyde Park and Berkeley Square, where the other two victims were found. Why hadn’t she been found with a hole in her chest? Why was her mechanical heart still intact? And where was Jackson the night before? He’d gone out with his sister. That was the day he’d proposed. Surely, he didn’t leave her that evening, only to go out in the dead of night and murder a prostitute. That was inconceivable.
Despite the unlikeliness of the scenario, Thomas couldn’t dismiss it completely. Jackson had sent him on two wild goose chases, one to the countryside to see Dr. Vincent, the other to place Dr. Evans under scrutiny. But neither was designed to delay his investigation long. One meeting with each of the doctors in question was enough to show Hill that they couldn’t be involved. Jackson knew from the start they were not involved and that Thomas would see it the moment he met with the men. Why then would he bother offering up those names? And then the answer was crystal clear to Thomas.
“Sophia.” He breathed.
Thomas trusted Jackson completely. His friend could have provided a trail of false leads in an effort to derail Hill’s efforts indefinitely. But he didn’t. He wanted Thomas to find out, as soon as he’d finished perfecting the hearts—as soon as he’d created one that would save Sophia.
“What about Sophia?” asked Foster, pulling the book from Thomas’ desk and reading the postscript himself.
“It was Jackson all along. Don’t you see, Foster? He lied about the book,” said Inspector Hill, pointing at the page Foster was reading. “Jackson knew Dr. Phillips, apparently very well, judging by that postscript. But he told us he only heard him speak at University.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he was behind it all—all three killings. He was experimenting, trying to get the heart to work. He was trying to find a cure for my sister.”
“No way,” replied John. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s the best man I know, all the stuff he does for the poor folk. Besides, if that were the case, why did he give you this book to begin with? He had to have known you would see his name in there. You had no clue about Dr. Phillips before he mentioned the American to you. He didn’t have to show you this book. Why would he even turn you on to Dr. Phillips to begin with?”
“It’s obvious, Foster. He wanted me to catch him. After all, like you said, he’s the best man you know. And that goes double for me. A good man like Jackson would want to pay for his crimes.”
“Poppycock. If he wanted to get caught, why didn’t he just confess to begin with?”
“He left me clues. He wanted me to puzzle it out. He needed time to figure out the heart.”
“Well did he … figure it out, I mean?” asked Foster.
“Sophia! He’s with her right now. We have to go.” He jumped up and sped past Foster and out the door.
Inspector Hill banged hard on the door to Dr. Jackson Elliot’s, house but no one answered. No sounds came from inside the dwelling.
“Jackson! Open the door,” he yelled at the top of his lungs. The need to see his sister, to prove himself wrong by some miracle, drove him on in a frenzy as he continued his abuse on the door. “It’s the pol—it’s Thomas.”
Assistant Inspector Foster braced himself, preparing for the signal from his superior indicating that he was allowed to kick the door in. Instead, Hill tried the knob and the door swung open freely. The pair walked into the house, a look of disappointment on Foster’s face at not being able to destroy the wood.
The house looked almost exactly as it had when Thomas had been there only a few hours ago, with one key exception. The bed where he’d left his sister was empty, as was the rest of the house, as far as Thomas could tell.
“Jackson,” Hill yelled. The fear in his voice rang out, bouncing off the walls as he moved about the house. The drawing room, the kitchen, dining room, bedroom, even Jackson’s disordered laboratory, all empty.
“They’ve gone,” remarked Foster.
“Where could they have gone? My sister was clinging to life, if she hasn’t already passed on. Where could he have taken her?” said Hill, overturning an umbrella basket, as if he would find them cowering behind it. “Search every nook and cranny,” said Inspector Hill.
“For what?” said Foster. “They aren’t here.”
“For evidence … drawings, schematics, metal parts, the heart, anything. We’ll start with his laboratory.” Thomas froze mid-step as he was turning toward the room when something caught his eye—a red hardbound book protruding several inches beyond its compatriots as it sat on the bookshelf. Elise’s Exploits in the Land of Wonder, by Carol Lewiston was emblazoned in gold lettering on the spine. Shakily, Hill removed the book and opened it to the first page. Words written in the neat, looping handwriting of his friend, Dr. Elliot, ran in black ink across the page. Dear Thomas, I know you must not still believe what your own eyes are telling you. Believe them. Your suspicions are true. I write this to you now because I don’t know what your reaction will be when you see me momentarily, and I want you to heed my words with a clear mind. This book was never meant for Sophia. It is my gift to you. If my experiment has failed, please keep it as a token of remembrance of her. If it has succeeded it, keep it as a token of remembrance of me. I cherish our friendship above anything except the life of your sister. Now you need merely replace this book on the shelf, and your prey awaits you below. Know that I give myself up willingly. I could escape to America, Australia, or anywhere in between if I wished. I do not, because Sophia would never follow me there, or anywhere, for that matter.
Thomas read the words again, his hands trembling such that the book shook in his grip. He had still been hoping he was wrong. His heart was begging his mind to reject the idea that his best friend could be capable of such horrible crimes. But now he could hold onto that hope no longer. Here it was in black and white. The murderer, his best friend, his sister’s husband, all the same man, confessing his crimes, giving himself up without a fight. He felt as though the floor had just fallen out from beneath his feet. Everything he’d thought he’d known about Jackson suddenly became clouded with doubt. And still, he didn’t want to believe it, but he had no other choice.
“What does it say, man?” asked Foster, one eyebrow cocked.
“I … can’t believe it.” He held the book out to Foster, who took it and read it hastily.
“What does it mean?” asked John. “It’s a confession, that’s certain.”
“Honestly, I cannot be sure,” he replied, still holding out foolish hope that it wasn’t true. “Put it back. Put it back on the shelf,” implored Hill.
Foster placed the book back in the empty spot on the bookshelf between two thick, inconspicuous volumes. He pushed it into the slot until he felt it bump against something hard, leaving the book extended out a few inches from the others. Slowly, he pushed the book further until he heard a solid click. The entire book shelf silently swung forward on well-oiled hinges, revealing an illuminated staircase, descending to the basement below.
“Okay, then. I didn’t know this building had a basement,” said Foster.
“Neither did I. Apparently, there’s a lot about my friend that I didn’t know. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t get some of the constables for backup?” asked John. “Or at least a revolver from back at the station?”
“You read the note, Foster. He wanted us to catch him. Follow me.”
Inspector Hill hesitated at the top of the wooden staircase, Foster standing directly behind him. He could feel the large man’s breath on the back of his neck, the tension in the man’s body palpable. Thomas didn’t fear for his safety; Jackson would never harm him, of that he was sure. However, mere hours ago, he was sure Jackson would never hurt anyone. Hill struggled internally. Could it be true? It couldn’t possibly be true. There had to be some other explanation. But deep down, Hill knew there wasn’t. Jackson had left him this trail. He wanted his friend to find him. Quietly, as if creeping into the terminal ward of a hospital, Thomas resignedly descended the steps. Foster, sensing the man’s trepidation, followed stealthily along. How long did that descent take? Seconds, minutes, hours? Hill couldn’t be sure. It felt as if he was descending into another world, into another time and place. He knew, unquestionably, his life would somehow change forever as soon as he hit the bottom step.
“You are nothing if not predictable, old friend.” Thomas heard Jackson’s voice as he stepped through the threshold into Dr. Elliot’s underground workroom. Hill and Foster took in the scene before them. The small, square room was littered with machinery and medical equipment in equal measure. Whether these were the macabre machinations of a madman, or instruments of healing, Thomas didn’t know. In numb shock, Thomas scanned the room, noticing his sister’s wedding dress, hastily torn and discarded, resting across a grimy anvil, bits of metal slag scattered about the floor all around it.
There, against the opposite wall, lay the owner the dress. Sophia was lying on her back in a comfortable hospital bed, appearing to all the world as if she were having the most pleasant of dreams. An intravenous tube delivered a liquid of unknown origin into her arm. Reclining in a chair next to her, the fingers of his hand entwined with Sophia’s, sat Jackson. He was still in his tuxedo, minus his tailed coat and hat, which Hill now noticed lay crumpled in a corner not far from Sophia’s dress. Blood stained his shirt and vest, and tears streamed down his cheeks. Seeing his sister laying there broke something in the inspector.
“Get the hell away from my sister!” Thomas yelled, lunging across the room.
A large arm wrapped around his waist, pinning him in place.
“Hold, Inspector,” barked Foster, practically lifting the flailing Hill off the ground. “Ya said he would come without a fight.”
“He’s killed her!”
“When you left her with me to rest, you already knew that she would not live,” said Elliot calmly. “You’d resigned yourself never to see your sister again after the wedding. But here she lies, alive again, and as whole as she could possibly be under the circumstances.”
“He’s not killed her,” said Foster. “Look at her chest. She’s breathing. And I don’t think there’d be any need ’a the medicine tube if she was dead.”
Thomas stopped for a second and examined his sister closer. She did seem to be breathing, but for how long, he didn’t know. Still, the sight of Jackson, whom he now knew without question had murdered three women, sitting so close to his sister, touching her hand, was more than he could take.
“Let me go,” he growled to Foster, venom in his voice.
“Can’t do that, boss,” replied John. “Not ‘til I’m sure you won’t do nothing stupid.”
“Assistant Inspector John Foster, release me this instant, or I swear I’ll make it my personal mission to see you off the force and make sure Olivia never speaks or thinks of you again. Do you understand me, sir?”
“You do what ya must to me, Inspector Hill. But I’ll not let ya do anything rash until we’ve heard the man out. Your own position with the Yard is worth too much. You’re a damn good inspector, and I won’t have that flushed away ’cause you’re not in your right mind.”
Jackson took Sophia’s hand and placed it lightly on top of her other, which was resting on her stomach. He stood and very gently placed his hands on either side of her face, as if she was the most precious possession he’d ever held, and placed a kiss upon her porcelain forehead. “I wish you a long and happy life, my love, even though I cannot share it with you,” he told her in a voice that could not deny the depth of emotion he felt for her. Jackson took a deep breath, released Sophia’s face, and stood to his full height. When he looked up and confronted the struggling inspector, his face held only resolve. There was no remorse and no regret. He’d done what he felt he had to do in order to save Sophia, even to the extent of taking the lives of others.
“Do what you came to do, Thomas, but please don’t take your ire out on your assistant. He is a true friend to you, and your quarrel lies with me alone. He has helped you find out the truth, no doubt. For that, at least, he should be commended, not reprimanded. As for your sister, she is not dead. And won’t be any time soon, I hope.”
Thomas seemed to deflate like a balloon, going limp in Foster’s arms. The larger man released his grip and now seemed to be supporting his superior, rather than restraining him.
“What have you done to her?” Thom asked weakly.
“My very best. I can only hope that it’s enough.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve placed one of those infernal devices into her,” said Hill, pulling out of Foster’s grasp and rushing over to where his sister lay, putting the hospital bed between Jackson and himself. He stared down at her, shock still widening his eyes. He pulled down the top of the gown, revealing the beginnings of a long incision, recently resewn. He recoiled with a gasp.
Memories washed over Thomas like a flood. He saw himself with Jackson, twelve-year-old boys once again, chasing each other over his father’s estate. He saw them playing games, wrestling, arguing. There was no closer friend, closer than a brother even. The Jackson he’d known could never do something like this.
Then he saw Jackson and Sophia together. He remembered how she’d looked at Jackson, smitten, before the boy had left for the war and returned a man. The look only intensified after he’d returned, growing from infatuation to true love. But that was before she’d abandoned all hope to her disease, destroying any happy future the two might have had together. The light in her eyes had died then, forever, Thomas had thought. Then Thomas remembered how the light had returned to his sister during her recent courtship with Jackson, culminating in their happy wedding only hours ago, a tragic end to their bittersweet romance. It had all been based upon a sickening lie.
“You’re a madman,” he raised his head and said at last.
“Perhaps,” replied the doctor, “but what is love but a form of madness?”
“She wouldn’t have wanted this.” Hill took a shaky breath before he spoke again. “She’ll hate you. You know she will. She would never allow someone else to give their life for her.”
“Of that, I have no doubt, but at least the world will still have her—her light, her purity, her brilliance. I cannot believe that it was her time to die, not when I had the knowledge to save her life. I simply needed the means, the tools in which to perform the procedure. And I regret that my mechanical hearts have meant the destruction of a few unfortunate souls. I am sorry that there was no other way to perfect the design. But I would not change my actions, not one them. If it meant I could save Sophia, I would burn down the whole of London and then continue on to the British countryside. Did not Menelaus call upon a thousand ships and wage an entire war for his beloved queen? I’ve no doubt Helen’s loveliness pales in comparison to Sophia’s.”
“Blimey,” murmured Foster.
“I’ve made my bargain—with the cosmos, the devil, or God himself, I’m not sure, but the deal has been struck. My life, and the lives of three women, for Sophia’s. Now please, listen to me carefully. I’ve a friend at St. Edward’s, a nurse, Juliette Thompson. Bring her here. She will know what to do. If my calculations are correct, she will only need fluids and rest to in order to make a full recovery. If additional medical care is necessary, Juliette will see to it. Sophia should begin to wake up in a few hours, as the drugs in her system wear off.”
“Why would you do this, Jackson?” asked Thomas, his voice almost a whisper. “Knowing that you would lose her anyway.”
“Isn’t that easy to see, brother? One of us, Sophia or me, had to leave this life. If I were to have let her die, what then? Could I go on living without her? Could I walk the streets of London as if the other half of my soul weren’t gone forever? Could I go on playing darts and working at my medical practice like nothing had happened? What kind of life is that? One worse than death. I would have been a ghost. She was running out of time. Had I failed to save her, I would still have given myself up willingly. No—more than willingly. I would have begged you to take me, to allow me the mercy of the hangman’s noose, so I could join her in whatever waits us on the other side. I go to the gallows now with confidence, that my beloved lives on. She is goodness and kindness and gentleness—everything that is right with this world.”
No one said anything for several minutes. Each of the men stared at Sophia, lying like the sleeping princess in a long-lost fairytale, waiting for her prince to come along and waken her with a magical kiss.
Finally, Foster broke the silence. “You stay here, Inspector. I’ll escort Dr. Elliot to the gaol, then I’ll go find this Nurse Thompson.” He stepped up to Dr. Elliot and took him by the arm.
“Thomas, tell her that I love her,” said Jackson as he allowed himself to be escorted out of the laboratory and up the stairs. Thomas just stared at his friend in response as he and Foster disappeared out the room.
Jackson paused at the top of the stairs. “May I have a word, please, Mr. Foster, before we continue further.”
“Don’t see what that would hurt,” responded the assistant inspector, turning to face Elliot.
“I know you don’t owe me anything, but I also know that you are a good man. The Hills will need your support in the coming days, not just Thomas and Sophia, but Olivia as well. Please look after them for me.”
“Aye, of course,” replied John, grinning in spite of himself at the mention of Olivia’s name. “I can’t say what you did was right, doctor, but … but I understand it. I’ll look after them like they was my own family.”
Inspector Hill sat in the same chair that only an hour ago his best friend had occupied. His eyes were glued to his sister, and yet it wasn’t her he was seeing. His mind was focused on the revelation Jackson had so willingly given him. He was wrestling with his own morals as he continued to consider the words of the doctor who loved Sophia so desperately. Could he hate his friend for saving his sister? Could he hate him for killing those innocent women but be grateful to him at the same time for keeping Sophia alive? He didn’t know the correct answer to those questions. Two days ago, he would have told you with all the conviction in the world that there was no justification for taking an innocent person’s life. But now … now his sense of right and wrong was twisted up with the beliefs of a man willing to do anything to save the woman he loved.
Thomas wanted it to be black and white. He liked it when things made sense, when there was a clear definition of right and wrong. This didn’t feel black and white to him. It felt muddled, holding so many colors that they were no longer distinguishable.
“She’s alive!”
Oliva’s voice snapped Thomas out of the rabbit hole his mind was pulling him into, and he looked up to see his youngest sister hurrying across the room. He hadn’t even heard her descending the wooden steps. Apparently, she hadn’t heeded his command not to return to Jackson’s house. Not surprising.
“Sophia.” Olivia breathed out, her hand going to her sister’s face. He watched as Olivia softly touched their younger sister’s cheek. Sophia looked peaceful, and as beautiful as ever. Thomas could see the relief in Olivia’s face as she looked down at Sophia’s chest, watching it rising and falling. Then he saw the confusion register. After all, Sophia had been at death’s door when they’d left her in Jackson’s care after the wedding. How was she lying here looking better than she’d looked in months?
“How?” she asked. “How is this possible?” Olivia never took her eyes off her sister. She leaned over Sophia and pressed a kiss to her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin, apparently trying to reassure herself that her sister was indeed still in this life.
Thomas took a deep breath. He hadn’t mentally prepared himself for this discussion. He’d been too busy trying to come to terms with it himself. How was he supposed to explain it to Olivia when he didn’t understand and refused to accept the means behind their sister’s miraculous healing?
“You might want to sit down for this,” he told her and motioned to a chair near the door. She walked over, grabbed the chair, and pulled it across the room, planting herself across from him and next to Sophia.
“Thomas, you look as though you’re in shock. Perhaps you should see a doctor before you explain anything? Where’s Jackson? Why isn’t he here watching over her? Is he—”
“Olivia, stop,” Hill said, interrupting her barrage of questions. “I don’t need a doctor, and if I did, I wouldn’t be calling on Jackson Elliot.” He held up his hand to keep her from commenting. He just had to lay it out there for her before he lost his nerve. There was no gentle way to break this to his sister. “Jackson confessed to the murders of the three women.” She gasped and began to reply, but he held up his hand to stop her. He plowed on quickly, needing to get it all out, to have someone else who cared for Jackson the way he did have to share in the moral dilemma he was facing. “He invented a mechanical heart in an attempt to save Sophia. He abducted three women and tested the device on them. He needed to ensure the components were correct before he operated on Sophia.”
“It worked?” Olivia asked, as shock and hope warred for control over her emotions.
“Olivia!” He snapped. “He murdered three innocent women. He lied to us and to Sophia. He pretended to be a good man, a man worthy of her, and I believed him,” Thomas choked out. The emotions he’d managed to shove behind the wall, the wall he’d created in order to effectively do his job, came crumbling down. “My best friend, the man she loved, played God and decided Sophia’s life was worth than those women. Sophia would never, in a million years, want anyone to give their life for hers. He’s ruined everything. He’s going to destroy her when she finds out, and then it won’t even matter that he saved her because she will live with the guilt of the deaths of those women. What kind of monster does that?”
Thomas broke emotionally as his younger sister looked on. His words must be shocking to her. How could they not be? They both knew that no one’s life should be deemed more worthy than another’s. And yet it was their sister. Could he honestly be angry that Jackson had found a way to keep her alive?
“Would you rather she be dead right now?” Olivia asked. Thomas flinched at her question, fighting his sense of duty as a cop versus his feelings as a brother.
After several minutes, he shook his head. “No, no I wouldn’t.” Thomas wished that he could hate Jackson Elliot, but he couldn’t. He’d found a way to keep Sophia alive, and he couldn’t say that he would rather she be dead and those other women alive. And that made him sick to his stomach, but he couldn’t deny it any more than he could deny his love for either of his sisters.
“I’m not sorry,” Olivia said, her words forceful. “Is it tragic that those women had lost their life? Yes, it is. But people die for other people all of the time. Soldiers in war die for people they don’t know, some of whom are not appreciative in the least for their sacrifice. I, at least, can be thankful that their lives had been given to save our sister.”
“They weren’t given, Olivia! They were stolen. No one has that right,” interrupted Thomas.
“What did they really offer to society?” she responded. “They slept with men that were the husbands of other women. They lured young men into their dens and made the act that should be reserved for marriage into one of perversion. Did they truly offer more to the world than Sophia? Would they have been self-sacrificing for others, giving of their time to the poor or sitting with the elderly to keep them company as their life came to its ultimate conclusion? Sophia will make this sick world a better place. Those women drained light from any who came near them. No, I did not know them personally, nor do I know what drove them to their profession, but that doesn’t change the fact that they were perverse and willing to destroy men and their families for some coin.”
Thomas began to respond, but a small voice caused him to snap his lips shut.
“Jackson.”
Sophia’s voice was a whisper. It was soft, but it was there. Her eyes were shifting under the closed lids that were beginning to flutter as she struggled to open them. Thomas held his breath as he stood and moved into Sophia’s field of vision, so she would be able to see him when she finally succeeded. Olivia moved to stand across from him, and they both waited expectantly, eager to see if Jackson’s heart transplant had been a success.
“Sophia, can you hear me?” Olivia asked gently as she took her sister’s hand. She squeezed it and nearly laughed with joy when Sophia squeezed back.
“Yes, I can hear you,” Sophia said weakly, finally opening her eyes. She blinked several times, apparently adjusting to the brightness of the room. She looked around, her eyes finally landing on Thomas and Olivia standing on either side of her bed. “Where’s Jackson?” she asked, attempting to sit up. Instead she made a small gasp of pain and fell back. “What was that?” she asked breathlessly as she placed her hand to her chest where the sharp pain had pierced her. “Why am I hurting so badly?”
“Just relax, Soph,” Thomas told his sister, noticing that her color was pink and rosy. She was glowing, as though life was being flooded back into the tissue, muscles, and skin that had been devoid of it for so long. “Can you breathe okay?”
“I can breathe fine, but my chest feels as though it’s been cracked open.”
“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.