Heart

“Have you managed to locate Section Five?” The two men strode uncharacteristically down the flagstone path. The one questioning was wearing a formal suit, and looked up inquiringly at the second.
The taller of the two had dark hair and a dauntingly blank face. He was considering. “No,” he replied. “but we have now ruled out the brain completely. Although I have no proof, I know where the section is. I would like to begin testing the area soon. You know the area to which I am referring, Dr. Williams.”
Williams glanced back up at Dr. Atkinson, and nodded curtly. He had an exceeding amount of respect for this man. Although he was not very pleasant to talk to, this was perfect for his job. His eyes never faltered from the truth, for he had either reserved or little emotion.
“Jenkins is getting anxious,” Williams informed his partner.
“He’ll be patient,” Dr. Atkinson returned. He knows I have what he is looking for.”
“And who shall we test our thesis on, Sir?”
“Me, of course.”
Mr. Williams looked shocked.
“Unless you can offer a better alternative. Yourself, Mr. Williams? I thought not. There are not many people who know of our studies. Find me a subject who’s ethnic origins match my own. We shall find out about Subject D. and whether it relates to Section Five.”
“Of course, Mr.Atkinson, within the day.”
The two men separated when the path ended at a railroad. One walked right and the other left. There was not another word spoken.

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“Have you found me a match yet?” Atkinson was especially hasty today.
“Yes. Tony Apolosis. Lives in Greece. Thirty four years old, five foot eleven. Italian/English mother, pure Greek father. Mother tongue: English. Profession: musician. Married, no children.”
“Good. Now let’s make the order of things very plain. You will find the subject, and bring him to the lab. Remove subject D, and copy it once. Place it in an air tight cooler. Dispose of the remains. When you are working on me, do the same, but replace my heart with his. Hide the copies.”
“Should we not replace his heart with your old one, and send him back to Greece with amnesia to avoid shock and questioning?”
“Absolutely not. If our thesis is correct, the changes he will discover and the people he knows will discover will result in many extra questions. I repeat; dispose of the extra subject. Are we clear?”
“Very much so, Sir.”
“When can the transplant take place?”
“In two days. We’ll need to give you a few shots before hand, so until then, I suggest rest.”

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Atkinson fell into a deep sleep. It was deeper than he’d imagined. He was not sure if he woke up, but whatever happened, he felt happy. The air was moist and sunny. He looked at his hands, which were covered in black ink. He must have been writing something. He was sure he had some music he had been working on before his rest, but for some reason, he couldn’t quite remember what. It was still playing through his mind, as a pleasant wind streamed up from the bay. He caught a glimpse of something behind an olive tree....and there she was. She’d been hoping to scare him once he got up. Laughing, she ran into his arms. He felt so natural there, as he held her and smiled. It was life as it should be.
But he remembered something else. There was another life outside of this world of bliss. There was a hospital bed.
“Doctor Atkinson! I see you’re awake. Have you been feeling any of the changes we’d hoped for?” Williams seemed eager but Atkinson wasn’t ready.
He glared around at the grayish hospital room. Had he stolen something? Was he stealing something? He was taking something precious away from someone who deserved it. He could remember things that Williams couldn’t remember. “Leave me,” he commanded, and the room emptied but for Williams. So he must have done it. He’d had his heart transplanted, and he was alive. This was good news. Or was it? There was something pressing at him, a conscience he had never had before. Williams wanted answers, but he wouldn’t have them for a while. Neither would the interrogating Dr. Jenkins. Atkinson would think.
There was definitely a new emotion. Who was he? And memories began streaming back. He had known happiness outside this science lab. He had a tune going through his head which he hummed loosely.
“Did you say something, Sir?” asked Mr. Williams timidly.
“Nothing,” replied Atkinson. He was back to his usual tone. “I will keep a journal on emotion and report back in two months. If we have section five, I’ll disappear. If not, the search continues.”
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November 1. 2010. Temperature-35 degrees.
She looked beautiful today. She sang a song I used to know. The air is warmer than ever. I held her hand behind her back. We were so happy, but I could sense something more. There was pain that her innocent eyes would yet see. Though I couldn’t stand the thought, I felt I had some part in it.
December 2. 2018.
The lab is cold. My blood tests appear as they were years ago. I only know what I was sure of then. I am not sure of anything anymore.

November 15. 2010.
I wrote a gavotte today. I found it silly, but it made her happy.
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He sat at his desk as he normally did. There was a yearning for her. He couldn’t place why he felt guilt, as if he had in some way harmed her. In his joyous life she had started to catch on. She was infinitely happy, but she was crying. She loved him so, and told him every day, but there were tears in her eyes. Atkinson wondered. Was she real? Could he possibly find her? He was still Atkinson. His mind still worked like Atkinson’s.
The tears were rolling down her cheeks. He held her, tight. Her tears became his. Atkinson was crying, alone in his lab. He began to scream. He had stolen it from her, everything she had. She could have had Tony Apolosis. But he was gone. Gone forever, and the only thing left of him lay in Atkinson. His only memory of her was Atkinson’s, who deserved non of it. He could not stand to exist in this hateful place. He scrawled a note to Williams, the only way he could attempt to ensure that they did not make his mistake again. Screaming and thrashing, he ran from the lab in which he had murdered. He ran.....
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They found the place, a wreck. The doctors were confused, mangled. Atkinson was gone and there was no trace of him. Williams was saying they’d have to go back to square one. But there was a trace. At the lab on his desk, Williams found a crumpled and ancient looking letter. It read:
January 12, 2019,
To Doctor Williams regarding Subject D.
You may have realized that I have resigned. I will not consider my previous contract and am not requesting to tender my resignation. If you are reading this I am gone and you shall not be speaking to me again unless by means of Subject D. I do not recommend this. I used to believe that everything had an answer, but when perceiving Subject D, I would prefer to use an agnostic point of view. So should you. You and Dr. Jenkins and the other three involved. I am not giving up my ambitions as a scientist, I have merely experimented and discovered that our thesis was partially correct, but far from human. Regarding Subject D and Section 5, I have a few brief but highly important words. Leave it alone. If you meddle, you will only receive the end I just now have. Whatever information you will find is not worth the suffering you shall cause to attain it. Section 5, better known as the human soul, is a sacred artifact that neither you nor I shall ever understand. I cannot stress enough, Go home. This essence will only function on its own. Sincerely,
Atkinson