Screw 1

The click-clack of horses hooves rattle me awake. Mixed now with the faint, occasional rumble of an engine. A knock at my locked door, a voice calling to me. The carriage is here for you, sir. Please be ready in ten minutes, sir the voice says. I pull myself out of the bed thinking that at least they had sent a carriage. Filling the wash basin with the water left for me the previous night I give my face a quick washing before I start to pull on my clothes. Standing in front of the mirror as I button up my undershirt, the sun shines through my window. A single way reflects on the shiny, silver shackles on the dresser before me.
Brilliant, I think. At least the sun will be shining on the day I die.
My hat, jacket and the shackles in hand I knock on the door. It opens and the officer charged with watching me is waiting, keys out.
“Good morning’, Doctor.” I nod and slip my hat on before holding my hands out, and the officer locks the shackles into place. “Are you ready for your appearance?” He says, obviously attempting to joke with the dead-man walking. I crack a crooked smile and pretend he is all wit and turn on my charm, carefully shimmying my jacket over the shackles.
“Yeah, I was excited to hear I’m headlining.” The officer laughs and we begin our march down the stairs. I still cannot understand why they would put me, a criminal, in a hospice instead of the jail. Yet then, reflecting on the reasons I had been charged and labeled a criminal in the first place, it really does not sound that preposterous. The other patrons of the hospice watch warily, no doubt thinking me some well-mannered murderer.
As we pass a group of them enjoying their morning tea, I can hear the women’s gossip:
“…I heard he killed his wife…”
“…Really! He’s so handsome, but as they say they’re all lady killers…”
“…So high on his horse can’t even feel sorry!…”
I smile and nod my head to the women, raising my hands to tip my hat and let the jacket fall away enough to show the shackles as I did so.
“Lovely morning, ladies.” They look aghast that I even looked at them, no less addressed them. I chuckle as the officer opens the door and leads me out to the carriage. As we get in I carefully fold my jacket on my lap. The officer gets in after me and settles in.
“Can you take the shackles off yet?” I ask, holding my hands out. The officer eyes me and shrugs.
“I would, Doctor, because I don’t think you’re a killer at all. But if the man up top saw it, I think I’d be in trouble.”
“I’ll hide my hands under my jacket. They won’t know any better, eh?” I push forward a bit more, and the officer stares at me. Just as the carriage begins moving, he takes the key from around his neck and undoes the shackles. Laying them next to me I smile in thanks. He nods back before muttering a warning; “If I get caught it’s your hide…. And they’re goin’ back on when we get there.”
I rub my wrists and stare out the window. Slipping my hands under my jacket I feel for my pocket watch and begin opening and closing it. The sound of it clicking open and close, though, does nothing to ease the growing nerves. When I volunteered to be the patient in some experiment as an alternative to hanging, I failed to let my imagination think of all the horrid things this experiment could be. I had heard of horrible things being done to mental patients, experiments that tiptoed dangerously on the line between science and the occult…
“Doctor?” The sound of the officer’s voice snapped me out of a gruesome day dream, and I smiled at the officer.
“We’re almost there…You aren’t lookin’ to good. Awful pale.” I shook my head and held my hands back out for the shackles.
“I’ve always been awful pale, Officer. Just the circumstances, I suppose.” The officer nodded in what I suppose was meant to be a knowing way. He put the shackles on loosely as the carriage began to slow. I gazed out the window and saw the water stretching out. The waterfront? An odd place for an experiment… or an execution. The carriage came to a slow stop in front of a shabby looking building that looked like it would fall if a firefly landing in the right spot on the roof. There was a group of automobiles and carriages to one corner of the building, all shiny and black. As the officer opened the door I felt a shiver go down my spine. There would be a high society audience for whatever it was I had volunteered for.
I climbed out slowly, holding my breath. The officer was mumbling to himself about an odd place for a lab, and I was more focused on the hum coming from the doors in front of us. It sounded like nothing more than a generator; but I was more worried about what the generator was powering.
The office stepped forward and began to open the door.
“Good luck, Doctor.”
I nod, a cold sweat rolling down the back of my neck as I walked through the open door.

Prologue

The sound of broken hearts does not fill the streets in my good city of New Orleans. Well, if I may clarify; it is not really my city. I, myself, was born in new York City. Hubub of everything, the city of new thought- the “Big Apple” as some had started calling it… myself included (though, mostly when I was a young boy. So long ago…). Yet, as I aged and my affinity for invention and adventure grew I found myself heading to the University of Florida to attempt and get into their school system… Yet I never made it thanks to an unfortunate chain of events on the train down south that involved my broken pocket watch and a bottle of absinthe. So now… here I am. A bit more haggard, more than a few years older and wandering Bourbon Street like I actually know where I am going. Women in their brightly patterned dresses swing by, hardly any of them paying a mind to the tattered looking man with less than fifty cents to his name for now. Although sometimes, one of these pretty women with bright red hair makes me do a double take; but I quickly shake the memories and keep walking. The night is heavy with perfumes and my own growing excitement. An automobile passes and my thoughts drift again… to a time where automobiles fly…
The smell of the water snaps me back to the present. Looking around I realize that I have arrived at the dock-side warehouse that had become my home and laboratory. I start to rummage in my pockets for the key to the front-lock as the first of the carriages start to arrive. A man in a crisp suit steps out carefully just as I find the key and fit it into the lock.
“Good evening, Professor.” I nod and mumble a hello under my breath as I jiggle the key around in the lock. Of course, this is what I get for using the lock the previous owner left. It must be older than the building it keeps safe… “I am rather glad to see you are still… well.” The man says as a large, shiny black automobile arrives. “Ah, that must be Mr. Garver. He was a very prominent investor in your project, Professor.” He says in a suggestive tone. As if I should pay great attention to the large man with the curled mustache huffing his way out of the automobile.
“Good evening, Sirs!” The large man- Mr. Garver, calls as he waddles towards us. Such a clichéd rich man. The other man greets him as I finally manage to get the lock open. I can hear them discussing me as other men arrive; the other investors that the first of the dapper gentlemen roped into this all. Only one thing really captures me interest- the whispers of the subject for the test run.
“Will he be ready?”
“Yes, he is in the city. Very lucky, really. Fresh from the north and down to be executed anyway…”
“Well look at this so called scientist! We might as well be signing his death certificate ourselves…”Once again I block out their chatter and slide the door open. Though the building is old, the door is quiet. I step in and walk along the wall to get to the light switch. The hum of excitement I feel must be vibrating the air, because my hands will not stop shaking.
“Professor?” The men are starting to carefully feel their way into the dark warehouse. I smile, glad to know that they are now in my territory. One of them starts opening and closing a pocket watch. Instinctively I take my own out. Battered and broken, it fails to tell time for this world anymore. Five hands replace the two known to most, and I smile as my hand reaches for the light switch.
“Here, good sirs. Thank you all for coming… now. What you have helped me build.” I throw the switch and my smile grows wider at their gasps. I can hear Mr. Garver whisper ‘My God’, and a clatter as the other mans pocket watch falls from his hand.
“Gentlemen. Meet Copper Heart.”
The hum of the generator powering the lamps calms my own humming excitement as I gaze at it. “My dear Copper Heart…”

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