The Heart of Lucy (standard:horror, 4732 words)
Author: Loren	Added: Jan 18 2006	Views/Reads: 3935/2909	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An English Scientist in the early twentieth century creates an artificial human body, and gives it a soul. But there are flaws that may prove fatal, or worse, to his new, beloved creation, and he fears that the flaws cannot be unmade.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“She's not a machine, Oliver! You don't call her a machine!” 

“What do you call it then?” 

“She's real!” 

She watched as the two men argued over her. 

She looked down to examine her body. She was not like them. 

As she looked up at them again she assimilated the anger of the two men
into her own knowledge, and soon she began to feel anger too. It was no 
pleasant feeling and she hoped it would leave. 

“Of course it's real!” the large man exclaimed. “There it is in front of
you and I, but –,” 

“No, Oliver!” the other man defended. “You don't understand! Just as we
walked in the door our voices woke her for the first time! I arranged 
it that way because I wanted you to see her come to life. This night, a 
new, genuine consciousness has materialized into reality!” 

Though she did not understand him, she began to receive several
feelings: joy, glee, love. She easily kept them. 

“You're not making any sense!” the large man exclaimed, surprised and
disgusted. 

“Look at her, Ollie! She's looking back and forth at us!” 

“Enough of your games!” the larger man exploded. “Your tricks will not
work on me, Arthur! I've had enough of this game!” 

“This is not a trick!” the other man said. A tear accumulated in his
eye. “This is not a trick. This is not a game! This is a real, 
thinking, feeling consciousness.” He turned toward her and looked in 
her eyes again. “Lucy, this is Oliver. He's my friend. Please forgive 
him. He doesn't understand.” 

To her, what he said was a foreign language. But with her cunning wit
she understood a rough idea of what was happening. 

“You're mad, Arthur!” the large man said, putting his heavy hand on the
other man's shoulder. “No man can do what you're trying to tell me 
you've done. Surely, you are sick! You're treating your automaton as if 
it were a real person. And it's not a real person, Arthur. You know 
that. Please come to your senses!” 

She knew she was real. 

The man in the white coat looked outraged. He made fists with his red
hands, and looked at the large man with a flaming glare. He reached out 
and grabbed the large man's hands with his own. “Feel me Ollie!” he 
insisted. “Don't feel my hands with your hands, but feel me with your 
soul, with your instinct! Focus Ollie! You know I'm alive! Inside this 
body you can feel my existence!” When he was done, he pulled the large 
man's hands to hold hers. She felt the callused hands of the large man 
against the scarlet film that functioned as skin. “Now feel her!” the 
man in the white coat exclaimed. “Feel her new, innocent consciousness! 
Feel with your instinct! You know she is alive! There is no difference 
between what you feel with her and what you feel with me, or any other 
man. Or beast!” 

“You're trying to humiliate me!” the large man boomed, withdrawing his
hands and throwing them down. He began a heavy march toward the door. 

“Ollie, please. I'm sorry, but you don't understand! Please, try to
understand! You must believe me. What I'm saying is true!” 

The large man put on a heavy, black coat and his hand grasped the door
knob. “There is no fool who can possibly believe, you! Good night, er- 
eh- fr- Frankenstein!” he insulted, bitterly. In a heartbeat he was out 
the door into the dark stormy night. The door shook the room with its 
slam. 

She hated the larger man. 

The man in the white coat bowed his head. “The queen will be pleased
with my success,” he said. “She'll understand why I didn't go to be 
knighted. Lucy is priceless. . . . But how can I make them understand.” 


Lucy was curious. What was the new word he said? Queen? The sound of the
word “priceless” tickled her mind. 

What did “understand” mean? He had said that strange word quite a few
times, like it was something important. 

She took some time to observe the room. A workshop, all white and filled
with square tables and chairs and other complicated objects she didn't 
understand. Some of which looked a lot like what she was made of. 

Lightning flashed outside. The man in the white coat slowly turned
toward her. He held a long gaze at her, his lips slowly shifting into a 
smile. Thunder boomed from the lightning. “Yes,” he thought to himself, 
“She is priceless,” and approached her. He stood looking down at her 
for a moment and then took a knee. 

“Hello, Lucy,” he said, softly. “My name is Arthur. I'm your father. Do
you understand?” Lucy's mind didn't understand, but her heart did. She 
gently moved her eyes to give him a soft look. Arthur grinned, elated, 
and his eyes twinkled. “Can you smile for me, Lucy?” he asked. Lucy 
didn't know what to do. What was it to smile? 

Arthur looked down and put his hand on hers. Lightning from the storm
flashed the instant his hand made contact. It was then that she smiled. 


“Can you stand up, like this?” Arthur asked rising to his feet. 

Lucy looked down at her legs, constructed with plastic stabilizers that
foreshadowed bones, finely threaded muscles made from a baffling 
material that had a rubber feel to her, a thick, pinkish syrupy fluid 
that was her blood running through her transparent veins, covered with 
a hot pink, transparent, plastic shield, Held together with the 
scarlet, translucent film. 

Arthur took her hands. “Come on, I'll help you,” he said. 

Lucy tried to rise from her chair. Her legs felt a little clumsy, but
her father's arms lifted her until she stood perfectly. Then, he gently 
let go, and she stood on her own. She trembled with giddiness a little. 
Putting what she'd learned to use, she tried to walk. 

“Yes, that's right, Lucy.” Arthur said, beaming. Lucy observed her
father's lips carefully. Feeling a little proud of herself, she tried 
to talk. 

“L-u-cy,” she said softly. 

Arthur trembled with a maddening joy. “Yes! That's your name! Lucy!” 

Doctor Arthur Reuel sat in his chair, trying to write by the irregular
pulsing of a dying lightbulb. The rain no longer poured. The thunder 
was distant. While he wrote, he couldn't help looking back at his 
previous diary entries. The look back on his work and his progress 
thrilled him as he thought what it had all given him tonight. He wrote: 


“March 22, 1900. Lucy came to life tonight. The very instant I awoke her
I finally received my lifelong dream–to know what it is to be God. 
Surely, my Friend has given me this gift to create life because I can 
handle it. I am soon to change the world with it! Not once have I 
denied I always had this power in me. This night has surely proven 
that. Lucy not only thrills and amazes me in ways no man other than I 
can feel–and I'll admit there does seem to be something frightening 
about her existence–but I love her with all my heart and soul. To know 
that an original consciousness is my creation, fills me with pride I 
cannot measure!” 

He looked at his clock. It read 4:21. He was not tired. He glanced at
his creation, resting peacefully in her bed for her first time. Arthur 
thought of every detail in which she functioned. He thought of her 
animation he'd conceived in his mind, which had put itself in motion 
tonight. He thought of the functions of her personality he'd engraved 
on her heart. He thought of her heart, ticking rapidly and beating with 
its bizarre construction in her chest. Then his amazement and pride 
weakened and darkened. Throughout the night he couldn't help feeling 
something was amiss. 

He looked back at his diary and reluctantly added, “I feel guilty, but I
don't know what for.” 

His light gave out. 

A knock at the door awakened him. 

Plenty of sunlight shone through the windows of his study room. He
looked at his clock, which read 11:17. Physically he was drowsy, but 
his soul was wide awake. 

Lucy awoke as the knocking became more insistent. She pulled her eyelids
opened to see daylight for the first time. She smiled and opened her 
lips with aw. 

She watched curiously as Arthur got up, covering the eyes of his tired
head, and walked toward the door out of her sight. When she heard the 
door open a wild breeze blew, a pleasant, new sound to hear. 

“Arthur! Don't you ever get any sleep!” the voice from the large man
sounded. Immediately she wanted him to leave. 

“Please, Ollie, come in,” Arthur's voice said quietly, but with a
roughly angry tone. Heavy footsteps entered the house, and the door 
shut. 

She decided to get out of her bed. She stood up, turned around and
carefully stepped toward the parlor. The voices became clearer as she 
made her approach. 

“I discussed your issue with her majesty. She's reconsidered. Do you
know what you‘re getting yourself into, Arthur? Do you want people to 
think you‘re mad? Or treasonous?” Ollie said seriously. 

“I don't care,” Arthur breathed. “Lucy is worth more to me than any
treasure possible on this world.” 

As he finished his sentence, Lucy turned the corner to the grand entry
chamber and they came in sight. Ollie looked at her with the same glare 
as he had when she'd first opened her eyes. She contracted her brows 
with anger. 

“It walks, does it?” Ollie said, looking impressed yet unconvinced of
Arthur's claims. 

“She walks, she talks, she eats, she sleeps, she feels pain . . . she
lives. She's a miracle.” Arthur said bitter-sweetly. 

Ollie's expression suddenly changed, like his eyes had been opened to
something. Was he starting to understand? Lucy couldn't tell what he 
was thinking, but as long as he didn't respect her existence, she would 
continue to hate him. 

“You're trying to tell me it–she eats?” Ollie turned and asked Arthur in
a nicer voice. “And sleeps, like a living thing?” 

“She is living,” Arthur said turning toward her with his tired,
intelligent glare. He raised his arm. “Lucy, come here,” he said with a 
friendly tone. 

Lucy was reluctant, but perhaps she had no reason to fear Ollie. The
puzzled look on his face showed that perhaps he was now frightened of 
her, but nevertheless it was a gaze she didn't trust to retain 
disrespect. Still, perhaps it was possible for her to read expressions 
falsely. 

“Come, Lucy. Don't be afraid. Oliver is my friend. He just wants to see
you.” her father beckoned. 

“ . . . I'm . . . coming,” she finally said with her alien voice. She
did not hesitate to approach. She shifted her gaze from Arthur to 
Oliver, but she went straight to her father's side. 

Oliver was looking more shocked by the moment. The large man looked into
her eyes, and she returned the gaze. Her anger began to quench itself. 
“Say something to me,” Oliver asked. 

Lucy looked around the parlor, at the fine stair cases and the marble
floor and the large windows. The she turned her wide, strange eyes to 
him. “This is my home,” she said. 

Oliver didn't change his gaze. 

Arthur looked up. “I've been teaching her how to talk. She's a very fast
leaner. Truly brilliant . . . ,” 

Ollie stiffened again. “No,” he said. “It is impossible! Impossible!
Doctor, what is wrong with you? What are you doing? Why are you doing 
it?!” 

Arthur scowled and raised a finger to silence him. “Do you know how
someone acts if they see the outside world for the first time?!” he 
exclaimed, and with that, his hand went straight to the door knob. 

Lucy was afraid of seeing the void and stormy weather that she guessed
was all that was behind the door. However, as the door opened, a 
beautiful world shone into her eyes. Buildings, streets, a clouded sky 
overhead, people everywhere walking back and forth. 

Her father's soft, warm hand holding her own awoke her, and she looked
up brightly. “Do you want to see it, Lucy?” he asked enthusiastically. 

Lucy's heart ticked and beat fast and hard. She took one step outside
the door and stumbled over stone steps leading down. Her father caught 
her before she fell. “Easy, Lucy. Here, I'll help you.” Arthur said, 
and taking her hands, he walked her down; Oliver following puzzlingly 
behind, observing Lucy ever so keenly now. 

Lucy received many surprised gazes from the people passing by. At first
sight, Lucy appeared to be a four-foot young girl made of scarlet glass 
or gelatin. With Arthur holding her hand, he received many strange 
gazes too. Many were afraid to walk past her as she stood at the 
doorway next to her father. She heard them mumbling, “What is that?” 
and, “It moves!” 

“Don't mind them, Lucy,” Arthur said from over her head. “They've just
never seen anyone like you before.” He looked at the few who couldn't 
walk past them. “Don't be afraid of her,” he bid. Hesitantly, the 
people walked past them wanting to stay away, and they were on there 
way again, but not without consistently having to look back, no matter 
how far they walked ahead. 

Lucy didn't like them. She returned each of their gazes, not caring for
the fact that she was outnumbered. 

Apparently, her father wanted her to move on with things. “Come on,
Lucy. I'll show you around,” he said, walking her forward. 

Lucy tried to focus on the sights that fascinated her, but she couldn't
help but realize that she was attracting more and more attention. She 
could tell they were afraid of her. Likewise, however, she was afraid 
of them. So many unfamiliar faces, all looking afraid, like something 
terrible was happening. Only two familiar faces walked with her, the 
very first, two faces she saw. Even Oliver seemed like a friend to her 
now, though he continued to look at her, shocked. 

Later, Lucy looked up to see an enormous tower with a clock. It caught
her interest so strongly she lost track of where she was walking. 

“Be careful Lucy,” Arthur said, pulling her out of the street. “Stay
close to me.” Lucy missed the loving tone in her father's voice. Even 
Arthur was probably too excited to be walking her in front of so many 
people who watched and pulled away from her. 

Suddenly, a terrible, terrible sound she'd never heard before shrilled.
A vehicle was cruising aimlessly toward her direction. Its wheels were 
screeching, like someone was screaming, but Lucy couldn‘t tell who. 
People dashed out of its way. She felt her father's hand let go of her. 
Time stopped in her mind before she felt the metal vehicle ram her. She 
felt the film of her skin break. A clear, glue-like fluid sprayed onto 
the vehicle's windows, the street, and the Arthur's clothing. As soon 
as the car stopped and the screeching of the wheels silenced she fell 
from the front of the vehicle on her back, her head hitting the stone 
floor. Never before had she imagined such agony. 

Crying and screaming she trembled on the street. The outside world was
reacting dramatically over her head. She opened her eyes and looked 
around frantically, but her body continued to shiver. She felt the pool 
of glue-blood she was lying in. 

“Lucy! Lucy!” Arthur's voice exclaimed over her screaming. 

“I'm scared! I'm scared!” she cried. Immediately, she felt Arthur's arms
lifting her from the ground frantically. He held her against his chest 
and began running with her. Lucy heard him crying. 

“Doctor, wait! I'm coming! I want to help!” Oliver's voice called from
behind. 

Arthur did not stop running. “No! No!” he cried. “No, God! please, no!” 

Lucy felt him running up the stairs. His hand opened the door as fast as
lightning. Besides her own screaming, and Arthur's moaning, the 
surroundings were silent. 

Arthur laid her on a table and examined the damage, but he could hardly
see past his tears. 

“Arthur! Arthur! Is there anything I can do?!” Oliver asked coming up
the stairs into the doorway. Lucy's heart ceased to tick and beat. She 
let out a scream so genuine as a living thing. 

“She won't die! Why isn't she dying!” Arthur screamed. 

“Can you–can you stop the pain? Put her to sleep, somehow? Is there some
way to do that?” 

Arthur began looking around frantically for something. He soon a grabbed
a large syringe he'd created should anything happen to his creation. 

Lucy's eyes were wide opened. She tried to talk, but she could barely.
“I'm scared! I'm scared!” she breathed. 

Arthur stabbed her with the syringe and Lucy felt his loving hand on her
cheek. “You'll be fine, Lucy,” he sobbed. “I'll make it stop.” She felt 
herself drifting to a sleep, and her mind stopped. She blacked out. 

“The driver was shocked when he saw her, he forgot everything!” Arthur
cried. He was kneeling on the floor by his bed. “It's my fault! I let 
go of her! I don't know why! Why did I let go!! Why . . . why did I let 
go!” 

“I understand Arthur. Human beings are not perfect,” Oliver consoled, “
. . . but they have the power to correct their mistakes. Now go, go to 
her, Arthur. Help her.” 

“Thank you,” Arthur breathed, slowly rising. 

It pained him to see the smashed body of his creation lying alive and in
a sleep of agony on the table. Sweat laid underneath his hair. His face 
was full of dirt and tears. His clothing was stained with the bitter 
syrup of his creation's blood. 

As he walked toward her, he put his hand over hers. “She's still alive,”
he sobbed. “Why isn't she dead?” 

A traumatic pause lingered in the room. 

“Doctor,” Oliver said softly, after what felt like half an hour. “Now,
I'm not a man of science of your caliber . . . But my I ask, how does 
Lucy work? How did you create her consciousness? How does her soul 
work? She has a soul, doesn't she?” 

“Every function of her personality, and spirit is held in special banks
in her heart. Different parts of her heart do different things. I 
labeled them, look?” Arthur said, presenting the engravings on of 
wooden-shelled heart through her transparent chest. The pump was still 
under the red glow in Lucy's chest, sitting in the red fluid-filling, 
pipes connected to it. 

Both Arthur and Oliver gazed at the masterpiece of art. Then, Oliver
slowly turned toward his friend. “Arthur,” he said calmly. “Her heart 
holds all her functions,” he said. “You tried to tell me earlier that 
Lucy . . . walked, talked, ate, slept, felt pain . . . and lived,” he 
explained. Arthur looked at him with interest. “Correct me if I guess 
wrong, and I don't know what you know about how you made Lucy. Tell me 
something, Doctor. . . . Does she die?” 

Arthur looked horrified. He hadn't set death as a function for Lucy. No
where on her heart was there an engraving that said, die, or a bank 
with the very function interwoven with the other elements of the soul. 
Only live, and stay alive. What he had told Lucy's body and soul to do 
was exactly what it was going to do. 

“What are you waiting for, Doctor! Fix your mistake!” Oliver said,
beaming. 

“It won't work,” Arthur said, breathing his terror. “It had to be from
her beginning. Within the formation of her soul. . . . What is made 
cannot be unmade. . . . Her beginning has come and gone. It just . . . 
wouldn‘t work . . .” 

Oliver began to look terrified. “Doctor . . . you don't mean . . . ,” 

“Lucy . . . can't die,” Arthur said. “You and I, Ollie, were created
with the ability to live, and the ability to die when our bodies are 
ruined. . . . I . . . I haven't given Lucy that ability.” 

The least Arthur Reuel could do was repair the damage. Night came and
night left. His love, and horror, prodded him. 

“Wake up, Lucy,” Arthur beckoned, but he saw that Lucy was too faint to
move on her own. Like before, he opened her eyes himself. His creation 
looked straight at him. Her arms trembled and her lip quivered. In a 
flash she sobbed his name, leaned up and embraced him hard, still 
expressing her trauma and confusion. They cried together the whole 
afternoon. 

Oliver couldn't help shedding a tear or two for himself. 

Oliver cleaned the table while Lucy sat in a robe, listening to the wind
outside. Arthur was making the next entry in his diary. He almost 
didn't want to write yesterday down, but a strange guilt he didn't 
understand motivated him. 

A soothing peace lingered in the fine house for hours. 

Outside, Big Ben struck six o'clock. Lucy was walking to go see her
father . . . 

When suddenly, without warning, it happened again. The ticking stopped,
and the beating failed. Lucy screamed with terror. 

Arthur immediately rose from his seat, to see what had happened. Oliver
turned and dropped the cloth he'd been working with. Arthur found his 
creation stepping and shaking uncontrollably as she stood over the 
marble floor. 

“Lucy! What's wrong!” he asked, horrified. Lucy gritted her teeth, her
eyes glowing red. The response Arthur received was a blow to his jaw. 
Lucy ran toward the door, opened it, and fell down the stone stairs. 

“Lucy wait!” Arthur cried. He dashed outside, Oliver following close
behind him. Lucy had struck several unexpected people on the streets 
and was running off faintly down the street. 

“What's gotten into her!” Oliver asked. 

“She can't die! She's in agony. She's confused!” Arthur replied and ran
with all his guilt and grief after his creation. The wind blew in his 
face. Rain began to fall. 

Arthur sprinted down the street, while his creation slowed down. People
were running from her, and from him as well. 

Lucy ran sluggishly into a clearing in the street. 

As Arthur chased her, brilliant white like from a tremendous thunder
bolt struck very close, blinding him. The ground shook under his feet. 
Immense sound deafened him. Lucy fell to her knees, and hit the ground, 
silent and motionless. 

Arthur ran up to her, took a knee and examined her. Her eyes were
closed. He took her hands in his own. He focused. He felt with his 
instinct. No, he felt nothing. Lucy was dead. 

Arthur knelt over his creation, and eventually cried. He didn't know
whether it was for guilt or relief. 

“ . . . God,” Arthur addressed, sobbing, “ . . . I'm so sorry. . . . I'm
sorry I gave you Lucy as a burden. You and I have always been good 
friends. I know you are hard at work as it is. I never meant to . . . 
to . . . ,” 

Arthur sat in his chair in his room, staring. It was very dark. Nearly
pitch dark. 

Footsteps approached his doorway. Oliver came in and put down his pipe
on Arthur's desk. “Arthur,” he said. 

“What have I done, Ollie?” Arthur said, staring. “What have I done. I
feel so . . . inhuman.” 

“Why did you create Lucy, Arthur?” Oliver asked. “Was it because you
wanted responsibility? Was it because you wanted to love someone?” He 
paused. “Or was it perhaps . . . you wanted to feel like God?” 

Arthur now new his guilt. He had created life in his own image, but he
could not handle it. A soul could not belong to him. He'd created her 
because he loved her, but his attention was also fame and pride. No, 
he'd never do anything to betray his Friend . . . would he? 

“Doctor Arthur Reuel,” Oliver said. “Do you know the story of the
Sorcerer's apprentice?” 

“No,” Arthur replied staring at the dark wall. 

“It's an old story. It dates back close to two-thousand years. In the
story, a sorcerer has an apprentice who tries to use some of his 
master's greatest powers, but he could not control them. In the end, 
his master had to come to his rescue,” Oliver explained. 

Arthur realized the similarities. 

“Don't take it too hard on yourself, Doctor. You are a good man, and you
are designed in great proportions. . . . I know with your genius you 
will work wonders in our new century. . . . Good night,” he said, 
taking his pipe and marching heavily out the door. 

“Good night,” Arthur called back. He had turned his attention away from
the wall. 

“Lucy's in good hands now, Arthur. When you see her again, then she will
be perfect. She'll be all right, Arthur,” Oliver said, as he walked out 
the door. 

Arthur smiled, stood in the darkness for a while, and then headed
outside the door . . . to purchase a new light.


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