Undying Heart

A new heart brought new possibilities; some might even dare to call it a new beginning. Gerald never envisioned himself as a sailor out at sea, a baker, or most of all a father. None of these were options he considered before thirty years ago.

Back then, he was ready to die. He spent months accepting it—the disease that was eating at his body. His wife, Linora, prepared recipes she found online that claimed to work wonders. Every night, she filled his glass to the brim with purified water and carried his colorfully organized pills up to their room. Maybe none of it truly helped, but she hoped it would. What was she without belief? Without hope?

Gerald remembered the deep furrow in his wife’s brow as she sobbed for his pain, and as she kissed him goodbye before the procedure. He caught a glimpse at the last second before his hospital bed turned the corner: she was praying. 

Surprisingly, “You have eight months to live” turned into thirty years. Gerald was half convinced that it was Linora’s prayers, but he could not deny the strong beating of this new heart. The transplant was a success. However, he was not the same Gerald who went under anesthesia.

It was a sweltering July afternoon. 

“What do you mean you want to buy a boat?” Linora hesitated. She ached at the thought of shooting down the newfound dream of what once was a dying man; however, the medical bills weighed heavily on her mind. 

“Please,” he begged, “I feel like I need this for some reason.”

Ever since he received his new heart, everything began to change. The man who never wanted kids found himself giddy to learn of Linora’s pregnancy. Surely, Linora thought, this was just the aftereffect of a man who narrowly escaped death. 

At the same time, though, he no longer liked some of the things he used to. 

“Mustard, my dear?”

Gerald felt a wave of nausea sweep over him.

“But you love mustard!” She would exclaim.

The same conversation would occur about rollercoasters, crime TV shows, and social gatherings. This new Gerald wanted to stay in more often, baking sweets and only venturing out if it involved his beloved ocean tides. 

Finally, one night Linora sighed, paying off the last of the hospital bills before announcing: “Okay, let’s get that boat.”

***

“Linora,” he grinned, staring at the majestic new boat, “A part of me is now someone else. And that someone else is really happy right now.”

The anonymous donor lived on in Gerald. He often debated naming his new roommate—with whom he shared this body—but in the end, it felt wrong to overwrite the name and history they might’ve already had.

Let them love their boats. Let them have their ocean. Let them continue one life through another.

“Do you think I’m doing them justice in this life?” Gerald asked his daughter one day. She raised her brows in surprise. “The donor?” She asked. Gerald gave the subtlest of nods.

His daughter, Miley, smiled softly. “I’d like to think so,” she said. 

A moment of silence passed as they enjoyed the salty ocean breeze, each other’s company, and reminisced about the endless possibilities of life.

“Hey Dad, do you ever miss the person you used to be? Before the transplant?”

He contemplated it. If not for his heart transplant, he might have been someone entirely different in his now old age—Miley would likely not even exist.

“It was a small price to pay on my end. They paid the ultimate price. We’ve been together so long that I forgot what it was like to be by myself—to be who I was without this heart.”

***

That same night was dreary; the waves were restless, and the rain poured. Abruptly, there was a clap of thunder. 

Boom! Crack.

Only moments later did Gerald realize the storm was not the only thing keeping them company. The docked boat rocked and swayed with unease as he slowly crept toward the cabin’s helm to inspect.

“What is it?” Whispered Miley, only a few steps behind. 

“I can’t tell—I think I see something, though,” he replied.

A loud shout and knock broke their focus. “Gerald! I need to speak with you.”

“Please,” the stranger muttered, almost as an afterthought.

Miley and Gerald paused. Who was this person, and how did they know Gerald?

Gerald prompted Miley to stay behind and call for help if anything suspicious happened. Opening the cabin door cautiously, Gerald glanced up at the shadowy figure’s face in the little moonlight that remained. 

Raindrops pelted and stung his eyes as he asked, “How can I help you?”

The man’s face was gaunt, his eyes dark with sleepless nights, and his cheeks sunken with years of worry. He said nothing. Instead, he filled the silence with the rifling of documents deep in his satchel. “Here,” he said, handing a few of them—laminated—to Gerald, “the third page.”

Curious, Gerald leafed through the papers to find a picture of a young boy paper-clipped to the top of the third page. “His name is Bobby,” said the man, staring at the packet that Gerald now possessed. “He was seventeen when he passed. A healthy boy, with a healthy heart. Then you came along.”

Gerald’s pupils flickered with hesitation. “Excuse me?”

His heart skipped a beat. Did it recognize this man? Or was it startled to hear Bobby’s name after so long, finally?

“He’s not some anonymous donor,” choked the stranger. “He was my little boy.”

“They took his heart without anyone’s consent—those cruel bastards on the dark web. The shitty black market,” he cried.

Gerald could hear Miley’s gasp from behind the door. However, all he could do was stand there—listening to his daughter's surprise, feeling the now-dying breeze across his face, and tasting the despair that clung to the back of his throat.

“What?” He croaked.

***

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—I had no idea,” Gerald whispered. He flipped through the remaining documents, scanning details spanning years of discovery.

Twenty-seven years ago, Gerald finally got his boat. In that same year, Bobby’s father, Charles, identified the key figures in Bobby’s death.

Just two years earlier, Miley was born, and Charles discovered how Bobby truly died.

“They planned it meticulously,” whimpered Bobby’s dad. 

“They targeted my boy. Figured out his schedule. Sent someone to do the job. They even have their guys in the hospitals. Corrupt doctors everywhere.” The man was stuttering, uttering short phrases between sobs.

Money could buy everything—including people, their silence, and their cooperation.

The news knocked the air out of Gerald. He couldn’t breathe, nor think. This heart inside him witnessed such trauma, such suffering. All he could ask was, “What can I do to help?”

“Give me three minutes of your time,” pleaded Charles. “That’s all I need. You had thirty good years with Bobby’s heart; now I’m begging you to let me have thirty years back with him.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Miley had emerged at this point, worried for her father’s safety. Had Charles been searching for Gerald? How did he intend to take Bobby’s heart back?

“My dad didn’t know anything about this. He’s innocent,” she stated. Disturbing thoughts of Charles monstrously taking her dad’s heart by force kept her alert. “It’s okay, Miley,” Gerald murmured, his hand outstretched to keep her fears at bay.

“I don’t have any ill intentions toward your father, I swear,” Charles sighed. “But I do want to undo the past.”

“That’s impossible,” Miley remarked.

“Not with this,” Charles replied, shuffling once more in his bag. Miley grabbed her dad’s wrist, ready to protect him in case of a weapon. Instead, Charles unveiled a small kitchen timer.

“It was Bobby’s. He’d use it when we baked cookies.”

A thump echoed in Gerald’s chest—“He certainly loved to bake,” he said, with memories arising of his own late nights in front of the oven after surgery.

Charles explained how he searched endlessly for answers, even dabbling in territory that bordered witchcraft and the dark web. He did anything and everything for his son. This timer supposedly harnessed a power that could turn back time, but only for a specified three minutes. “They said it has to be Bobby who turns the dial—dead or alive, but I don’t know where his body is. That’s when I thought of you.”

“Bobby lives,” said the man, pointing to Gerald’s heart, “right here.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Miley interrupted. “Why did my dad receive his heart when there are people out there willing to pay millions for an illegal organ? He only paid the hospital bill. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Did he, though?” Charles asked, seemingly already aware of the answer.

The whites of Gerald’s eyes grew as he thought back to the many large payments. He never saw a single bill. Everything passed through Linora’s hands.

Impossible, he thought. It was shameful of him to even speculate. “Linora would never,” he mumbled under his breath.

The three of them sat at a table inside the boat, listening to the listless ringing of Linora’s cellphone. She came from money, and logistically it made sense. Nonetheless, both he and Bobby felt betrayed before even knowing the truth.

She finally picked up. “I would never!” She screamed, but her crying stopped abruptly once Gerald stated, “I’m here with Bobby’s dad.”

It was silent for at least three minutes.

Three minutes was plenty of time to formulate a thorough lie. But would she?

“I didn’t know,” Linora sniffled,

“until they sent me the pictures of his body.”

***

Charles’s fist slammed against the table, causing it to wobble uncontrollably. Although furious, he held his tongue and instead got up to pace the cabin.

“What do you mean?” Gerald’s eyes narrowed.

Linora discovered she was pregnant not long after his diagnosis. She knew she would be alone, raising this child in the shadow of its father. She mourned a future that had yet to happen. She was desperate.

It started as a curiosity—an innocent Internet search. Unfortunately, it spiraled into an untamable beast known as the dark web. It didn’t feel real. All she did was press some buttons and type a few words; she never killed anyone. Her convoluted thought process pushed her further down the broken path.

It was shady business—as expected. The dealers asked if Linora had any preferences about who or where the heart came from (not that they would heavily consider any preferences if stated). They said they could make it look like an accident. If she preferred, they could take the heart of someone expecting to die any day now. They even offered to make Gerald disappear if he decided to leave her, or if he evaded child support. After all, he never wanted kids in the first place.

“They said it would be an older gentleman. I didn’t know it would be Bobby, oh god,” she sobbed. 

Gerald could feel every fiber in his being weaken. He clutched his, no—Bobby’s—heart. This moment was the object of those inexplicable nightmares, the ones he had told Linora about for years.

They always started the same: he was in a car he didn’t recognize, driving to a place he did not know. Then it was dark. Suddenly, he would feel a knife to his chest—while still very much alive—as the doctors proclaimed his passing. It was warm. He’d drown in a pool of his own blood.

“I felt so helpless,” he would tell her.

How on earth could she keep a straight face knowing about Bobby? How could she disregard the body that was screaming out in desperation, nightmare after nightmare?

“You knew,” Gerald mumbled.

Without thinking, he ended the call and reached for the timer Charles placed on the table earlier. His fingers pinched the dial, shaking with anger. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he realized the series of events that could happen in the next three minutes.

He looked at Miley, lips trembling as he finally found the words: “Please forgive me,” he whimpered. 

Charles quickly grasped Gerald’s wrist. 

“I didn’t come here to suddenly take your child away from you. At least think on it for a while,” he stated.

Miley interjected, “Um, can the child have a say in this?”

The men turned their heads, waiting for Miley to state her case for why they should not turn back time. “Three minutes will take away my entire life. And you know what? That could be the case any day. I lived every single day without regret—until today.”

“I’m sorry for what my mother did. There’s really no other way,” Miley frowned, forcefully turning her father’s hand on the dial.

Gerald gasped, “Wait!” 

****

Everything happened in an instant. 

“Miley, wait! No, my Miley!” He sobbed.

He didn’t get to say goodbye, but neither did Charles when Bobby died.

A loud ringing filled Gerald’s ears as he looked in the rearview mirror and found a set of younger eyes staring back at him—thirty years younger, to be exact.

“Bobby!” He yelled. The little boy in the photos matched the description of a young man walking behind the vehicle. He could use the three minutes to warn Bobby, but that would not guarantee his safety. Gerald needed to end this himself.

“Okay, you can do this,” he whispered, wiping away at his tears. He tailed Bobby home from a distance, keeping an eye out for the other vehicle he saw in the papers. “Black Mazda, LJG265—” 

There it was. A pristine black Mazda pulled out of a nearby gas station, swiftly cutting Gerald off.

“Damn,” he mumbled under his breath; they were entering the highway ramp, where the speed was growing rapidly. Gerald hastily searched his memory for where and when the crash happened, but nothing resurfaced. 

“There’s no time. It’s too risky to let this continue any longer,” Gerald said to himself.

With a heavy foot, he slammed the gas pedal to the floor, switched lanes, and shimmied right up next to the car. 

Inhale. 

Exhale.

After one deep breath, he let his entire weight lean into pulling the steering wheel to the right. Metal parts and glass shards flew through the air as Gerald sandwiched the car between him and the concrete barrier.

He did not waste those three minutes. 

Bobby would live to tell his father of a horrific crash he witnessed, and Linora would no longer need to search for a new heart. Gerald chose to sacrifice his heart instead. 

Let Bobby love his boat. Let him have his ocean. Let him continue his life through another.