Automata

Chapter 11

Oliver gently closed the door behind him and looked around the dark shop. He took a few deep breaths, letting the feeling of the shop wash over him again. The fresh air of that week had been very refreshing, but entering the small, stuffy room again had a twisted sort of comfort, and he found himself smiling sadly. Looking around the shop, he saw the familiar automatons and clocks of all shapes and sizes greeting him, as if they had been patiently awaiting his return. He ran his eyes over their familiar surfaces, remembering every piece, every inner working of all of them. Creation had seemed so easy before. But now, with his weak hands, he might be able to make small things, but he'd probably never be able to build an entire automaton again.

After only a few moments of surveying the shop, he walked into the workshop. He wouldn't have long until morning, after all. The evening light was quickly waning, so he lit a lamp and held it before him, looking around the workshop. It was just as he had left it. The tables still had a few ugly red stains across their surfaces, which for some reason surprised Oliver. He supposed in his week of rest, he became removed from everything that happened and thought that somehow everything would be reset when he returned.

Oliver moved to the corner of the room where Camille stood lifelessly, her chest still empty. He met eyes with her and held it for a long time.

"I'm so sorry I've done this to you, my love," he whispered.

They held each other's gaze for a few moments longer, then Oliver nodded and turned away. He walked over to where his line of surgical automatons stood. He began slowly moving them away from the wall. He opened panels on their backs and observed their gears. He began switching gears between them, pausing only to steady his hands. His wrist ached, but he couldn't tell. His chest had developed a deep, searing pain, but he couldn't feel it. His breaths became increasingly rhaspy, but he couldn't hear them. Because he had an idea, and once Oliver Moreau had an idea, he could not be stopped.

He painstakingly put each gear and spring in their new place, making sure everything was right. He was frustrated that he kept having to stop to rest, but at least he could just use old parts rather than attempting to make new ones. Though it was still pitch black outside, the many lamps he had set up around the room to illuminate it offered a constant reminder that the rising sun was ever approaching. He had to finish. If he just finished this one more thing, he would be done for good. He had to finish.

Finally, he was done fitting the automatons with new gears. He would only need three of them this time, so he took parts from all the others to create his new amalgamations. He slowly pushed the three towards the table at the center of the room: the large one with a knife affixed to its arm, one with forcep-like hands that could pick up objects, and one which that night he had affixed a screwdriver on the end of its metal arm.

Once he had checked that everything was in its proper place, Oliver went back into the main shop. It was still dark and quiet outside. He had time.

He slowly stepped around the shop, running his hand over the surface of each automaton that he had so carefully crafted. They all seemed familiar and reassuring, encouraging him to go forward. Eventually, he came to the small metal tree that had been his and Sam's first automaton. He smiled, and turned to keep moving.

Standing in the doorway between the store and the workshop, Oliver smiled at his work one more time. He really was the greatest automaton maker in London. Oliver turned and walked into the workshop. Despite some sickening instinctive feeling, he was excited. He closed the door between the two rooms and propped a chair under the handle, preventing it from being opened. Just in case it took longer than expected, he couldn't have interruptions.

He walked over to Camille and put a hand on the side of her face. Her cheek was cold and smooth, her skin completely flawless. Her crystal blue eyes seemed to be full of desire, begging for life. He was always enchanted by those eyes.

"I can't fix you, but I can still save you," he said endearingly.

Oliver walked over to the table where the three automatons stood at the ready. He sat on the table, looked over at Camille, and smiled. He turned the winding keys on the automatons as far as they would go, took off his shirt, and laid down.

The automatons whirred to life, ticking incessantly as they moved. The largest one turned and held its knife over Oliver.

It plunged its knife into the center of Oliver's chest. Oliver closed his eyes and smiled.