Leather between his teeth.
His father holding his shoulders.
Then nothing.
When he woke, the room smelled like blood and lamp smoke.
The scar had doubled in size.
The surgeon told Caleb's father they had found more tissue than expected.
Something with its own vascular rhythm.
Not a complete organ.
Not a living person in any meaningful sense.
But enough that blood moved through it separately from Caleb's normal heartbeat.
The surgeon wanted to attempt another procedure later.
Then the exhibition man returned.
With money.
That was when Caleb's father understood the physician had been sharing information.
The boy's body had become a curiosity.
Caleb's father attacked the man.
Two days later, father and son disappeared west.
They never returned.
Eleanor listened without moving.
Caleb stared into the fire.
"My father told me people would always want to see it."
"Use it."
"Study it."
"Buy it."
"He said the only safe place was somewhere nobody could find me."
"So he brought you into the mountains."
"Yes."
"And told you never to show anyone."
"Yes."
Eleanor looked toward his chest.
The second pulse moved again.
Caleb noticed her looking.
He began closing his shirt.
"Wait."
His hands stopped.
Eleanor's own pulse hammered.
She stepped forward.
Only one step.
Caleb did not move.
"Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes."
"When?"
"Cold."
"Hard work."
"If I'm sick."
"Does touching it hurt?"
Caleb stared at her.
"No."
"May I?"
The question seemed to hit him harder than if she had simply touched.
His mouth opened.
No sound came.
Eleanor waited.
Finally:
"Yes."
She approached slowly.
Caleb remained rigid.
Eleanor lifted two fingers.
Stopped just above the scar.
"Here?"
He nodded.
She touched him.
His skin was warm.
The scar itself was raised, thick, uneven.
Beneath it, she felt his normal heartbeat first.
Steady.
Strong.
Then waited.
There.
A second movement.
Slower.
Not exactly a heartbeat.
A contraction.
A vascular throb.
Separate.
Eleanor's eyes lifted.
Caleb was watching her face as though his future depended on every muscle in it.
She looked back down.
Touched gently again.
Another pulse.
Caleb whispered:
"My father said no woman would ever sleep beside that."
Eleanor's hand stopped.
"Your father said that?"
"When I was sixteen."
"Why?"
"I asked if I could go into town."
"There was a harvest dance."
"He said I'd eventually want things I couldn't have."
Eleanor slowly removed her hand.
Caleb misunderstood.
Pain entered his face.
Then she placed her palm over the scar.
His entire body went still.
"Your father protected a frightened boy."
Caleb looked at her.
"But he also taught that boy to fear his own body."
The mountain man swallowed.
Eleanor's voice trembled now.