The room smells like disinfectant and illness. Charles is lying in bed with an oxygen mask over his nose. He's hooked up to several machines that beep and whir—he almost seems more machine than human. Avery feels her eyes flooded with tears.

"Charles," she gasps.

She runs across the room and grabs his thin hand from the top of the quilt. It feels limp and lifeless in her own hands, and he doesn't seem to notice her at all. His eyes don't even flicker. She swallows back a sob.

"What's wrong with him?" she asks.

"Mrs. Howel, can I please have a word with you outside?" the doctor asks.

Avery follows him into the corridor, looking over her shoulder at Charles. The doctor clears his throat and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He stuffs his hand in his pocket and looks into Avery's eyes.

"Mrs. Howel, I'm going to be blunt—he doesn't have long. By the time he arrived here, he was already missing his heart. We've hooked him up to an artificial heart to pump his blood, but that's not a long term solution. Besides, the blood supply to his brain had already been lost, and he was deep in a coma by the time we got him. He probably won't wake up."

"Where's his heart?" Avery asks, dreading the answer.

"In Mr. Clifford's body," the doctor replies.

Avery's head spins, and her knees shake. She slumps against the wall and closes her eyes. Slowly she counts to ten. When she opens her eyes again, the room has stopped spinning.

"How did this happen?" Avery asks. "What kind of monster would take his heart out?"

"We don't know the specific details," the doctor says, nervously glancing through the open doors at Andrew.

"So, you're saying it's impossible for Charles to wake up?" Avery asks.

"It's unlikely, yes," the doctor says. "The artificial heart is a poor substitute for the real thing. We considered a transplant, but the odds of success are dangerously low. There's only one option for him."

"What's that?" Avery asks.

"He'd have to have his own heart transplanted back into his body," the doctor says.

"His own heart?" Avery asks in confusion. "Why is that such a problem? If Andrew returns his heart to Charles, he can just get a new heart. It shouldn't be difficult for a man like Andrew to find a donor."

"It's a difficult and dangerous surgery, Mrs. Howel," the doctor says. "Mr. Clifford has already survived it once—to do it again, so soon would be almost impossible. Chances are, he wouldn't survive the operation. Besides, transplants damage the heart, too. There's no guarantee the heart could survive another transplant."

"If Charles gets his own heart back, what's the likelihood of him surviving?" Avery asks.

"Well, if the heart isn't damaged, I'd say his chances are at about 50%," the doctor says.

"And if he keeps the artificial heart?" Avery asks.

The doctor shakes his head and smiles sadly, "That's impossible. People can't live with an artificial heart forever. The longest anyone has ever survived with one was 17 months. To be honest with you, I don't think Charles has that long."

"So Charles needs to get his own heart back within the next 17 months, or he'll die?" Avery asks, feeling the panic rise in her chest.

The doctor nods slowly. Avery looks through the door at Charles and Andrew. It's so unfair, she thinks. Only one of them can survive, and there's no way that Andrew will ever sacrifice his life for Charles. Charles is the one who deserves to live, though. He's a good man and a good doctor, and I care about him. But Andrew is just a perverted, self-obsessed playboy. It's so cruel that he gets to live while Charles has to die.

"Is there no other way?" Avery asks, feeling a painful lump form in her throat.

The doctor shakes his head again. Avery swallows her tears and walks back into the ward. Gently, she brushes Charles' shaggy hair away from his face—he's clearly been unconscious for a long time—the Charles she knows would never let his hair get so long. His cheekbones jut out of his thin face and lips look almost blue. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was already dead.

Andrew crosses the room and stands on the opposite side of the bed. Avery looks up and sees that he's watching her as if he's trying to solve some sort of difficult problem. She looks back down at Charles and takes his hand in hers. His skin feels waxy and cold, and a sob bursts past her lips — the machines beep and whir, keeping him alive. Avery gently moves Charles's hand, and the blanket falls away, revealing gauze on the right side of his chest.

"His heart was on the right side?" Avery asks, confused.

"Yes," Andrew replies.

"How did you find him?" Avery asks. "Please, don't tell me you knowingly took the heart from him."

"I didn't," Andrew says, looking deep into her eyes. "After the transplant, I overheard the surgeon talking about my heart. I had my men investigate—obviously, I'd never want some unknown organ in my body—and they found Charles."

"Why is he like this?" Avery asks. "What happened to him in the first place? Why would someone just cut his heart out?"

Andrew smiles slightly, "You don't want to know. It would kill you."

The gloating tone in his voice makes her blood run cold. She knows that Charles went missing right around the time she escaped from the Howel's. Andrew seems to be implying that Charles' accident has something to do with her. And if his accident has to do with her—there's only one person jealous and violent enough to be responsible.

"No, that's impossible," she whispers, "You're lying to me again! Evan would never do something like that."

But even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they're not true. She wonders if she's suspected Evan all along. Have I been in denial? She thinks with a shudder. How could I have let myself love him when I know he's capable of hurting Charles like this? She wants to close her eyes and wake up back in her own bed. She pinches her arm hard, but nothing changes—the machines beep, and Charles is still half-dead in the bed.

"I want you to tell me the whole truth," she says.

"You'll regret it, but I've always admired your bravery," Andrew says with a sigh. "You know Evan has always been jealous of Charles and his feelings for you. Well, when you went missing, Evan hunted him down and shot him in the left side of the chest. I don't know if Evan knew about Charles' strange heart and meant to spare his life, or if he meant to kill him."

"You're lying," Avery says. "You have to be lying."

"I'm not lying," Andrew says quietly. "I swear to you, and it's the truth."

Avery shakes her head, and the tears begin to flow. Another sob burst through her lips, and she loses all control. She sinks onto her knees and buries her head on Charles's bed. Why does it have to be like this? She thinks. Why? I always knew that Evan was possessive, but this was so pointless, so cruel.

Then another more painful thought comes to her. This is all my fault, she thinks. If I hadn't encouraged Charles' friendship—if I'd just rejected the ring and avoided him, this never would have happened. He's going to die because of me.

"If you don't believe me, you can ask Evan yourself," Andrew says from above. "Of course, he might lie to you, but I have the feeling he'll tell you the truth."