Sheillene: Choosing Fate

by Wil Ogden

AURORA’S SMILE

  “I’m getting too old for this,” I whisper to myself as I stop at the top of the fourth flight of stairs. I’ve been telling myself that for thirty years, ever since I left the academy. I could’ve taken the lift, but didn’t want to ruin the element of surprise. It doesn’t take me long to catch my breath.

  I’ve got a good lead that a missing woman was being held in the building. The woman had a locator mote implant. I’ve got one in my thigh, too; regulations require all cops to, but most civilians get them as well. In this part of town, it’s mostly worthless. The network here hasn’t been on in centuries. Her code popped up in the logs of a survey drone marking the building for demo. The logs are four days old and I don’t expect to find her alive. Still, I hope. I check the readout on my pad and its pointing right at the door in front of me. I draw my piece and make sure the safety is off.

  I should wait for my partner, but he’s six blocks away and he’d just get shot again anyway. The door is made of steel, just like the frame around it. I shrug; it shouldn’t be a problem. I boost the charge to my cybernetic leg. One kick is all it takes and the door flies back, completely off the hinges.

  “This is Detective Stansley, NYPD—drop everything and put your hands to the sky!” I shout as I step into the apartment. I restrain myself from firing, remembering that I’m here to rescue someone, not take someone down.

  I’m a little shocked that no one shoots at me. I expected at least one or two more dents in my vest. I see people around me, but as my mind clears, I realize it’s not people, it’s bodies. I get a sinking feeling that I might be too late. I pull up a picture of the woman, Aurora, on my pad and head towards a table covered in parts. I hadn’t been looking closely so it took me a moment to realize that only some of the parts were human. Many are robotic and then I realize that it’s worse than I’d thought. Some of the robot parts are covered in human skin. Someone had been building androids in the apartment and from the looks of things, they hadn’t yet been successful.

  Human-looking androids had been outlawed after the Nelson Assassination. But once a decade or so, we find a lab like this one. Some lonely freak was most likely trying to build a love-bot.

  I count at least half a dozen different bodies, but none of them would match the description of Aurora. I check my pad and it leads me to a covered body lying on top of an old freezer.

  I’m afraid to pull the sheet away, not sure if it’s going to be an android frame or a skinned body. I don’t see blood on the cover so I pull the sheet back.

  I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Aurora is lying on the ice box and she is alive, barely breathing. Her ID on the pad doesn’t do her justice. But, unlike me, she is still at the age where being naked makes her look better. As I drop the sheet to the floor, she opens her eyes and smiles at me. “You’ve come to save me?” she asks.

  For a second, I’m lost in her gaze. When I gather my senses, I respond, “Yes, ma’am. Detective Stansley, NYPD. You can call me Dan,” It’s then that I notice her hands and feet are tied down. I cut her loose and start to lift her into my arms but she slips to her feet.

  She stays close enough to smell. I breathe in the sweet scent of lavender and roses. She puts her hand on my shoulder, barely brushing my neck. It’s the first time a woman has touched me in three years. Her voice trembling, she says, “I can run; please let us run before that madman comes back. He’ll kill us both.”

  I see fear in her beautiful blue eyes. I pick up the sheet and hand it to her. Then I lead her out the door. We take the elevator down to the lobby and run out the back door.

  “Hold on,” I tell her as I pull up my pad. “I need to call in to get someone to come clean up that place. Then we’ll get you somewhere safe. I start closing apps on my pad, first closing the inferior picture of Aurora. Then I see the blip on my screen that’s showing Aurora’s locator mote and it’s not pointing to the woman next to me. I close it quick, hoping the woman—whatever she is—didn’t see me notice the blip.

  The fist to my face tells me I wasn’t so lucky. The back of my head hits the wall and I can barely understand what is happening around me as I crumple to the ground.

  The woman leans close to my ear and says, “I know what I am and I know you don’t like what I am. I haven’t killed anyone and I’m not going to kill you. You did save me. I’m free only because of you. Thank you, Dan.” She kisses me on the lips and then the lights go out.

  When I wake, I’m alone in the alley. I run through my stuff and find everything: my piece, my wallet, my pad—all here with me. I’ve got three separate headaches but I manage to call the lab in. As I wait inside the climbing elevator, my mind is flashing images of hopeful blue eyes and I still feel her soft lips on mine. I stand outside the door and wait for back up. I know the mess inside and don’t want to sift through evidence.

  And I don’t want to wonder if that android was the one who had killed those girls. I want her to be innocent, though she never can be. Something in there might prove her guilty. I glance into the room, looking not for something to prove her guilt, but for something to prove her otherwise. My eyes try not to focus on the ice box that I know holds what used to be Aurora. The cut ropes still lay on the floor. A tiny bit of joy makes me nod and smile. The android hadn’t tied herself down.

  Aurora’s body is in there. But it’s Aurora’s skin that I’m thinking about.

  “She’s only a robot.” I think it; I don’t say it. And I don’t believe it. I felt a connection to her. I try to tell myself that whatever freak built her probably programmed her to act seductive, but I’m not listening.

  Two flatfoots show up with the captain.

  “Any luck?” the captain asks me.

  “She was already dead when I got here.” I tell them to look for her in the fridge. I don’t mention that she won’t have her skin.

  “Was there anyone here?” The captain asks. “No,” I say. “This is how I found it.” I could tell him that I know that the sicko that did this is still out there. That I know it’s not the android in Aurora’s skin because she couldn’t have tied herself down. But then I’d have to mention her and her existence is a secret I want to keep for myself.

  As I take the elevator back down, I’m thinking of nothing more than finding Aurora’s skin. Her eyes, her lips, her smile.

  About this story:

  I wrote this story to be an example of bad writing. First Person is considered lazy writing among professional fiction writers and many people dislike it. Present tense is painful to read if done improperly. I used far too many clichés.

  I failed at my goal of bad writing.

  As with most of my stories, this one started as a contest winner. These are small contests, usually less than twenty entries, so it’s not that big of a deal. It did let me know the story had potential.

  Somehow when I put all these elements of bad writing together, I ended up with a fun little story.

  The editor of Bards and Sages Quarterly detests first person stories and present tense stories so much that she’s written essays about why people should not write in those styles. She liked this one enough to publish it.