Cigars for Sawyer

by Justin Swapp

  ***

  I didn't sleep much that night, not after reading what Uncle Chuck had left behind for me. I spent the evening deciphering his directions, and the early hours of the morning trying to comprehend the device, or, version two, as he called it. It was a slippery proposition, this scheme of his. The man was a genius in many ways, but perhaps a little cracked too. Were they all like that?

  I watched the sun rise via the display in my kitchen. Work started in an hour, and I had to face Sawyer again one way or another; whether I would go through with my uncle's plan, or not.

  The shower felt good, but I got dressed a little slower than normal. I wasn't worried about work. They understood that working with these kinds of patients was trying, so their policy on personal days was pretty lenient. As a matter of fact, no one even mentioned anything to me about running out of there yesterday.

  I approached Sawyer's door with trepidation. It didn't have to be Sawyer, I supposed, but given yesterday, he made the most sense. I didn't even know if this was going to work.

  "Sawyer," I said, as I knocked softly on his door. I entered, backpack slung over my shoulder. Sawyer sat on his bed in the same position as yesterday. It was as if he hadn't moved.

  "I'm sorry for running out on you yesterday," I said, as I put my backpack down on his bed. "That just freaked me out, you know?"

  Sawyer lifted his hand slightly and nudged at his desk. "The paper and pencil?" I said walking to the desk to collect them. As soon as I gave them to him, he started writing.

  "Have you considered it?" he wrote.

  "I've been thinking about it all night," I said.

  "You'll do it then?" Sawyer wrote excitedly.

  "What I meant was that I couldn't sleep," I said. "I was hoping that a good night's sleep would set you straight."

  "I want to be productive again," he wrote hastily, "even if that means on the other side."

  I considered that statement for a moment. I wondered what his beliefs had taught him, and how his convictions would allow for him to do what he was suggesting.

  "I won't kill you Sawyer," I said.

  Instantly his eyes fell, followed by his countenance. He started to scribble some angry things, how I didn't know what it was like, and how I would want the same if I were in his shoes.

  "Relax," I said, grabbing his writing hand. "Let me explain."

  He looked up at me, the hope drained from his face.

  "I won't kill you, Sawyer. But, I have another idea."

  I asked him if he had ever heard of the Memory Eater and if he knew what it did. He seemed to take an unusually long time to respond. I thought that perhaps he was fatigued. He had done more writing today than he had done all last week.

  "Yes," he wrote finally.

  I repeated that I wouldn't kill him, but that if he would give me permission, I could do something revolutionary, and almost as good. It just wouldn't haunt my conscience the same.

  Sawyer gave his approval, nodding his head like I had never seen before.

  Sitting down on the bed next to him, I unzipped the backpack, and removed the tobacco box and placed it between us. Most people wouldn't have noticed his expression, but I could tell Sawyer was confused.

  "I'll explain shortly," I said reassuringly.

  As I removed the cigars, I prayed the instructions my uncle had left me would be sufficient for me to accomplish the task properly. I took out the black slate.

  Tapping the corner of the slate caused various lights to display on the once black surface. A hologram of a generic human head appeared several feet above the device.

  "Now Sawyer, I'm going to regulate the process from the control panel here," I said, pointing at the panel of light that appeared just in front of me and a foot away from the tablet from which it was emitted. "Okay?"

  Sawyer looked at me intently a moment, and then nodded.

  Using my thumbs and index fingers, I rotated a pair of virtual dials on the illuminated panel in front of me until the mannequin-like hologram moved on to Sawyer's face perfectly, leaving a grid of teal lines across the surface of his head. I couldn't help but think that he looked like a patient who had been prepped for plastic surgery.

  Next, I did as the instructions had indicated. Pushing a green slider on the panel of light caused a small module to eject from the far side of the slate. I reached over and pulled it from device, examining it closely.

  The memory module's small purple button was exactly where it was supposed to be. Pushing it resulted in the expected self-diagnostic procedure, a progress bar, and ending, finally, in a bright green check mark, completing the validation process.

  "I want you to know Sawyer," I said as I replaced the memory module, "that I consider you a friend. Thanks for always listening, and understanding."

  He nodded, and stared at the mirror across the room.

  The slate finished loading the memory module, indicated by a friendly chime, and as it did, the grid-like hologram started to change. Sawyer winced, and then he moaned. The teal lines shaping the generic head slowly wavered and then shifted, transforming each vertex until it was familiar to me.

  The hologram looked like my uncle.

  Sawyer's eyes widened and he gasped as he gazed at the mirror. He almost looked shocked. I assumed it was because he felt some final sensation from the procedure.

  The slate reproduced its familiar chime again, and the hologram disappeared instantly. "Sawyer?" I said as he just stared at the mirror. He didn't respond, but his lip began to quiver.

  Had I mishandled the procedure? Worried, I fired up the slate again to review the instructions. I wanted to validate that I hadn't killed two people that day.

  "You did it," said Sawyer.

  I fell off the bed.

  He said it like he was trying to convince himself. He rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly functional, like normal. "What I mean is, of course you did."

  I picked myself up, and got to my feet. I was unaccustomed to hearing anyone speak in this room besides me.

  "Sawyer?"

  "No, son," he said as he stood up and stretched, "it’s me."

  "Uncle Chuck?" I said, my voice trailing to a whisper, "Is it really..."

  "I must say that your choice in candidates feels a little kismetic." He sighed, and reached inside the tobacco box and retrieved a cigar. "Fitting, nonetheless."

  "I... It just happened that way," I said, scratching my head, still not believing that I was actually talking to my uncle. "I had this patient, and he, well, he didn't want to go on--"

  "That will do," he said, raising a hand. "Did you bring the lighter?"

  I fished around one of the pouches in my backpack, removed the lighter, and handed it to him.

  "Normally I would use my V Cutter," he said examining the cigar just before he bit the end off, "but this will have to suffice, given the circumstance."

  "What happened to Sawyer?"

  "Ben," he said before lighting the cigar, taking a few choppy drags, and smacking his lips. "All I know is that today, you are forever part of history. Erasing is old hat. You have brought a man back from the dead using a backup of his memories. The theory that--"

  "--a man is merely the sum of his experiences." I finished his sentence, not sure what this meant. I felt a little conflicted, to be honest, now that the deed was done.

  "Aren't you happy to be back?" I said. "You haven't smiled."

  "Haven't I?" he said. "Interesting. I'll make note of that."

  "What's on the other side?" I said, leaning in a little over the bed. I couldn't help myself. What would you ask someone who had been dead?

  "I don't know," he said as he took a long drag on the cigar, and blew a smoke ring, "This version of me consists of my memories before I died."

  "Sawyer was convinced there was something on the other side."

  A knock came from the bedroom door.

  "Ben, are you in there?" It was my mother. How did she get back here?

  Uncle C
huck sat down on the bed quickly. He put out the cigar in the tobacco box and resumed his prior hospitalized posture.

  "Mom, you can't be here," I said shooting to my feet, but that didn't stop her from barging into the room. "How did you-"

  "You can't keep avoiding me, Ben. I'm your mother," she said has she waved a gloved hand, a Coach handbag dangling from her arm. "Are you... smoking in here?"

  "How did you get in here?"

  "A very nice orderly, Suzanne I think her name was, let me in," she said. "She ignored me at first, but then I told her I was your mother and she told me where you were straight away."

  "Mom, you can't be here."

  As if she had just waved the smoke away, she saw Sawyer, and her mouth gaped open a moment.

  "Five minutes, Ben. We need to discuss your uncle.

  "Okay," I said, sitting back down next to Uncle Chuck, trying not to look at him. I knew better than to try to get out of a conversation like this, now that she had me. It would just take longer.

  "You've been frustrated with me. Your uncle and I had a falling out," she said as she pulled out the desk chair, and sat down. "I want you to know why."

  "It was his work, Mom, I know," I said, afraid the frustration would come out in my voice.

  "Ah, yes, the mighty inventor's work. I know first-hand how the wrongful application of technology can destroy people, Ben. It all started with the first of your uncle's many patients."

  "Okay," I said, curiously.

  "A bright young man, a lot going for him. He was star-struck with your uncle, what with his Nobel Prize for the Memory Eater and all. He was really a father figure. So, when the time came to volunteer for the first round of memory removals, he did so readily, with perfect faith. After all, everyone has something to remove, right? At least that was the pitch. But it all went wrong."

  "Something in version one caused his muscles to seize up, and to render his voice box constrained, and unusable." She stared at me blankly for a moment.

  "It wasn't until version 1.5 that the system became stable, and public. But, at what cost? The damage to Sawyer Wright was done, and irreparable." She swallowed hard.

  "Wright?" I said, my interest peaked. I wasn't quite sure what she was saying, and it must have shown on my face because she clarified.

  "You had a brother, Ben," she said sitting up stoutly, holding back the tears.

  "But, I don't have a brother."

  It was then that she cried.

  THE END