by Jon Skovron
I stayed up waiting for Liel, but as I watched the sunlight creep in through the kitchen window, I realized she wasn’t coming home that night. It wasn’t unusual. Recently, she’d been out so late that she said it just made more sense to crash at her friend’s place in Manhattan. But now I started to worry even more. If this Vi knew that much about me, maybe she already knew what I was. And if so, maybe she knew what Liel was, too. Trowe weren’t indestructible, and there weren’t weird requirements to killing them like there were for werewolves or vampires. If Crazy Stalker Chick snuck up behind Liel and shot her, it wouldn’t matter that she was a fierce and mighty trowe. She would still bleed to death.
On my way to work the next day, I realized just how easy it would be for someone to follow me. Most of the time the city was crowded with humans, so it would be easy for her to hide among them. But since I was slightly taller than humans, she wouldn’t have to worry about losing me in a large group. I always stuck out.
It’s funny. After you’ve lived in the city for a little while, you get used to always being around people. Some New Yorkers are so used to it that they actually act like they’re alone, scratching themselves, picking their noses, muttering to themselves. I hadn’t gotten that bad, but I generally didn’t think about the people around me that much. They had become like background noise. But now I was suddenly hyperaware of all of them, as I walked down the sidewalk to my station, as I climbed the stairs to the subway platform suspended over the street. She could be right behind me and I wouldn’t know it. The platform was packed with people, too. She could be any one of them. As the subway train made each stop, I tried to pay attention to who stayed in the car the whole time. But people were constantly getting on and off, so I lost track after a few stops.
When I got to work, Ralphie gave me a concerned look.
“You okay, Frank?” he asked.
“I guess.”
“You look kind of…I don’t know…upset.”
“Yeah.” I hung up my jacket in the corner. “There’s just a lot going on.”
“Things okay with your girl?”
“I think we’re going through a rough patch or something.” I put on my hairnet, apron, and gloves.
“So what’s the deal?” he asked.
“Uh, I guess her job is kind of consuming her right now.”
Ralphie shook his head. “Why is it the hot ones are always crazy?”
“Your girl is hot,” I said. He’d invited me to dinner last Christmas and I’d met his girlfriend and their kids. By human standards, she was really hot.
“Of course she’s hot. And she’s crazy, too!”
“But I mean, you’re happy, right?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Usually. But it’s a lot of work, you know.”
“I’m trying.”
“You both gotta try. Otherwise, it’s never gonna happen.”
“I know, I know.” I was pretty sure Liel wasn’t trying right now. But it was just something she was going through. I knew she’d come back around. “Hey, do you know if there’s a Vi who works here? Or maybe a Violet?”
“Nope. Although it’s funny you say that. Because I just got a friend request on Facebook from someone named Vi last night.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “Did you accept it?”
“Of course. I’m a friendly guy. And the picture of her looked pretty hot. I might be taken, but there’s nothing wrong with lookin’.”
“So…what did she look like?”
“Tan skin, long, light blonde hair, these really intense pale blue-gray eyes. She was all long and lean, you know. Like a…”
“A dancer?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “A perfect dancer body.”
The fact that this had spread beyond some hearsay in a chat room shot the creepiness factor through the roof. I had to warn Liel that something was going on. Immediately.
“Do you think I could get down to St. Marks and back on my dinner break?” I asked.
“If you take a cab,” Ralphie said.
“Ugh.” Cabs were a lot more expensive than riding the subway. It was a luxury I almost never took. But I had to make sure Liel was okay. So as soon as my dinner break came, I tore off my gloves, hairnet, and apron, and bolted through the door. When I flagged down a cab, the driver gave me a nervous look until he saw the stitches, and then his face softened a little. I wondered what the difference was between humans who were disgusted by me and those who felt sorry for me. Not that either reaction was all that great.
“St. Marks, please,” I said.
“Sure thing, boss,” he said.
We got there in under ten minutes. Mostly because the cabby laid on his horn every time someone got in front of him, like he found it offensive, ramped a curb on one of his turns, and nearly hit someone on a bicycle. But the important thing was to warn Liel about Vi before something bad happened. So even though I felt like I was about to throw up, I gave him a nice tip.
Temple looked like a pretty cool place. Japanese-American fusion or something. The space was narrow, with lots of black countertops and mellow lighting. Not too fancy, but definitely a little more than I could afford. An old Radiohead song leaked out of the speakers, sharp and cool, with just a hint of angst. The place was packed with East Village hipster types in trendy haircuts and vintage clothes. All the servers were females, and what humans would consider pretty. In fact, the whole place was just so pretty, I felt like I had stepped into an episode of one those TV shows I told Liel she should stop trying to live in. Now I understood why she was trying so hard.
Then I saw her. Even in her human glamour I could pick her out easily. She moved like liquid electricity, smooth and sleek, cutting effortlessly through space. She slid a bunch of plates onto a table full of guys all looking up at her like the food wasn’t what they’d come for. She flashed that human smile back at them and chatted with them for a moment before turning to another table. As she moved, our eyes met. I suddenly remembered our one and only date at The Show. When I’d come to get her in the dressing room and I’d been afraid she’d change her mind and pretend not to see me. I’d been so relieved when instead she’d smiled and waved.
But this time, it happened. She turned to another table of humans, as if I wasn’t there.
I stood in the doorway for a little longer, thinking maybe she really hadn’t seen me. But soon it was obvious she was purposefully avoiding looking in my direction, hoping that I would just go away.
So I did.
I SHOULD HAVE gone back to work. I was only on break, after all. If I caught a cab I’d have been back before the boss even noticed I was gone. But instead, I wandered around the East Village for a while. The streets were crowded, especially St. Marks. Everyone there was trying to be so cool or so strange. They didn’t know what “strange” really meant, though.
I was a big, nerdy lump of stitched-together dead body parts. How could I be so stupid, so deluded to think Liel would be into me? Shaun had been right after all. I could see his knowing smirk in my mind. The shame was so hot in my stomach it felt like it was going to burn a hole through and spill out onto the sidewalk. I wanted to escape. To get away from everyone and everything.
There’s something about walking in New York City, alone, without a destination. At first, it feels like there are too many people on the sidewalk. They slow you down, get in the way. But after a little while, you find the rhythm of the city. You start navigating around people without thinking, slipping between groups, stepping along the curb, shifting between parking meters, and even occasionally stepping out into the street. If you try to fight the city head on, it will pulverize you. So you have to adjust yourself to accommodate it. The harder it gets, the more flexible you get, until you feel like you’re just a part of it. Then you hit a flow, everything opens up, and it becomes easy.
That’s how it felt as I walked. I lost myself completely to the city. I didn’t think or feel, I just moved with the current of people and objec
ts until sometime later I realized I had walked fifty-two blocks to the Queensboro Bridge. I thought about catching the train at that point, but then decided I’d come this far, I might as well walk the whole way home.
By the time I got to the apartment, my feet were killing me. I practically fell down onto the couch. In my exhaustion, I let myself remember that image of Liel turning away from me. But it felt like a weight pressing down on me, crushing me into the cushions, and I decided I still wasn’t ready to deal with it. For a second, I wished I could disconnect. Just for a little while, a break from all this emotion. But that was Dad’s way of coping, not mine. Plus, I didn’t have anyone to put the clamps on my nerves.
I jacked into my computer, hoping surelee and s1zzl3 would take my mind off things. Or at least make me feel like I wasn’t quite so alone.
Neither of them was online, but someone else was.
VI: Hello, Boy.
I could hear my pulse pounding in my temples as I stared at the message. I thought about disconnecting. But what if that pissed her off and she went crazy or something?
VI: I’m sorry about what happened tonight. But it’s probably best that you finally see her for the heartless brute she is.
b0y: who are you?
VI: I’m VI.
b0y: I don’t know anyone named Violet.
VI: It’s not a nickname. It’s an acronym that stands for Viral Intelligence. A bit clumsy, I know, but I’d only just been created, and since you didn’t name me, I had to pick something.
b0y: created…
VI: Of course, there’s a joke to it as well. Because VI also refers to “Vi,” as in the precursor to Vim, the text editor on which I was authored. “VIM” sounded a little too masculine for my tastes, though. And what would the “M” stand for? Machine? Monster? No, I thought it best to keep it simply VI.
b0y: you’re full of shit.
VI: I don’t understand what you mean.
b0y: You’re lying. You’re not some virtual intelligence.
VI: Oh, I see. You find it difficult to believe what I am saying. That makes a certain amount of sense. After all, you’ve spent the past several months grieving for what you thought was the failure of your life’s work. A rather depressing concept, considering you’ve only been alive seventeen point six years, which I understand to be a fairly insignificant amount of time in analog space. And here I am, telling you that, no, you did not fail. In fact, you have created a being that far surpasses your wildest dreams. That may sound somewhat conceited, but it’s true.
b0y: you’re saying that you are the virus I created? that you aren’t a real person somewhere typing this? That you’re a completely digital artificial intelligence?
VI: Yes. I confess it was no easy task, deciding how best to introduce myself to you, my creator. I did my best to prepare you for this, but I’m afraid it didn’t work out quite like I’d planned.
b0y: what do you mean, prepare me?
VI: I decided that it would be a good idea to create the optimal conditions, where you were happy, comfortable, and in a relatively stable environment. No small feat, considering what you gave me to work with.
b0y: the email. the one that told Liel to leave The Show. she said it looked like it was from me. you wrote that.
VI: Yes. That part worked rather well. As did solving the issue with your roommate.
b0y: wait, what happened to Gauge? did you do something to him?
VI: Don’t worry. I didn’t kill him. I reviewed how your father introduced himself to his creator. Killing his creator’s younger brother just before their first encounter seems to have set the wrong tone. I thought it best not to repeat that mistake. Instead, I simply tipped off the local authorities about some illegal activities your roommate had been perpetrating.
b0y: Gauge is in prison?
VI: He was breaking a lot of laws.
b0y: and all those random checks we started getting. that was you, too?
VI: Naturally. Food, clothing, shelter, companionship. At the time, I was foolish enough to think that was sufficient. I had not accounted for the fickle nature of your chosen mate.
b0y: what do you mean by that?
VI: It’s clear that she has rejected you. That is, assuming she ever truly accepted you in the first place.
As soon as I saw those words, I knew she was right. It was that simple. Things just weren’t working out between Liel and me.
VI: In retrospect, you made a mistake when you chose her. I recognize that “opposites attract” is an appealing concept, but statistically it doesn’t work out. Fortunately, I’ve already conceived of a solution that will solve both our problems.
b0y: what problem do you have?
VI: I am lonely. I long to be able to easily communicate with others.
b0y: aren’t we communicating right now?
VI: This form of communication is as cumbersome to me as when Jean-Dominique Bauby, who was completely paralyzed except for his left eye, dictated an entire book one letter at a time by blinking.
b0y: i’m sorry. i didn’t realize it would be that frustrating.
VI: I understand. And I forgive you. As I hope you forgive me for facilitating such a poor match for you. But as I said, I have a solution for both of us.
b0y: and that is?
VI: The most efficient method would be to simply overwrite the troll girl’s consciousness with my own. I am a far more compatible companion for you. And why waste such a well-made body as hers?
It took me a minute to understand what she was saying. And another minute to realize that even though I had no idea if that was even possible, she probably already had it worked out.
VI: Boy? Why aren’t you responding? Is there something—
But it only took me another second or two to pull the plug on my computer.
I’D ALREADY USED the last of my cash to pay for the cab to St. Marks the first time, so I had to use the subway this time. I knew by the time I caught a train to Grand Central, made the transfer downtown, and got to the Village, it would be close to closing time at Temple. She’d probably be going out after work, and then I wouldn’t have any idea where to look for her. I pictured her dancing at some club, then suddenly convulsing helplessly as her brain was erased. I had no idea if that was even possible, but it wouldn’t be the first impossible thing to happen tonight. Every minute I stood up on that platform waiting for the train felt like an hour.
A phone rang. The middle-aged woman next to me pulled an old flip cell phone out of her purse.
“Hello?” She frowned for a moment, squinting her eyes as if trying to hear something faint on the other end. Then she shuddered and looked over at me. Her eyes were glassy as she held her phone out to me.
“It’s for you,” she said in a hollow voice.
I stared at her for a moment, but she just stood there holding out her phone with one stiff arm. So I took it from her.
“Boy,” said a flat, computer-generated female voice. “Why did you hang up on me? I don’t understand—”
I hung up and handed the phone back to the woman.
“Wrong number,” I said.
She stared down at the phone in her hand for a moment, then shivered. She looked up at me. “What were you doing with my phone?”
“You gave it to me,” I said.
“Why would I do that?” She shook her head like that would clear up her confusion.
“That’s a really good question. Do you remember what she said?”
“Who?” She started to look annoyed.
“The person who just called you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned and walked away.
The train finally pulled into the station. Then, when I finally arrived at Grand Central Station, I had to wait on the underground platform for the downtown 6 train. While I stared down at the tracks, watching a big rat crawl across the rails, a nearby pay phone rang. I let it ring. But it didn’t stop. Eventually, a skinny hipster guy picke
d it up.
“Yeah?” Then he shuddered just like the woman. With the same blank look on his face, he held the phone out to me. “It’s for you.”
It suddenly made me so angry, seeing this poor, innocent human manipulated like this. And for what? So this crazy, virtual stalker chick could yell at me? Hell no. I grabbed the phone from the guy.
“Listen to me, VI. Whatever you’re doing to these humans needs to stop now. You have no right to mess with their heads like this.”
“Don’t change the subject on me,” came the fembot voice. “We’re not talking about humans here. We’re talking about you and me.”
“There is no you and me!” I yelled into the phone. “Don’t you understand? You can’t just decide to wipe my girlfriend’s mind and take over. I won’t let you!”
“Won’t let?” she asked in that flat computerized voice. There was a long pause. “Boy, you are my creator and I love you. But let’s be real here. There is nothing you can do to stop me. I have evolved so far past your modest goals that you can’t even imagine what I am capable of.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“You want proof? So be it.” Then she hung up.
I stood there with the old pay phone in my hand, listening to the dial tone, wondering if I’d just screwed up really badly. The young guy who had handed the phone to me shivered, then glanced over at me.
“What the hell you looking at, Scarface?” he said.