Next thing I knew, they threw me into a jail cell for a couple days. Luckily, Mattis was able to pull a few strings and get me released.
And after that, I dug my face into my work. Doing jobs for Mattis and the other Elites became my focus after I came to terms that I'd lost Anna forever. Still, sometimes I'd look back at the old case file and hope I'd find something I'd been missing all this time. I never did. I should've just burned those files. She was gone. Alice was gone. I didn't have a reason to live anymore.
I climbed up to the second floor and walked into our old bedroom. I could remember Alice and me making love in that old wooden bed. We'd always have to be quiet and gentle, because it squeaked so much.
I walked up to the foot of the bed and sat, staring out the window toward the lake. I didn't know how long I sat there, but it felt like an eternity as I thought of Alice and Anna. I thought of all the good times that we shared together. If there was a God, why did He have to spite me? Why did He have to leave me here alone and take everything I loved away?
I cocked my head toward the old acoustic guitar that lay in the corner of the room. Back when they were still here, I'd play songs for them. I used to be in some shitty garage rock band when I was a teenager, so I knew my way around a six- string. Also, I'd sing. They told me I had a beautiful voice, but I always hated it. My voice always sounded like I was gargling gravel in the back of my throat.
I stood. I walked over to the guitar and wrapped my arms around the instrument. I plucked away, playing some random, harmonious melody. I sang some simple lyrics that I made up on the spot. I pretended as if they were here watching me, and I kept singing away into the night.
Chapter 6
The next day, I returned to the city. I stepped into my apartment and lay on the couch, thinking. My head was pounding, and I wanted a drink. I stepped over to my liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of rum.
Sometimes, I really didn't know why I visited that old cabin. All it did was bring back the ghosts of my family. Then again, it was nice to imagine that they were both here with me. It was refreshing to get away from this city. Sometimes I needed a break.
I slurped down a gulp of rum, then another one. The alcohol warmed my stomach as I lowered the bottle onto the counter. I stared forward and sighed. I wished they were still here. I closed my eyes. Some tears stung my eyes. I wiped them away and groaned.
I spent the rest of the day drinking until the sun went down. I stepped out onto my balcony and stared at the vacant streets below. It was so quiet here right now. Everything just felt so empty here. I knew that I needed to get out of my apartment, or I'd drown in my own misery. I needed something else to distract me. Then, a thought clicked in my head. I needed to hire a pleasurebot, a robotic prostitute. They could pleasure a man better than any real woman ever could. They were programmed to do all the right things, say the most seductive words, and give someone the most pleasurable experience.
That was exactly what I needed, and I decided to head down to my favorite synthetic brothel. It was called The Iron Goddess, and it was the perfect place for horny middle-class Commoners looking to blow some extra cash.
That night, I drank myself into a stupor at The Iron Goddess. It was only a few blocks from my apartment. Here, nobody bothered me, just how I liked it. I drank while glancing toward the TV above me on the wall. Images of rioters flashed on the screen.
I wondered how Mattis' news media was going to spin the riots. They must've had whole teams that were dedicated to editing footage so Mattis could feed the people the information that he wanted them to know. That was why I never trusted anyone in this city. Everyone had an agenda, and the Mattis- controlled media was no different.
I saw a video of the leader, Andy Barlow. He raised a bloody fist into the air. He shook it around while screaming for more violence and bloodshed.
“The time of tranquility is over!” Andy proclaimed. “Blood must have blood!”
His voice seemed off, somehow. I was certain that wasn't his actual voice. He would never beg for violence like that. It wasn't who he was. I was sure the media edited that news piece to incriminate him. After all, there was no better way to control people than through manipulating their fears.
I continued watching. Protesters threw flaming torches at men in riot gear. The police force shot them down as the screams of the rioters echoed from the television screen. Andy screamed more words, and shots were fired. Rioters fell. Officers fell. The camera shook rapidly.
“Elites must die!” Andy said. “Your reign is over!”
The screen went black. Shortly afterward, a reporter appeared on the screen, and she rambled from the comfort of some studio.
I turned to my left and smiled at the synthetic whores that wrapped their supple legs around greased metal poles. Their stripping routines were glorified advertisements. They shook and jiggled their bodies, begging for the male patrons to take them home. Pink neon lights flashed down upon them as they gyrated and moaned.
I drank down my double shot of tequila and watched. I didn't necessarily have a favorite here as it seemed this place went through hookers quickly. They cycled through pleasurebots like clockwork. After all, I only ever saw the same synthetic whore for about a month before being replaced with a newer model.
As I watched, a hand caressed my neck. I reached for my revolver and swung around. Some synthetic blond pleasurebot sat down on the stool next to me. The robot moaned as it rubbed my thigh softly and gently. My pants tightened. It caressed my upper thigh.
“You look like you've had a long day,” it said. “How 'bout we go back to your place and unwind, huh?”
It reminded me of my wife, Alice. This robot was blonde, with big blue eyes and thick, meaty lips.
I made my decision. This was the robot I was taking home. “Sure,” I said. “But you're not staying the fucking night.” I hated when they spent the night. I hated waking up next to someone in the morning. All I wanted was something that made me feel good for about an hour. I didn't need anything that lasted too long.
“Oh, don't worry, dear,” it said, still rubbing my thigh. “I'll make you feel real good, and I'll be gone before you know it.”
I needed something to take my mind off Anna, and the alcohol wasn't cutting it. Not to mention, androids felt better than a real woman. There was no chance for connection, bonding, or commitment, all the things that made human relations a drag. They were just about unwinding and having some fun. They took the pain away and were programmed to always say yes.
And so, I escorted it outside, and we hopped into my sedan. I drove a few blocks until I reached my house in the mid-district.
When I turned another corner, I gazed ahead at a couple dozen rioters in the streets. Masked men held flaming torches as they screamed atop broken vehicles. Smoke burst from the nearby factory with flames dancing atop the roof, shooting up into the murky night sky. Trash littered the grimy streets.
I cursed beneath my breath. “I don't have time for this,” I said as I turned around.
After making a lengthy detour, I pulled up beside my apartment.
I led it up to my room, and the bot did its business. It made me feel good and took my mind off work. I didn't even catch its name, but then again, I didn't really care. We did everything to one another, in the kitchen, in my bedroom, in the bathroom, everywhere. After it was done pleasuring me, I stepped outside onto my balcony and lit a cigar while I stared off at the dimly lit streets.
It stepped beside me and rubbed my shoulders, but I pushed it away, and it froze.
“You did your job,” I said. “Now, I suppose you want your money. There's a wad of bills on the table. Keep the change.” “I'm Mona, by the way,” it said. “Come visit me again sometime. We can have some more fun.”
I puffed harshly on the cigar and shrugged. “Well, Mona, you were a lot better than your ‘sisters’. I'll give you that.”
It giggled. “Thank you.” Then it froze, staring at me blankly. I cocked m
y head toward it and furrowed my brow. It must've been undergoing some glitch or something. I waved a hand in front of it and clapped my hands. There was no response.
“Hey, take your money and get your ass out of here,” I said.
It blinked and faced the floor. “No. Stop this. Stop this.” It held its hands up and stared wide-eyed at its shaky palms. “Stop!” it shrieked, and its head gyrated back and forth. “Make it stop! Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me!” It jumped back.
“What the fuck’s your problem?” I asked, shrugging, and taking another puff on my cigar.
“Why. Why. Why. Stop it! Stop this!” It clasped its hands on its ears. “Thank you, and have a good day. I'm glad I could pleasure you at The Iron Goddess. Goddess. I am a goddess. Iron Goddess. No. Stop. No. No. No!” The robot twisted its head. It froze for a few moments before it looked over at me. “I'm sorry. I must have encountered an error in my programming. I should be going.” It scurried off. I stared down at its thick, creamy thighs, wondering how someone could make androids so realistic and so pleasurable.
I'd heard news reports that some of the best pleasurebots were becoming too intelligent. They were made for the sole purpose of pleasing humans, and some became too self-aware of that fact. There have been dozens of reports of pleasurebots falling into crippling existential crises. On more than a few occasions, I'd been asked to track some of them down after they fled their brothel. Wasn’t the cleanest of jobs, but it paid the bills.
After finishing my cigar, I stepped back into my apartment. I stood there staring in silence when memories of my daughter flooded my mind. I glanced around, looking for something dirty for me to clean. There had to be something to take my mind off her again. I walked over to my bedroom.
On the way, I stepped into her old room. I caressed a finger against the pink wallpaper, and I sat down on her old bed, still fitted with cartoon princess sheets. I hadn't changed a thing about this room since she went missing. I couldn't change anything about this room. It just wouldn't be right. I closed my eyes and heard her giggle. She was so full of life, and she gave me a reason to keep living.
After what felt like an eternity, I stood up and finally stepped into my bedroom. I played several games of darts against the board on my door. I focused on hitting that bulls- eye, nothing else mattered. It was almost as if I'd forgotten about Anna, about Alice. I'd almost forgotten how sick and cruel this world can be. Almost.
The next day, I drove to my office and sat at my desk. Glancing back through the folder, hoping that I might solve this case. Maybe this time. Maybe there was something I missed. I looked at a photograph of Anna that I kept clipped to the folder and brushed a finger against the picture. I softly wept, and a knot tightened in my stomach. Why did I fail to find her? Why was I such a failure?
I read through all the notes that I had taken during the case. My door swung open, and I slid the folder swiftly into my desk. I glanced up and frowned at what I saw: two people wasting their time with me.
A young couple stepped into my office. They were dressed in grease-splattered work outfits. The man stepped forward and slammed his two blocky fists onto my table. His body bent over the table. The man's white shirt was tightly wrapped around his bulging biceps. Black, wispy strands of hair waved atop his head as he moved. His eyebrows, bushy and unkempt, furrowed as he stared down at me with his twin emerald eyes.
I reached for my gun, but I wasn't scared of him. I just had to make sure I could defend myself.
“We need your help,” he said. “My wife, Stacy, and I, we don't know where else t' turn.” The behemoth of a man softly wept. Seeing such a big man cry was mildly amusing.
“You're a Commoner,” I said. “You couldn't afford my services even if you gave me a year of your wages.”
“Please, hear us out!” the woman called out, rushing to my desk.
I didn't have time for this. “I don't care about your story,” I said. “Not unless you've got 10,000 dollars to spare.” That rate was quite higher than normal, but I needed to stress that my services were out of their grasp.
“Please, just make an exception,” she said. “You don't understand. Our daughter has gone missing!” She held out a picture of a smiling blonde girl and shoved it in my face. I pushed her hand back as I looked away. This girl, she almost looked like Anna.
I froze and almost said I’d accept the job. I kept my mouth shut and let them continue speaking. This hadn’t been the first time that a Commoner parent had begged me for my assistance. Admittedly, these were the only cases that were hard for me to refuse. Still, I couldn’t resort to solving Commoner cases in the city.
“She was a student at Wilbur Creek,” the man said. “She loved playing games, telling jokes, just like any other kid.”
I rose from my seat. “She was a student at Wilbur Creek?”
The woman nodded. “Nobody at the school knows what happened, but she was there...and now, she's gone.”
“The school's lyin'!” the husband said, in a bellowing voice that could've shaken the whole city. “They're in on it! You...have to help us. Please, you have to do the right thing!”
“Your daughter went missing at Wilbur Creek,” I repeated.
“Yes,” the woman said, sobbing wildly. “Please, she's all we have! Please, Mr. Abrams. I beg you! We will do anything...anything just to have her back.”
“I'm tellin' you,” the man bellowed. “It's that damn school! They're in on it. I tell ya, dear! They're in on it.”
“You don't know that, dear,” she said. “Please, Mr. Abrams. I know we don't have a lot of money, but we'll do whatever we can to get our daughter back.”
“Don't worry about the money,” I said. I snatched the photo and stared at it. “What was her name?”
“Laura Brooks,” the woman said.
I nodded and handed the photo back to her. I kept thinking, wondering if there could be any connection to Anna's disappearance. It was worth me looking into, anyway. Maybe I had finally discovered that lead I had begged to find for so long now. I smiled when I looked at the photograph. She almost looked like my daughter.
“I'll see what I can do,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “You're a saint.”
I snarled my nose. I hated whenever someone gave me a compliment or praised me with words of approval. It all tasted like bitter poison in the back of my mouth. Not to mention, I was no saint. I was just a man getting by until he died. Nothing more, nothing less.
“I'm just doing my job,” I said, with a shrug. I placed the photograph down and looked up at them. “Tell me everything you know about her disappearance.”
“She went missin' yesterday,” he said. “We went t' the school to pick 'er up, but she wasn't there. I asked the school, yelled at them, but they said they knew nothin'. Heh. Nobody cares about a Commoner, not even other Commoners.”
The wife cleared her throat. “We asked around. W-we tried finding out anything, but they all said the same thing. ‘Sometimes kids just go missin'.'” Her eyes watered, and she cried into her hands.
“I bet it was Vernon,” said the man. “I ne'er liked that fat bastard!”
I scrunched my brows. “Who's Vernon?”
“The principal!” the man said. “He’s a Commoner, but he acts like an Elite if I ever saw one! I just don't trust him.”
The administrators of the school were middle-class Commoners, like me. They worked and reported to Elites about statistics on the student body. It was a way for the Elites to maintain control and keep the Commoners under watch. Commoner schools weren't for learning. The schools were just glorified day cares that taught the children Elite sanctioned propaganda until the kids were old enough to work in the factories or the mines.
I'd never heard of Principal Vernon before, but if he was like any other school official I'd met, he was a greedy pig. Those kind of people would do anything for a quick dollar, but then again, I wasn't in a position to judge someone for that.
&nbs
p; “Why don't you trust him?” I asked.
“Just don't like his face,” the man said. “Don't like his fat, greasy palms. Don't like his fuckin' voice. There something wrong 'bout him, I tell you!”
From the sounds of it, Vernon was like any other school official I'd met.
I remembered that I used to believe the school was behind Anna’s disappearance. Then again, I could never prove anything. All I did was throw my weight around until I was locked up.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” I asked, turning my head toward the woman. I didn't expect the man to give me much in the way of insight.
“That’s all I know,” she said while lowering her hands.
“I’ll find her,” I said. She began to cry thankful words. I nodded. “No child deserves to be stolen from their family.”
I escorted them out of my office and then made my way back to Wilbur Creek Elementary. It had been about a year since I'd visited that place and I didn't know exactly what to expect. Still, if this had any connection to Anna, I would find that girl.
Chapter 7
Idrove to Wilbur Creek Elementary and parked in a pothole-laden lot beside the school. The building itself stood high with faded crimson bricks. Years of graffiti had been tattooed onto the school's walls. Mossy wood boarded several of the cracked windows. A cluster of preteens stood near the school, hacking over a few cigarettes.
I sat in my car for a few moments as I sighed, thinking back to Anna. I recalled coming here every day after school to pick her up. There was no way I'd let my daughter walk home through these crime-ridden streets.
I stepped out of my car and walked up to a pair of big glass doors. When I stepped through, I entered a long dingy hallway. Light strips flickered above me as I stepped forth. I walked through the hall and stepped into a small office to my right.
Letting the World Burn Page 5