by Ain Soph
REAPERS
by
Ain Soph
“You want to believe that there’s one relationship in life that’s beyond betrayal. A relationship that’s beyond that kind of hurt. And there isn’t.”
-Caleb Carr
PROLOGUE
March 17, 2137
I find myself staring pensively out of the large window overlooking the front porch more often than ever before. I’ll be doing dishes in the kitchen, leaning toward the cabinet to put away a glass when I’ll see the sun’s bright light cascading across the wooden floors in the living room. It’s vibrancy will catch my eye and before I know it, my feet have carried me toward the looming glass, my eyes trained a spot somewhere in the distance. At first, I think I pretended to be deep in thought, making a show of exaggerated sighs, trying to alert him to the simple fact I was unsatisfied with my husband- no, my product. But shockingly, he never took notice, and as his strange behavior increased, so did the time I spent staring out that window toward absolute nothingness. It doesn’t matter that the window is overlooking the entire neighborhood, that I can catch snippets of drama and gossip happening below us. What matters is that Henrick has changed, and I don’t know how I can bring him back. I live in constant fear, petrified that the girls will find out he’s an Artif. How they’ll gossip about me, a woman of status, buying my husband from a factory, buying the love I never had in my marriage. Part of me wants to face them with bravery, to own the sordid life I’ve found myself living since Vane’s death. I wallowed in misery for years, and when he finally passed, I had, for the first time in my life, a lump sum of money that I hardly knew what to do with. All I felt was the emptiness of an unfulfilled life and a worthless romance. Artifs are a symbol of wealth and comfort to the privileged and at first, that’s all I wanted- an Artif of my own to act as a status symbol, but when I walked into that factory and saw the blank canvases used for them human-like anomalies, when I realized their potential, that I could make a man in the princely image I so very deeply coveted, I must say, I lost control of myself. Henrick is everything I want in a man and more, but I’m afraid he may be my undoing. It should be impossible for him to act the way he’s been for the past several weeks. I had very specific programming instructions and I went through the crème de la crème to create him. He should be flawless. But then, I must ask myself, quite fearfully, is it possible for an Artif to develop free will? He’s calling for me now so I must go. It seems as though he’s finally noticed the tension in my shoulders as I slave away at this diary, pages chock full of embarrassments. I must hide it before the girls arrive. I only wish for Henrick to return to his normal state. I could always flip the factory switch on him, but the thought of doing so breaks my heart. The love I feel for him is real, and though it’s quite pathetic, as an Artif isn’t even capable of real emotion, I couldn’t bear to flip that switch and kill my creation. Until next time, dear diary. I hope by then I will be able to record pages of the sweet nothings Henrick whispered in my ear.
Lovingly,
Bellicent Grigg
Bellicent slowly closed the bound, leather journal in front of her and took a deep breath. She slid the small book into the desk drawer beside her and stood, spinning toward Henrick with a wide smile pasted onto her face. Henrick calmly watched her, slouching further into his recliner without changing his stoic expression. He’d become so hard to read, so different from how Bellicent programmed him only months earlier. Back then, he’d been an open book, openly showering her with adoration and compliments. Bellicent tightly swallowed before creeping toward Henrick’s recliner and lowering herself onto the smooth lap of the pinstripe suit she had picked out for him over the weekend. Today was a girls’ day in and she wanted Henrick to look his best. If he couldn’t act the part of a perfect husband, then he would at least look the part for the brief moments he’d be around Bellicent and the girls.
Bellicent ran her hand along the faint stubble of Henrick’s five o’clock shadow with her own smoothly manicured hand, admiring, as she always did when she felt his unblemished ivory skin, Henrick’s realism. If she didn’t know any better, she would have believed Henrick was indeed a human, equal in status to her friends’ husbands. Unfortunately, he was only an Artif, a machine really, who’s sole purpose was to serve its master. Bellicent sighed and planted a small peck on Henrick’s unresponsive lips and dropped her head into the crevice of her neck, hiding the sorrow in her face from his cold gaze. She yearned for his affection, but had no way of obtaining it. She’d already programmed him from nothing to everything she could ever want. There was nothing left to do. Bellicent toyed with the idea of actually calling the factory and flipping his switch, this time imaging her life without him in it, but she forced herself to stop when a tear escaped her closed lid. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t kill him so mercilessly. All she wanted was his undivided love and adoration. Was that too much to ask as his creator?
The doorbell shook Bellicent out of her musings and she sighed once more, groaning with the effort of sliding off Henrick’s lap. The lonely ringing of the doorbell struck a chord in Bellicent’s empty heart, and she felt nothing but gloom toward the girls’ day ahead of her. The anxiety and heartbreak of the past few weeks was exhausting, though a small fire was building in the caverns of her hear, beginning its first sparks of anger. Artifs were meant to enhance the quality of human life, not leave their masters unsatisfied with crippling aches and misery. Burying her, admittedly minuscule, anger, Bellicent opened the door with another fake smile slapped across her stiff face, greeting her three closest friends in the neighborhood (meaning of course, the only three women Bellicent deemed worthy adversaries for the position of queen bee).
“Oh, come in, Medora!” Bellicent mustered up as much false excitement as she could. All she had to do was sell the image she wanted to portray, and Bellicent considered herself a good enough actress to do something so simple. “Zilly, I must say you and Delilah are looking quite avante garde today. I love those leather gloves. So ‘punk’ of you. Please, come in, and welcome!” Bellicent waved the three of them into the living room and quickly scanned the area for Henrick. She breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t see him. It appeared he was at least still following protocol. Bellicent led them farther into the house toward the warm, coppery kitchen she renovated after her husband’s death. Tea was already prepared for them and still steaming in delicate cups she displayed only for social occasions. The rest of the table was set with fine cutlery and crimson flowers arranged in a golden vase atop its center.
Any moment now, as long as he followed the script, Henrick would waltz through the kitchen door and make a brief appearance to greet the ladies. She hoped he wouldn’t do anything out of character that might let her dirty, little secret slip. Perhaps she really did need to call the factory. After explaining to them the strange nature of her situation, maybe there was a possibility they would be able to fix his imperfections and restore him to his original, flawless state. Or, if that failed, Bellicent grudgingly considered the idea of scrapping Henrick and creating a new model 100% identical to him. She could even cry to her friends that he was forced away on a work trip to oversee the Artifs working on the steam engines. She’d add more flair than necessary, but style was important for gaining their undying adoration.
With Vane, she was an average, middle-class woman vying for position on the social scene. Now, because of Henrick (and Vane’s life insurance), she was the clique’s queen, and all the other women in her neighborhood were dying for an invitation inside her grand estate.
“Now Bellicent, you must invite Henrick in here right away. Ulric wants to have another boys’ night and you know it’s just not a party without that darling husband of yours and his rich sense of humor. He helps to balance Ulric
’s drab work colleagues,” Medora leaned back in her dining chair and rolled her eyes at Ulric’s shoddy friends. Bellicent understood her friend’s frustration. None of Ulric’s coworkers were attractive in the least, and even more insultingly to Medora, not a single one of them paid attention to her as she refilled their drinks and brought them snacks until the game was finished. Only Henrick ever showed Medora any appreciation, and that was merely because Bellicent programmed him to be considerate of those she wanted to impress. Only a women knew the exact qualities that would make a man the perfect partner. Human men were too busy with overseeing the Artifs under their control and drowning their off time in petty social clubs to give any attention to the women in their lives. Bellicent wondered, her heart soaring with false hope, if it was possible for an Artif to imitate the behavior patterns of the humans around them. Perhaps that was the problem with Henrick.
Delilah waved a hand in front of Bellicent’s face, snapping her out of her daydream, “Bellicent, is everything alright? It’s nothing to do with Henrick is it? That man is ace-high!” Delilah giggled to Medora and Zilly and the three of them covered their mouths with dainty, gloved hands nodding their heads along with Delilah’s statement. Each woman had starry eyes and Zilly subtly loosened a leather strap on her corset as her breath quickened its pace.
Bellicent didn’t answer Delilah right away. Instead she trained her eyes on the kitchen door, waiting for Henrick to walk through. It was very odd for him to still be absent from their brunch. Bellicent’s heart jumped erratically in her chest as her anxiety grew. It felt as though a bird was violently fighting for freedom from its cage, and Bellicent clutched her chest in horror. That man was going to give her a heart attack if he didn’t act like his proper self!
“Ladies! It is my pleasure to welcome you to Bellicent and my humble abode. I do hope you’ve all made yourselves comfortable,” Henrick’s smoky voice bellowed through the kitchen as he strolled in with a smile. He bent his six foot frame to lay delicate kisses on each woman’s hand. Afterward, Henrick stood up straight, rolling his shoulders back and running a hand through his tousled raven hair like a soldier preparing for war. The trendy man’s hairstyle for the time was slicked, with enough tonic to keep even a single strand from escaping its rightful place. That latest fad was unfortunate for Bellicent, as she greatly enjoyed admiring Henrick’s hair effortlessly brushed to the side, carelessly tousled and chaotic. Each time he ran his long, delicate fingers through it, she was able to see his bicep flex through the sleeve of his white button down, and Bellicent would allow herself a moment to admire the beauty of her creation.
Bellicent smiled in relief at Henrick’s appearance and lifted her head in triumph as she heard dreamy sighs emanate from the other women gathered around the table. Perhaps, she wouldn’t have to call the factory tomorrow after all. Henrick was slightly late to the brunch, but for the most part it appeared everything was back in order. He must have been too heavily involved in putting together a surprise for Bellicent to hear his cue to enter the kitchen (she did love surprises- so much so, she programmed him to plan one for her quite often). But, all would be forgiven. Bellicent was a gentle master, driven by love for Henrick. Other humans could be cruel when their Artifs malfunctioned, but she always treated Henrick with the utmost respect.
“You wouldn’t mind if I joined you lovely women for some tea, would you? I’m afraid I’ve been so heavily invested in this damn steam engine project that I haven’t had much of a break, and I know you ladies would make absolutely wonderful company,” Henrick hesitantly waited for an answer, pretending to show a vulnerable side that Bellicent knew him to be incapable of. Hardly a millisecond passed before Bellicent’s friends were shaking their heads in exuberant approval of his request. While her friends had flowers of excitement blossoming in their chests, the stuttering wings of the trapped bird painfully pounded away at Bellicent’s fragile chest. Henrick understood that after his short appearance, he was always to immediately retire to his office, where he would remain for the duration of the girls’ visit, returning only to wish their guests a safe trip home. Of course, Bellicent would have loved to show him off more often that she did, but it was too powerful a risk, especially with him acting out of sorts lately. Bellicent desperately tried to catch his eye but Henrick was already engaged in lively conversation with Medora about Ulric’s upcoming card night with Delilah and Zilly stared at him in adoration.
Bellicent cleared her throat in a weak attempt to ensure her voice wouldn’t wobble as she gripped Henrick’s sleeve from across the table. “Darling, I know you’ve been busy for most of today, but don’t you really think you should finish up while the girls are here so we can have a bit of alone time tonight?” Although Bellicent was worried sick about Henrick’s behavior, she couldn’t help the feeling of satisfaction that flared in he belly as she heard the shocked and jealous giggles at Bellicent’s brazenness and luck. Though Bellicent kept a polite smile on her face, her eyes flashed with murder. Henrick once more pretended, this time appearing to ponder Bellicent’s request instead of doing as he was commanded and leaving the kitchen immediately at her discreet order.
Henrick undid the top brass button on his silk vest and rested his elbow on the back of his chair. He raised his eyes to evenly meet Bellicent’s gaze with a powerfully intense stare of his own. Usually she adored adored his dark eyes, but for the first time, and much too late, Bellicent noticed their emptiness, the way they devoured whatever light was reflected their way. “Oh darling, don’t be so sour. You’re much too sweet to have an expression such as that. I usually prefer to abstain from any conflict in the presence of these three angelic women, but tell me, what could be the cause of such anger?” Henrick wore a predatory smirk on his face that Bellicent had never laid eyes on, and the expression made her face pale and eyes glossy with unbridled fear before transforming into rage. She couldn’t fathom the audacity Henrick had to actually challenge her. Her! Henrick’s very existence was entirely based on the meticulous energy and dedication Bellicent spent to create him. Directly after their guests left, Bellicent would call the factory and have them flip the switch on his chip, but for now, to protect her reputation, she had to play along with whatever game Henrick was planning.
“I apologize dear. I suppose today’s heat had just made me feel cranky. Please, do stay a little longer,” Bellicent patted his hand from across the table and sent a tight lipped smile toward her confused friends to both apologize for the scene and smooth over whatever conclusions they were already forming.
Medora, the most outspoken of the bunch, was of course the first to recover from the awkward exchange. She took the scene unfolding in front of her as an invitation to pry deeper into Bellicent and Henrick’s private lives. Medora first glanced toward Delilah and Zilly, who were sitting with their backs perfectly erect in their seats, eyes twinkling in anticipation as they waited for the show to start. They gave Medora a nod so slight, it could have gone unnoticed if Bellicent weren’t watching them like a hawk, helpless to the horror developing before her. These vultures had been waiting a long time to discover the dirty details of their marriage, and now they found the key to the door Bellicent had long ago forbid anyone from entering.
Medora leaned closer toward Henrick and brought her hand forward so it rested comfortably atop of his own hand lying on the table. Henrick’s other hand appeared to dangle carelessly, but beneath the table, he kept it balled into a white-knuckled fist- a minuscule, yet crucial detail the women had yet to notice. They were far too busy staring at Henrick’s eyes, a dark storm of malice and deceit Bellicent’s three friends found incredibly attractive. Bellicent was half tempted to excuse herself from the table to escape the girls’ reactions as Henrick would undoubtedly unravel the life she so carefully kept concealed. “Henrick, I couldn’t help but sense the tension brewing between Bellicent and yourself. I do hope there’s nothing happening between the two of you other than what I’d call just a passing argument between spouses
. Right, girls?” Medora gleefully looked toward Delilah and Zilly again as they emphatically agreed with her, eyes glistening from the suspense of the Henrick’s answer. Bellicent saw her gilded crown crashing to the ground as Medora greedily snatched it for herself.
Bellicent prayed for Henrick to answer in accordance with his programming. She had given up on him leaving the room, at least any time soon, but there was still a flickering flame of hope in her mind that he would at least answer them as the Henrick she created him to be. Henrick lazily scratched his chin in a mimicry of deep thought and shook his head at Medora, “You know, Medora, I’ve always appreciated you as a brilliant friend, not just for your beauty and charm, but also because of your honesty.” Henrick leaned toward Medora and looked deep into her eyes, the burning hatred from only moments before replaced with a softer look of affection. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, and Delilah and Zilly gasped. Bellicent twitched in anger at Henrick’s inappropriate behavior. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Delilah and Zilly whispering back and forth while stealing fervent glances at Medora and Henrick. As for Medora, a smug grin tugged at the corners of her lip and her eyes shot toward Bellicent with a wicked glint in their depths.
“Henrick, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but it will stop immediately. We need to have a private talk, now,” Bellicent’s voice shrill voice shook with rage. Her face was flushed and she could feel the veins in her forehead and neck throbbing with the tremendous amount of blood rushing through her body, but still, even when it was so obvious, Bellicent refused to show her vulnerability to the women around the table. She feigned a dry cough in a clunky effort conceal her spite and turned toward the girls, all of whom were starting at her with rapt attention. “I’m sorry to cut your visit short, ladies, but I must ask you to leave.”