Lingering

by Melissa Simonson

  We no longer had daily pilgrimages during which we drank copious amounts of alcohol, but even thrice weekly with nothing harder than coffee was beginning to feel excessive.

  He gave a deep sigh, his gaze fixed on the headstone. “I thought about it, but it would kind of feel like I was…trying to forget her, or something.”

  “Moving on doesn’t necessarily mean forgetting.”

  “Knowing that and believing it are two different things.”

  I nodded because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I wasn’t anywhere close to moving on. Sure, I’d stopped contacting the machine pretending to be Carissa, but the prospect of her robotic likeness was still shadowing my thoughts, cropping up at inopportune instances, stealing my breath each and every time it happened.

  Robot was derived from the Czech robota, meaning forced labor. I wondered if Margot had known that, if maybe that was what ultimately made her slam a screwdriver into one of her captors.

  A month and twelve days had passed since I’d last been to that old mill; almost enough time for me to believe that maybe it hadn’t happened at all. I could call Jess to ask for an update, of course, but what the hell was there to say? How’s the build coming? You get all the limbs connected yet? Find a good wig to affix to the skull?

  I’d rather live in Denial Land for a little while longer.

  “How have you been coping with cutting off contact with…” he grappled for the right words, but soon gave up, shrugging. “With that thing?”

  “No relapses.” I forced a smile. “But I destroyed her phone just in case I ever got tempted again.”

  Tempted was the understatement of the year, of the century. I’d been tempted the minute I’d gotten home from watching those videos of Margot, tempted to get Carissa on the phone and tell her just what the hell we were in store for. Babe, just thought you should know some hipster scientist had a Japanese sex doll company reproduce your face in high quality silicone. Thoughts?

  Well at least it’s high quality, huh, she would have answered. I’ve always had champagne tastes.

  I’d stuck the phone behind the back wheel of my car and backed over it three times in my driveway. The screen was dust by the time I retrieved it, and the pieces were probably in a landfill by now.

  I couldn’t help wondering, before I’d tossed the remnants of the cell phone in my neighbor’s trash can, if Margot’s brain had been destroyed in a similar fashion.

  I think our war strategies have fallen to the wayside recently,” I told Kylie, shouldering her pink backpack as we trudged to the side door of my house. “When’s the last time we read any Sun Tzu?”

  “New Year’s Eve. You had to stop because Declan and Chris exploded a milkshake all over the kitchen.”

  They’d left the top off the blender, painting my kitchen in Rocky Road, and I was still finding stray streaks of ice cream all over the place. Dexter, sleeping atop the fridge at the time, had been terrified out of his wits to awake covered in muck, and he’d hidden upstairs under my bed until all the kids had left.

  “That’s right. Where did we leave off?”

  “The middle of Waging War, I think.”

  I held the door open for her and she thundered past me, probably off to dig Dexter out of whatever hiding place had been handiest when he heard the commotion in the driveway.

  Dropping my keys on the table, I called, “You got any homework?”

  “It’s Friday,” she yelled back indignantly. “I don’t get homework on Fridays.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I dumped her backpack on a chair. “What’ve you got in here, anyway? Rocks? Your backpack’s heavier than usual.”

  “My Valentine mailbox we made in school.”

  Right. Valentine’s Day was tomorrow, not that it meant much to me. How useless and hollow would the holiday feel when I woke up the next morning? The news anchors wouldn’t let the day go unnoticed, the women trussed up in pink and red dresses, the men wearing cheesy grins and rosebuds in their buttonholes. Any special plans, hon? the Dunkin’ Donuts lady I saw every day might ask. Not unless you count a possible visit to a dead girl, Denise.

  But I couldn’t say that to Denise. She gave me free donuts whenever the manager’s back was turned.

  I followed Kylie’s voice down the hallway. “Marco?”

  “Polo,” she answered.

  I stuck my head around the home office door and found her beneath my desk. A cornered looking Dexter stared up at her, ears flat against his head, his amber eyes wide with horror, rolling ceaselessly around the room. Plotting his escape. I recognized the signs.

  “Maybe we should leave him alone for a minute,” I said, taking pity on Dexter. “He’ll come out once we settle down.”

  She rose grudgingly and followed me into the living room, where an array of Kylie-approved snacks awaited her on the coffee table.

  “Did you pick out anyone special to be your valentine?” I dropped onto the couch, kicking off my shoes.

  She scowled, snatching up a pack of fruit snacks, but didn’t deign that worthy of an answer.

  “When I was your age, Lily McKinnon cornered me right outside class on Valentine’s Day and kissed me smack on the lips. Scared the crap out of me.”

  Kylie’s scowl only deepened, setting like cement. “All the boys in my class are stupid.”

  “Really? All of them?” I’d heard differently from Alanna, who had told me the last time I’d seen her that Kylie had a crush on a boy named Troy who sat two seats behind her in class. But I had a feeling I shouldn’t mention it if I wanted to live.

  “I thought you wanted to read,” she said acidly, pointing at The Art of War beside a bag of Fritos.

  I definitely wanted to read now—anything to get that scowl that could curdle milk off her face. So I cracked the paperback open to the dog-eared page we’d left off on. Would the copy even hold up till we reached the end? I wondered, stuffing loose pages back where they belonged.

  I cleared my throat. “We left off on number seven: ‘It is only one who is thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war that can thoroughly understand the profitable way of carrying it on.’ So, number eight: ‘The skillful soldier does not raise a second levy, neither are his supply wagons loaded more than twice. Once war is declared, he will not waste precious time waiting for reinforcements, nor will he return his army back for fresh supplies, but crosses the enemy’s frontier without delay. This may seem an audacious policy to recommend, but with all great strategists, the value of time—that is, being a little ahead of your opponent—has counted for more than either numerical superiority or the nicest calculations.’”

  She popped a fruit snack into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “What’s a levy?”

  “I thought it had something to do with imposing tax fees or something. I can look it up.” I yanked my phone out of my pocket, ready to ask the all-knowing Google, when I saw I had a missed call from Jess. My heart plummeted into the bile now churning in my stomach, but I dismissed the notification. She’d called at 3:19 p.m.—five minutes ago.

  I took in a deep breath to get my pulse to stop racing and asked Google what the hell a levy was.

  “Well, the archaic term means to enlist someone for military service. I guess it means that the skillful soldier won’t call in reinforcement troops. He’ll leave with enough to see him through the battle.”

  I dropped the phone beside my thigh and reached for the book again just as the screen lit up with another incoming call. Jess Alder.

  I ignored it. “Number nine: ‘Bring war materials with you from home, but forage on the enemy.’ You know what forage means?”

  “On Naked and Afraid it means go out and find berries and stuff like tree bark to eat.”

  “You watch Naked and Afraid?” I flicked a glance at my phone. She hadn’t left a voicemail.

  “Not the bad parts, like when they go hunting.”

  “Don’t all the naked butts gross you out?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah
. Mommy got mad at Daddy for watching it in front of me because of that.”

  I looked back at the page when my phone lit up yet again. Text message this time.

  “Kylie, can you read to me for a minute?” I handed her the book. “I’ll still listen, but I need to answer a text.”

  She’s awake was all it said. Two little words that set my nerves aflame. Kylie’s high-pitched voice bled into the backbeat of my heart rate as I sat there staring at my phone. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t have words. Wasn’t even sure I had a functioning brain stem, at that point.

  He switched her on about a week ago, but he had to get her acclimated popped up in another blue bubble. You can come see her tomorrow.

  Sure I could. I could also stick my head in the oven. Both sounded equally unhealthy.

  She seriously wanted me to come see this freakshow on Valentine’s Day? A part of me wondered who’d decided February 14th would be the day. I could see Jess doing it as a misguided yet heartfelt gift, but Nick could have planned it as some kind of science experiment. How long will it take for Ben to lose his shit completely, kids? Anyone got a hypothesis?

  I flung my phone to the opposite end of the couch and tried to wrench myself out of the fog Jess had tossed me in, focusing on Kylie’s voice, the way every word she read sounded like a question, all the mispronunciations I’d have to correct her on later when my mind had stopped reeling.

  “‘In war, then, let your great object be victory, not lengthy campaigns. Thus it may be known that the leader of armies is the arbiter of the people’s fate, the man on whom it depends whether the nation shall be in peace or peril.’”

  Kylie dropped the book on her lap, her eyes magnified and bewildered behind her glasses. “I have no idea what any of that means.”

  “Me either, kid.”

  I pressed my fingers into my eyeballs hard enough to raise red patterns; anything to eradicate the image my brain had conjured of a robotic Carissa’s face.

  I stood just beyond the doorway to 311 Emery for five nerve-wracking minutes, blank-faced and motionless, before I managed to round the corner and push the buzzer.

  Jess wore her usual full face of makeup and had straightened her rambunctious curls for the occasion, no aura of exhaustion haloing her head this time as she ushered me inside.

  An awkward few seconds passed, during which she tried to catch my eye and I kept my gaze on my feet.

  “You’re nervous,” she said softly, rubbing my forearm. “Are you scared?”

  Who wouldn’t be scared?

  I didn’t look at her, didn’t give her an answer.

  Life is made up of moments. Some are extraordinary while others are soul-sucking, and I’d had plenty of both to sift through as I stood in that lobby. I’d never forget the night I met Carissa, the first time I kissed her. I could close my eyes and it would almost feel like I was back there reliving those seconds, wishing I could stay inside them forever.

  Reliving the moment I found her dead in that tub was just as simple. I saw her cut throat, her coffin lowered into that hole as easily as if it were yesterday. I couldn’t stop the lightning fast images of her from splattering across the blank walls of my mind. The first time she’d smiled at me, really smiled, not her patented sharp secret smirk. Her staring off into space at the kitchen table, sunlight trickling through the lacy blinds dappling her face. The way she’d lock eyes with me from across a room, her eyes smiling even though her lips didn’t. Her laughing so hard at something stupid I’d said that she couldn’t breathe, and every time the giggles subsided, a few seconds later they’d begin anew.

  The way she’d looked like some tragic fairytale princess, beautiful and damaged, in that polished coffin. How badly I’d wished she was Snow White or something, that I could wake her up with a kiss, seal up that ragged cut across her throat.

  I had no idea where on the spectrum this particular moment would fall, but I wasn’t optimistic, not even when Jess muttered soothing words and rubbed my shoulder like I was some emotional toddler.

  “Can you say something?”

  I almost had to read her red lips to know what she’d said, like I was underwater and she was calling to me from above. “Like what?”

  “Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you were even capable of speaking.” Her arm flopped to her side, her eyebrows knitting. “Are you going to be all right?”

  What a stupid thing to ask.

  I think I hated her more than ever in that moment. She knew this was killing me, but she didn’t have the balls to do anything about it. Nothing substantial. Her concern was a joke, even if she was sincere. Jess was just another object Nick could control with a remote. Scratch the remote part. He controlled her without one, which made it all the more scary.

  I used to think Carissa was irreparably broken in some ways, but she wouldn’t have stood for this. It made me wonder if Jess was broken too, but in a much different fashion.

  Jess felt sorry for me, sure, but not nearly sorry enough. Not sorry enough to do anything other than stand idly by and let her boyfriend wreak havoc.

  But Jess was still my only lifeline in this hellhole, so I arranged my face into a flimsy smile, which softened the lines cropping up on her forehead.

  “Are you ready?”

  “No, but I doubt I’ll ever be.”

  She kept pace with me down the hallways, matching my strides so we were in perfect synch, like a marching band keeping time with the metronome. I felt a thrill of revulsion when she slipped her arm through mine, but I didn’t shake her off.

  I gave her the side-eye. “Have you…?”

  “Seen her?” She waited for my nod. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  She steered me past the cubicles. “She’s perfect. I’ve seen videos of her in life. I mean, obviously she couldn’t be an exact match, but she’s extremely similar.”

  My feet grew heavier the closer we got to that flight of stairs leading down to the bottom floor, like syrup was stuck to the soles of my shoes, making each step laborious, sapping all of my energy.

  Jess didn’t tug on my arm as I stopped at the foot of the staircase, leaning against the wall. My stomach whirled like it was tumble drying a load of laundry.

  “It’s okay, just take your time.” She rubbed the back of my neck, and I was visited by the brutal urge to snap her wrist. Carissa always rubbed my neck the same way, instinctively twisting her fingers through my hair until my eyelids got heavy. Her touch had always been hypnotic. I used to tell her she should be a masseuse.

  I heaved myself off the wall with my shoulder with enormous effort. Jess held her hand out, ready to catch me should I stumble like a newborn colt on shaky legs.

  “It’s the last door on the left.” She jutted her chin. “There’s a one-way mirror in the vestibule, so you can see her for a little bit before you go inside the actual room, take a few minutes to collect yourself.”

  With her arm once again looped through mine, she struggled to dig her phone out of her back pocket, maneuvering it between her ear and shoulder one handed.

  A tinny voice I knew to be Nick’s issued from the speaker.

  “Can you unlock the door? We’re right outside.”

  A few seconds later, the lock tumbled and the knob turned. Nick stuck his head out and looked around, his eyes magnets for mine.

  “Took you a while,” he said, scanning me from my feet to my face, his gaze lingering around the arm Jess had linked with mine. “We’ve been waiting.”

  A bomb of some unexplainable emotion went off in my chest as Jess pushed me up to the one-way glass, her touch light and feathery against the small of my back.

  Her hair had never been that shiny in life, though I suspected that was either because of the harsh lighting or wig made of synthetic hair, or both. She hadn’t had those blonde highlights, made garish by the fluorescent bulbs above her, streaked through her dark hair. It pissed me off for some reason, those blonde highlights she hadn’t had—he couldn’t even get
her hair right?

  Her head was slightly inclined over a tablet, and she was utterly motionless but for the index finger she swiped with every few seconds.

  I was glad I couldn’t see much of her face. I didn’t know what kind of noises would come out of me if I could.

  “What’s she doing?” I croaked.

  “Playing Tetris, what else?” Nick snorted. “She’s looking at pictures.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of herself,” Jess said gently. “Nick’s been showing her pictures she had on her cell phone and those YouTube videos she’d posted.”

  Nick paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Are you coming, or do you need a minute?”

  “Obviously he needs a minute,” Jess hissed, slapping his shoulder. “You’re such an insensitive toad sometimes.”

  Carissa looked up as Nick made his way inside, her finger hovering over the tablet, and I felt my heart ram into my throat, my chest hot and tight. All the oxygen fled the vestibule as I watched her eyes following Nick's progress across the room and into a chair.

  Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

  Jess fumbled with a button beneath a speaker next to the one-way glass.

  “…brought someone to see you.” Nick’s voice reverberated around the vestibule, sounding too big to be contained by walls.

  “Who?”

  My heart twisted in much the same way it had when I saw mounds of dirt tossed on top of her casket. Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t speak. My throat sealed like someone had zippered it closed. I’d heard her voice on my cell phone even after she’d died, but hearing that voice coming out of that face was a different story completely.

  “Let’s just leave it a surprise.”

  Carissa hated surprises, always had. If this were really her, she would have insisted he tell her. Her nostrils would flare the way they’d always had when her patience wore thin, her eyes would have narrowed harshly.

  This version just looked at Nick like he was some mildly interesting street performer in Faneuil Hall.