Take Me To Your Reader: An Otherworld Anthology

by Amy A. Bartol

"Mattie designed you?"

  "That is correct."

  "What are you, a computer?" I ask incredulously.

  "Negative. I am Source One Alpha."

  "What's Source One Alpha? "

  "In technical terms or laymen's?" he asks.

  "Definitely laymen's."

  "I am A.I."

  "A.I.?"

  The voice sighs heavily, like it's human and not a machine. "He said you were not technologically savvy. He wasn't lying. "

  "Who said that? Mattie said that? You talked to him?"

  "Yes. We spoke often. He is my creator. A.I. is an acronym for artificial intelligence."

  "So, you're a smart computer?"

  The image of Matt on the windshield frowns. The driver's side door opens on its own. "Call me a computer again and you can walk. Matteyo refers to me as So-wah. On the surface I'm cybernetics, but let's just say I am."

  "You are? You mean you exist?"

  "I do."

  My heartbeat triples and I consider unbuckling my seatbelt and running from the vehicle, but I can't make myself leave, not with Mattie's face staring back at me. I'll endure anything just to hear Source One Alpha talk to me again.

  "Umm, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you." I panic a little when the driver-side door closes by itself.

  "Take a sip of your water. Your heart rate is well beyond an acceptable level," SOA says.

  I do as it suggests, anxious not to offend it again. "So, why don't I know about you? I must've driven in this car a hundred times and you never once spoke to me."

  "I was classified."

  "Mattie, uh, Matteyo didn't want me to know about you?"

  "Correct."

  "Why?"

  "He wasn't sure if he could trust you."

  "Trust me? Trust me with what?"

  "It's classified."

  "Declassify it."

  "No."

  I exhale in confusion. "Then, why are you talking to me now?"

  "Matteyo gave me instructions. If you're ever in dire need of my assistance, I'm to help you."

  "Right. Of course," I say with a mixture of shock and frustration.

  "How can I assist you?"

  My hand trembles as I rub my forehead, trying to ease my growing headache. I pause and ask, "I'm lost. Can you take me to Matteyo?"

  "His remains are in the vehicle with you."

  I suddenly feel chilled. "How did you know that?"

  "I scanned the contents of the car."

  "How did you do that?" I whisper.

  "In technical terms or laymen's?"

  "Laymen's! Always laymen's!"

  "I scanned the contents of the vehicle on a molecular level. It's a mathematical certainty that the urn on the passenger seat contains the remains of Matteyo Dillinger."

  "Okay." I rub my hands over my arms trying to dispel the goose bumps. "Have you ever been in this area with Matteyo before?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you remember where you were?" I ask anxiously.

  "I don't forget anything."

  I roll my eyes. "Okay. Where were you the last time you were in this area?"

  "Matteyo's residence."

  "Is it on a lake?"

  "The residence is approximately fifty-two yards from a body of water."

  My mouth becomes dry. I take another sip of water before I ask, "Can you take me there—on like, autopilot or whatever?"

  "Yes."

  Elation washes over me and I wait for the car to move. When it continues to idle, I roll my eyes again. "Will you please take me there now?"

  "We will not make it to the destination without stopping for fuel for this substandard vehicle."

  An ironic smile twists my lips. "How is this substandard? It's an Escalade."

  "It operates on fossil fuel. It's a P.O.S.," SOA replies with attitude in his tone.

  Despite everything, I smile. "We should get gas then," I agree. "Do you want me to drive?"

  "No," SOA states as the windshield brightens to full-transparency.

  "You say that like there's something wrong with my driving."

  "You speed, you fail to maintain a proper distance from the vehicle in front of you, you demonstrate improper lane changes, you talk on the phone while you drive, and you drift."

  I frown. "I don't drift."

  "You drift. I will drive."

  As the truck pulls back onto the road on its own, I clutch the steering wheel in fear. The wheel begins to retract from me. "Do not touch the steering wheel while I'm driving." SOA orders.

  I flinch and drop my hands from it. I bite my thumbnail anxiously for a few minutes until it becomes clear that the truck isn't going to plunge off the road. When I begin to relax a little, my phone rings. I pick it up, see that I have one bar of connectivity, and glance at the display. It reads: "Private." I move my thumb to answer it.

  "Do not answer that call," SOA orders. The windshield darkens again so that I can see his face on it.

  My eyes widen. "Why not?"

  "The caller is attempting to trace the call and locate your position. You need to destroy your SIM card."

  "My what—who's trying to locate my position? How do you know that?"

  "They are triangulating your position now. Destroying your SIM card is your only option to avoid detection. You will find it in the back of your phone. "

  I scramble to open the back of my phone when my window opens. "Throw your phone out the window. At this velocity, the impact will destroy it."

  I don't know if it's because it's Mattie's voice telling me to do it or his image on the windshield, but I immediately toss my phone out the window. As I look out the back, I see the phone bounce on the pavement and break into piece. The truck brakes and stops in the middle of the road. Then, SOA reverses the Escalade and backs over my phone for good measure.

  The truck pulls away again and I ask, "Do you mind telling me what the total hell just happened?"

  "They are looking for you."

  "They? Who're they? Stan?"

  "Not Stanley Parker. Maybelle Younger and her associates."

  "Maybelle? You mean Mattie's ex-girlfriend May?"

  "The very same."

  "Why does Mattie's stalker want to track me? He's the one she's always wanted. She's obsessed with him."

  "She is attempting to locate the remains of Matteyo Dillinger."

  "What!" I breathe in disbelief. "Why?"

  "I do not have that information."

  "Then how do you know this?" I ask incredulously.

  "She is in the penthouse apartment now. She is destroying everything in her search for his ashes."

  "She's in his apartment now?" I ask in disbelief.

  "Correction, she is in Matteyo's former apartment, which now belongs to you. I have security access to the Chicago residence," SOA states. His image disappears from the windshield to be replaced by a security camera feed of the penthouse. Several very fit men in dark suits are breaking up the furniture, turning over tables, and cutting fabric from the elegant chairs. I locate May in the middle of the room with her ear to her phone as another dark-suited man uses a laptop next to her.

  I watch as May paces back and forth, her long legs avoiding the chaos all around her. She tosses her perfect blond hair, appearing to grind her teeth in frustration. After several more moments, she throws her phone across the room and puts her hands on her hips.

  "Why are they looking for Mattie?" I wonder aloud as I watch them topple bookcases.

  "That information is classified. I have alerted the police. They will not remain there long."

  "It's classified? You know what this is about?" I ask, forgetting to be afraid for a second. "You'd better start talking right now! I need to know what the hell is going on here!"

  "You are in danger. Maybelle Younger intends to recover the remains of Matteyo Dillinger. It will only be a matter of time before she locates you."

  "Oh my God! Why is Mattie's ex-girlfriend such a total psycho? What can she possibly wan
t with his ashes?"

  "The logical explanation is that she would like him back."

  Goose bumps break out on my arms again. "Is he contacting her, too? Does she know something?"

  "Maybelle knows many things. But, it's my understanding from my conversations with Matteyo that he would prefer not to converse with Maybelle on any occasion for any reason. I believe that would extend into his death."

  The windshield lightens and the security camera feed from Mattie's apartment disappears. "She came to his funeral, you know?" I murmur.

  "I was unaware of that information."

  "I don't remember much about that day...it's all sort of a blur, but I remember her. She was unforgettable."

  "You were still prescribed pain medication at that time. You had just left the hospital."

  My heart erupts again to pound in my chest. "How do you know all that?"

  I have security access to all of Matteyo's former residences and his organization, Source Products. People spoke of little else. I understand that one of the bullets that killed Matteyo also penetrated you as well. You were in intensive care for several days after the shooting."

  I feel sick. I open the window wide to get air.

  "Have I upset you?"

  "I'm fine," I lie. After a few moments, my heartbeat slows and I close my window.

  "What do you remember of Maybelle Younger on the occasion of Matteyo Dillinger's funeral?" SOA asks.

  "She was being even crazier than usual, which is really hard to top because every time I see her she acts deranged."

  "In what way?"

  I sigh. "She offered to buy Mattie's ashes from me."

  "And you found that crazy?"

  "Uhh, yeah. Insane," I agree with a nod.

  "And how did she take your refusal?" SOA asks.

  "Not well. Stan had to practically drag her out of the wake. She was screaming at me, telling me how much I didn't deserve him."

  The truck slows and pulls off the road into a small, rundown convenience store gas station. SOA puts the Escalade in park near a gas pump and turns off the engine. "We need fuel in order to make it to our destination," SOA states.

  Still preoccupied with my memories of Mattie's funeral, I just sit there staring at the convenience store ahead of me. "This is the only fueling station around for several miles," he adds.

  "Okay," I murmur absently. I pull on the handle of the truck to open the door but it doesn't budge. My brow furrows in confusion. "Umm, we need gas, right?"

  "Yes," SOA states.

  "Okay. Open the door and I'll get some and then you can tell me everything you know about May on the way to Mattie's house." I try to open the door again. It doesn't move.

  "I am uncomfortable with this fueling station."

  "Urr...what? Why?"

  "There are five large males in this establishment."

  "Uhh...okay...is that bad?"

  "Two of them are attempting to conceal their presence from us."

  "Oh," I say, feeling nervous about this new tidbit of information. "What if I just jump out, use the pump, and pay with a credit card? I won't even have to go into the store."

  "That is not a good option. Maybelle Younger will track your credit cards. You have one hundred seventy-two dollars and eleven cents in your purse. Pay in cash."

  "You scanned my purse?"

  "I did."

  "Maybe we should go somewhere else?"

  "We do not have enough fuel to make it to the next station."

  I exhale a long breath. "Ohh-kay, it looks like we're out of options then. So...I'll get gas and go in..." I pull on the handle again and find that it's still locked. "So-wah, are you worried about me?"

  To my surprise, SOA answers, "I am."

  I almost smile. "I do have mace..." the door still doesn't unlock. I sigh, "Unless there is another option—"

  The door unlocks with a click. "Be careful."

  Nervous now, I open the door and step out of the truck. It smells different here than a gas station in the city. There's hardly any exhaust fumes, just the sweet scent of pollen on the wind. As I shut the door, I notice that the truck's windows have all darkened; no one can see inside. I take the nozzle off the gas pump and insert it in the tank before choosing the ultra grade. I wait several moments for the pump to engage, but it doesn't reset. I look toward the convenience store. After a few moments of staring at the outline of the clerk behind the counter, he moves to push a button. The pump resets and I fill the tank.

  When I'm done, I walk slowly toward the store, wiping my sweaty palms on the front of my denim shorts. I pull the door open; a bell above it clangs loudly. A twentysomething man, leaning against a magazine rack, idly flips through a Guns magazine. He rubs the bristles on his chin as he eyes me critically. The conversation that was transpiring between the clerk and the rough-looking patron leaning against the counter abruptly ends with the bell. I ignore them all and move to the aisle that's filled with cheap bottles of wine and liquor.

  I pluck two bottles of red and a bottle of white from the shelf and then turn back toward the counter. They're all watching me. I hesitate for a second, staring back at them. The clerk has a skeptical look in his eyes. Without glancing away, I defiantly take a bottle of inexpensive vodka from the shelf, adding it to the others in my arms. The bottles clink together in protest. When I reach the counter, I push them onto it.

  "I had eighty dollars on pump one," I state clearly, before selecting a pack of gum from the stack beside the cash register and laying it next to the bottles.

  The clerk stares at me for a moment; his eyebrow arches in challenge. "You sure you're old enough to be buying alcohol. Lemme see some I.D." I relax. He's not some backwoods hick ready to abduct me. He's actually sort of cute in an outdoorsy, I-kill-my-own-food kind of way. His eyes show no wrinkles around them, so he might be my age, but his beard makes him seem older.

  I pull my wallet from my purse and hand him my I.D. He studies it for a second before he takes off his camouflage baseball cap and scratches his short, dark hair. His strong arms are covered in heavy sleeve tattoos—this can't be his only job because no one gets arms like that by hanging out in a gas station all day. "What brings you to the U.P. from Chicago, Violet O'Shea? Business or pleasure?"

  "Uhh...pleasure—vacation," I lie and eye the bottles of alcohol on the counter. "A friend of mine lent me his house for a few days. I'm just going to lay by the lake—read a little—veg. "

  He pauses in his assessment of the bar code on a bottle. The man next to me straightens a little—stiffens. "Your friend gotta name?"

  "Yes." I nod, pretending to play coy, but all of a sudden I'm back to being uncomfortable.

  When I'm not forthcoming with that name, the clerk says, "Well, looks like you're either having a party or a funeral, Violet." He smiles at the bottles in front of him.

  "Something like that," I reply with a wary smile. "How much do I owe you?"

  He puts his hat back on his head and begins to scan the items into the register. "Where are you staying? What lake? Is it around here?" the clerk asks casually, his blue eyes glancing at me.

  "Why?" I ask in my best don't-eff-with-me tone. "You thinking of stopping by?"

  The clerk frowns. "Ned and I could check on you. It can get scary up here when you're all alone, eh, Ned?" he asks his friend next to me with a lift of his chin.

  "Eh, Clyde." Ned nods sharply. "Scary."

  "Who says I'm alone, Clyde?" I ask and glance out the window. I see two men in white wifebeaters and camouflage cargo shorts by Mattie's truck taking an interest in it. It's nearly impossible for them to see anything inside of it because the windows are almost opaque. Suddenly, the truck's alarm goes off, scaring the bejesus out of the one nearest the vehicle, causing the other one to double over with laughter.

  Clyde growls, "Travis, go tell those two idiots to leave the truck alone!"

  The man by the rack closes his magazine, stuffs it back on the shelf, and shuffles toward the door. O
nce outside, he says something to the two by Mattie's truck before they all move away from it to light their cigarettes at a safer distance from the gas pumps. The truck's alarm goes silent a few moments later.

  My focus returns to Clyde as he asks, "You might want to add some sunscreen to this. You look like you burn easily, especially if you're out at Nee-Ba-Naw-Baigs Lake." He watches me, like he's assessing my reaction.

  I glance outside at the overcast sky. "It looks like it could rain soon," I reply.

  His frown turns darker, "Still, you can never be too cautious up here, especially on that lake."

  I shrug, "Okay, let's err on the side of caution then."

  He doesn't smile as he adds the sunscreen to the total. The register dings and Clyde mutters, "One twenty sixty-six."

  I pay him after he puts my bottles in a brown paper sack. He hands it to me, but doesn't let go. "You take care now, Violet," he says, his blue eyes bore into mine. The bottles within the bag bang together. When I pull a little harder on it, he lets go.

  "Thanks," I manage to say before I turn and walk to the door. Outside, I pause as Travis and his wifebeater-clad friends walk toward me. I shift the bag to one arm; my other hand goes to my purse to scout for my mace.

  The engine of the truck roars to life and the passenger-side window opens a crack. SOA's voice shouts loudly, "You coming, sweetheart?"

  The men in front of me stop. My voice shakes, "Yeah, babe. I got you some gum." I walk past Travis who watches me like I'm his next meal. When I make it to the truck, the door automatically unlocks and I climb inside, placing the bag on the passenger seat next to me. I pull out the vodka and take a large swig. I gasp; the liquid burns a trail to my belly.

  "You shouldn't consume alcohol while taking your medication," SOA scolds. I try not to think about how truly bizarre it is to be reprimanded by a navigation system.

  I let out a shaky breath. "I'll stop taking my medication then." The engine revs on its own and the truck backs up from the gas pumps on autopilot. As it pulls away from the gas station, I ask, "So-wah, are we going to Nee-Ba-Naw-Baigs Lake?"

  "Some locals refer to Matteyo Dillinger's lake by that name."

  "Why? Does it mean something?" I'm afraid of the answer.

  "Nee-ba-naw-baigs is Ojibwe; it means water spirits. Some of the locals believe the lake is haunted."