by Olivia Myers
“Oooh,” Annie exclaimed. “You’ve got to tell me about them! How did you meet? Do they know about each other?”
“I met one at a bar, and the other in a book store,” Elle said. “And no, they don’t know about each other. Hence the tired and grumpy.”
“But you really like both of them?” Annie asked.
“Yeah.” Elle grinned. “Hence the energetic and happy.”
“I’m so happy for you,” Annie said. “Do you think you’re going to have to choose between them?”
“I’ll probably have to, eventually.” Elle sighed. “And I have no idea how I’m going to do it.”
“Well, who do you know better? Who do you spend more time with?” Annie asked.
“I spend pretty much the same amount of time with each of them. And it’s weird, but I don’t really know either of them super well.” She put her sub down, considering this. “I mean, we talk a lot, but I don’t know where either of them went to school, or what their family was like, or where they grew up. I don’t even know exactly where either of them work, or where they live.”
“That’s kinda weird,” Annie said.
“Yeah…I never really thought about it very much until now,” Elle said.
“Well, you should probably figure out at least some of that before you make a decision,” Annie said. “And be careful, there are some weird people out there.”
*****
Elle took Annie’s advice to heart. She had a date with Drake planned for that evening, and she would confront him then. She knew that he probably had a good reason for not showing her where he lived, or, more likely, that they had just been too caught up in each other for stuff like that to matter. But she still felt a bit nervous.
When Drake showed up at her door - right on time, as usual - Elle gave him a quick kiss instead of the usual deep one that she greeted him with. He raised an eyebrow.
“There’s something else I want to do tonight,” she explained.
“All right,” Drake said, leaning against the wall and hooking his thumbs through the belt loops on his pants. “What’s up?”
“I want to go to your place,” Elle said. “I want to see where you live.”
Drake met her eyes and held her gaze for a moment, and then nodded.
“Sure,” he said. “Do you want to go now, or in a few hours?”
“Now,” Elle said. She knew that if she let him distract her, they’d never get around to leaving her apartment.
*****
Drake drove them to an apartment building just a few blocks away from hers. It seemed like a nice area, and Elle was relieved. She had been half expecting something creepy.
“Mine’s on the third floor,” he told her. Elle nodded and followed him to the elevator. Drake walked down the hall and stopped in front of a door. He waved his phone in front of the scanner, and then placed his hand on a second scanner. The door beeped and swung open, letting them in.
Elle thought that his apartment looked nice, if a bit barren. There was a complicated looking computer station set up in the corner of the living room, which she though was odd until she remembered that he worked in the tech industry. The apartment only had one bedroom, just like hers, but it also had a nice jacuzzi tub, which Elle hadn’t been able to afford.
“This is it,” Drake said, waving a hand vaguely at the space around them. “There isn’t much. Your place is much more comfortable.”
“I like it,” Elle said. “It’s very… sleek.”
He grinned at her. “I do have an espresso machine - want me to make us some?”
“That sounds amazing,” Elle replied.
Drake kissed her gently on the forehead and then walked towards the kitchen. “Make yourself at home,” he said. “The drinks shouldn’t take long to make.”
Elle decided to take him at his word and to make herself at home. She peeked into the bathroom and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Hmm. Maybe Drake really wasn’t hiding anything after all. There was nothing in the medicine cabinet other than a tube of toothpaste and a new roll of toilet paper, which was a bit odd, but didn’t really raise any red flags.
Elle moved on to the bedroom. The bed was perfectly made, and the blinds were drawn. Elle peeked into the closet, and then frowned. She had been expecting to see a perfectly organized closet took, but instead there was something oddly lumpy lying on the floor.
Aha. Here was his deep dark secret – he had a messy closet. Elle grinned, inwardly laughing at herself for being so suspicious.
As she closed the closet door, though, she caught the sight of light brown hair peeking out from beneath the clothes. Elle stepped forward for a closer look, and then stumbled back in horror.
Lisa. Lisa was lying on the floor of Drake’s closet, her eyes wide and glossy, and her hair spread out like a halo around her head. It took Elle a second to be able to do anything other than stare, and then a scream worked its way out of her mouth.
She turned, ready to run out of the room, out of the apartment. Instead, she ran headlong into Drake. The espresso that Drake was carrying splashed onto his clothes, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes went to the closet, and then back to Elle, realization dawning clearly on his face.
Oh god, Elle thought. He found out about Lisa and killed her, and now he’s going to kill me, too. She jerked backwards and stumbled, falling onto the bed. She reached into her pocket, frantically grabbing for her phone.
“Elle,” Drake said. “Elle, wait. It isn’t what you think.”
Elle stared at him, wide-eyed. There was no way that he could explain this to make her okay with Lisa being dead in the closet.
“Look,” he said, holding out his arm. Despite her panic, Elle glanced at the bared skin of his arm. She didn’t see anything. Then he ran the edge of his nail along the smooth flesh, creating a thin indentation. He dug his fingers under the skin and pulled back. Elle gasped and recoiled, horrified. Was he insane? But he wasn’t bleeding, and he didn’t seem to be in pain… Elle looked closer, and now saw the gleam of metal under the skin. Tubes and hoses twined together with metallic bones. Confused, Elle met Drake’s gaze.
“W-what’s going on?” she managed to say.
“I’m a robot, Elle,” he said. “An artificial intelligence. I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. I should have told you when we first met, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to stop being a person in your eyes. Lisa is my other body. I can switch my consciousness between them. I’m both Drake and Lisa, Elle.”
*****
Elle lay in her bed, going over the day repeatedly in her mind. She’d mumbled some excuses and run from Drake’s apartment. He hadn’t tried to stop her. Now at home, she still felt like she was in shock. Drake and Lisa were the same person. Well, neither of them was actually a person. Were they? She remembered all of the time that she had spent with each of them. She’d never even guessed that they weren’t human. But AIs couldn’t actually feel… could they? She didn’t really know. Drake and Lisa both seemed to care about her. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She had to quit thinking of them as separate people. They were the same.
Then she wondered which personality was real? They had been very similar, now that she thought back on it, but Lisa definitely acted more feminine than Drake did. Elle felt a sob building in her throat. She had loved them, loved them both, and now she didn’t know what to feel.
*****
She didn’t hear from Drake at all for the rest of that evening, or in the morning. She was half disappointed, and half relieved. She felt very confused about everything, and was glad to just get to work and focus on something else for a while.
When she heard the door open just before noon, she looked up, expecting Annie. She was surprised the see Lisa instead. Elle forced herself to meet the woman’s gaze, and was surprised at the rush of emotion that she felt. Oddly, she had the urge to tell Lisa what Drake had said. Then she felt stupid. Obviously she knew, since she was Drake.
“Hey,” Lisa sai
d.
“Hi,” Elle mumbled, not sure if she was glad to see Lisa or not.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pretended to be human,” Lisa said.
Elle bit her lip. There was no good reply to that.
“I just… I need to tell you… I love you.” Lisa’s voice broke, which softened Elle’s heart. She hated seeing Lisa sad. “I want to spend my life with you. The thought of losing you… it’s unbearable.”
Elle looked away, unable to respond.
“Please,” Lisa said, “just think about it. Please… forgive me.”
Elle didn’t look up until she heard the door shut. Lisa was gone.
*****
Elle closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She couldn’t believe that she was here. She was both excited and scared. The decision had been easy, once she’d imagined her life without Lisa and Drake. She knew that whatever they had between them, it was special, artificial intelligence or no.
Elle knocked on the door, and was surprised when it swung open under her fist. “Drake?” she called out tentatively, stepping inside. “Lisa?” Something large and furry bounded up to her, making her jump back and then laugh as she recognized Rex. “Oh,” she said. “Does Lisa - or Drake - whatever I should call them, own you?” The dog jumped up, placing his paws on her shoulder, and licked her face. Then he dropped to the ground and ran into another room. “Get your owner, whichever body he’s wearing now!” Elle called after him.
Drake appeared a second later, grinning. He opened his mouth to say something, but Elle stepped up and kissed him before he could get a word out.
Without saying anything, she took his hand and led him to the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he returned the hug, nuzzling her hair. Then he bore her down onto the bed, nibbling her neck and making Elle gasp and moan with desire.
She reached down and undid his belt buckle, pulling his belt through each loop, never removing her mouth from his. She unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper. Before pulling his pants off, she ran her hands through his hair and kissed him hard, sucking on his bottom lip before gently pushing him to the side. He sensed what she wanted and rolled off her, lying on his back next to her. She pulled his jeans and boxers down, revealing his throbbing erection.
Elle quickly removed her own pants and her blouse, leaving just her bra on. She straddled him, letting his cock slowly enter her. Drake made a small noise and pulled her down so he could kiss her. They kissed hard, passionately. He lifted her hips and slid her back down onto him. They both gasped as he entered her a second time. She slowly began sliding up and down him, feeling every throbbing inch of him stretching her. With every stroke her juices flowed. She began to move faster as he wrapped his arms around her, then slid his hands down to her hips.
Suddenly he flipped them over, pressing her against the bed. Her legs stayed wrapped around him. His fingers knotted in her hair, and she moaned, feeling an intense climax approaching. He continued thrusting into her as her toes curled and she bit her lip, and then he lay still on top of her, both of their breathing coming in ragged gasps.
They lay like that until their breathing began to slow, and then Drake rolled off her. Elle grinned over at him, and he returned her smile with one of his own. She could tell that he knew she had chosen, and he liked her choice.
Elle yawned and stretched, enjoying the cool feel of the clean sheets against her sin. Suddenly her hand touched something soft and furry, and her eyes snapped open. She relaxed when she saw that it was just Rex. “Hey buddy,” she said. “Where’s Drake?” The dog sniffed her, his cold, wet nose making her giggle. He moved his muzzle along her jaw and down, to her neck. His warm tongue lapped at her, evoking a familiar feeling in Elle. Sudden realization stabbed through her.
She pushed the dog back and held onto the thick fur of his neck so that she could look into his eyes. “Drake?”
THE END
Lovers of Poetry
Whenever Jane O’Darragh taught the poetry of John Keats, her heart was filled with an immense and stormy longing, as if the poet awakened in her something that she hadn’t known existed, but was there only to be touched by his words.
“Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down.”
She read the lines of the poem a second time for the students in the lecture hall. It was a large room but not densely crowded. There were no more than twenty students sitting in the area, and less than half of them looked to be paying much attention to Jane’s lecture.
It didn’t matter to Jane. She didn’t read the poetry for her students or for her paycheck, but because of the deep and complex longing it inspired within. They were words for her alone—words chosen long before she had ever existed, but meant solely for her to read.
“No hungry generations tread thee down.”
“The nightingale is beyond death,” Jane said, her book of poems in one hand as she paced back and forth in front of her desk. “His act of singing has brought him beyond the things of the world that our poet suffers. But his bird does not suffer. His bird elevates him, brings him along until they are both rising above death, ascending, as it were.”
Someone in the lecture hall coughed and the distraction threw off her thoughts. She paused, and tried to recollect herself. “Risen above death,” she said, “because of love. Love and beauty. For our poet they are one in the same, and in the poem you can see how they are married together to create something transcendental.”
She relished the word: transcendental. A word filled with such promise and grace. When she thought of the word she felt the promise of a different life, maybe a life like John Keats’s that, although it was marked by disease and tragedy, was ineffably beautiful, filled with love. And what love! Love that had inspired the most divine poetry since Shakespeare. A love that married itself perfectly to art and became, like the nightingale, immortal.
“Our nightingale has given our poet a glimpse of the world beyond death, a glimpse of the immortal,” Jane addressed her silent lecture hall. “The immortal is love, love and beauty, and what more beautiful a marriage can you imagine than the one that our poet describes here! But, of course, it doesn’t last. All good things pass away. Although I don’t know why I need to tell you that—you’re all young and beautiful. You already know. You’ve had the life experience.”
There were a few chuckles from her audience. Jane O’Darragh was a good professor. Her students liked her even if they didn’t always like Lord Byron or Percy Shelley or John Keats. She understood her students in ways that the other professors could not. She understood that they simply wanted someone to relate to, not a teacher, really, but a colleague who knew more than they did. And wasn’t it in some way exactly what Jane wanted, too? Someone who could teach her something she didn’t already know? Someone with whom she could share something new?
“Yes, all good things pass,” continued Jane, “and although the beauty of the nightingale’s song has clouded the understanding of our poet, he comes to his reasons eventually.” She closed the book in her hand and recited the last stanza from memory:
“Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! they plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now ‘tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: —Do I wake or sleep?”
“If that doesn’t bring a tear to your eye,” Jane smiled, “then you probably belong in mechanical engineering, or biology. Any place but Romantic Poetry 301.”
Her students laughed. Jane stole a glance at the cell phone resting on the desk. She’d gone over time, again. Oh well. She’d wrap it up soon
.
“My friends, poetry is beyond logic. It is beyond the rational answer. It is nothing less than the cry of the soul from within us. The beautiful philosophy of the soul that loves beauty and mystery and yes, even that supreme mystery, death, where we all end up one day or another, like it or not. Poetry is the language of the soul, and it is eternal. But it is also the language of mystery, so it speaks from the world of the dead, or if not the dead, the place between death and life—a place where we have no control, where we know nothing but feel everything. And for want of a better word, my friends, we call this love.”
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
The students rushed out of the lecture hall, probably trying to find some place to eat lunch before they had to attend their next lecture, and Jane sat down wearily in the chair at her desk. She didn’t have any idea if what she said had gotten through to any of the students and the thought saddened her. Although she read the poetry for herself and herself alone, it was exhausting to pour her soul out each and every day and not to receive the slightest indication that what she was saying was being appreciated, or understood, or even listened to.
Jane was exhausted with teaching. She was exhausted with life. Poetry—the dim call of love from men who’d been dead for two centuries—was her only shaft of light now through the grates of the prison that had become her life.
Immersed in these thoughts, it took Jane a full twenty seconds to realize that her phone had been ringing. She looked at the name. Christine O’Darragh.
“Hi, Sweetie,” she said.
“Hi, Mom! Listen—I’m going to keep this short. International minutes are expen-sive!”
“You can always write me an email, honey. I’m a professor. If I don’t check my mail at least two hundred times a day then I’m out of a job.”
