“That’s enough,” Emily snapped, pushing away from the table. “I was starting to think better of you, Alexander Warner. I had started to fool myself into thinking that you’d learned something, that you were finally ready to take other people and their feelings seriously. This evening, however, has done a great deal to disabuse me of any such notion.”
Alex buried his head in his arms.
“I was drunk,” he protested. “Am drunk. I didn’t mean…”
“That’s pretty much the worst thing you could have said,” Emily remarked icily. “What a cop out! Are you ready to go back to your dark room?”
Alex looked up at her hopefully.
“Maybe we could start this conversation over,” Alex suggested. “I feel like I could do a much better job this time.”
“Not a chance,” Emily said. “Are you ready to go?”
“I feel like I said the wrong things...”
“You sure did.”
“Emily, please. I don’t want to leave it on this sort of…”
“Are you ready?”
Alex looked at her imploringly. Emily folded her arms and waited.
“Okay, fine,” Alex said, throwing up his arms. “If you want to be a child about it, then…”
He was in a dark room, the air hot and deathly still, the abruptness of his sobriety making his headache somehow worse.
Mitsuru Aoki lay nearby, on a stripped mattress that Alex had dragged down into the living room from upstairs. Her absolute stillness looked more like death than sleep. Propped in a chair in the corner, Emily reposed in what looked like an uncomfortable position. The hum of the sleeping television and the gentle sounds of the women’s respiration were punctuated by occasional settling sounds as the night grudgingly cooled the house a paltry few degrees. Alex rubbed his eyes, wincing at the memory of his last few hours in Ms. Aoki’s protective simulation.
“Oh, man,” Alex muttered. “I think I just fucked everything up.”
***
“I feel ill at ease.”
“That’s completely understandable. You died, and then your body was hijacked and put to uses that you cannot recall. That’s a tremendous amount of trauma to undergo.”
“I died.”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” Mitsuru said, paying an inordinate amount of attention to the small movements that were omnipresent in her nominally still body, lying on a yoga mat placed atop the beach sand. “It feels like a dream.”
“What feels like a dream?” Rebecca lay on an adjacent mat, sunglasses on her forehead, watching Mitsuru with her warm brown eyes. “The time you lost? Or right now?”
“They both feel that way,” Mitsuru said, working her fingers into the coarse sand beside the mat, through the sunbaked top layer and down into the wet grains below. “I feel as if I have woken from a nightmare into another nightmare.”
“Do you think that this simulation has contributed?” Rebecca gestured broadly, a gesture that took in the entirety of the resort around them, from the palm-thatched cabanas to the orderly green of the cultivated land above the beach, and ended by indicating herself. “I wonder if this experience would feel more real outside of a telepathic environment.”
Mitsuru shrugged.
“If I was working with someone who doubted the reality of their surroundings, I would not conduct the sessions in Disneyland. Maybe this doesn’t feel real because it is not real.”
“It’s not just what’s around me,” Mitsuru said, an irritable look crossing her face. “I’m not talking about the outside world.”
Mitsuru flexed her fingers, forcing them through the sand until her fingernails pressed against her palms.
“Emily Muir said that Karim took the shot that killed me,” Mitsuru said flatly. “She said that was your call. Is any of that true?”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca admitted sadly. “I have all of my memories up to the moment the simulation was created, but nothing since it was last updated.” She shrugged, adjusting the filmy scarf that protected her neck from the sun. “Based on what you’ve told me, this version of me is almost two years old.”
“You don’t know if you ordered Karim to kill me.”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca agreed. “Are you asking if I would have done that?”
“Maybe,” Mitsuru said, rubbing her sand-covered hands together, fascinated by the sensation. “Would you?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, without a moment of hesitation. “If I truly felt that your protocol was out of control.”
Rebecca watched Mitsuru closely for any sort of reaction, but Mitsuru appeared to be still.
“Assuming that’s what happened,” Rebecca said, “how does that makes you feel?”
“About you?”
“Sure.”
“I should be angry,” Mitsuru said. “That’s a betrayal of our friendship, at least. I trusted you, Becca.”
“And now?”
“Now what?”
“Do you still trust me?” Rebecca asked. “Or do you feel betrayed?”
“I’m not sure,” Mitsuru admitted. “I don’t think I feel anything that definite.”
“Do you feel numb?”
“That’s not quite it,” Mitsuru said. “Do you think maybe I’m still dead?”
“What do you mean?”
“I wonder if my implant truly was creating backups of my identity. I don’t believe in…in anything, really. You know that, Becca. Religion and philosophy, all of that, it’s never meant anything to me.”
“I know,” Rebecca agreed, nodding. “You’ve always been the practical sort, concerned with the here-and-now.”
“I don’t believe in the soul,” Mitsuru said. “I worry that I’ve lost mine, nonetheless. Nothing feels as if it matters. Nothing feels any which way at all.”
“You say that you feel nothing,” Rebecca said softly, looking at her with concern, “but I can feel your pain from here, Mitzi.”
“I’m not sure that it is pain. Distress is a better word, I think. More fitting,” Mitsuru said, turning on to her side, her back to Rebecca. “This all feels wrong to me.”
“This may not be pleasant to hear, but I believe if you can feel pain, Mitzi, then you can still feel everything else.”
“I cut myself, last night.”
Mitsuru’s words lingered, hanging between them like a curtain.
Rebecca was abstractly glad to be a simulation. She felt a bizarre moment of pity for her real self, who would inherit the consequences of this situation, and then realized she was empathizing with Mitsuru’s own feelings of unreality.
Being an empath was complicated, Rebecca reflected. Being a telepathic simulation of an empath, perhaps even more so.
There was only one question to ask, a therapist’s standby.
“How did that make you feel?”
“I remember how it used to make me feel,” Mitsuru said, her tone growing just slightly shrill. “I remember relief and shame rolled together, in a massive wave that would obliterate everything else. I remember anxiety before and regret after. I remember how it hurt, and how it felt another way, too. There was always something beneath the pain, something…not pleasurable, exactly, but desirable, almost sweet.”
Rebecca nodded, though Mitsuru had her back turned.
“None of that happened,” Mitsuru said bitterly. “There was nothing but a moment of pain, and a little blood.”
“I see,” Rebecca said. “That must have been very disappointing.”
“Yes. I suppose that’s what it was. Disappointing.”
“What were you hoping for, when you cut yourself?”
“A release. A way to end the tension.”
“Why do you feel so tense, Mitsuru?”
“I don’t know. You’re the empath. You know everything. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know what is inside of you any more than you do,” Rebecca said. “I know exactly what you know, Mitzi, and nothing more. I can�
�t tell you how you feel, because you don’t know yourself.”
“Very helpful, Becca. First you kill me, and now you can’t make me feel better about it.” Mitsuru tried to laugh and failed miserably. “If you can’t help me, then what’s the point to all this? Just a revisit of a beach vacation?”
“A vacation is never a bad idea,” Rebecca said. “And I never said that I couldn’t help you. I said that I couldn’t tell you how you felt, and I meant it. That’s what we are here to find out, together.”
Mitsuru said nothing, instead focusing on the sensation of her feet resting against the hot sand.
“I can tell you one thing that might help,” Rebecca offered. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Why not?”
“You said that you don’t feel anything,” Rebecca said. “We both know that isn’t true. You feel so much pain and anxiety that it saturates the atmosphere around you. I can see it, shining out from inside of your skin. Dislocation and discomfort, tension and frustration, and above all, a terrible, consuming fear. That’s what I feel behind your words, gnawing at the back of your mind. It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
Mitsuru did not reply.
“But if you can feel that,” Rebecca said, “then you can feel good again. If you feel anything, even negative emotions, that means you can still feel anything at all. You aren’t broken, Mitzi. You are hurt and confused and lost, but that’s not nothing. That’s a place to start from.”
***
Alex stepped out of the shower and wiped condensation from the mirror, staring at himself until the glass fogged over again. He dripped on the floor until he was reasonably dry, and then dressed quickly, leaving his damp socks in the bathroom sink and going barefoot.
He checked the time on his phone. Only an hour had passed since Emily had kicked him out of the simulation for being an asshole. Alex winced at the memory and wondered how much longer this was going to take.
He walked to the back room, where the two women were passed out, apparently asleep. Mitsuru was entirely healed, but her clothing was torn and gore-spattered, a reminder of the horrible state she had been in. Emily’s expression was peaceful, her hands folded neatly across her stomach, her legs straight out on the recliner.
Alex stared for a long time, first at Mitsuru, and then at Emily.
He walked across the room and sat down on the floor beside Emily’s chair, putting his head in his hands.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “What is it about you that brings out the worst in me?”
Even as he said it, Alex knew it was unfair. Emily was not at fault for his behavior. It was still hard to trust her, but he had to admit that she had done nothing but help since she had returned to his life. She was not the complication, Alex thought, it was the way he felt about her that was complicated.
“I’m sorry I was a dick, again,” Alex said. “I hate the way I treat you. I hate the way I treat everyone. It’s so stupid. I can only see it after I’ve already driven everybody away.”
He moped and stewed, full of self-recrimination.
“Okay, cheer up,” Emily said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Apology accepted.”
Alex looked up, and his eyes were dazzled by the blazing Mexican sun reflecting up at him from the deserted beach and the lazy waves of the low tide. Emily was wearing a bikini and had sunscreen smeared liberally across her nose and cheeks.
She noticed him staring and laughed.
“I know, I know,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “I don’t need it here! Whoever got skin cancer from a telepathic simulation? It’s force of habit, I suppose. I feel too weird going out in the sun without it.”
“You brought me back?” He glanced around. “Did you hear everything I said?”
“It’s hardly my fault! You were being intensely moody right next to me,” Emily said. “It was bringing down my vacation in Ms. Aoki’s trauma implant.”
Alex lay back in the sand, his eyes fixed on the faded blue above him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You deserve an apology. Sorry I waited until you were sleeping.”
“I forgive you, silly. Now, stop apologizing,” she said, smiling at him. “You need to let it all go, Alex. I don’t want your guilt, and I don’t want you to think badly of me. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you make too much of what happened between us.”
“Do I?” Alex considered the novel concept. “I never thought about it like that.”
“I’m not bad, and I refuse to be tragic,” Emily said, her hands resting on her hips. “I’m not even your ex-girlfriend, because we never dated. I’m just your friend, or at least, that is what I’d like to be.”
Alex sat up, shading his eyes from the sun to look at her.
“I don’t remember,” he said. “Were you always smarter than me?”
“I think so,” Emily said, giggling. “You make up for it in charm, though.”
“Do I?”
“Not at all,” Emily said. “You are the least romantic boy, but I’m fond of you despite that.” She extended her hand to him. “Would you like to swim? The water is perfect, no matter when you go in.”
***
“Thanks again for bringing me back,” Alex said, cutting eagerly into his steak. “It was fucking boring, just sitting around that empty house. Thought I was gonna go nuts.”
“You were only there for an hour,” Emily said, stirring her margarita with a straw. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
Alex shrugged and started eating.
“This is amazing,” he said, his mouth half full. “I didn’t even think about food when I was in my own simulation. I just did yoga with Rebecca and shit.”
“That surprises me quite a bit, honestly,” Emily said, skewering a piece of melon from the bowl in front of her with a toothpick. “Given free reign, I’d assume a growing boy’s imagination would run toward something a little more…” Emily gestured with the toothpick. “You know. Even if Rebecca set some PG limits, I’d still think there’d be beer and video games.”
“It was super wholesome. What the fuck? I got screwed.”
Emily laughed.
“Maybe Rebecca is trying to reform you,” Emily suggested. “Change your evil ways.”
“Maybe. It really could be. That’s the kind of thing she’d do, you know. She’s always trying to fix everybody.”
“I can’t say I completely object, you know. You are a remarkably lazy and self-centered boy, given the opportunity.”
Alex said nothing and sawed into his baked potato.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just being honest.”
“Yeah,” Alex said, smearing butter on the potato. “I know.”
“I’ll stop, if you want.”
“No, don’t. I need to hear it.”
“Yes. You do.”
“I don’t want to hear it, but…”
“I understand.”
“What are you gonna do from here?” Alex asked, reaching for the beer that the unmemorable waiter brought for him. He was being careful and pacing himself, so it was only his third. “What happens after Mitsuru’s fixed up?”
“Back to the Far Shores. What else?”
“That’s my question. What else are you up to?”
“Why do you always think I’m up to something?”
“You always are,” Alex said. “We both know it.”
“That’s not very flattering,” Emily said, pouting. “You promised to be nice.”
“I’m being super nice,” Alex said. “If you get to be honest, then I’m gonna be honest too.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely fair, but fine,” Emily said, spearing another piece of melon. “I did all of this for a variety of reasons, but lack of time was definitely among them. I needed a few more weeks than I had to complete all my various tasks and meet all my obligations, and I needed much longer than that to get Ms. Aoki back into usable shape. Nothing is free, after all,” Emily said, popping the cube of
melon into her mouth. “I’ve made a lot of promises, to the sort of people it’s best not to disappoint.”
“I wish you hadn’t done that. It makes me nervous,” Alex said. “What did you need more time for?”
“To teach you a few important things, assuming you want to learn,” Emily said. “I was prepared to share a few little secrets with you, but then you decided not to behave, and I changed my mind.”
“Sorry.”
“No more apologies.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Cut it out. Do you want to learn what I have to teach you? I won’t make you do anything, but you should consider it seriously.”
“I don’t know. What sort of stuff are we talking about?”
“Secrets, like I told you.” Emily finished her margarita, then fished one of the ice cubes from the glass. “It’ll definitely come in handy.”
“I wish you wouldn’t be so vague,” Alex said, pushing his empty plate aside and patting his stomach contentedly. “But, I mean, I’ve gotta know. You’ve got me all curious.”
“Oh, good! I think you’ll be glad you did.”
“Maybe. When do we start?”
“As soon as I finish my drink,” Emily said, crunching ice beneath her teeth. “We’ve just enough time, I think, judging by Ms. Aoki’s progress.”
“She’s still in rough shape, then?”
“Oh, yes, she’s a bundle of PTSD and psychic trauma, not to mention the usual feelings of helplessness and betrayal. Dying does take it out of you, Alex dear.”
“I hope never to find out,” Alex said, shivering.
“We all die,” Emily pointed out. “It’s a universal affliction.”
“That’s profound,” Alex said sourly, finishing his beer. “Not you, though, right? Now that you’re Anathema, the nanites just replace dead cells. That’s what I heard, anyway. Will you live forever?”
“I don’t think any of the Anathema have been around long enough to exhaust a normal human lifetime, but John Parson told me that every copy the nanites generate is just slightly degraded. Slow mutation and eventually cellular breakdown. Like cancer, I suppose. Errors in replication catch up with everyone,” Emily explained. “Even Anathema. I’m not immortal, nor do I believe any of the rest of the Anathema to be. Unless John is. Which, I suppose, is always I possibility.”
The Church of Sleep (Central Series Book 5) Page 33
