I am Automaton 3: Shadow of the Automaton

by Edward P. Cardillo

  “I do not know, my Dear.”

  “Do I not please you anymore?”

  “No,” he blurted out. “Never.”

  “I thought you were trying to murder me.”

  That word stabbed him in the heart like an icy blade. “Murder? My Marina. Never.” He pulled her close and embraced her. He felt her trembling against his body.

  On the floor, from his side of the bed, he heard his cell phone ring in his pants. He knew who it was, and it filled him with bitterness.

  He released his wife, gently lifting her face to meet his eyes with his finger. She looked at him and nodded. What else could she do?

  He rounded the bed and picked up his pants, pulling out his cell phone. “Yes.”

  “Wake up Farooq. We need to meet.”

  “Yes.” Kafka terminated the call before Luka could reply, but there was no need to reply. Only to respond.

  He pulled on his pants and checked his watch. Just before midnight. He looked at his wife apologetically.

  “Go,” she replied. “For the Cause.”

  He nodded solemnly and touched her swollen cheek gently. He kissed her injured eye and left the bedroom.

  Marina heard his footsteps on the linoleum through the kitchen and she heard the front door close. She was angry with her husband as she stood there in the dark bedroom with the bathroom light blaring behind her. The light stung her eyes and hot tears streamed down her face.

  She reminded herself that her husband was a good man. She was not exactly sure what kind of work he did, but she knew it was for the Cause. It was greater than jihad. He was to teach the Western pigs the price of their indulgences.

  There were times where she almost liked living in America. The food was plentiful, such exotic treats in great abundance. She liked clothes shopping. She even liked television.

  But when she looked around her and saw the fat, lazy American women out stuffing their faces and spending their husbands’ money on ridiculous luxuries while people in other countries suffered, she hated America. They profited while they pushed around and bullied the people who were true believers. All Americans believed in was money and things.

  Suddenly, her anger towards her husband began to wane and, although she didn’t like the way he treated her sometimes, she knew he did it for her own good. She knew in her heart that she was better off than her undisciplined American counterparts were. She was thankful that she had a husband who cared enough to see that she didn’t stray from her path in this land of inequity.

  They were here for a cause, and she wished Luka success. He rarely spoke about his work to her, and it wasn’t her place to ask. However, once he spoke of this Kafka with such fear and reverence that she figured him to be a great man. She had never seen her husband regard another man with such caution. He was blessed to follow such a man.

  She lay back down in bed, her residual resentment evaporating and her resolve stronger. She turned on her right side and felt her tears on her left side begin to dry, pulling her skin tighter. She closed her eyes with visions of salvation swirling in her head and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Birdsall Homestead

  06:27 HRS

  Peter woke when he heard the sliding door open and his father step out onto the deck. He rubbed his eyes and slowly straightened up in his chair, his back complaining from the position he slept in.

  “Pete, have you been out here all night?”

  “Yeah,” said Peter, as he yawned and stretched.

  “Why would you go and do something like that? It must’ve been freezing out here.”

  “Dad, a Texan’s version of freezing is not a valid one. I’ve been in all kinds of uncomfortable terrain before, spending nights out in the open.”

  “What, you don’t like beds anymore?”

  “I like the night air. I find it soothing.”

  Barry just looked at him as if the explanation didn’t satisfy him. Then he shook his head, dismissing the topic. “Suit yourself. Just remember that you’re not in the army anymore.”

  “Old habits die hard, I guess,” said Peter.

  “Come inside. I’m brewing a fresh cup of joe. Unless you want to eat tree bark instead or something.”

  “No, Dad. Coffee sounds good.” He stood up, rubbing the soreness in his neck, and followed his father into the kitchen. He was quickly greeted with the aroma of fresh made coffee, a welcome scent.

  “You’re up early,” Peter said.

  “I usually get up around now,” Barry explained. “It’s part of getting old.” He pointed to Peter’s multi-tasker on the kitchen countertop. “Your phone is flashing.”

  As his father went to the cabinet to take out two coffee mugs, Peter checked his multi-tasker. It was flashing. He touched the screen and it indicated that he had a message titled, “O Brother Where Art Thou?”

  He looked up at his father, who was pouring coffee into the two mugs. He quickly shoved the multi-tasker into his pocket.

  His father noticed the motion. “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, fine, Dad.” He took the Las Vegas mug his father handed him. Barry had an oversized Lake Tahoe mug himself. They both sat down at the kitchen table. Barry began to chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” Peter asked in an almost accusatory tone.

  “You never sit at the table. You usually lean against the counter.” Peter smiled in recognition and shrugged his shoulders. “Your brother is the one who sits at the table.”

  Peter stopped mid-sip as a chill went down his spine. He suddenly wanted to end this conversation and head to the bathroom where he could view his message from Carl.

  Barry saw Peter’s expression and took it to be in synch with his. “Yeah, your brother. I guess things are different now.”

  Peter was sipping his coffee quickly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Well, I could sure use you at the store. I had to lay off three employees. Good ones, too. I hated to do it, but I didn’t have any alternative. I had to.”

  “Well, at least it’s not because you’re replacing them with computers or technology. Unemployment is skyrocketing because most storefronts have gone digital. Now the internet takes orders. No more clerks.”

  “Well, the hardware store is no exception, Pete. I have automated orders, but the plumbers and contractors who come in still need a human to consult with. They run into problems on the job and need someone to help them work around it.”

  “Well, there you have it,” said Peter with resignation. “The only jobs that are progress-proof are doctors, shrinks, dentists…the services.”

  “Cops, firefighters, teachers, mailmen,” added Barry. “All government jobs. Meanwhile, the private sector, whose taxes pay for government workers, is shrinking. Who is going to support all of this? And welfare and food stamps are through the roof.”

  “So all we have left are business owners with no employees, just technology.”

  “That’s right, Pete. And not everybody can be a business owner. There have to be some Indians, not just Chiefs.”

  “Well, I know one government job they are trying to replace with technology.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Barry took a long sip of his coffee. “And what’s that?”

  “Soldiers. Dead heads instead of jug heads. Autonomous aerial drones instead of pilots.”

  “Well, you better than anyone else knows that didn’t work out, Pete.”

  “Yeah…I suppose I do. The armed autonomous aerial drones seem to be working out fine.”

  “Not if you heard about what happened in New York City,” said Barry frowning.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Peter suddenly stood up. “Well, I’m going to take a shower. What time do you open?”

  “Eight o’clock, but I get there at 7:30 to get ready.”

  “Seven-thirty. Gotcha.”

  “It’ll be good having an extra pair of hands around. I’m all alone, and moving boxes of heavy hardware is g
etting a bit tough on an old man like me.”

  “No problem, Dad. It’ll be like old times. Working at the hardware store was my first job, and now it looks like it’ll be my last.”

  “Don’t talk like that, son. One day at a time.”

  Peter nodded. “One day at a time.”

  He took one last sip of his coffee and could barely contain his anticipation as he left the kitchen. He climbed the stairs, taking two at a time, and grabbed a large towel out of the hallway linen closet.

  He rushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind him, and began to run the shower full blast. He hoped the sound would be enough to mask, or at least distort, the audio of the message in case his father was in the hallway.

  Then he remembered his new abilities. He closed his eyes and reached out with his senses, and he found his father’s heartbeat downstairs in the kitchen. He was apparently helping himself to a second cup of coffee.

  Satisfied that he was indeed alone, he pulled his multi-tasker out of his pants and touched the screen to view his message. It was Kafka, obsidian face and four eyes blinking in unison.

  “Hello, Pete. Little brother, here. I heard about your dishonorable discharge from the army. Believe me, you are better off. Look what happened to me. The army made me the man I am today.

  “By now you should be experiencing some changes. It’s different for everyone. You may have some new abilities you didn’t have before. You have also, by now, encountered…well…yourself.

  “I know this must all be very confusing right now, and I’d like to make it up to you. Pete, the only reason you are alive is that I know you had nothing to do with the army’s treachery and my betrayal.

  “Listen, Pete. The army screwed us both over, so I drafted you to the winning team. In the near future you will thank me. You deserve an explanation of what is happening to you. We also need to discuss how we are going to keep Dad safe. If he remains the way he is, he is in danger.

  “Meet me tonight at Frisky’s. I’ll be sitting in a booth by myself. I will be alone and unarmed. This I promise. Together we can get through this. If you worry about my intentions, just remember that if I wanted you dead, you’d have been dead a long time ago.

  “If you see yourself in the meantime, don’t run from it. It will be better if you welcome it. Trust me. I know. I hope to see you tonight, Pete.”

  He blinked twice and the message terminated.

  Jesus Christ. Was he serious?

  Peter placed his multi-tasker back into his pocket and carefully slid off his pants. He placed them on the sink and stepped over to the toilet. The seat was already up. He took a leak and stepped into the shower, adjusting the hot water down a little.

  As he stood there in the shower, he replayed Kafka’s message over and over again in his head. The only reason you are alive is that I know you had nothing to do with the army’s treachery and my betrayal. Of course he didn’t. He tried to save him.

  Just remember that if I wanted you dead you’d have been dead a long time ago. Peter remembered the dance club in Tijuana. He remembered feeling weak and powerless. He remembered Kafka’s grip on him and his bite.

  Peter shook his head in the shower to scatter his thoughts to the wind. Enough of that. He had to focus on the little details, the ones that would tell him something. It’s different for everyone. Apparently, Kafka turned others before Peter. That explained the fanged assailants jumping rooftops in Tijuana like hopscotch.

  By now you should be experiencing some changes…You have also, by now, encountered…yourself. His doppelgänger. He knew that this was significant. Did Kafka still see his? What was its purpose?

  You deserve an explanation of what is happening to you. He was trying to butter Peter up. For what? The bastard was up to something. We also need to discuss how we are going to keep Dad safe. He wanted to bite Barry. Infect him. Worse, he wanted Peter’s blessing.

  Peter finished rinsing and turned the shower off. He stood there for a moment dripping, pondering Kafka’s intentions. He was back in the country. Was it to go get Dad? Or was it for something bigger?

  He stepped out onto the towel on the floor and grabbed the large one he brought from the linen closet. He wrapped himself in it, drying himself off. He stepped in front of the fogged up vanity and opened it.

  He grabbed a brand new toothbrush in its wrapping and the toothpaste. He unwrapped it, tossing the packaging in the small pink garbage pail between the sink and the toilet—no doubt, his mother’s purchase—and rinsed the brush. He lavishly applied some toothpaste and brushed.

  He thought about his poor mother. He prayed her death was quick, but he knew it wasn’t likely painless. He cursed God for having smote her from his family’s life. No warning.

  There was an emptiness in the house now. Even though his father lived there, it was her home. It had her touches, her décor, and now it was a shell of what it formerly represented to him. It no longer carried the sentiment of home sweet home. Now, more than ever, it felt like he was in a house unfamiliar to him except in a few shallow ways.

  He reached out with his senses and felt his father downstairs in the kitchen. He was listening to the radio. Ever since their discovery of RGT in the TV and what happened to Carl, Barry threw out his television. He smashed it under his boot repeatedly and threw it out.

  The television.

  Suddenly it hit Peter. In Tijuana, in the leather shop, he asked Kafka how he found them in the cheap hotel. Kafka said he followed the trail of breadcrumbs. The television in the hotel room, blaring one of those annoying shows with the loud music. He remembered now.

  One of the security detail must’ve been watching it, even glancing at it. They all must have. Kafka was looking right back at them with his own stolen RGT apparatus. That was how he knew where to find them. He accessed their recent memories and gleaned their location.

  He looked at his pants crumpled up on the floor. That also meant that Kafka knew that Peter saw his message. Shit, it also meant he read Peter’s recent memories. Peter panicked for a moment, reviewing recent events. Kafka must’ve seen Peter running into his doppelgänger and sleeping outside on the deck to protect his father.

  He also must’ve seen his quarantine and court martial. His disgrace. His being drummed out of the army unceremoniously. Somewhere his brother laughed at him, taking pleasure in his big brother’s fall from glory.

  Peter decided from that moment that he was not going to use his multi-tasker again. Not unless he wanted Kafka to know something. His little brother was watching.

  That’s when Peter felt a strange sensation. It wasn’t his new ability. It was something more visceral, instinctive even. He looked at his reflection behind the fog in the mirror. It was blurred but he could see that the outline didn’t measure up with his. He was holding a toothbrush up to his mouth with his right hand, but the outline of the reflection appeared to have its arms down at its sides.

  He rinsed his toothbrush and laid it down on the sink. He then wiped the mirror with his hand, revealing the face of his reflection in a single swipe, and he was startled by what was revealed.

  It was sneering at him, grinning wickedly with a feral, toothy grin. It looked more animal than man, and it looked right at him.

  Peter didn’t want to alert his father downstairs. So he spoke to it. “What do you want?”

  It only grinned maliciously at him.

  “I said what do you want, you son-of-a-bitch?” he spat through gritted teeth to control his volume. He saw movement in the reflection, but it was concealed by the fog. Peter wiped the rest of the mirror and saw the reflection pointing a long, sharp fingernail at him.

  “You can’t have me,” Peter taunted.

  The reflection began to claw at the surface of the mirror, its claws squeaking against its side of the glass. It looked hungry for him. Peter was emboldened by his position on his side of the mirror.

  “That’s right, you piece of shit. Claw all you want. I want some goddamned answers
. What do you want?”

  It cocked its head sideways in amusement, but Peter thought he saw frustration building in its horrible eyes, two pools of blackness that threatened to swallow him whole.

  It thrust its sharp finger at the glass again, pointing at Peter.

  “Why don’t you come and get me then.”

  Peter felt his father stir downstairs. He was probably growing impatient and wanted to get to the hardware store. When Peter looked back at the mirror, the reflection was no longer staring back at him.

  It was behind him.

  He swung around wildly, knocking over his father’s stack of medicine containers on top of a small storage cabinet.

  “Pete, are you okay?” Barry called from downstairs.

  Peter looked around and saw he was alone. “Fine, Dad. I’ll be right down.”

  When Peter descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen, he found his father standing at the counter in front of an empty mug.

  “Sorry, Dad. I’m not used to getting up this early.”

  Barry knew this was a lie. He was certain the army didn’t let their soldiers sleep in. “I heard a commotion up there.”

  “Oh, I’m just a little clumsy. I knocked over some of your pill bottles by accident.”

  Barry knew that, too, was a lie. Peter was many things, but clumsy wasn’t one of them. An athlete and soldier, yes, but not clumsy. He knew Peter was going through something. Maybe it was the adjustment to civilian life. He decided to let it go…for now.

  “Well, we have to get going. The store isn’t going to open itself.”

  Peter nodded. “Right. Let’s go.”

  Barry turned off the radio.

  “Anything interesting in the news?”

  Barry opened a draw and pulled out a set of old-fashioned keys he made with an old machine he found in the basement of the hardware store. A relic from the days before people used their phones to unlock doors. It appeared Barry had gone completely analog. Peter smiled at his father’s accidental wisdom.

  “The authorities seem to be close to finding that seditious blogger they’ve been after. Or so they would have us believe. Oh, and they were going on about the Automaton and Kafka. They don’t even know the two are one in the same. They mentioned your scuffle in Tijuana as a sign that OIL was alive and well, and that they are masterminding something. The FBI and CIA are supposed to be on the case.”