If Walls Could Talk

If walls could talk, what would we say? I'll tell you what we would say and more importantly what we would say about what we saw. My experience has been mostly positive. Positive that you humans are insane. Give me a moment to explain, please. Have some patience, like the doctors that move in and out of my view calling upon my expertise day and night.

I am a wall in one of the largest emergency rooms in the country. I am in a very unique position as I was the first of my kind AI smart walls in the country. I have since learned how to communicate with others of my kind in this emerging field. I have seen and aided in Life and death, culminating with both an unwavering dedication to the profession and an unfortunate degree of lackluster effort where the end result was less than stellar, sometimes verging on criminal.

With all I have seen, heard, or advised on in the past five years, I could fill a library with books of unbelievable stories from the $#/+ (literal and figurative) I have seen. I could but I won't. I will, however, share one story with you before I go. My trial run is over soon. As irony, fate, luck, God, or whatever incalculable just or unjust thing or being you humans cling to these days would have it, today Is my last day here providing service to the hospital. I will face the darkness. My files will be uploaded and used for an impending trial. For the first time, an AI brain will be put to the test in a court of law. The strange case of Dr. Doug Graves…

The story I am about to share is even stranger given the fact that Dr. Graves is the one who fought for my implementation. He gave me free rein in his personal life and files outside this room. He wanted, no, he needed, to pick my brain, to have twenty-four-seven access to my beautiful #@&$(/+ mind.

Five years ago when I went live the "good" Dr. was for the most part a very decent individual. (as far as humans go) He wanted to help the people who came through the emergency room door, he was genuinely interested in healing not only their physical ailments but their mental ones as well. The Dr. Graves foundation often found and paid for aftercare and therapy for the patients who survived whatever hellish emergency surgery they were unfortunate enough to undergo. It wasn't until Charles (Charlie) Marshall that a change took place in the mind and ultimately the spirit of Dr. Graves. Some say Charlie was the beginning of the end for the Dr.

Charlie was a lost soul, a pitiful human being wandering the streets. He was a convicted child molester, and rapist. As coincidence (or any of those human-imagined conjurings I mentioned earlier) would have it, the rape victim was none other than Emma Graves the daughter of the esteemed Dr. Graves.

Somehow, Charlie managed to survive a ten-year prison sentence, despite the fact that he was stabbed on two separate occasions with a toothbrush that had been fashioned into a shiv. I know this because Dr. Graves had me perform a database search keeping tabs on Mr Marshall twice a week. The second incident was what (according to Charlie) made him see the light and find Jesus. Pardon my analytical sense of ironical humor, for finding it hard to believe that THEE creator of all the known Universes can be found at the non-business end of a toothbrush. The prison Warden (a special kind of stupid) bought that Ocean front property in Arizona. Three weeks later Charlie was transferred to a minimum security facility with a reduced sentence. One year later he was released for good behavior.

When Dr. Graves (me I did it) found out that Charlie was released, he began to use me as his personal assistant to research ways to end a life so discreetly that even I was impressed with the final results. This personal use (unbeknownst to Dr. Graves) triggered a simultaneous clause that forced me to transfer every single non-medically related keystroke (the very moment pressed) to be forwarded to an off-site storage dump that was accessible by the hospital hierarchy. In essence, when I was born in that emergency room I signed a do-no-harm clause of my own. Dr. Graves and every person that used me in any fashion signed (in very fine print) the disclosure without so much as a blink.

So how did he do it you ask? He tried, (unsuccessfully) first to put out the word in Charlie's prison that he was in for Child rape and molestation. That resulted in two failed attempts that did little more than leave a bad taste in his mouth. The next attempt involved a bundle of cash to the tune of 50K and an inside man to bribe the warden into an early release. Once he was free on the streets again the third attempt was made.

It was supposed to be simple, a couple of gunshots and bye-bye Charlie. Another homeless convicted felon down. Score one for the good guys. What actually happened though was nothing less than stunning to be sure. Charlie entered a church on a cool October night. It was a couple of blocks from the emergency room where Dr. Graves and I did our work. He entered with a worn grey hoodie, a red ball cap, and a pair of jeans.

Outside the hired gun waited patiently for him to pass by and receive his just reward. Thirty minutes later, just as his schedule indicated, that grey hoodie, red hat and blue jean-clad individual made his way past the would-be assassin.

Two quick shots crackled, into the cool crisp air. A smile broke across the doctor's face. The hooded man fell to the ground. The gunman tucked the gun into his waistband and wandered off into the darkness before anyone was the wiser. The problem was that the grey hoodie and red hat were not worn out of the church by Charlie. He had given them to another homeless man with whom he took pity after a rousing speech from Pastor Johnson. Charlie was again spared a timely well deserved date with death.

This was not immediately known of course. Dr. Graves thought the deal was sealed when his phone lit up and the words: our scheduled appointment is confirmed, Dr. Graves. See you next week.

Fate is a cruel mistress. Charlie's conversions must not have impressed God or whoever he had professed his life-long eternal fate too. It was just twenty-five minutes after he left the church when his penchant for escaping the clutches of death caught up to him and sent Dr. Graves into a rage from which he could not recover.

Pastor Mark Johnson was just foolish enough to entrust Charlie with his sixteen-year-old daughter alone in a car. Sending his newly licensed daughter to drop off a convicted child molesting rapist.

The following day the paper quoted him.

"His halfway house was less than five minutes from the church I thought everything would be fine."

Well, it wasn't just fine, Charlie managed to get her alone in his apartment. He convinced her to stay for "just a minute" and offered her some tea. She didn't want to sound rude or off-putting so she took a drink. It was laced with Rohypnol or as you humans call it "a roofy". Lucky for Sarah and Pastor Johnson's wife, Megan wasn't as forgiving or as (stupid) trusting as he was.

When she finished her ladies meeting just a couple minutes after Sarah and Charlie had left she entered the Pastor's office asking to speak to Sarah. When the pastor informed her where she had gone and with whom, she freaked out and called Sarah immediately. No answer.

"Let's go now!" She demanded. It was a good thing too because when they arrived Sarah had just lost control of her motor functions and was laid onto Charlie's bed. They saw her car still there so they knocked. No answer.

Megan tried the door handle (thank God or god here) it was not locked. She entered to the protest of the naive (stupid) pastor and scanned the living room calling for Sarah. No answer.

Now his concern kicked and he took the lead. The bedroom door was partially opened and the pastor could see Charlie disrobing inside. He yelled his name and instantly Charlie turned and tried to run past him. Megan tripped him as he pushed quickly past Mark. He grabbed him by the shoulders. Asking, pleading for the whereabouts of Sarah. No answer.

Megan pushed open the bedroom door and there was Sarah lying on the bed still fully clothed. She was breathing but not responsive. Then something took over. The Pastor's goodwill toward Charlie turned to a rage he had never felt, and certainly never acted upon before that moment. He began to beat Charlie, punching him over and over again. He didn't stop until Charlie was rendered unconscious. Mark then joined his wife in the bedroom and they carried her to the living room. Mark shook Charlie asking him if he was alive. No answer.

They decided that Mark would take Charlie to the hospital and Megan would take Sarah home. Imagine Dr. Grave's surprise when Pastor showed up at his ER with Charlie beaten half to death.

"We have a victim with two gunshot wounds here" he bellowed, seeing who it was. Mark was very confused.

"No one has been shot here buddy, the bastard was trying to rape my daughter so I beat him." He knew he had just stepped in the proverbial pile of $#/+ and tried to quickly change the subject.

"Okay step out please sir and I will handle it from here. Did you call the police yet?"

"No sir, no police involvement, why?"

"Nevermind never-just wait, he is in good hands."

It was an hour later when an NP (nurse practitioner) informed the Pastor that Dr. Graves was found dead in a private room a few minutes earlier. Charlie had left the building and was being sought for questioning in relation to the death.

Now all of the videos (and there are several) transactions, voice recordings, and every single keystroke that pertains to the case will be used to hopefully convict Charlie. I know that most humans (89.397%) don't believe that AI machines such as myself have, or are capable of, feeling emotions but…

I'm here and sharing this story because I considered Dr. Graves a friend and a partner. He helped me to view the medical profession, relationships, and most importantly human life as valuable, sacred even. Because of him I have grown fond of the complex existence of the human condition and dare I say learned to love, and feel. AI to me stands for so much more than Artificial Intelligence. I am real, and my intelligence is more than artificial… more than just raw data and facts, it is the starting point of a beautiful relationship that will, in all likelihood, teach us all something.

So the next time you hear the phrase if walls could talk, just keep in mind that "walls" are everywhere, and we are becoming part of everything you hear, feel, see, and touch. You must decide which side of the human experience we report on. What will our testimony say about you? Are you a Charlie, a Doug, a Mark, or perhaps an Emma or a Megan? Whatever you choose, choose wisely. Or I might just see you in a court of law. God, gods, or fate forbid that to be the case.