Their Bones Were Metal

CHAPTER I

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Sometimes one screams into the void and the sound leaves one’s body only to slowly dissipate into the emptiness. Sometimes there is a soul on the other end, and it screams back.

****

Early Stages

Interview 52

RR Representative Valarie Hershel

Patient 56NOLA

Interviewer:

I have been asked to move to another clinic, Deidra. I felt as if I should tell you myself.

Patient56NOLA:

What? Why? You’re leaving me? Who will I have to talk to? How could you do this to me?

Interviewer:

It’s going to be alright. I’m leaving you in very capable hands.

Patient56NOLA:

But you’re the only one who understands.

Interviewer:

It may feel that way now, but you might find you like Doctor Bates.

Patient56NOLA:

Where are you moving?

Interviewer:

They need help in Los Angeles. The clinic says it’s urgent. Don’t you want me to help if I can?

Patient56NOLA:

Do I have to tell Doctor Bates where I got my scars? Does he have to know?

Interviewer:

You don’t have to tell him anything you aren’t comfortable with sharing. It’ll be the same as talking to me, I promise.

Patient56NOLA:

Nothing will be the same.

****

As a child I dreamt of being an astronaut, or a firefighter, or a rock star, all completely normal occupations for a small boy to fantasize over. Once I entered the adult realm and realized I was afraid of heights and fire and had absolutely no musical ability whatsoever. I decided it was probably in my best interest to get a business degree. Being the introvert that I am, I wanted a job where there was little to no human interaction. I graduated college and stepped out into the real world to start living my life as a data entry specialist, also known as a typist. I sit at a computer for 7 hours a day looking at numbers on paper and copying them into spreadsheets. I don’t know what the numbers are for or where they end up, but I get paid a reasonable salary and only have to say hi to Martha, the receptionist at the front desk of the building I work in. Martha is nice enough, but she is always smacking a piece of gum like a cow chewing its cud. Chewing gum repulses me.

I leave my home every morning at exactly 7:30 in order to make it to the bus stop before the C13 arrives. I allow myself plenty of time to read the newspaper and give my beautiful wife Sandra a kiss on the cheek before putting on my hat on my way out the door. The C13 is my favorite bus. There are 2 other buses that I could ride to work without any complications, but C13 is perfect. There are only ever 4 other people who are on the bus from the point it picks me up to when it drops me off. One of my fellow passengers' names is Carl. The C13 is his home; well Carl doesn’t have a home so he lives on the bus.

Most of my days run together, like a never-ending cycle of home, bus, work, bus, home. This is what I like to call the city pace. The only thing that changes day to day is what my beautiful wife Sandra makes for dinner. Though the food changes, we always sit in the same chairs in front of the TV watching crime shows. My beautiful wife Sandra loves anything that has a steamy detective protagonist. This doesn’t bother me. We are as in love as the day we met. I think this is why she wasn’t upset when I told her about Ruby.

Ruby was a woman I met waiting for the C13 one morning. I had never seen her in the 12 years that my beautiful wife Sandra and I had lived in our neighborhood. Ruby was stunning though. She wore red everyday. Sometimes it was her dress, others her shoes, and my favorite was her lips. I never learned her real name, but I like to call her Ruby. She talked on the phone a lot and always with such enthusiasm. I don’t think I ever saw her frown, not once. The way she spoke was intelligent but not stiff. She was always on time to catch the C13. These were all things I told my beautiful wife Sandra.

“She sounds lovely, dear. Maybe we can invite her and her husband over for dinner soon.” Sandra hated having company as much as I hated company.

“She’s not married sweetheart, I told you. She moved here recently to start a new job as a fashion stylist and is settling in quite nicely.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t spoken to her?” Sandra didn’t even look up from the book she was reading.

“Well I haven’t, these are all things I’ve heard through her conversations with her mother.” Though Ruby never frowned, she always had a slight hint of resentment in her voice, in which case I assumed it was her mother on the receiving end. Sandra simply shrugged her shoulders and continued reading as I rolled over to go to sleep. Ruby had been in my dreams every day for a month straight now. That is something I didn’t tell my beautiful wife Sandra.

November 2nd I woke up, went through the motions of the morning, and headed to the bus stop. It was a strange day; the sun hid behind the clouds and there was a slight mist of water falling from the sky. As the C13 approached I began thinking about the grueling 7 hours I would have to endure for the umpteenth time. Then I saw Ruby and my mind went blank. She wasn’t about to cross the street in her normal spot, she wasn’t on the phone, and she wasn’t smiling. She stepped off the curb just in time for the C13 to catch her left leg, pulling her underneath its large metal body and discarding her behind it as if she were merely just another bug on the windshield.

My feet were cemented to the Earth as what had just happened sunk in. There was a ringing in my ears that grew louder as I slowly moved in her direction. What was left of Ruby was not torn muscle or shattered bones, but artificial viscera made from red and blue wires and a metal frame that acted as a skeleton. The rain hitting the frayed wires made small sparks that almost resembled tears.

She had worn her red lipstick that day which was now smeared across her face; she was smiling again, as her synthetic blood created a halo around her head.

No one stopped but me. I tried to call for help but got no reply. I sat over her mutilated body reeling in my shock and disbelief. This had to be one of my Ruby dreams. There was no way this could be real. The C13 would’ve stopped; people would’ve run over to help. A street sweeper was coming our direction and I screamed, waving my arms to get the driver’s attention, but to no avail. His machine swept the crime scene clean of any evidence that Ruby had even existed. I pinched myself and felt nothing, but I wasn’t dreaming, whatever Ruby was, she was gone.

****

Early Stages

Interview 3

RR Representative Valarie Hershel

Patient 56NOLA

Interviewer:

Hello, Deidra.

Patient 56NOLA:

Hello.

Interviewer:

How are you feeling today?

Patient 56NOLA:

My circuitry is in order.

Interviewer:

Did the doctors give you your makeover today?

Patient56NOLA:

Yes. I have blood now.

Interviewer:

Did you play with the mirrors today?

Patient56NOLA:

Yes. I was able to learn how my body moves and appears to observers. They say this will help with empathy.

Interviewer:

Are you excited about these changes?

Patient56NOLA:

Yes. Soon I will be able to fill an occupation and interact with humans outside of the testing facility.

Interviewer:

Where are you hoping to be placed?

Patient56NOLA:

One doctor had headphones in today. I like music. I would like to be a musician.

Interviewer:

Well, normally creative jobs are not given to androids, Deidra. Maybe consider being a waitress or clothing store associate. You are very pretty Deidra, these jobs would be perfect for you and not so boring as an accountant.

Patient56NOLA:

I will perform wherever I am placed.

Interviewer:

That’s great, Deidra. I’m excited to see how you progress at our next meeting.

Patient56NOLA:

I also look forward to our next encounter.

****

I haven’t ridden the C13 since. I walk to work now in order to avoid the bus system altogether. I walk into work and I don’t bother saying hi to Martha though she smacks her gum at me and proceeds to enter into small talk seemingly with herself. I ride the elevator to the floor of my office and start to walk back to my cubicle. Every single person in the room is typing away at the keys of their computer, the only sound being the slurping of coffee or an occasional ringing phone. How many people in this room are like Ruby? I wonder to myself. If Levi were to get a paper cut would he bleed?

I sat at my computer staring at my reflection in the black screen as the machine whirred on and began warming up. Maybe Ruby had only been a figment of my imagination, and that is why Sandra nor I had never seen her around the neighborhood. I’m not crazy; I’m just asleep, that’s it. I got up and walked out of the office 6 hours and 15 minutes before my shift was over. Martha tried stopping me and asking where I was off to but I simply strolled past without saying a word.

I walked down the street and started studying people’s walking patterns. Everyone walks differently, their strides and speed vary almost as much as their physical appearance. I decided to walk down a street I’d never taken before and heard music playing. I moved toward the sound and examined each person I passed. There were men in suits and men in shorts, women in heels and women in sneakers. How could I not know that Ruby was a robot? She spoke fluently, seemed to have emotions and was obviously creative, presumably from her career.

I made it home and Sandra scurried down the stairs holding a baseball bat. “Who’s there!” she exclaimed, “I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it!” She may have been semi-convincing had her voice not been shaking.

“It’s only me Sandra, I left the office early today.”

“Oh, is everything alright?” Her face was blank; she didn’t seem genuinely concerned at all.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just a rough week I guess.” I hadn’t told Sandra about Ruby’s murder, she would only have acted shocked and then forgotten all about it. “What were you up to upstairs?” I was curious as to why she wasn’t outside in the garden, or reading a book in the study.

“Oh, I was just out gardening earlier and was about to take a shower, I feel filthy.” There wasn’t a speck of dirt on her.

“Alright well I think I’ll just sit and watch TV for a bit then; maybe after your shower we can go for a walk?” I was suspicious of why she had lied about gardening and wanted to gauge her reaction of spending some time with me away from the buffers of books or cooking.

“Well sure! Let me just go freshen up and I’ll be down in a few minutes!” This was strange, she hated walks, there was too much potential for neighbors trying to talk to her, or children bumping into her.

I sat and waited until I heard the shower start running. It was quite hot outside that day and Sandra loved nothing more than showing off her legs, which means she would want to shave. There was one way to make sure the woman I married was not like Ruby. I slunk up the stairs and stood outside the bathroom door listening to her sing “That’s Life” by Frank Sinatra poorly. Then I heard her shaving cream can dispense an ever so small dollop of cream. This was my chance.

But just before I burst through the door in attempts to scare her into cutting herself I decided against it. This was crazy, I knew my wife. There was no way she was like Ruby. I quietly returned to my spot in the living room in front of the television. Just as Detective What’s-His-Face realized the murderer was actually his twin brother, Sandra descended the steps.

“Are you ready for that walk?” She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. For a split second I couldn’t breathe, who was this woman? I jolted to my feet.

“Actually, I thought we could go to dinner? Somewhere nice? It’s been awhile since we’ve had a date night.” I read every corner of her face waiting for her response. Her expressions seem human enough.

“Sure, date night, let me just grab my coat.”

“It’s not cold out.” I said.

“Oh, right. I meant my purse. Silly me.” She let out a small giggle as if to cover her mistake.

****

Early Stages

Interview 27

RR Representative Valarie Hershel

Patient 56NOLA

Interviewer:

So, Deidra, your email this week described some of your father’s concerns with you living here in New Orleans. Did you attempt to speak with him like we discussed?

Patient 56NOLA:

Well, I called his phone because I really was going to confront him about how I am an adult and am strong enough to make my own decisions, just like you told me I should do, right? But when I hit call there was nothing on the other end. No ringing, no ‘sorry the number you have dialed blah blah blah.’ Nothing. He must have blocked my number or gotten a new phone or something. He must really hate me.

Interviewer:

I’m sorry to hear that. We can turn this seemingly negative life event into something positive. You have wanted your freedom, freedom from judgment or the thumb of your father. Now you have exactly that without all the mess. I know it hurts but ultimately we no longer have any power over the situation. Wouldn’t you agree?

Patient 56NOLA:

I suppose so. It’s just so strange, I knew he was angry but he was still the only family I had, and I’m the only family he has. So I may or may not have tried to find him on WorldCorner and I couldn’t view his profile. It was just a lot to handle.

Interviewer:

I would assume so, it is out of character for you to schedule appointments outside of the routine check-ins. Is there anything else you feel like you should share with me?

Patient 56NOLA:

You’ll just think I’m having a meltdown.

Interviewer:

It is my job to determine if that is the case or not.

Patient 56NOLA:

Um, well like I said this whole thing with my dad has been a lot. And no one in the office ever invites me out. Most of the other employees get together after work and go for drinks but they never ask me to join. I try really hard to be friendly and I’m not entirely sure why I’m the only one they leave out. So, I go home every night alone.

Interviewer:

Well maybe you can make some friends outside of work? Sometimes it is better that way, to separate business and pleasure.

Patient56NOLA:

I suppose. I am just feeling rather isolated. (Patient56NOLA pauses) Is there something wrong with me?

Interviewer:

I feel as if there is more you aren’t telling me. Deidra, is there more?

(Silence)

Interviewer:

Deidra, you can tell me. It’s what I am here for.

(Patient reveals large scars on left side of chest)

Interviewer:

Are those self-inflicted?

Patient56NOLA:

Yes.

Interviewer:

Can you explain why you did this to yourself?

Patient56NOLA:

I was trying to see if…

Interviewer:

To see if what?

Patient56NOLA:

If I was real. If people could actually see me, because no one ever talks to me.

Interviewer:

Your father would talk to you. I talk to you, Deidra. You are most certainly real.

Patient56NOLA:

Then why couldn’t I find my heart?

Interviewer:

What?

Patient56NOLA:

I dug around in my chest for hours. Blood filled my sink before I finally gave up looking. If I were real, I should be dead.

(Interviewer pauses)

Interviewer:

Hmm, that certainly is quite strange. (Interviewer clears throat) And have you told anyone else about this, episode?

Patient 56NOLA:

Who do I have to tell?

Interviewer:

All right, Deidra I’ll tell you what I am going to do. We’ll run some tests, both cognitive and biological to see if there is something going on that shouldn’t be. I will also give you some medication to help with those depressive feelings plaguing you for the time being.

Patient 56NOLA:

The same as last time?

Interviewer:

Now, I know it makes you feel foggy and distant but wouldn’t that be much better than depressed and alone?

(Silence)

Interviewer:

Right, Deidra?

Patient 56NOLA:

I suppose so.

Interviewer:

Now you know the drill. You’ll feel a slight pinch and then some pressure.

Patient 56NOLA:

(Indistinct whimpering)

Interviewer:

Everything is going to be ok now. The pain will be gone in a matter of minutes and it’ll all feel like a distant memory.

Patient 56NOLA:

It feels like there’s nothing.

****

We had been sitting across the table from each other for about twenty minutes, and she had yet to make conversation or eye contact.

“Is everything all right, dear?” I finally break the silence. My voice seems to startle her although the restaurant itself is loud.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” That giggle again. “How has work been? It’s odd that you would come home so early.”

“I watched a Ruby die a few days ago. Work doesn’t seem all too important to me anymore.”

“What happened to her?” She forked her steak and dragged it from one edge of the plate to the other, still never looking up.

“She stepped in front of a bus.” Her fork hit the plate with a loud clatter. My eyes never left her face. She sat there silently for a bit. I could tell she was carefully searching for her words.

“Did you…did you see her? After, I mean.”

“Actually yes. I was the only one who stopped, which I found a bit odd. Don’t you?”

“Well, I’m sure someone took care of it. “ I didn’t reply. How could I have married someone so callous? I pondered thereafter whether or not I should explain what Ruby was, but decided to keep that knowledge to myself. I still had no idea if she was like Ruby or not and didn’t want to jump to any kind of conclusion and cause a scene here.

The waiter returned after my plate was cleaned and Sandra’s steak had been minced to hamburger. She hadn’t eaten anything, not even the baked potato. Her favorite. I paid while she visited the lady’s room. She was in there a long while, longer than usual anyway. I sat next to the hungry families with buzzers in their hands waiting to be seated. After ten minutes I started to wonder if she had not slipped out when I wasn’t looking.

I stepped outside and bummed a cigarette off a cook on his break. “Clear sky tonight. Means something good’s gonna happen.” He said it as if we were old friends.

“And why is that?” I inhaled smoke deep into my lungs and held it there until he answered.

“I don’t know. Just something my grandmother used to say when I was young. I don’t think there was ever a time she was wrong about it neither.” I wasn’t sure if he was offended by my asking the question, but he dropped his half depleted cig and stomped it out before heaving the heavy kitchen door open and letting it slam behind him.

“Parker?”

“Shit.” I dropped my cigarette and turned to face my wife.

“Were you just smoking?” She looked mortified.

“I was just telling one of the chefs how much you enjoyed your dinner and he offered. I didn’t want to be rude.”

We walked home in silence and her arms remained crossed the entire time. I unlocked the front door when we arrived home and she disappeared up the stairs into the dark. I closed the door behind me and walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. The wine from the restaurant combined with the lack of conversation from Sandra had left a bad taste in my mouth. I looked up to my mirrored reflection in the windowpane above the sink. My face was not my own in that moment. I had grown pale, thin. I looked diseased. I pressed my back to the counter and slid down to the floor.

It wasn’t until the next morning when Sandra found me there that I realized I never went up to bed. “I know you want to leave.” The words escape my mouth before I could stop them.

“What do you mean?” She stood as I pulled myself up using the edge of the counter. Sandra took a few steps back as I glared at her.

“Thanks for the help up, dear.” I lowered my chin to my chest, slightly ashamed of how angry I was becoming. “You don’t want to stay here, or you don’t want me to. You waited until the morning to find me? Weren’t you worried when I wasn’t next to you in the middle of the night? Or did you just not care?” Her eyes showed distress, but not for my feelings. “You’ve changed your hair. Who did you do that for?”

Sandra grabbed the edge of her recently cut and bleached hair. “I just thought it was time for a change. Where is this coming from, Parker?”

“It looks awful.”

She wouldn’t talk to me for a few days and kept giving me concerned looks. She had phone conversations behind closed doors with her sister, but she used the landline so it was easy enough to listen in. All the conversations were about me.

“I’m serious Valarie he’s different. He was smoking with a stranger the other night after dinner. He didn’t even apologize for leaving me alone in the restaurant. He only talks to himself now aside from snide comments made at my expense. I’m getting worried about him. He hasn’t eaten anything for 2 days and hasn’t been to work in just as long. What do I do?”

“Sandra, you can come stay with me. It sounds like Parker isn’t himself. Maybe he just needs some time alone to recharge. Tell him Nick has a soccer game and he really wants his aunt Sandra to come watch him play.” That would never have worked even if I didn’t know the actual story. My nephew was so athletic he acted like sports were a venomous snake.

But Sandra’s response was what shocked me. “No, no. I should stay with him. I can’t leave him alone.”

“Well, I’m not really equipped for this kind of thing. Let me give you the number of someone I trust. “

“Thanks, Val.” She hung up the phone and I sat listening to the dial tone. What is she hiding that she doesn’t want me to know?

I found myself snooping through my own home those days I didn’t go to work. Sandra was hardly ever in the house anymore giving me free reign. She kept a stack of newspapers under her side of the bed. I had never cared to hear about the goings on around the country. Not until Ruby. I went through looking for the issue from November 2nd, but before that I found an issue with the twisted body of a different woman on the front page.

“Concern Surrounding Android.” It was an article all about a woman like Ruby, but she was developing human tissue not crafted by her creators. Her body was mangled and bent. Why was this the photo that was chosen? This would be how she was remembered. Disgusting. I tucked the newspaper under my arm and continued flipping through the rest. The issue from November 2nd was missing. Had Sandra not wanted me to know Ruby had died? How would she have known that woman was Ruby though? She had never seen her, just had the descriptions I’d given her.

I gathered up all the newspapers and took them into the kitchen. I laid them out in chronological order, scanning their pages for something, anything that could be linked to the girl in New Orleans, or to Ruby. There were suicides in almost every major city across the country in the last 6 months. Reports of eviscerated bodies found in homes with more human-like appearances than what was ever intended by builders.

I sat cutting out each article, placing them neatly on the counter, once again chronologically. Most of the victims were women but there were a few men here and there. The articles steered clear of any personal details about them, but at the end of each they gave the address of where they had lived. Ads for newly vacated apartments or homes at reduced prices. I grew more repulsed with each article I read, the distance and inhumanity in the way they were written, just because they weren’t created the same way we were. Wouldn’t we have more empathy for things we created, the love of a parent at least?

I heard the front door open and close quietly. Sandra took her shoes off the same way every time. Untie the left; set it next to the doormat, then the right. She’d come into the kitchen next to grab a glass of 2% milk. I personally can’t stand the stuff. She’s always the same. Stuck in a rut. Mechanized.

Sandra crept into the kitchen and didn’t notice me perched at the counter. It was then I realized I had been sitting in the dark for a time. “Hello, dear.” I said to her somewhat quietly as not to startle her. It didn’t work.

“Parker! What are you doing sitting in the dark?” The light of the fridge blasted across the side of her face and onto the counter, revealing my day’s work.

“Thinking,” I said. Sandra paused before reaching into the fridge to grab the milk, slowly and methodically. She lifted the jug to eyelevel to check the expiration date. “Old milk won’t kill you,” I growl. She didn’t bother responding.

“Where were you all day?” Still, nothing. “So we aren’t speaking anymore?”

“Parker, I had a long day. I was with Valarie. I told you that this morning after the hundredth time you asked.” I sensed my fist raise and come down hard on the counter sending some of the clippings in different directions.

“What is your problem, Sandra? What did I do that makes you want to sneak around the house?” I could feel my blood boiling just under my skin. She had been avoiding me, slowly becoming more distant. She never slept in the bed with me anymore; she stayed on the couch. Knives slowly began disappearing from the block in the kitchen, matches missing from the candy dish by the door, and the shovel gone from its position in the garage. She had to be planning something. This was not the woman I married. I married a woman, not a robot. But the way she walks now, meticulously, lurching here and there as if her joints needed oil, she tiptoes around me, waiting for her time to strike.

Sandra still hadn’t answered my question, she just stood there with her back to me drinking that ghastly, white liquid and staring out the window. “It’s funny you should mention Valarie. I called her today, to see if she had heard from you.”

“Oh, so you’re spying on me now?” The words were weak leaving her mouth, but with a hint of bitterness.

“I think it’s only fair don’t you? My wife has been lying to me for our entire relationship, I believe I deserve answers.” She sat quiet for a second.

“Lying.” Matter-of-fact. Mechanical. “Parker, do you hear yourself?” There was no real emotion in her words. She dumped more than half a glass of milk down the sink and set the cup down. “I’m worried about you.” Sandra turned to me with an expression of anger and fear. I turned my back on her now. I couldn’t stand to look at her artificial and mangled face.

I could hear her mess with something on the counter, the coffee pot or the toaster. She was taking advantage now; she would smash my head in. With her metal frame I wouldn’t be able to overtake her, and she had the upper hand already with my back turned to her. I froze for a moment in fear.

I could feel her getting closer though I couldn’t hear her steps padded by her socks. “Valarie gave me the number of someone who can help us, Parker. We can get through this.” My blood ran cold. And fix what? Our marriage, our life? Everything would just go back to normal? Don’t mind me, the idiot who didn’t know he married a robot. I wanted so badly to know where she was in that moment, hoping she was still at the counter next to her empty glass. But she slid her hand up over my shoulder. My fingers wrapped around the pair of scissors on the counter next to me and in one smooth motion I spun, slicing through the flesh on her neck.

A mist of blood met my face just before Sandra’s hands reached to cover the wound. I watched as the thing I had married dropped to her knees trying her hardest to ask why but was only allowed a low gurgling noise. She laid down on her side, gasping for breath until there was no air left in the room. I sat, in the dark, staring at my now dead wife. For a while I was afraid to get close, what if robots couldn’t bleed out and she was alive, just temporarily subdued. After some time though I knelt down, my sweatpants soaking up the viscous liquid surrounding her body. I moved her hands away from her throat. Her hands were so cold, I wonder how long she’s been this cold. I placed my hands on either side of her cut and pushed the flesh apart, expecting to reveal circuitry and wires and metal. But my fingertips were met with sinews and muscle and bone.