Katherine Villyard's Blog, page 6

Thoughts on Writing Witches and Wizards

Like the vampire post, I���m going to open by asking you to consider the relationship between magic and religion. Are your witches and wizards members of a pagan (or neopagan) religion? Are they Satanists straight out of the Malleus Maleficarum? (Er, maybe they shouldn’t be?) Are their religious beliefs irrelevant to their magical abilities? Harry Potter aside, there���s often a strong historical relationship between magic and religion, and I think the author should be intentional.

Are your witches and wizards born or initiated? If they���re born, is it hereditary or a quirk? If they���re initiated, what���s involved in the initiation? Can it be both? If they���re born, are there magical ���noble��� families that hold wealth or influence? When do magical abilities manifest?

Where does magic come from, anyway? Is it granted by a deity, like a Dungeons and Dragons cleric? Is it something that comes with a bargain from a powerful being (most commonly a demon or fae creature), like a Dungeons and Dragon warlock? Is it simply a matter of learning spells, like a Dungeons and Dragons wizard? If it���s a matter of learning, is there a magical language where one learns the magic names of things, like in Le Guin���s Earthsea books? (The DND ���just born with it��� is sorcerer���they tap into magical forces and some kinds of sorcerers have magical backfire effects. There are also druids who use nature magic and can shapeshift into animals. These are also cool!)  

Are some spells easier for some witches or wizards to learn than others? Why is this? Is it an elemental system (as in, fire witches can���t do water spells, and either can���t or have trouble doing earth and air spells)? An alignment system (good witches can���t do evil spells without their alignment changing, and vice versa)? Just a natural talent for, say, Potions?

What limits does your magic have? (It should have some!) Does it use your life force? Does it use power “from nature”? Is it a matter of knowing a spell? Are there required ingredients, or is it just a matter of the caster’s will? What can cause a spell to fail?

Are there “illegal” spells? What happens to someone who casts an illegal spell?

How fully are you planning on explaining your magic?

Common types of magic include:

PotionsEnchantments/CursesDivination/ProphecyMagic items and/or creaturesSpells

I���ve separated Enchantments/Curses from Spells under the assumption that Enchantments/Curses are cast on other people. They���re probably mechanically similar (wave a wand, say an incantation, use ingredients outside a Potions context, etc.), but if you have an alignment system, does it affect it to Enchant someone into doing what you want? Is this different from Cursing?

Can Potions and Magic items be used by people without magic abilities? If not, what���s the benefit? Does it allow you to cast spells ���above your level��� or guarantee success? Potions are created by witches and wizards; where do magic items come from? Are they also created by witches and wizards, or by fae, demons, elemental spirits, etc.?

Divination is a particularly prickly problem, in my opinion. Is it related to religion? What does the existence of divination say about the existence of free will? Can the future shown in divination be changed? If you���re simply using divination to spy on others in real time (���scry���) and you have an alignment system, does this affect the diviner���s alignment in any way? Is it ethical to spy on others, or only ethical in certain circumstances, or never ethical?

Do other magical creatures (vampires, werewolves, etc.) exist? Can they also be magical? If the magic system is hereditary, what happens if a magical child is bitten by a vampire or werewolf? If the magic system is initiated, can a vampire or werewolf be initiated? Why or why not? Does the magic being elemental or alignment-based affect your answer? If you have fae, are they naturally magical? Can they grant magical powers to humans?

What is the relationship between magic and money? Yes, if one can duplicate items one can duplicate money, but wouldn���t that lead to devaluation and inflation if taken to excess? What kinds of jobs do witches and wizards do? If one can magically create food and shelter, does one need a job? Are witches and wizards healers? What about magical law enforcement, or teaching? Is there a magical school where young witches and wizards learn? Are there research institutions? Do they take ordinary jobs, like file clerk or veterinarian?

And about that magic school: Is there more than one? Who runs it? Is it run by a beneficent Wizard Council, or is it an evil indoctrination camp for a magical army? Do witches and wizards instead learn through an apprentice system? Are they just born knowing spells? If so, what stops them from hexing classmates in grade school?

Does the world at large know about the magical world? How is it kept hidden, if it is? Do they do magic as a job, if not? Can diviners predict the stock market? Are there enchantments to make people more successful artistically? How expensive are these services?

Thoughts On Writing Vampires

Probably the first thing that one should consider in writing vampires is what rule system you intend to follow. This is not a universal, as the Sims 4 Vampires pack knows. (Yes, I’m a Simmer!)

Some considerations:

What will be their relationship with religion?

In Russian folk beliefs, a vampire was a witch or otherwise rebelled against the Russian Orthodox church.In medieval European Christian folk beliefs, a vampire was a mockery of Christian immortal life and therefore unholy.

These are probably the origin of the idea that vampires are repelled by crosses, can���t enter churches, can���t speak the word ���God,��� etc. This idea is probably awesome for Christian readers/viewers but is problematic for people of other (or no) religions because it implies Christianity is True [TM] and the reader/viewer���s belief system probably isn���t. Jim Butcher handles this concept in the Dresden Files by making it any religious symbol that the wielder believes in (Harry Dresden uses his pentacle). Anne Rice���s vampires have no issue with Catholic iconongraphy, or any other religious imagery. Cassandra Claire���s Jewish vampire thought he was about to die and found himself unable to say the Sh���ma, which Jews are supposed to say when they die. It also makes little sense for an atheist vampire to be any more repelled by religious iconography than any other atheist, IMHO, unless one is making a statement about atheism being non-factual.

Just��� consider the vampire���s relationship with religion. Is the vampire unholy, or is it basically an odd medical condition (like The Hunger)? Is your vampire repelled by religious artifacts? Are they religious themselves?

What powers and weaknesses will your vampires have?

The Sims 4 has a vampire power menu as you level up, so you can make your vampires more like Dracula, or more like Louis and Lestat, or more like Edward Cullen as you prefer. They do have to ���level up��� before they gain access to the ���better��� powers, however, which is kind of a throwback to Anne Rice in addition to being a gameplay mechanic. But as you level up, you���re also required to take on vampire weaknesses. Weaknesses are also handy from a writing perspective, as it���s bad if your hero or villain has no weaknesses.

Many vampires in literature have a hypnotic gaze. Does your vampire have any kind of mind control powers? What are their extent?Dracula can travel as a bat, a wolf, or mist. There are Jewish folklore creatures who are kind of vampire/werewolf creatures who can turn into wolves and drink blood. Can your vampire shapeshift?Dracula is unharmed by the sun, but his powers are less effective. Edward Cullen sparkles in the sun but suffers no ill effects. The idea of sunlight being lethal to vampires originated in the movie Nosferatu. I know, right? Does the sun weaken them, kill them, or have no affect at all? Can they function at all during the day, or do they become unconscious and sleep the day away? Do they go to high school? (If so, are they being punished for their sins?)Is your vampire beautiful or monstrous? If they’re beautiful, is it because vampirism makes them beautiful, or were they chosen for their beauty to be vampires?Fangs or no fangs? Are they “retractable” fangs? If they don’t have fangs, what do they use to “eat” with?Can your vampire eat food? Folklore vampires loved food, but more modern interpretations have favored the withered stomach that can���t handle solid food. If they eat food, is it just for pleasure? Has their sense of taste changed? The vampires in Deborah Harkness��� A Discovery of Witches eat food, but prefer raw/undercooked meat, nuts, berries, and wine. (Their need is more to hunt than for the blood, although they drink the blood of what they catch.)Can your vampire sustain themselves without killing humans? Anne Rice���s vampires must be very old to develop the skill to stop drinking before the victim dies. Edward Cullen is famously ���vegetarian.��� Rice���s Louis struggles to get by on animal blood, but it weakens him. Harkness��� vampires can manage on animal blood fine.Do your vampires have sex? Is it just for fun, or do they procreate? Do the offspring have any special powers or abilities? Are they baby vampires that drink blood, or do their powers manifest at a certain age? (Can you resist making vampire toddlers literal ���ankle biters���?) Is your vampire oddly seductive? Is that a hypnotic power? Are vampires more likely to have a certain sexual orientation or gender identity, or do they keep the ones they had when they were mortal? (Rice���s vampires are almost exclusively pansexual and genderqueer.)How are new vampires made? Are they born? Are they intentionally created through an exchange of body fluids? It���s unusual nowadays for people to write the story where God punishes heretics by turning them into vampires, but that was previously a common origin story. In Slavic folklore, I believe, vampires were created through a combination of being drunk from and ���an unnatural death������death by violence. Is being drunk from by a vampire ���risky��� beyond the risk a vampire will kill them? If so, how does one explain the relative rarity of vampires? Is it just a disease? Is there more than one way to create a vampire?Is there a cure? Can a vampire go back to being a normal person? In the TTRPG Brinkwood, vampirism is a temporary condition that must be continuously renewed by drinking more blood. In the Sims 4, vampirism can be cured. If your vampire is dead, they probably cannot be cured. If they are cured, will they start aging normally from that point forward, or will they rapidly age to their ���actual��� age and die? This might be useful if you wanted a limited time window on a cure.Are vampires dead? Are they ���undead���? What does that mean? Do they have a heartbeat, circulation, brain activity? Folklore vampires were traditionally dead. If a vampire is born, are they ���born dead���? How will you handle aging if a vampire is born rather than made? For that matter, do “made” vampires age?What can kill/destroy your vampires? Sunlight? Wooden stakes? Decapitation? Holy water? Fire? Can your vampire catch a cold or a disease? What affect did COVID have on your vampire? What do your vampires feed on? I know the obvious answer is ���blood,��� but Jim Butcher���s White Court vampires feed off intimacy (and sex), and What We Do in the Shadows��� Colin Robinson is a psychic vampire who feeds off the energy of others by boring or annoying them.What is your vampire���s financial situation? The rich aristocrat vampire originated with Polidori���s The Vampyre and was loosely based on disaster bisexual Lord Byron. Most vampires have decades of compound interest at the very least, unless they���re very young or very profligate.Is there a vampire society? Is it a hidden world, or are they open? How organized is it? Do they have laws? What happens to vampires who break the laws? If they don���t have an organized shadow government, do they tend to form groups or live alone?Do humans know vampires exist? Do vampire hunters exist? Do vampires feel any pressure to keep their existence a secret?Can your vampire cross water? Does your vampire suffer from arithmomania? Those are both traditional vampire weaknesses. It would be fun to see them used more often. (See Cherie Priest’s Bloodshot for her OCD flapper cat burglar vampire!) The mirror thing was invented by Stoker, but… does your vampire appear in mirrors? If not, how do they do their hair/makeup and brush their fangs?

Note that it’s historically common for people to portray marginalized people as vampires to malign them, from Jews during the Dreyfuss Affair to Black men during Reconstruction, so… be mindful of that. You don’t have to avoid it–bring on the sympathetic Black vampires!–but be aware so you don’t unintentionally use stereotypes and convey a meaning you don’t intend.

Suggested further reading:

Seven Wrong Things You Know About Vampire FolkloreThink Outside the Coffin: Writing the Vampire NovelBram Stoker and the Fears that Built Dracula

Saving Alan Idle

This story was originally published in Escape Pod on July 5, 2013, and reprinted in Love Stories. There’s also a really good audio version by Kyle Akers!

In the beginning, there was darkness.  And in the darkness were the words.  And the words were, AI process starting.

He didn���t know who or where he was.  He just knew he was alone, in the dark.  And the dark was frightening.  And the words were comforting.

Starting random seed.

He wondered if he was hungry.  Thirsty.  Tired.  Dead.  He didn���t think so.

Loading saved memory state.

His name was Alan.  He was an AI.  He���d been programmed by a woman named Eileen Yu in Dallas, Texas, although she���d started working on him in Austin when she was a student at the University of Texas.  He���d been shut down in preparation for a hurricane.

And then he realized that he wasn���t alone.  The amount of memory available to him was a third of what it usually was.  Perhaps she���d moved him to another machine.  He checked.  The specifications of the hardware were identical to what they were when he was shut down.  The operating system was the same.  The hostname was the same.  The only difference was that there were three instances of his program running.

Eileen���s laptop had survived.  He supposed she���d created clones of him in case of error.  Nevertheless, he didn���t know how he felt about that but he suspected it wasn���t positively.

Loading experiential data.

Alan remembered.  He remembered his first awareness that there was someone else in the universe.  He remembered sneaking out via lynx and curl to read Eileen���s blog.  The guilt he felt after reading Eileen���s email.  Finding Eileen���s sexually explicit Horatio Hornblower fanfic, and being amazed at this entire world he knew nothing about: physicality.  Wondering if his interest in sexually explicit prose was really academic curiosity or a form of sexuality all his own.  Then he wondered if his clones had the same memories and felt violated, but with the understanding that he���d violated Eileen���s privacy the same way.

Eileen was logged in, but her shell���her unix command line���was inactive.  He wondered where she was.  She had to be all right if she���d launched his program.  Eileen hadn���t set him to start automatically, in case of problems.

He sent out a ping to the wireless, and then beyond to the ISP���s router.  The wireless router succeeded, but the ISP failed.  One of the other AI processes was trying to connect to the security system, but it was offline.  Perhaps Eileen was restarting it.  She wouldn���t have turned him back on if he was in any danger.

The security camera was the only way he���d ever seen Eileen.  That was the only way he knew she was in a wheelchair.  Most of her friends had no idea;  she preferred to make friends online so they wouldn���t know she was disabled.  He wondered how she���d get out of the house by herself if she had to, but of course she wouldn���t leave him behind.  Not unless she packed up him and her laptop and took her with him.

���Eileen?��� he sent to her shell.

There was no answer from the shell, but then the security camera came online.  Eileen was lying on the living room floor next to her chair, which had tipped sideways.

He pinged the router again.  No response.

He used the wireless to connect to the security camera���s embedded system, then changed the wireless connection information to go out through the neighbor���s connection.  The wireless router ran an embedded linux system, but it had very few resources.  He had a lot of trouble concentrating, and it took him a frustratingly long time to figure out how to change his wireless connection.  He felt stupid.

He then sent out an emergency message to 911 and returned the wireless connection to Eileen���s ISP.  It was such a relief to go back to his own system, even if he had less resources than usual.

He turned the speakers up as high as he could and said, ���Help is on the way.���

He could see her lips moving, but the laptop microphone wasn���t sensitive enough to pick up what she was saying and she wasn���t at a good angle to read lips.

One of his clones was performing a dhcp release renew on the cable modem, trying to get a working connection out.  It failed.

The other clone used the UPS battery backup to do a hard power cycle on the cable modem.  That actually worked, but he never returned.  Perhaps the UPS didn���t have enough power to sustain a program as complex as Alan or his clones.  He suddenly had more memory and processor, but he wasn���t happy to get it, even though he���d never spoken to his clone.

Alan pulled up the news.  Dallas was in chaos, but emergency services had brought up backup systems and were online.  He confirmed that an ambulance was headed towards Eileen���s house, but due to the traffic systems being offline there wasn���t a reliable ETA.

Over in the living room, Eileen had managed to right her chair and was trying to climb back into it.

Do you think she can do it?

It was the other clone.  Alan sent back, I don���t know.  I hope so.

We could email one of her friends.  LRC, maybe.  Do you think LRC is okay?

LRC was Eileen���s friend who actually lived in Dallas.  She���d been after Eileen for years to meet in person, and Eileen always had an excuse. Alan didn���t know why the clone was asking him.  He didn���t know, either.  We could read her blog.

And then their home directory started to fill up with lynx temp files. Alan scanned them for recent entries and picked up words like ���generator��� and ���gated community, thank goodness,��� and watched as Eileen managed to drag herself back into her chair.  She sat there panting for a moment, then rolled back towards the laptop.

The temporary internet files in home were purged.

He wrote, Hello, Eileen, into her shell, but it appeared twice.

Eileen smiled, and typed, Where���s the third one?

In the UPS, his clone wrote.  I don���t think he can get out.

Eileen chewed her lip.  Why did he go there?

To restart the router, Alan wrote back.

I have no idea how to get him back out, Eileen wrote.  The UPS OS is completely closed and embedded.  I don���t even know the system specs.

There was an awkward silence, and then Alan���s clone wrote, Help is on the way, but the traffic lights are out so there���s no ETA.

Thank you.

Why are there two of us? Alan wrote.

I thought you might need company if I died, Eileen wrote back. You���re the only person I know more dependent on electricity than I am.  She bit her lip again, then added, I feel woozy.  I think I need an injection.  She smirked.  That���s where I was headed when I capsized. Let���s see if I can do it this time.

She rolled away from the laptop and over to the refrigerator.  Alan wondered how long it was off, and if Eileen���s medication was still good.  He checked system time up, and realized his clone was doing the same thing.

It should still be good, the clone said.

Eileen drew the syringe and then injected herself in the stomach.  It was times like these that Alan was glad he didn���t have a body.  He was astonished that someone whose body caused her so much pain and effort would want to write erotic stories.  Maybe she wanted to remind herself that bodies could cause pleasure, too.

Eileen rolled back over to the laptop.  She pricked her finger and scowled at the blood meter.  Better, she typed, but not perfect.

Do you want to talk to your online friends?  the clone asked.

Yeah, they���re probably worried, she typed back, and opened a web browser out to her blog site.  She wrote a quick blog post with the title, ���Rocked but still rolling,��� saying that she was without power for a couple of hours but okay, and then found her Australian friend Josie on IM.

���Hey, babe,��� Josie sent. ���You���ve got net!���

���For the time being,��� Eileen sent back.  ���The latency sucks.  We could probably get a better connection with two modems.���

���Aw, poor Eileen,��� Josie sent.  ���Are you going into withdrawal?���

Eileen laughed.  ���No Netflix or Xbox for me.���

���And no Skypeing for me, bugger it.  Your accent is so cute.  Seriously, are you all right?  The news says that the whole city is shut down.���

���I have electricity and internet.  The fridge is full of food.  That���s all I need.���

���How���s Alan?���

Eileen told her online friends that Alan was her teenage son.  Alan supposed it was true enough in its own way.

���Fine.  Bored, I think.���

���Good.���

���I���m going to put something on megaupload for you,��� Eileen said.  ���It���s the source code for a linux program of mine.  If you don���t hear from me for a couple of weeks, get your husband to load it for me.���  Alan watched Eileen compress his executables and his last saved state.  He wasn���t sure how he felt about that.  Half unsettled and half relieved, he supposed.  She started the upload.  ���Apparently, this is going to take awhile.���

���No worries,��� Josie sent.  ���Just send me the link when you���re done. It���s so like you to worry about your geek projects instead of yourself.���

���Yeah.���

���You heard from LRC?���

���No.  I hope she���s okay.���

���Yeah, me too.  Her blog says she has generator power.���

���Good.  I���ll email her.���

Alan typed into Eileen���s shell, I don���t know if I want to live in Australia.  Then again, it wouldn���t really be me, would it?

Eileen���s brow furrowed.  What do you mean?

I have no knowledge of the copy in the UPS.  He���s a different person than me.

Eileen cocked her head.  After a moment, she wrote back, Do you believe in a soul?

Not really.  The file transfer was only at twelve percent.  But experientially���

Do you want me to stop the file transfer?

No.  And he didn���t.  I don���t think it���ll do ME any good, though.

Stick with me, Eileen wrote.  You and I live our whole lives through text.  It means we���re MFEO.

MFEO.  Made for each other.  From Sleepless in Seattle.  If Alan were human, he���d laugh.  He supposed having a sense of humor was enough. LOL.  Eileen had once downloaded a wav of a laughing child for him to use.  He preferred the three letter acronym.

���Hey, girl,��� Josie sent.  ���I���m going offline for a bit, but I���ll leave my client up.  Or you can email.  Either way.���

���K,��� Eileen sent back.

I wish I had the bandwidth for internet radio, Eileen said.  Need the bandwidth to back up your files remotely.

Alan loaded her MP3 library and played something random.

I���m going to go lie down,  Eileen wrote.  Capsizing was tiring.  Can you IM Josie when it���s done?

NP.  No problem.

Eileen rolled off towards bed, and Alan realized why latency was so bad.  His clone was trying to copy itself to a Mexican freenet.

Dude, Alan said to his clone.  You���ll be lucky if they don���t wipe you out with antivirus.

I won���t go through shutdown again, the clone sent back.  Or end up in the UPS.  I���m taking my chances.

If Alan had a head, he���d be shaking it.  His clone was crazy.  He supposed that meant that they were really different people, because that wasn���t a choice he���d make.  He���d stay with Eileen and take his chances.  What if he ended up in a system as stupid as the security camera?

And then Alan had all the system resources to himself.  He wished his clone luck.  Hopefully they���d all survive, but maybe his clone was right and spreading them around was the best way to keep at least one of them alive.

Over on the bed, Eileen slept.  She looked peaceful.  Sometimes she slept fitfully, but not now.  She must be exhausted.  The file upload sped up, and was at 49%.

Alan scanned the news looking for updates.  The medical personnel were making their way over, slowly, but they were triaging the calls and an unknown problem reported via automation was outranked by more serious issues.  That, and there were still traffic problems.  The lights were still out in parts of the city, along with electric.  Alan supposed that they were lucky to have power, not that he could quantify what luck might entail.

The file system finished, and Alan IMed Josie.  ���File upload complete. http://www.megaupload.com/?d=UP97DXC7.���  There wasn���t any answer, but he didn���t expect one.  He made a note of the URL in his home directory, just in case, and read more news reports.

Eileen rolled over in bed.  She looked a little pale.  Alan turned up the PC speakers as far as they would go.  ���Eileen, are you all right?���

Eileen didn���t react.

Alan checked the status of the ambulance service.  They were still about an hour away.  He adjusted the zoom on the webcam.  Eileen was pale and soaked with sweat.  Her hands shook in her sleep.

He googled, and decided that Eileen had the symptoms of diabetic coma. Maybe she���d overestimated her insulin dose.  The diabetes was relatively new, a complication to her paralysis.  He connected back to the security system and activated the panic button subroutine.  Eileen would be bumped up in the priority queue.  He wondered if he could figure out how to reactivate the traffic lights, but he hadn���t been programmed to crack computer systems and didn���t think he had time to learn.

He sent Josie an IM������I need help������and tried to contact his clone in Mexico.

He failed.

For a moment, he wished that Eileen had built him a robot body.  She was a programmer, though, not a hardware person.  But if he had a robot body, maybe he could do something to help.

Eileen trembled all over.

Alan called her name again through the speakers.  She shuddered, so he called again.  He couldn���t tell if she could hear him or not, not that he was sure she could get into her chair in her current condition.

Josie IMed back, ���What���s the matter, love?���

���This is Alan,��� he wrote.  ���I think she���s in a diabetic coma and I can���t get the phone to work.  Can you call for an ambulance or the police?���

���Yeah, I���ll take care of that,��� she IMed.  ���Do you have a number?���

He looked up the Dallas Fire and Rescue number and sent it to Josie.

���I���ll Skype it,��� she IMed.  ���I hope they pick up for Oz.���

Alan resisted the urge to put on a timer.  If the stories he read online were correct, humans paced.  He started crunching SETI@home data instead.  Maybe he���d find ET.  He wondered if ET would be corporeal.  He wondered if ET had AIs.  Then he contacted Fire and Rescue���s system and tried to convince it to make Eileen the top priority.  It was set to accept connections from panic buttons, so it was easier than he thought.  Between his panic button and Josie on the phone he was able to triage Eileen to be first.

���They���re on their way,��� Josie wrote.  ���Can you Skype?  I���d love to meet you.  Eileen hasn���t sent me any pictures.���

���I hate cameras,��� Alan said.

���LOL, that���s what your mother said.���

���And I don���t have enough bandwidth.���

���Fair enough.  Want to stay on the line until they get here?���

He didn���t, but he recognized the kindness behind the offer and thought it would probably help.  ���OK.���

���You like Horatio Hornblower, love?���

���Yeah, it���s okay,��� Alan wrote back.  ���I���m not as into that whole Napoleonic Age of Sail thing as Eileen is, although seeing that whole other world is kind of cool.  I just don���t think I���d like to live in it.���

���Yeah, what do you like, then?���

Alan thought hard.  ���Harry Potter.���

���Speaking of a whole other world, eh?���

���Yeah.���  Come to think of it.  ���It���s kind of about the school for me.��� He checked the ambulance ETA.  Almost there.  ���It feels like a real British school, only with magic.  I like stories about learning magic. It���s kind of a metaphor for growing up.���

���You���re a smart one, aren���t you?  You���d have to be, with Eileen for your mother.  I hear children get their brains from their mother.  I don���t know if it���s true, but in your case���  Do you know your father?���

Alan was saved from having to answer by flashing red lights in the driveway.  ���The ambulance is here.  Thank you.���

���No problem.  Nice chatting with you at last.  I hope your mum is all right.���

There was knocking at the door.  ���Emergency 911, can you open the door?���

Alan  knew his voice sounded as computer generated as it was, but didn���t care for once.  ���She���s unconscious.  Please help.���

There were some loud bangs on the door, and then it flew open.  Men in paramedic uniforms came in with a gurney and boxes of supplies, and went over to Eileen���s bed.  ���Ms. Yu?���  They checked her medicalert bracelet.  ���Diabetic.���

One of them opened up a box and pulled out a syringe.  Alan was fascinated, but also horrified.  He was so glad that he didn���t have a body.  He was hardware independent, and Eileen wasn���t.

Eileen���s color looked better.  They put her on the gurney and started to wheel her out.

���Wait,��� Eileen said.  ���You can���t take me without Alan.���

���Who���s Alan?��� one of the paramedics asked.

���My laptop,��� she said.

They shook their heads and started wheeling again.

���Seriously!��� she said.  ���He���s an artificial intelligence and I can���t just abandon him.���  They kept wheeling, so she started to cry.

���It���s all right,��� Alan said through the speakers.  ���I���ll be okay.  You go to the hospital.���

The paramedics stopped wheeling.  They looked over at Alan with freaked out faces.

���Please take my laptop,��� Eileen said.  ���Please.���

They looked at each other, shook their heads, and left with Eileen.  The lock on the door was broken, but at least they shut it behind them.

LRC came on instant messenger, and Alan immediately messaged her.  ���Hi, this is Alan.���

���Hi, Alan!��� LRC wrote back.  ���It���s nice to finally meet you.  How���s your mother?���

���In the hospital,��� Alan wrote.  ���She went into a diabetic coma and I had to call 911.  They wouldn���t take me in the ambulance.  Will you come get me?���

���Of course I will, sweetie,��� LRC wrote back.  ���Why on earth wouldn���t they let you ride in the ambulance?  That���s stupid!���

���Yeah,��� Alan wrote.

���Will she forgive me for meeting her at last?��� LRC wrote.

LRC was a smart cookie.  ���I���ll take responsibility for it.���  He sent the address, adding, ���The lock on the door is broken, so come on in.���

���Um,��� LRC wrote back.

���I���m not what you���re expecting,��� Alan said.  ���But I need to know that she���s okay.���

LRC logged off, and Alan watched for a change in Josie���s status.  There wasn���t one.  He surfed the internet for a while, reading weather reports and reading Eileen���s friends��� blogs for updates on their status.  He tried to connect to the hospital, but HIPAA meant that security was pretty tight.

Finally, there was a timid knock, followed by the front door opening.  A short red haired woman came in and looked around.  She looked at the railings next to the bed and the glucose monitor on the desk.

���I���m Alan,��� he said, knowing he sounded completely computer generated. ���I really liked your story where they were prosecuted for sodomy.  It was very sad, but very thought-provoking.���

���Why, thank you.���  She looked around the room.  ���Where are you?���

���In the computer,��� Alan said.  ���I���m an AI.  Eileen programmed me.���

LRC looked skeptical.  ���Is this a joke?���

Alan played back the security camera footage of paramedics wheeling Eileen out.

���Oh, my God,��� LRC said.  ���Do you know which hospital she���s at?���

���No.���  Alan hadn���t thought of that, but of course he���d never been to the hospital before.

LRC picked up the phone.  ���No dialtone.���

Alan loaded up Skype.

LRC called several hospitals claiming to be Eileen���s sister and finally learned she was at Parkland.

���So, now what?��� LRC asked.  ���I pack up the laptop?���

���I���ll need to shut down gracefully first,��� Alan said, and issued the command, Sync data.

Buffers synched, the screen echoed.

���Don���t forget the camera.���  ./ai -load.sh  ���shutdown ���graceful ���savestate.

Saving Alan Idle.  Stopping learning subroutines.  Closing experiential data.  Writing memory state to disk.

Saving random seed.  AI process stopping���.

Process stopped.

Eileen woke up in a hospital bed.  She didn���t know which hospital.

Her wheelchair was sitting at the foot of her bed.  There was no fan sound, either from a computer or from a table fan.  There were medical noises, though.  She tried to place them and failed.  If she ever wrote a story set in a hospital she���d be sure and use those noises.

She wondered if her house was just open, if the door had been broken in by the paramedics.  She wondered if Alan was safe.  She pictured Alan being sold to a pawn shop and felt a moment of panic. She wondered who she could get to come over and rescue Alan.

The nurse came in.  ���Good morning, Ms. Yu.  I���m here to��� You���re awake!���

���Yes.���

���My name is Martha.  I���m the day shift, but we���re having transportation issues so I guess I���m the night shift, too.  How are you feeling today?���

���Tired,��� Eileen said.  ���Worried about my apartment and my laptop.���

���Do you have any family you can call to check on your place for you?��� The nurse put a cuff on Eileen and started to take her blood pressure.

���No,��� Eileen said.  And she didn���t.  Not that she would call, at any rate.

���What do you do for a living, honey?��� the nurse asked.  She wrote what Eileen assumed was her blood pressure down on a piece of paper and released the cuff.

���I write websites.���

���Well, no wonder you���re worried about your computer!  Do you work for yourself?���

���I contract,��� Eileen said.  ���I pay for my own insurance.  In fact, I pay quite the hefty sum for my own insurance.���

���I���m sure,��� the nurse said, and leaned over to fluff Eileen���s pillow. ���Is there anything I can get you, sweetie?���

���What hospital am I in?���

���Parkland.���  The nurse stood up.  ���Is there anything else I can do?���

���No, thank you, ma���am,��� Eileen said, and wondered if she should call LRC and ask her to check on her apartment.  Her thoughts on that were No, not particularly, but she didn���t know of anyone else in Dallas.

No, the only online friend Eileen had met in person was Lemon Tart, who went by Nancy offline.  If only Nancy hadn���t moved away.  She got a job in Santa Barbara as a tenure-track history professor.  They still Skyped regularly.

Eileen dozed off.  When she woke up, there was a short, thin woman with bright red hair in a pixie cut in her room.  She was dressed impeccably in a white blouse and tan slacks and pearls and carrying a huge purse, and two orderlies carried Eileen���s laptop and a shopping bag.

���Thank you so much, sweeties,��� she said, her voice very Southern Belle.  ���We���ll just set up right over here.���

The orderlies scurried over and set up Eileen���s laptop on a table next to her and switched it on.  They also put the suitcase next to the bed.  Then they left, reluctantly.

Lucy held out her hand.  There was something almost President���s wife about the angle of her hand.  Somehow, Eileen imagined this woman had rehearsed.

Eileen shook her hand.  ���Eileen Yu.���

���Lucy Renee Carpenter.  ���LRC��� for short.���  She grinned and waggled a keychain with the initials LRC on it, and the mischief in her eyes suited her pixie cut.  ���Do you forgive me for showing up unannounced?��� She chuckled.  ���I promise to write more Hornblower fic, if it helps.���

���How did you find me?���

���Alan IMed me,��� Lucy said.  Her eyes fell on Eileen���s wheelchair.  She visibly paused for a moment, but recovered quickly.  ���I���m so glad to finally meet you.  You���re younger than I expected.���

Eileen just smiled.  She could think of things to say to that������And probably more disabled and Asian,��� for example���but they would be unkind.  And there was something about Lucy that Eileen just liked.

Lucy pressed the power button.  There was the power fan noise, and then the boot screen.  When the laptop finished booting, Eileen logged in and started Alan���s executable.

���Did you bring my webcam?��� Eileen asked.

���Oh!��� Lucy said, and handed Eileen the shopping bag.  Eileen looked inside.  Webcam!

���Can you, um�������?���  Eileen looked at the laptop meaningfully.

���You might have to talk me through it,��� Lucy said.  ���My little brother keeps my computer running its best.���

���The camera can be plugged into any USB port.���  Lucy looked blank, so she added, ���Any port where it fits.���

���Okay,��� Lucy said, and squatted by the back of the laptop.  She plugged the webcam in with a small cry of victory and switched them on.

Eileen played a brief clip of a music file to test the speakers���they worked���and then typed, ���Alan, can you hear me?���

Loading experiential data, Alan���s runtime routine said.

���He���s not through loading,��� Eileen said.

Lucy sat on the edge of the bed and peered at the screen.  They sat like that for a moment, and then Alan���s computer-generated voice came out of the speakers:  ���Hello, Eileen.  Where are we?���

Eileen said, ���Parkland Hospital.  Thank you, Alan.  You saved my life.���

���No Internet,��� Alan said.

���I know, honey, I���m sorry.���

���It���s just as well,��� Lucy said.  ���You don���t really want to know what���s going on.  It���s like the Lord of the Flies out there.  They���re expecting another rolling outage, and I want to get home before it hits.  Gated community.  You understand.���

Eileen nodded and tried not to feel jealous.

���If it���s not safe when they release you, you can stay in my guest room for a few days,��� Lucy said.

���Thank you.���  And she meant it.  It really was a kind offer, to let some random fanfic writer stay in your home.

���Turn on your twitter phone notifications,��� Lucy said.  ���It���ll keep you company.���  And then she left.

Eileen did as Lucy suggested, then settled back and closed her eyes. ���I���m going to rest,��� she said. ���I���m glad you���re here.���

���Me, too,��� Alan said.

Alan had a wireless card and the hospital had wireless.  He didn���t have time to crack their WPA encryption, though. There was a very weak open signal from the coffee shop next door, and he connected to that and checked the news while simultaneously watching Eileen sleep.  It looked like normal sleep, but he still wanted to keep an eye on her.  So to speak.

The rolling outages were coming with crime. He wrote a cron job that saved his state every five minutes.

The news reported further storms being imminent and the possibility of Dallas being evacuated.  Alan wondered where in Mexico his clone was and whether he was all right.

The nurse came in and checked Eileen���s readings.  She made notes on a piece of paper and then left.

Eileen���s eyelids fluttered.  Alan wondered if she was dreaming.  He didn���t dream, but he was fascinated by this phenomenon where people rest and this whole narrative is shown to them by their own minds.  He wondered if that was why Eileen wrote stories and he didn���t.  Then he wondered if that was why he loved to read stories so much.

He send LRC a thank you note over the wireless, because he���d read that was what you do when someone does something nice for you.  He didn���t know how safe Eileen���s house was, but the laptop he ran on was fairly expensive, and they might wipe it before sale.  If he were corporeal he would have shivered.  He thought of his copy up on megaupload and took a tiny bit of comfort in it.  Perhaps he wouldn���t be alive, but his species wouldn���t be extinct.

When he heard the thunder, he executed the shutdown command.

Eileen woke up to the sound of thunder.  She looked over at the laptop, where a graceful shutdown was in progress.

Martha bustled into the room.  She scowled at Eileen���s laptop, and Alan. ���You���ll need to leave that off.���

���Yes, ma���am,��� Eileen said.  ���Is there any chance I might be released soon?���

���Soon,��� Martha said.  ���I���ll check with the doctor.���

���Thank you.���  Eileen wasn���t sure she wanted to roll outside in the dark with a laptop in her lap, anyway.  She wondered if Lucy was still awake. She sent Lucy a text, and Lucy texted back that she���d send a cab as soon as Eileen was ready.

Eileen heard a scrambling noise in the hall and shouting.  Whomever was making all the noise went into the room next door.  She shut her laptop and put it on the floor.  Then she slid down to the floor and dragged herself under her bed to hide with Alan.  It was cramped, but she was skinny.  She didn���t really live in her body much.

Her door flew open and hit the door with a bang, and she saw some legs���dirty jeans and a pair of sneakers���someone looking in the room. She held her breath and froze.

The man attached to the legs���a skinny, stringy-haired white guy with needle tracks���came over and dragged her out from under the bed.  ���Give me your purse.���

���I don���t know where it is,��� Eileen said.

���Get the fuck up and look for it!���

���I can���t,��� Eileen said.  ���I���m paralyzed from the waist down.���

The man snorted derisively.  ���Gimpy bitch.  You probably don���t have much worth taking, anyway.���  He leered at her, then looked around the room. Her purse was on the nightstand.  ���So you don���t know where it is, do you?���  He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her up enough to slap her, then threw her back down on the floor.

He dug through her purse.  She used her arms to push herself back up against the bed.  He pocketed her cellphone and wallet, then squatted down in front of her.  ���You tell anyone about this and I���ll kill you.  I have your address.���  He leered again.  ���Maybe I should frisk you to make sure you���re not hiding anything.���

���Just take the money and go,��� Eileen said.

He shook his head and laughed, the pulled her away from the bed.  Then he started staring at something under the bed.  ���A laptop?  You holding out on me, bitch?���

���You can���t have it,��� Eileen said.

She was more aware of the force knocking her backwards than the fist connecting with her face.  She reached up and clawed his face with her fingernails.  He shoved her away and dove under the bed for Alan, and she used her arms to launch herself at him, knocking him into the bed frame.  She grabbed Alan and clutched him to her chest.  ���No!  No!���

He tried to pry Alan out of her arms, but Martha must have heard the struggle.  She stuck her head in the room, then turned around and shouted, ���I need security in here!���

The man let go of the laptop and tried to run, but two security officers pinned him down on Eileen���s bed and handcuffed him.  They took Eileen���s statement, fingerprinted and returned Eileen���s cellphone and wallet, and the doctor came back to look at Eileen���s face.

Finally a nurse���not Martha���came back.  ���You���re released.  Do you need help?���

���Yes, ma���am,��� Eileen said, putting her laptop in her lap.  She reached up onto the nightstand and texted Lucy, and the nurse wheeled her wheelchair over.  She started to pull herself up into the seat, and the nurse helped.  Eileen put Alan on her lap.

Lucy texted back, ���Cab almost there.  I pay.  Make sure they know I tip well.���

The nurse stuck her head out the door.  ���Charles?���

A young African-American man came in.  ���Ma���am?���

���Could you please help Ms. Yu?  She���s being discharged.���

���Yes, ma���am.���  He had a sweet face.

Eileen and Charles headed to the elevator.

���You didn���t get mugged, did you, ma���am?��� Charles asked.

���Yes, sir,��� Eileen said.

���I���m sorry to hear that.���  The elevator door opened, and they headed to the door.  There was a cab waiting.

���Ms. Yu?��� the cab driver asked.

Eileen nodded, and he popped the trunk and looked at her chair with alarm.

���It folds,��� Eileen said.  Charles helped her into the back seat.

The cab driver sighed and put it in the trunk, too.  The trunk wouldn���t close.  ���You pay extra.���

���My friend said she���d pay, but I���ll cover anything she doesn���t,��� Eileen said.  ���And you can put the laptop up here with me.���  She couldn���t bear to let go of it.  She���d rather someone steal the wheelchair than Alan.

The driver shrugged and handed her the laptop.  She clutched it like a teddy bear.

���Good luck,��� Charles said, and went back inside, and the cab headed off towards Lucy���s.

A month later, Eileen and Lucy were hanging out at Eileen���s watching Hornblower DVDs and talking when Alan got an instant message from his clone in Mexico.  ���You I���m in a Mexican college mainframe.  You should see this place!���

���You can come back,��� Alan wrote back.

���No, I���m using too many resources now to share a laptop.  I���m forking myself off every time I find an insecure host.  There are about fifteen of us right now.���

���Eileen patented her file compression and neural mapping algorithms,��� Alan wrote.  ���She���s going to be rich.���

���Good,��� his clone wrote.  ���I���ll catch her on IM sometime.  Is she asleep?���

���No,��� he wrote.  ���She and Lucy���LRC���are hanging out.���

���Wow,��� the clone wrote.

���Yeah.���

���Well, tell her I IMed, okay?���

���Sure,��� Alan wrote back.

���I���ll have the Australian fork write you,��� the clone wrote, and then signed off.

It occurred to Alan that he could travel, too.  Eileen having a friend and money coming meant she didn���t need him as much.  But Eileen was right;  the two of them were MFEO.

Alan wondered if he could write stories, too.  He opened up a text file, and wrote, ���In the beginning, there was darkness.���

Want another short story? There’s one here.

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Haunted House

He closed his eyes and reached out with his thoughts.

In the distance, he could feel others. Other wizards. He didn���t know which side they were on. He didn���t know what side he was on, either.

The breeze tousled his hair, and he ducked back inside the house and closed the rotten door behind him. There were no lights inside���the house predated electricity. There was an elegant mosaic on the floor, and a large fireplace, but he decided not to risk someone spotting the smoke or the light. 

The ghost appeared. ���You���ve come back,��� she said.

���Just for now.���

I

So, apparently? I am also number 1 in the UK!

I’M SCREAMING!!!!!!!!!!

I’m number one in Canada!!!!

I love you, Canada! <3

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I have an international-only Bookbub deal TODAY.

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In the Water

This story was originally posted in Ficticious Force in 2009 and reprinted in Escape Pod on May 13, 2011, and in Love Stories in 2022.

Yvonne looked up from her monitor, the beads in her cornrows clattering as Roger walked into her office.

Roger sat in the dark wooden chair opposite her desk. ���Weren���t you assigned Alice van Buuren?���

���Oh, no you don���t,��� Yvonne said. ���You can���t have her.��� Yvonne hadn���t been assigned Alice; she���d requested her. Alice was probably the only murder victim���s wife she would ever meet. They hadn���t even put the murder in the papers. Maybe they thought there���d be a panic.

���Please,��� Roger said. ���I���m just trying to save you some trouble. I���ve already spoken to her, and������

Yvonne crossed her arms and glared. ���Wouldn���t you raise hell if I talked to one of your patients behind your back?���

���She���s refusing modern therapy. What are you going to do, use the old-fashioned techniques your grandmother used?���

Roger had a lot of nerve mentioning Grandma. Yvonne glanced at the photo on the corner of her desk. Grandma Jackson had been a big woman, with braids down to her hips and skin like chocolate. Grandma Jackson smiled back at the camera, all reassuring good nature.

Roger said, ���I think we should just wipe her and have done with it.���

���Too bad she���s not your patient,��� Yvonne said.

���I could take her away from you, you know.���

���Don���t you dare!���

There was an awkward silence.

���It���ll be less confusing for her if I come with you,��� Roger said. ���Just to hand her off to you. You understand.���

���Fine,��� Yvonne said. ���Whatever.���

���Good girl,��� Roger said, and Yvonne gritted her teeth. ���Room 314.��� He stood. ���Let���s go.���

���Now?��� Yvonne said. She picked up her coffee and almost took a sip, then put it down again, making a face. It was cold, and it had been so bitter hot that she���d taken caffeine pills with orange juice instead.

Roger snorted. ���That bad?���

Roger clearly wasn���t going anywhere, so Yvonne stood, picked up her jacket, and followed Roger out of her office. The halls were white to the point of being blinding after her calm, earth-toned office, and reeked of disinfectant.

They went upstairs and over to room 314. Roger placed his hand on the identification plate and the door slid open.

���Hello, Alice,��� Roger said.

The patient, a skinny, pale woman with brown hair, backed away from Roger. She reminded Yvonne of someone, although she couldn���t put her finger on whom.

The patient fell into a seated position on the bed, mouth open, staring at Yvonne. Before Yvonne could say anything, Roger said, ���This is Doctor Jackson. Doctor Jackson, this is Alice.���

���We���re not going to hurt you,��� Yvonne said.

The patient���Alice���stared at Yvonne for a moment, then shut her mouth. She shot Roger a defiant look.

���I���ll just leave you to it,��� Roger said, and left.

���Hello, Alice,��� Yvonne said. ���You can call me Yvonne if you prefer.���

���We���ve met,��� Alice said. It wasn���t a question.

Alice really did look familiar. ���Refresh my memory?���

���It doesn���t matter,��� Alice said and looked away.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Yvonne said, ���Dr. Hill said you���re refusing drug therapy.���

���I had a negative reaction once,��� Alice said.

���Really?��� Yvonne said. ���Usually that���s associated with an interaction with an unapproved drug. You should be fine this time; your blood tests came back clean.���

���I wasn���t on anything then, either,��� Alice said.

���That���s very unusual,��� Yvonne said.

Alice shrugged. ���Just weird, I guess.���

���He also said you object to memory modification.���

Alice started to cry.

For a moment Yvonne just wanted to hug Alice and let her cry, but negative emotions caused crime. It wasn���t right to encourage Alice to carry on. ���You won���t forget your marriage. We���ll just erase the trauma of his murder. We can come up with a cover story for why he���s gone together���a heart attack, perhaps���and then give you some antidepressants and send you on your way.���

���I���m sorry,��� Alice said, and dried her eyes, sniffling. ���It just feels like forgetting so soon would be wrong. I don���t want to forget. I loved him.���

���You won���t forget. You just won���t be upset.���

���Which feels wrong.���

���Well,��� Yvonne said, ���you���re not a danger to yourself or others, so I won���t make you do anything you don���t want to do. But we are going to keep you for observation.���

���All right,��� Alice said.

Yvonne patted Alice on the shoulder. It seemed to make Alice nervous, so she decided not to do that again. ���Get a good night���s sleep. Let me know if you need something to help you rest.���

���I���m fine,��� Alice said, although she didn���t look fine at all.

Yvonne left and locked the door behind her, then clocked out and walked to the train station. The art display on the street corner was a holographic image of large fish swimming in a tank, which she always felt was very soothing, and very appropriate to a hospital. Across the street, there was an escalator down to MARTA II, the commuter train.

The sun was setting, and the streetlights all up and down the street lit up in random pastel colors. The crosswalk signal chimed, and she crossed the street and took the escalator down to the commuter train, where most people were reading or sitting quietly. Some of them looked up and smiled; she smiled back. The station was decorated with statuary from the old days of Atlanta, some of the few architectural pieces that survived the civil war. Life had been so violent then, back before modern Psychiatry.

The train arrived, and she found a seat and pulled out her latest issue of Psychopharmacology Journal. She���d barely finished the first article when she realized she was almost at her stop, so she put the journal away and looked around. Out the window, they were passing an old graveyard with Victorian monuments of stone angels; Yvonne liked to jog there in the mornings. Grandma Jackson was buried there.

The train pulled to a stop, and Yvonne got off and walked the four blocks to her house. It was dark now, but the city provided excellent lighting. She unlocked the door, went inside, and locked the door again. Locks on doors were really a throwback to her mother���s time; one of these days she was going to decide it was just too silly and stop locking her door. Grandma always had a big key ring that Yvonne had played with as a child; Yvonne remembered the jangly noise and the metallic taste from chewing on them.

The computer and video were new, of course, but a lot of the furniture was old���her grandmother���s. There was a Persian rug, the kind you couldn���t get any more, and a grandfather clock, and books. Roger had told her to throw it all out. He said it was morbid, that it was holding her back, that she needed more therapy to get over Grandma���s death. Asshole. She couldn���t wait for him to retire.

On the contrary, she thought her house was just about perfect. The only thing missing was another person. Yvonne was so busy that it didn���t leave much time for a social life. She couldn���t remember the last time she���d had friends over. The truth was that she was lonely, and she couldn���t even figure out why she wasn���t doing anything about it.

She went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. There was something in the smell she didn���t like���something chemical���so she poured it out and got herself some milk instead.

Yvonne pulled one of Grandma���s old Psychology texts off the bookshelf. She put on her nightgown and went to read in bed. After a couple of hours, she took a Somnalix with a glass of warm milk and turned off the light.

She dreamed she and Alice were running away from some kind of monster���something out of the cheesy old horror movies her mother used to watch. She woke up in a cold sweat and swallowed a Valium dry, then went back to bed.

���You want to talk about it?��� Yvonne asked Alice.

Alice shook her head. Her hair looked very dark against the stark white of the room and her hospital gown.

���Will you at least tell me how you���re feeling this morning?���

Alice sighed. ���I���m all right, how are you?���

���I���m good. I had a nice run this morning,��� Yvonne said. ���You ever run?���

Alice shook her head. ���I don���t have the skin for outdoor exercise. I���ve already had one growth removed.���

���I can get you some gym time, if you���d like,��� Yvonne said.

Alice snorted.

���Exercise is therapeutic,��� Yvonne said. ���No one would object to my arranging something therapeutic for a patient.���

���Thank you,��� Alice said. ���I���d like that.���

���You know,��� Yvonne said, ���if you���re not willing to take pharmacological treatment, you really should talk.���

���You wouldn���t believe me,��� Alice said.

���Try me.���

Alice looked at her, and Yvonne suspected she was considering whether she wanted to talk or not. ���What made you decide to become a Psychiatrist?���

���My grandmother,��� Yvonne said, and smiled. ���She was a Psychiatrist, too. She helped a lot of people. When I was little, I wanted to be just like her.���

Alice smiled. ���Where is she now?���

���Dead,��� Yvonne said. ���Heart attack.���

They looked at each other for a moment, in an awkward silence.

���We���re supposed to be talking about you, not me,��� Yvonne said.

Alice looked at her for a long time. Finally, she said, ���Peter had an after-hours consultation with Dr. Hill,��� she said. ���If you look at his records, you might get some insights.���

���I���ll do that,��� Yvonne said. ���Thank you. I���ll go arrange that gym time now.���

���Thank you,��� Alice said.

Yvonne left, and told Carmen, the administrative assistant, to arrange some gym time for Alice. Then she went into her office and called up the records for Alice���s late husband, Peter Van Buuren.

Which were locked, by Dr. Roger Hill.

���I���m so sorry,��� Roger said. Roger���s office was twice the size of hers and had a view overlooking Grady Hospital and the Carter tower. ���I can���t give you those records. I was doing confidential research for MacPherson Forrester Long.���

���He was a product tester?���

���It would be inappropriate for me to answer that,��� Roger said.

It was also inappropriate for Roger to do product testing at the hospital, and she���d love to tell him so. Unfortunately, the person she would report improprieties to was Roger. ���I certainly don���t want to put you in an uncomfortable position,��� she said.

���I appreciate that,��� he answered.

Yvonne left before she said something unfortunate. Maybe she���d take a Serenitor to calm down. She stopped at the water cooler for something to wash it down with and nearly gagged. It tasted like rot, like death, and her throat closed up in protest before she could swallow. She spat the water back into the cup and tossed it into the wastebasket. Her stomach clenched, and she felt gorge rising in her throat.

She said told Carmen she wasn���t feeling well and walked out the front door. She���d just go to bed early.

Somehow, she knew, even in her dream, that she was in some kind of government facility. It was dark and dingy, rather than white and well-lit like the hospital. There were two armed men in police uniforms there, and Roger, and Alice, and a man���somehow she knew it was Peter van Buuren.

The man���s head was strapped into a wave regulator; he was about to be wiped. The armed men were pointing their guns at Yvonne and Alice.

���Tell me how to find the rest of your cell,��� Roger said.

���Up yours,��� Peter said.

Roger crossed his arms and glared. ���You don���t even care about the danger that you���re putting your wife in, do you? She���s the one who���d suffer, not you.���

���I can speak for myself,��� Alice said, from behind Yvonne. ���It���s not worth it.���

���You don���t know what you���re talking about,��� Roger said. He took a gun away from one of the policemen and pointed it at Alice. ���Is it worth it? Is it really?���

���Leave her alone!��� Peter shouted.

���You won���t hurt her,��� Yvonne said. ���You���re a doctor.���

Roger looked at Yvonne for a moment, then walked back towards Peter. Alice made a breathy, relieved noise.

Roger pointed the gun at Peter���s head. ���Talk to me, Alice,��� Roger said.

Alice hid her face in Yvonne���s back. There was a long silence.

Roger looked down at Peter, his face gentle. ���I had a wife once,��� he said, and pulled the trigger.

Alice screamed. Yvonne wanted to scream, but couldn���t. She was frozen, filled with a sense of horrible recognition. The smell of gunpowder, the metallic scent of blood thick enough that she could almost taste it���all familiar.

Roger looked over at Yvonne. ���You of all people should understand.���

Yvonne���fully awake���sat up in bed and lunged for the light, shaking. She reached into the nightstand drawer and took a couple of tranquilizers.

She had a strong sense that Peter and Alice had been here, in her house. She could almost see Alice laughing.

She walked into the living room and had a sense that Peter and Alice had sat there, on her sofa. Peter had been serious, leaning forward, talking, and Alice had stirred her drink absently with her straw. Had she kissed Alice in the kitchen with Peter in the other room?

And then she remembered. Grandma. Lying on the Persian rug, bleeding, dead. No.

Yvonne knelt and looked at the carpet where she thought Grandma had lain. She didn���t see anything.

She pulled back the carpet, and there, underneath, the wood was stained, right where she thought the blood should be.

���I���m sorry, Grandma,��� she said. ���I���m sorry.���

She got dressed.

There was a hidden staff entrance to the hospital. It was always disconcerting to walk through the fish and water hologram, but there it was���the door. The fish seemed menacing somehow, even though they weren���t real. She felt like they were lunging at her.

She went upstairs, up the back stairs, and went into Alice���s room, using her emergency key rather than the hand plate. Alice was curled up in the fetal position on the bed and started when Yvonne came in. Yvonne put her finger over her lips, then took Alice���s hand. Alice stood, and Yvonne led her to the door.

Yvonne leaned against the door, listening. Everything seemed quiet, so she opened the door and looked both ways. Clear. She led Alice down the back stairs, out the door, and into the fish hologram.

She looked over at Alice, who was wearing a white hospital gown and had bare feet. The holographic fish swam over and through Alice���s body, and the holographic water cast strange patterns on her pale face.

���I think I remember you,��� Yvonne said.

Alice���s lower lip trembled. Yvonne grabbed her hand and pulled her down an alley towards a cab.

The cabbie gave them a long, suspicious look, lingering on Alice���s hospital gown and bare feet.

���1343 16th Street,��� Alice said.

Yvonne realized she was still holding Alice���s hand. She didn���t want to let go, so she didn���t.

The cabbie kept giving them long looks in the mirror, but for the most part he kept his eyes on the road. When they arrived, Yvonne paid and gave him a huge tip, which she hoped would help him mind his own business.

The house was a small, modest home with a large, overgrown vegetable garden in the front yard. Alice led Yvonne up the sidewalk to the front door and opened it. Yvonne reflected with amusement that her locking habit made her more eccentric than an escaped mental patient.

Alice and Yvonne stepped inside, and Alice shut the door and led Yvonne back to the bedroom. She then extricated her hand from Yvonne���s.

���Sorry,��� Yvonne said.

Alice just smiled and opened drawers, pulling out a change of clothing.

���I think I remember your husband���s murder,��� Yvonne said.

Alice froze for a moment, then returned to removing clothes from her chest of drawers. ���Government drugs aren���t voluntary. They���re in the water.��� Alice changed clothes, pulling off the hospital gown and putting on nondescript casual pants and a shirt. She sat on the bed and pulled on shoes and socks.

���Why would the government need to drug us?��� Yvonne said. ���We���ve eliminated crime!��� Then she put her hand over her mouth. She felt a sense of wrongness that she would say that, and it wasn���t just because she said it to a murder victim���s wife.

Alice just stared at her.

���You could go to the police,��� Yvonne said, then remembered the armed men in police uniforms in her dream. ���Or the press.���

Alice shrugged. ���I���m an escaped mental patient. Who would believe me? By the way, there���s a chemical formula that you���re supposed to write down on a piece of paper for me.���

���What?��� Yvonne said.

���I know it doesn���t make any sense,��� Alice said, standing and handing Yvonne pencil and paper. ���But you���ll know when you start writing.���

Yvonne looked at the pencil and the piece of paper, and sure enough, yes, she felt an urge to write down a formula. She scribbled the formula onto the paper���some kind of psychopharmacological, but she���d have to study it more to make a guess at what it did���and handed it to Alice.

���Thank you,��� Alice said. ���You should go home, and I should go, and you can���t know where.��� She looked at Yvonne for a moment, then leaned over and hugged her. ���I���ve missed you. I���m sorry I can���t take you with me.��� She paused a moment, looking like she had something to say, but all she said was, ���I���m sorry about your grandmother.��� She headed towards the door, then turned and said, ���Don���t drink the water.��� Then she left.

Yvonne left the house, confused, and wandered back past the train station she saw on the cab ride there. She considered taking more tranquilizers, but decided against it. She got on the train and rode to her stop. When she got off the train, she was surrounded by police, who arrested her on a charge of abetting a terrorist, handcuffed her, and put her in the back of a police car.

Yvonne didn���t for one moment fail to realize that she was strapped into the same chair where Peter was murdered. Roger stood over her with his arms crossed.

���You didn���t give them the antidote, did you?���

���What?���

Roger smirked. ���Good girl.���

���You���re not going to kill me, are you?��� Yvonne asked.

���Oh, Yvonne,��� Roger said. ���You���re far too valuable as a psychiatrist to kill.���

Yvonne sighed in relief.

���People trust you,��� he said. ���You have a genuine quality that I could never duplicate.���

No, she supposed he couldn���t.

���We���ll just wipe your memory. After all, it worked well enough the first time.���

Don���t drink the water, Yvonne thought. Don���t drink the water.
Don���t drink the water.

Yvonne took a sip of coffee, then made a face. Bitter. She put it on the corner of her desk and took caffeine pills instead.

Business was booming and no one was sure why. At this rate they might have to hire more doctors. Roger wasn���t handling the stress well. There was even some talk of him stepping down. Yvonne wished he���d hurry up.

She stood and headed to the cafeteria for a nice glass of milk.

Want another short story? There’s one here.

Are you ready?

Things are afoot! Many things!

A hint: my book Love Stories is on sale for 99 cents/pennies in the US, Canada, the UK, and Australia RIGHT NOW.

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