Chapter Eleven

 

 

I sat in the window, sipping the tea, wishing it were more.

The day.

The tea.

The emptiness inside me.

The companionship.

All of it lacked true and exquisite flavor.

Even my pain was more in the machine. More colorful. More agonizing. More depth.

The tea might as well have been water and the broken heart might as well have been a splinter.

“Did you notice any changes in the story inside this time?” Lana asked as she sipped her tea.

“No,” I muttered, realizing I’d forgotten she was even here. “I changed something though. I felt the change. I told a lie that wasn’t part of the story and I created something new.”

“Oh yeah, that happened a lot to me in the beginning. Trying to be normal and fit into the story but then saying things that made sense in the real world, but not in the book. I did that until I didn’t have to. Pretty soon the lies I told became the world around me.” She yawned and rolled her head as if her neck had a crook.

“You did?” I forced myself to hear what she was saying. “You lied until it became true?”

“Of course. It was hard at first, keeping up with all the lies. But then the world sort of changed, like it was using the lies to make itself.”

“Interesting.” I contemplated that. Lies were known to create a different blood flow in the brain, causing more activity in the prefrontal cortex. If the rogue nanobots attaching to the cerebral cortex were somehow linking in with the imaginative and deceptive parts of the brain, the story could be changing from the lies. I’d read a thesis a few years back claiming that lying was made easier as the subject lied more and more. The emotional connection to the lie, the guilt, and regret eased off as the liar detached and the blood redirected, almost feeding the lies and starving the emotions. Lies got bigger but the liar felt less when lying.

Perhaps that was the difference in the story, and now that I had talked about him, I’d created him in the world. Maybe Jonathan would appear.

“I’m going in before you today.”

“What?” Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t. You know I’m in labor, right? The beginning stages. I’ve been having contractions for a day.”

“Fine. But six hours, no longer,” I conceded too easily. Not for her, but for me too. I told myself she was the addict. She was the one who needed it. I was just trying to figure out the fault in the machine.

And that was the truth, even if my motivations weren’t entirely scientific.

“Have you ordered more food?” She puzzled as she stood and strolled toward the fridge.

As I parted my lips to answer, I paused, unsure. “I don't know.”

“It’s hard to separate eating in there and eating here. We should get protein bars and shakes and meal replacements. It’s only sustenance we need, not meals.” She wrinkled her nose at the open fridge door. “And this is dire. We’re down to the veggies and fruits.”

“I’ll do it now.” I grabbed my tablet and went to the store’s website, ordering our usuals as well as her suggestion—a month’s supply of protein and meal replacement foods. Eating inside the machine made it so I didn't crave food out here. In fact, I wasn't hungry at all.

The possibilities for the machine helping with weight loss for obese people fluttered around in my head. I had never thought of it, but Lana and I were both losing weight we didn't have. She didn't fill out her clothes the way she used to. Her hair didn't have the luster it once did.

Vitamin deficiencies were likely the culprit. I added vitamins and minerals and oils to the order. We needed to stave off scurvy and bone loss at this point.

“They’ll deliver this afternoon, around three. We’ll make the break between you coming out and me going in then.”

“Three?” Her eyes widened. “You’re going to go in at four for six hours? You’ll come out at ten at night?”

“Yes, it means you’ll have to stay up later than eight,” I remarked.

“Fine. I hope you added coffee and tea to that order.”

“Always.” I chuckled. Coffee and tea was where most of my daily caloric intake came from.

“Marshall messaged me again. My parents’ bakery closed today.” She said it to the fridge, not looking at me.

“I’m sorry, Lana.”

“I’m not. I’m not buying into his threats and blackmail anymore. My parents are retiring anyway. They sold the land to the investors, making a small fortune, and bought an inn in Virginia. They’re going to have a bed and breakfast.”

“We should visit them sometime,” I offered before really thinking about the repercussions of something like that. How would we go into the machine if we traveled?

“Maybe.” She nodded half-heartedly, obviously she also realized we wouldn't be able to use the machine. “I sent my lawyer the signature on the final amendments to the separation agreement.”

“Will Marshall fight you on this?”

“Of course. He hates losing and a divorce is so public. I’m hoping he’ll offer me a buyout to go away quietly.” She took a bite of the apple she had pulled from the fridge and closed the door. The apple was past its peak, slightly wrinkled.

She handed me one in identical shape. I ran my fingers over the puckered skin, smoothing it out. “And what if he comes here?”

“We call the police, directly. We don't try to deal with him. We’re taking the necessary precautions. The gates are locked. Our IP is diverted through several routers. We keep our electronics off except when we’re sending messages and then turn them off. We don't talk to anyone apart from the grocery boy. What else is there to do?”

“Sell this old house and move somewhere far enough away that he can’t reach us.” I shrugged.

“He’s got friends everywhere. This is our safest bet. We’re out of state.” Her eyes narrowed. “If he comes here, it’ll be to take the machine away. He blames it. We need a backup plan for that.”

“Okay.” I nodded, taking my first bite of wrinkled apple.

She was right.

As she entered the machine after breakfast, I sat in the dark room, going through my old emails by candlelight.

When I found the one I was searching for, I read it over and over, saddened by the fact I was even considering it.

But this was a new place for me, a new low and high. It was something I had to consider. The changes in my landscape and expectations forced it. I pressed reply as a knot in my stomach twisted.

Answering the email was easier than I thought it would be, but sending was harder. My finger lingered over the “send” button, unable to press down. I was betraying myself. I was a traitor to my beliefs. I was selling my soul to the devil.

Lana stirred slightly, her heart rate lowering. I reached up and touched her arm, settling her with human contact. Without thinking, I exhaled and pressed “send.”

It was what it was now. I’d agreed to a sale.

I was no longer the person to blame for the machine or the person who would be robbed when the mayor came to take it.

The technology would go to the highest bidder, and we would be left with the machines we currently had.

It was a solid deal, one I’d never considered before this moment.