Ghostbot (Part One of Two)

“Death is the greatest illusion of all” - Rajneesh

Ghostbot (Part One of Two)

Cassie was dead to begin with. There was no doubting the fact as mourners peered down at an oak casket now partly covered by clumps of soil. Dirt sanctified by tears marked an end to a life lived but not to the fullest. Grey skies roiling with rain clouds mirrored the timeless sadness below. A grieving husband solemnly pondered the nature of the hereafter. If only second chances could be granted; post-funereal petrichor that followed the storm but who had the power to alter events so fundamentally?

The last time Jake Dingwall had listened to a saved voice message he had welled up. Preserved in metaphorical amber, it was a precious fragment of a precious person. A precious memento. The content itself was pretty mundane, just his wife wondering when he would be home after going for a drink with a friend after work. Voicemail was always quick to be deleted but not this one; not now, not ever.

Tonight was proving difficult. Grief infused every thought, every feeling. The bottom of the cut-glass whisky tumbler drew his gaze again, a far-away place to quietly drown. He should join his sorrows and fade away into the darkness. The muffled sound of voices seeped through the living room wall like auditory osmosis. Neighbours Dan and Selma were so idiosyncratic; folks to be civil too in passing but to be dissected at a social level behind closed doors. There had once been talk of selling up and moving to a detached house, no more being held to ransom by the hue and cry of the degenerates next door. Hope and ambition. No longer relevant. 

The blinking cursor of his laptop screen tormented. It waited patiently, silently, demanding more words to be rapped out. Jake found writing to be a solitary affair, one that needed clarity of thought; not a semi-drunken state of self-pity. Not that anyone would buy his book. Not at this rate. He leaned forward again and hunched over the device perched on a wooden coffee table. A slug of Jack Daniels made him squint, the inner heat providing solace. The cloying aroma of a takeaway sweet and sour clung to the stale air in the living room; half-empty plastic containers close by evidence of his hit-and-miss appetite these days.

It had been three months since his wife had died. Cancer had come for Cassie.  Everyone agreed that thirty-one was no age to go. Simply too young. If nothing else, the insidious disease had at least afforded time, time to make the most of everything. In the end, the result was the same; she was gone. It had been two long years from diagnosis to eventual demise. As hard as she fought through the tests, the operations, the chemo and the occasional respite, the big C had won the day. It often did.  

Jake stared at the computer, a Word document imploring to be added to. Nothing would come. He glared at a headset lying prone on the floor but he was too drunk to play more games. Not sure why, he felt an urge to check his messages. It seemed a random option at this time of night but he would make it the final activity before sloping off to bed. He toggled away from the partially written tale onto a different screen and opened up his email. Tired eyes scanned the contents, listlessly searching for something beyond the usual spam:

Final reductions up to 70% off at Jones the Bootmaker, 10% off vintage travel books at Country House Library, Editors Picks at the Jewish Chronicle, Breaking: Leicester City Injury Update.

Aimlessly scrolling through clickbait, of which there was plenty, one particular email made him stop. Dead. The sender: Cassandra Dingwall. The message: dated today (timed at 18:00). Jake leaned in closer, peering at the missive, wondering if there was some kind of mistake. How could it be from his wife? She was long in the ground. Placing the tumbler back down, hands hovered over the keyboard. It just had to be clicked and opened but what would he find? There were plenty of scams doing the rounds. A crooked finger pensively stroked his unshaven chin. For a while he just stared, frozen by indecision. No, he would open the message. He would. Any second now.

A slightly trembling hand hovered again over the keyboard, time seemingly halted in this Alice-down-the-rabbit-hole moment. It was no good, he had to take the chance. Yes, it could be malware, a Trojan horse, a scam link that would take him to a site run by fraudsters but he would sort the mess out later. He took the red pill. The email was clicked.

A tinny fanfare blared through the computer’s internal speakers. An arc of stardust trailed across the top of the screen with the words Forever Together formed by emerging pixels. Underneath text appeared, line by line in numbered bullet points until the page was full. As Jake studied the content, it became clear that he had opened a programme based on a kind of afterlife service. A perpetual memorial organised by Cassie without his knowledge? Half way down and sandwiched amongst introductory, explanatory and technical blurb designed to hail the amazing advanced technical knowhow of the company involved – California AI Services Inc. – an apparently personal note was ready for his eyes having reached the mid-point.

Dearest Jake

I know this will be difficult but pulling together an everlasting version of me seemed a good idea at the time. Please see if it helps. I thought we would continue to be together after my death. If it doesn’t work out then please contact the company through one of the links provided. Love you. Always. Cassie x

Emotions washed around an already weary body. Shock danced with confusion, intrigue fought with disbelief as the widower tried to process the notion of a message from beyond the grave. A still tremulous hand absently brushed through lank fair hair. Looking away, images of his dead wife’s face became an impromptu montage in his mind. Realising his breathing had become shallow, Jake inhaled deeply to centre himself then peered back at the screen. At the bottom were two boxes: the one to the right stated ‘I have read and understood the contents of this page and I am happy to proceed’ whilst pressing the option to the left would confirm that things were not understood and take him back to the top. He selected the positive affirmation allowing the next page to load.

For a second the display went blank before more flickering pixels slowly appeared as though shards of digitised broken glass. An image was emerging, a face taking shape. Jake watched on, rapt by the bizarre event unfolding in front of him. A head was filling the dimensions of the screen. Dark hair, raven-like, cupped both sides of pretty elfin features. Emerald green eyes shone alive above a pert slender nose. Full ruby lips defined a warm smile. There seemed to be sheen on skin, a healthy glow on a happy visage. It was Cassie. She was visible down to her shoulders with a background of green grass, waterfall, a meadow with trees and a stream running away into the distance. Rippling water could be heard as it made its way from front to back.

“Hello lover.”

It was Cassie alright, a talking head version. There was that gentle warm West Country accent. They had always joked about how she should have a strand of straw poking out of her mouth and a scarecrow hat on her head. That colloquial essence had softened over the years since moving to Summertown to be with Jake. Having met at Oxford University, they had found a place to rent after graduating before eventually getting married. 

“Cassie? How can this be you?”

Adding as an afterthought:

“What the fuck?”

The simulation gave a look of reassurance, cocking its head to one side.

“Please don’t panic darling. Let me explain. Are you happy for me to do that?”

The tone was soothing.

Once again Jake’s thoughts drifted to subterfuge. What if this was a con of some sort? For every second he entertained the fanciful notion of his wife rising from the grave, someone somewhere could be manipulating him to steal his data or use misdirection to raid his bank accounts. But that face and voice. Surely scammers weren’t operating at this level of sophistication.

“Talk to me, Cassie.”

“Look I knew what was coming. I was dying. I didn’t want things to end there. I spent the last few months of my life covertly recording material for something called a large language model or LLM. It’s an enabler for a variation of thanatechnology. I live on through this avatar. It helps people dealing with grief and loss. It also means that we never have to say goodbye. I never want to say goodbye, Jake.”

Another curious smile. Jake thought it was a little insipid; somewhat wan. He noted that Cassie had obtained her degree in psychology and was every bit the intellectual that he strived to be without ever matching her intensity. That burning intelligence was one of the many reasons he had loved her. Loved her. Love her.

“You always were the clever one, Cassie. None of this seems real….even…even if it’s so good to see you. To hear your voice.”

The words were spoken with a hesitancy, a reluctance to commit to something he knew wasn’t quite as it seemed. His wife was right in front of him and yet there was a still a sense of emptiness when she spoke. It was difficult to forget that this was a piece of artificial intelligence and not a living, breathing person.

“I know this is hard but this is me. My cognition is the same, my thought patterns are the same, my feelings are the same. I have so many memories to share with you. We have forever to spend together.”

Part two at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/ghostbot-part-two-two

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