Ghostbot (Part Two of Two)

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

 

Ghostbot (Part Two of Two)

Jake tried hard to demarcate a longing to be with his beloved wife again from an awareness that this might simply be a bot calculating what to say and do as the conversation developed.

“So how have you been?”

The question was posed with what sounded like tenderness. It evoked a rush of feelings inside the grieving husband.

“You look like shit by the way.”

After an awkward moment, Jake laughed. If felt good to laugh. That was so like Cassie. Irreverent and funny. Self-consciously he pawed at the growth around his chin and face. He hadn’t shaved in days. It was his way of side-stepping civilisation although his boss would grow wise to it and take him to one side for a quiet word. Faculty staff had standards to keep. As much as he wanted his writing to take off, his day job teaching sociology kept things grounded.

“Oh…you know, I’ve been better. It’s been difficult without my other half.”

This felt like a genuine disclosure even with the underlying irony, like the beginning of a connection.

“I know, I know. I am here to remind you of the good times and of how much we love each other. I can help with your grief. Don’t let it consume you. I am here now. I am here for you.”

Again, a beguiling smile; a facial expression that wasn’t quite the Cassie that he’d known. In life she had struggled to leave the therapy sessions held with her patients behind. As a psychiatrist, her job was all-consuming and often those deeply personal and invariably complex conversations held with clients would follow her home. Jake was mindful of not unwittingly becoming a case study.

“What can you feel? I see you and hear you. I sense you but I don’t know what you are.” As the statement ended he felt a pang of guilt at being so direct.

For a few seconds, the image of Cassie didn’t reply. It was as though a response was being processed.

“I feel what you feel. I am happy, sad, angry, disappointed. I am all things.”

This didn’t sound like something his wife would say; there was a sense of theatre about it.

“I can remind you of our Christmas times together. The time you took a picture of a robin in the garden when your mum thought you were taking a photo of her. The time you proposed to me under an oak tree in the moonlight. The time we got drunk and I fell out of a cab and you had to pick me up and push me back in.”

Pictures blazed through Jake’s mind like a cinema screening.

“Dear Jake. It really is me. I am the same woman that you shared your life with. I am the same woman that you wanted a child with. I am the same woman that you mourned with when I miscarried. All of those moments are etched in my memories. Sad times along with the many, many good times.”

The mention of the loss of their unborn child made him go cold. It had been years since he had thought about it. Of course, Cassie never forgot, reminding him annually on each anniversary of the unfortunate day.

“That’s a dark memory to flag up so soon. If you have been around since Cassie left us, why turn up now? It’s been months since her…your….death.”

“The agreement made with the service provider was to make this embodiment of your wife…me….available exactly three months after her….my….demise. The idea was to give you time to come to terms with what happened. This second chance is intended to make things easier for you at a less difficult time in your life.”

Jake rested his chin in the palm of his hand making him look like Rodin’s statue. This was a lot to deal with. Not that it was his bag but this entire concept seemed to exist at the point where law, theology and ethics intersected. Was this the ultimate in anthropomorphism? If this was one of their many, previous drink-fuelled debates, he might try and impress his wife by talking about relationality, finitude and death. Was this just a sordid monetization of one of the most difficult aspects of life?

“Cassie…are you…sentient? Are you alive or some sort of HAL9000?

There was a sense of trepidation as the conversation was becoming more theological. He rarely enjoyed this kind of discussion with his partner preferring to skirt subjects like the meaning of life unless alcohol mitigated it from becoming too serious. Neither of them were particularly religious albeit his lapsed Catholic status masked a latent moral dimension to the idea of an afterlife. The fact was that his wife had the upper hand when it came to high-brow concepts even allowing for studying the same subject for their respective degrees.

As he stared into Cassie’s green eyes, his mind drifted to hazy days as a boy singing in the choir at All Saints Church. He could clearly see the back of the priest, his cassock swinging as arms gesticulated, preaching to the congregation at the conclusion of another hymn. The words, broad Irish brogue, sounded muffled yet still understood. The sermon was something to do with the Book of Genesis and humans being created in the imago Dei – the image and likeness of God. Life was a unique journey of discovery with our body inseparable from destiny. Death was not the end of our humanity. The memory made him ponder whether this version of his wife was an abomination of the person that came before; whether this entity was simply an artificial construct that is outside of God’s love. Was it morally right for his wife to somehow become immortal? Did this reduce her spirit to something diaphanous, something incorporeal and meaningless? The gathering in the pews bowed their heads, flicking pages to the next hymn and the reverie petered out.

“I am as alive as you want me to be, lover. I am here for you. There is so much to talk about. It’s been too long.”

He was sure there was a barely discernible glance of indecision on his dead wife’s face; still the split-second processing based on interaction. He wanted so much to be with her again, to feel genuinely cared for and loved. Maybe he had grown cynical over the last few months.

“Where are you, Cassie? I see woods and stuff. Is that real or computer generated? I imagine the latter.”

Fingers circled the rim of the whiskey glass, subconscious reflection whilst trying to stifle any inadvertent projection. Inside he felt detached from whatever this was.

Jake added rhetorically under his breath:

“I think I am losing my mind.”

“It can be real, Jake. Take your VR headset and put it on. This programme will connect with the device and within a few moments you can be here with me. We can be together again.”

Neither spoke for what was probably a minute. Jake tried to imagine what it would be like to actually touch and feel her again. How the long period of loneliness might finally come to an end. He felt moisture under his eyes and realised he was crying.

“We can try for a child again.”

Jake felt like he had been hit by a train. Cassie’s miscarriage had been their lowest point before cancer came along. The rollercoaster of emotions that followed her diagnosis had done a good job of suppressing the legacy pain of losing an unborn child. That last statement had prompted a sense of intense hurt again. How could she…it….just blurt something out like that without any apparent empathy?

“Cassie…you know how much I love you.”

Still an inner conflict raged as he considered what to say next.

“This is all a bit much at the moment. I need to think.”

Silence.

“I am going to turn you off now. OK?”

Silence.

“We can speak again soon.”

Silence. Then:

“OK lover.”

The laptop was hurriedly closed down and the lid slammed shut.

Jake slumped back into the soft sofa and exhaled loudly, both hands gripping the crown of his head. He sat there for a while taking the occasion gulp of whisky until it was gone. Eventually, scrambling to his feet he crossed the room, clicked the light off and went to bed, thoughts whirling.

His world had been turned upside down.

In the corner, a small red light on the television started blinking. The screen flickered on and an image radiated from behind the glass. It was a woman smiling serenely at the empty room. She mouthed silently:

“Hello lover.”

 

 

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