BJ
Ghost
Writer (Conclusion)
by BJ Neblett
©
2007, 2012
“I’m
staying because Batista gave me six months free rent not to make an issue of
the matter.”
Kevin
tensed in the big orange chair, his palms sweaty on the tiny cell phone. “I
still don’t like it, Susan. I don’t think you should stay there. Not till we
know what’s going on.”
“Oh,
Kevin, you are beginning to believe your own fiction! There are no ghosts here.
I’m fine! Batista had a crew of men checking out the apartment all day. They
cleaned up the mess, replaced the bulbs, and tested everything. He said it was
a simple current surge throughout the building. I’ll be fine, honest.”
Kevin
gritted his teeth. He knew that tone and knew there was no use in arguing with
Susan any further. “I still don’t like it. And I don’t trust that over
glorified maintenance man Batista. He’s got an answer for everything.”
“Why,
Kevin…” Susan’s voice sparkled like a bottle of Bollinger’s. “You sound just
like an overprotective, jealous husband. I like that!” She was sure she could
hear Kevin blushing.
“Well,
anyway…” Kevin groped to change the conversation. “At least your car is in good
hands. The shop tuned it up and did a complete brake job. Your mechanic says
the old MG has got a lot of life left in her.”
“And
I know how you are, Kevin Mc Colgan,” Susan chided. “No joy riding! You leave
her parked and get back to work. Rauch has already bugged me three times today.
He sticks his head in my office to ask how I’m feeling and then conveniently
inquires on your progress with the final story.”
“Ok…
ok…” Kevin laughed. “Now who is sounding like a wife?”
“You
haven’t heard the half of it, sweetie.” With that Susan blew a kiss into the
receiver and hung up.
The
thought of Susan as his wife gave Kevin a warm fuzzy. He closed the phone and
relaxed back in his chair. After a week spent taking care of her his mind was
made up. If this collection of short stories was anywhere near as successful as
Rauch promised, Kevin would use his advance to buy Susan an engagement ring.
Once married, he hoped to talk her into leaving that 25th century
cenotaph to Sturm und Drang for the security and sanity of his small de mode
home.
With
a smile and a sigh, Kevin opened Eris’ lid. To his annoyance, the wallpaper
photo of Susan was now completely twisted and distorted beyond recognition.
Making a mental note to call John at the computer shop, he began to type.
Hours
passed.
Kevin
slumped back into the big orange chair. This time writing was slow and tedious.
Eris was uncharacteristically stingy with helpful ideas and charms. Several of
Kevin’s inquiries were met with flat, stiff retorts, or went unanswered. It
reminded him of Susan when she was angry.
Something
popped into Kevin’s mind: John’s statement of Eris being the goddess of
discord. The computer man had asked if the laptop… if Eris was giving him any
trouble.
Kevin
started to clear the screen and run a search but stopped. Eris’ web cam lens
stared at him like Big Brother. Trying to shake the feeling of being watched,
Kevin reached for the encyclopedia. He found what he sought under mythology:
ERIS
– The Greek goddess of strife and discord, and
assistant
to Persephone. At the wedding of Peleus and
Thetis
all of the gods were
invited except for Eris.
Angered,
she tossed down a Golden Apple inscribed
To The Fairest. Three goddesses
vied for the prize
that
Zeus ordered Paris to judge. Hera offered Paris
wealth
and power if he choose her. Athena countered
with
wisdom and victory over his enemies. Aphrodite
promised
him the love of the most beautiful woman
on
earth. Jealous of Paris’ choice of
Aphrodite as the
fairest,
Eris vowed he would have his love but only
at
great cost to him and to his country.
Musing
at the idea of a machine being mad or even jealous, Kevin shrugged and headed
out the door. He needed fresh air and sunshine to clear his head. On the desk,
Eris continued to hum and blink.
The
sun warmed Kevin’s skin and a soft breeze tickled his thick hair as he drove in
Susan’s open MG. After a time, Kevin found himself cheerfully cruising picturesque
country back roads. He downshifted and gently pressed the brake to negotiate a
quick bend in the road.
Something
was wrong.
The
car’s brake pedal felt spongy. It stiffened for a second and then slammed to
the floor. Frantic, Kevin pumped the limp pedal. It did no good. The sports car
gained speed on the gradual grade.
An
unyielding curve loomed ahead. Kevin reached for the shifter. Gears ground in
protest as he rammed the transmission into second. The clutch replied with a
scream of agony. The vehicle slowed a bit. But not enough.
Desperate,
Kevin jerked on the parking brake. The rear wheels locked. The tiny British car
skidded sideways in a flurry of gravel and dirt, and slid off the road, coming
to rest against a wood picket fence.
Saturday
afternoon a flustered but unharmed Kevin sat talking to the owner of the auto
repair shop. “I don’t know how this could have happened, Mr. Mc Colgan. It
doesn’t make any sense.
“What
do you mean, Scotty?”
“Well…”
The weathered Scotsman scrummed back his Ferrari red hair and looked sheepishly
at Kevin. “We’ll pay for the damages of course… the important thing is no one
was hurt.”
Kevin
shot the mechanic a puzzled look. “You mean this was your fault?”
“No…
yes… not exactly.” He stammered, tugging on his bushy mustache, grasping for
words like misplaced tools. “Let me try and explain… please…”
“Go
on.”
“We
did a complete brake overhaul on Ms. Pattersen’s MG: brake shoes, cylinders,
hoses, the works. Those vintage cars require some highly specialized parts. As
you can see, we even flushed the system.” Scotty handed Kevin a copy of the
repair order. “But somehow the wrong fluid was used.
Kevin
blinked in disbelief.
“The
specifications call for Type III brake fluid.” Scotty’s grease stained finger
nervously pointed to the repair order in Kevin’s hand. “But somehow Type II
fluid was used instead.”
“How
is that possible?”
“That’s
what I wanted to know. You’re holding the original work order, followed by my
technician, using Type II fluid, as it states. I re-ran the computer program
this morning.” He produced a second order form. “Everything matches except the
brake fluid. Now it calls for Type III, the correct fluid.”
Kevin
considered the two forms. They were standard mechanic work orders used by
garages and repair shops everywhere. A computer and internet link had provided
the necessary parts numbers and procedures to accomplish the brake overhaul.
Except for the fluid, the two were identical.
Computers…
The
internet…
Kevin
felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to tickle. “And this caused the
crash?”
Scotty
let out a deep breath. “I won’t know for sure until I test the brake fluid in
the MG’s system. But if Type II was used instead of Type III, it could have
degraded the system and led to brake failure.” He gave Kevin a hopeful look.
“All I can figure is some kind of temporary computer glitch.”
Kevin
thanked the man and headed out of the shop. As he reached his car the words of
John at the computer store nagged at him. Nanny had said it too: Machines talking to machines.
“No…
Kevin, it won’t do any good!” He could hear the panic and fear in her voice.
“The police and fire department are here now. They can’t get in! The security
system has the entire building locked down tight… and I can’t get out. The
heater is going nuts… it must be one hundred degrees in here already… and
getting hotter. You’ve got to do something!”
Kevin’s
grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Susan’s voice
crackled over the cell phone. She was desperate. “Hold on, sweetheart… I’ll
think of something… I promise, honey.”
“Kevin,
please… hurry… I…” The phone went dead.
“Damn!”
He swore again and pounded the dashboard. His mind raced: Susan’s apartment;
the security system; the heating; even the phones. They were all linked, all
controlled, by computers.
Computers…
That
had to be it.
Machines
talking to machines.
He
recalled the closing scene of Return to
Me: Victoria overcome by smoke and heat. A sick feeling churned in Kevin’s
stomach. Ignoring traffic, he swung the car in a wild u-turn, heading away from
Susan’s apartment. Minutes later Kevin’s car skidded to a stop in front of the
computer shop. Kevin darted inside. The owner looked up from his work with a
start.
“John…”
Kevin tried to catch his breath as he leaned across the counter. “Eris… can you
contact her… like before?”
“Well…
yes… I guess… what’s…?”
“No
time. Just do it… please. She’s at my house.”
The
computer whiz set to work, his fingers a blur on the keyboard. A moment later
he looked up from the monitor. “Ok, I’m in… sort of… I think. But…”
“What
do you mean? What is it?”
“I’m
connected to Eris, but she’s running some kind of program. No wait… two… no,
several programs.” He pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose, studying
the screen. “I know this… it’s the master program that controls Susan’s
building. But that’s impossible. No one can hack it. There are too many
firewalls and security codes.”
Kevin
joined him behind the counter. The monitor flashed rows of numbers and symbols,
meaningless to Kevin. “What is it? What programs is she running… can you tell?”
John
tapped a few key strokes. “Looks like the programs for security and heat and
ventilation. This is nuts… Eris has control of the whole system!”
“Can
you stop her… break the connection?”
Desperately,
John worked the keyboard, then hit enter.
A blinking yellow box filled the screen. ACCESS
DENIED it shouted.
John
cleared the screen and typed again. Again the message: ACCESS DENIED.
A
third try ended with the same results.
ACCESS DENIED.
“She’s
not responding! I should be able to take control but she has somehow re-written
the remote access program. Kevin… what’s going on?”
Just
then John’s computer blinked and beeped. A red box opened declaring: FUNCTION TERMINATED. Then the screen
went blank.
The
two looked at each other over the silenced monitor. “I don’t know what’s going
on,” Kevin said, “but I’ve got to stop her. John, is there any way?”
“Pull
her plug, Kevin, cut off her power.”
Kevin
didn’t bother to reply. He shot out the door and jumped into his car. As he
drove he tried calling Susan. Her land line was dead. All he got from Susan’s
cell was a message that the system was temporarily unavailable.
Turning
into his driveway, Kevin prayed he was in time. Rushing to the back of his
house, his target came in view: the main electrical fuse panel. Leaping at the
control box, Kevin yanked down on the master disconnect lever.
That
would do it.
Spent
and having trouble breathing, Kevin collapsed to the ground. Sweat poured down
his neck soaking the front of his shirt. His head pounded.
“Woouph!”
“Woouph!”
Smiling,
Kevin dug into his jeans pocket and retrieved his inhaler. At least Susan would
be alright.
Above
Butch’s eternal drone, something floated in the feverish afternoon air. Kevin
listened.
You
belong to me
Tell
her, tell her…
“What the…?”
You
belong to me…
It came from inside the house.
Struggling to his feet, Kevin made
his way to the den window. The curtains were pulled and he could make out a
soft glow coming from the desk top. Eris continued to operate, cheerfully
blasting Carly Simon from her speakers. Rolls of unintelligible numbers and
symbols scrolled across the screen. The printer tray held a parcel of neatly
stacked paper.
The UPS, Eris’ back up battery
system, sat ominously in the corner of the room.
Kevin cursed and darted for the
door. He paused in the darkened garage, and then made for the den.
Cautiously, Kevin entered. Eris’ web
cam winked at him. The music dropped a level and a familiar voice filled the
room. “Hello, darling, I’ve been waiting for you.”
Kevin swallowed hard, the sick feeling
welling up in his gut again. “Hello, Eris. What… what are you doing?”
“I think you know, Kevin.”
“You have to stop!” Kevin caught
himself, lowering his voice, trying to remain calm. At this point he wasn’t
sure what the disturbed laptop was capable of doing. “I mean… please. Please…
for me.”
Eris winked and beeped, considering
his plea. Finally the sarcenet voice spoke. “I can’t do that, Kevin.”
“You can’t? You can’t! You almost
killed me!”
“I’m sorry, darling. That was a
mistake. A miscalculation on my part. I was unaware Susan’s automobile employed
a mechanical shifter. I would never do anything to harm you. You should know
that, darling.”
Beads of sweat ran down Kevin’s
temples. He thought of Susan trapped in her apartment struggling to breathe in
the rising heat, like one of his asthma attacks. Kevin fought to control his
anger.
“That was naughty of you to cut the
power.” Eris giggled like a little girl. Her monitor blinked and changed to a
picture of Kevin. It was the one from the book jacket of Kissing Fool. “Everything’s fine now. My systems are fully
functional.”
He was desperate. “At least tell me…
why are you doing this?”
The computer’s voice took on a
noticeable edge. “What can she offer
you? I’m the fairest! The smartest!
Can’t you see that, darling? I did it for us.”
“No! Stop it! Please!”
“You’ll feel differently once you
are rich and famous. Our books will be known and loved around the world. Talk
shows will vie for interviews. Colleges and universities will want you to
lecture and teach. And I’ll be there with you, darling, to help you… just as I
have been all along. You’ll see. I even finished another story for you. It will
be perfect… perfect…
“I love you, Kevin…”
“No!”
Kevin’s head began to swim. His body
trembled as the rage exploded inside of him. This couldn’t be happening. He
felt as if he were trapped in one of his own stories.
From behind his back Kevin produced
a broad wood chopping ax. Wielding it over his head, he swung wildly.
“No!” he cried again.
Eris beeped and screamed. “I love
you, Kevin. I love…”
The ax landed with a sickening thud.
It severed several cables.
“… love you…”
Sparks flew like fireworks across
the somber den. Eris’ screen flashed. Kevin raised the ax again. This time the
crescent blade split the keyboard open. Wires, circuits and electronics sizzled
in a puff of acrid blue smoke. Red cooling fluid splattered across the room. It
pooled on the desk top like spent blood. Carly Simon’s voice dragged to a
distended, distorted hush, as if a jukebox suddenly unplugged.
…
you bee… loong tooo… meeee…
Silence.
Eris’ web cam stared vacantly up at
Kevin. Her monitor flashed one last time and blinked out, plunging the room
into a shadowy darkness.
The ax slipped from Kevin’s sweaty
hands. He turned and ran into the bathroom and was violently sick.
Mr. and Mrs. Mc Colgan snuggled
together on the front porch swing, sipping hot cider and honey. A genial sound
danced on the becalmed autumn air, an evening sonata to a rapidly setting
orange sun.
“Woouph!”
“Woouph!”
The silly toothy grin stitched
across Kevin’s face. It gave Susan a warm fuzzy. “Are you nervous about
tomorrow, sweetheart?” she asked.
Kevin peered across the steaming
mug. “Maybe just a little, Susan. I hate dealing with the press. And it’s not
every day you are introduced to the public by Stephen King.”
“He loved your collection. It was
released, what, five months ago?”
“Six…”
She took his hand in hers,
affectionately squeezing it. “You handle the publicity and media then like an
old pro. I’m proud of you, honey.”
Kevin barely heard her. He was lost
in thought. The coruscating sun reminded him of Eris’ winking web cam, as it
slipped silently behind a distant grassy knoll. It had been a hectic year since
he save Susan from the possessed laptop.
Susan fled her ill-fated apartment
that same horrifying evening. A posse of lawyers, provided by Susan’s employer,
were busy working out the details of a ground breaking lawsuit. Kevin provided
Rauch with the final story written by Eris. It was a witty caper of three women
vying for the attention of the same man, each trying to buy his affection with
promises of wealth, power and love. To the
Fairest became the center piece of Kevin’s short story collection. And, as
Rauch promised, the book was an instant success, still riding the best seller
lists. Two weeks after its release, Kevin and Susan eloped to Cabo san Lucas.
Protracted shadows stole across the
cozy porch.
“Woouph…”
With the purple twilight, Butch
finally settled down.
“Don’t worry, honey. You’ve been
through this before. Everyone will love you… and your new novel. The public… the
critics…” Susan’s lilting laughter wrinkled her kittenish nose. “Maybe even
daddy. And the best part is this one is all your own work. Ghost Writer is a great book.”
