2. CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 2
Neo
“ S o, as you can see,” I right click the mouse pad on my laptop, and just like the last fifty-three hundred times—give or take a few hundred—my heartbeat jacks up as the figure appears on the screen, “we’ve been able to achieve the avatar phase.”
The three men and two women wearing dark suits around the table scowl at the screen. Twenty minutes ago, they walked in like they intended on not being impressed, and so far, they’ve done nothing to indicate their intentions have changed. I glance over to Dr. Lexton, the department chair and my adviser, and he gives me an encouraging nod.
A droplet of sweat slides between my shoulder blades. I’m not sure if I’m glad to be wearing the sports coat my friend Hendrix insisted I wear because it will hide my sweat stains, or if it would be better not to be wearing an added layer in this stuffy conference room. I clear the ragged scratch from my throat and speak into the microphone. “Hi Mom.”
The image of a woman with wavy hair the same light chestnut as mine, dressed in her favorite faded jeans and sage green t-shirt that brings the green out in her aqua eyes, turns her head. The soft smile my nine-year-old brain remembers lights up her face. “Neo, love. How are you?”
“Good.” The word scrapes from my throat and I blink back the sting in my eyes. Seeing my mom come to life after seventeen years is… overwhelming. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been working on this since I was a teen and have numerous patents for the technology I’ve created that has led to this. Nor does it matter that my PhD dissertation is based on my research about the use of AI to help with the grief process, with the ultimate goal of ridding the world of experiencing grief. But seeing the image and voice come together as one, speaking to me, smiling at me like she used to, is like the before times. Before that one horrendous night, before icy roads took control, before frigid water swallowed her screams, before death took everything else. “I’m here with some important people.”
There’s a glitch that causes the image to flash on and off, but when it steadies, my mom tilts her head. Her hair hangs over her shoulder as she inspects me with the same intensity as she did when I was a child. “And are you going to introduce me?”
There’s a quiet chuckle from around the table, and I tear my gaze from the woman who read me to sleep every night until she was no more. I give myself an internal shake and grin at my audience. “Once a mother, always a mother.”
More soft chuckles.
Not an endorsement, but they’re loosening up. I’ll take it. “Mom, this is Mr. Rylan Ridge and his associates, Mr. Nakata, Ms. Washington, Dr. Dinn, and Dr. Kragh. And you remember Dr. Lexton.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” My mother waves, her accompanying smile lights up the screen, and I notice Dr. Kragh and Mr. Nakata wave back. “Dr. Lexton, how’s your wife doing?”
My advisor’s head jerks back like he’s surprised, though I’m not sure why. We want the avatar to remember previous discussions and be able to build on them. Dr. Lexton knows this, and he’s spoken to my mom—I mean, my mom’s avatar—about his wife’s cancer returning. “This week has been a good one. Thank you for inquiring, Mrs. Price.”
“It’s Lilly.” She raises her eyebrow the exact same way my brother does and says, “I thought we discussed this. Call me Lilly.”
Dr. Lexton’s expression softens. “Forgive me, Lilly.”
Mr. Ridge shifts forward. “It’s more lifelike than I imagined.”
“As are you, Mr. Ridge.” My mom—mom’s avatar—narrows her eyes, making her dissatisfaction apparent.
“My apologies, Lilly.” More condensation than remorse laces Mr. Ridge’s apology, but his smile is genuine.
My mom’s avatar tips her chin down, and were she wearing glasses, she’d be looking over the top of them down her nose. In life, Lilly Price did not tolerate rudeness, nor does her avatar. “It’s Mrs. Price.”
Rylan Ridge’s wide mouth stretches wider while the others around the table have expressions of varying degrees of horror, as if no one can believe an avatar would dare use sarcasm or snark to the CEO of Grow and Glow, a multi-billion dollar self-help company.
Fighting my laughter, I bite my lip and look down at the table. When I have myself together, I continue, “We focus on not just inputting information about each individual, but getting the essence of who they are. This way, loved ones will feel like they’re interacting with the deceased individual, thus filling the void left when that person dies.”
“Why only use this technology for what you’re proposing? It seems you’re missing out on an opportunity to earn more and do more.” This comes from Dr. Dinn. Her pinched mouth, small black eyes, and jet black hair remind me of a witch’s familiar in the form of a raven.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. This is what I’ve been fighting since the beginning. Technology can be used for so many wonderful things. It can make our lives better, save us time, encourage creativity, keep us safer. But there are always those who will take what is meant to be useful or helpful and bastardize it for the sake of money and power.
I shoot another glance at my adviser. We’ve discussed this ad nauseam, and he assured me he understood my mission, and more importantly, supported it. Grow and Glow’s Grief Division funds hospice programs, grief support programs, and counseling, and is supposed to be on the same page, but the niggling in my gut tells me that may not be the entire story. Dr. Lexton gives me a quick thumbs up, so I tamp down the bubbling unease and ready myself to address the doctor’s statement.
Before I can restate my vision, my mother cuts in. “My Neo has a heart as big as his beautiful brain. He wants to help the world, not take advantage of people.” She crosses her arms over her chest and stares down Dr. Dinn. “Do you want to take advantage?”
Dr. Dinn’s eyes flutter in rapid succession as she shifts in her seat. “I—I. No. I was just curious.”
A chuckle bubbles up, and I clap my hand over my mouth. The avatar’s response is so much like I remember my mother. So much like the videos of her I’ve studied until I know her every gesture, every expression, every comment by heart. But as much of Mom as there is in the image on the screen, there are still things not quite right. However, hearing her jump to my defense has me rubbing my heart as it aches because I still miss her with the intensity of a young boy.
“Okay, Mom. I’m going to continue this on my own. I’ll talk to you later.” The grin I plant on my face feels forced, but there’s too much at stake for the university and my research to do anything as I look at the group.
Mom gives the same finger wave she gave me every morning when I left for school. “Nice meeting you. Bye, sweetie.”
A chorus of farewells echoes from the group, and I click out of the program.
“As you can see, there is still a lot of work needed to make the interactions smoother. The delays while the program processes what has been said are too long, and some of the avatar’s movements are stiff.” I remove the thumb drive and slide it into my coat pocket. Attaching it to the chord I wear around my neck will have to wait until I can remove this suffocating tie Hendrix insisted I wear.
Rylan Ridge’s gaze pins me with its intensity, and I pat the tie strangling me. “I’ve read your proposal, but I’d like to hear from you exactly why we should fund continued research and development.”
“Since the beginning of time, humans have sought ways to speak to the dead. Whether it be writing letters to the dead like the Ancient Egyptians, or the Aztecs creating masks representing dead ancestors to wear during processions and dances hoping to communicate with them, or the rise of Spiritualism in the mid-19th century, people have sought comfort in being able to speak to the deceased.” I take a breath, steadying myself, then continue with my rehearsed speech. “I don’t think it’s a surprise that there was a rise in mediums, seances, and Ouija boards during the Civil War years. Some Indigenous cultures believe that ancestors are ever-present. That the dead are ancestors who can be called upon to help. In a way, that’s what we’re doing.”
“How?” Mr. Ridge clasps his hands on the large conference table and leans forward.
I take another deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity. Throughout the years, I’ve been able to skim over my story, but I always knew there would be a time when I’d need to share more, go deeper. And the intensity of Mr. Ridge’s gaze tells me that time is now if we want a chance of getting this grant. “As you may know, my mother,” I nod to the blank screen at the end of the room, “died in a car accident when I was a child. One day she was here, the next gone. That’s devastating for anyone, especially for a child. I went from her reading me bedtime stories every night to… nothing.”
Not really nothing. My dad and Dacker filled in reading to me, and I love them for it, but it wasn’t the same. My dad didn’t do the voices right, and Dacker read too fast. No matter how they tried, they weren’t my mom. “Imagine if a child could still interact with a deceased parent. Still get the bedtime story, still tell that parent about their day. Or a spouse could talk through challenges they’re having or laugh about something that happened. Families could spend holidays together and experience vacations or adventures with their deceased loved ones. The crushing devastation the leaves a void which ravages the survivor’s soul provides what? There is no purpose for grief. And if we can use technology to call on the deceased to aid us, use it so our loved ones are never really gone, then why shouldn’t we?”
Silence.
My heart does triple time as six sets of eyes stare at me. The only sound, my blood swooshing in my ears. I swallow and I swear my Adam’s apple has swollen to the size of a grapefruit.
After the longest three heartbeats in the history of heartbeats, Rylan Ridge rises from his seat. His wide smile wipes away all my previous concerns and fears and lulls my speeding heart to a peaceful rhythm. For a second, I’m lost in the cozy feeling. “Why not, indeed. Congratulations, Mr. Price. Grow and Glow is thrilled to support you in your continued work.”
“You are?” I sputter, then hurry around the table to shake his extended hand. “I mean. Thank you.”
Mr. Ridge grasps my hand, a little tighter than is typically appropriate, but who the hell cares? His group is giving us millions . “We look forward to a prosperous partnership.”
“Excellent.” Dr. Lexton slaps my back with such force, I stumble forward. “Neo’s work is some of the most innovative I’ve seen. We’re going to change the world.”
Excitement at having millions to continue my work sparks goosebumps over my skin. My chest tightens and I rub it. Something feels off, but I don’t know why. So, I nod a smile at Dr. Lexton. The man has had a rough year with his wife’s cancer returning and none of the standard treatments working. He mentioned something about an experimental drug that was a possibility, but insurance wouldn’t pay for it. This grant is huge for our department and he could use something good in his life.
While he and Mr. Ridge chat, I move to the side and text my best friend. We got it.
Immediately, a GIF of a guy waving silver pom-poms and jumping up and down in nothing but a silver thong appears.
Hendrix : Get your ass over here.
Hendrix : I want details now.
I chuckle and pocket my phone. I’d rather leave the schmoozing to Dr. Lexton, and get back to my office to work on the bugs in the program and jot down some thoughts I had while presenting.
***
Hendrix jumps from his chair, sending it careening back, hitting the wall. “You fucking did it.” He races around the ancient desks facing each other before I’m fully in our office, and yanks me to him. Grabbing me in a bear hug, his head knocks my chin as he jumps up and down. “You did it. You did it.”
My laughter is a champagne bottle being shaken with every bounce, and I wrap my arms around my friend. “ We did it. If you hadn’t found the error in the code, I’d still be trying to figure out what the hell was wrong.”
“Whatever.” He pushes me away and jabs his finger into my chest. “You would have found it, eventually.”
“Maybe…” I swat his finger away, then clap his shoulder. “Thank you.”
My friend shrugs off my appreciation like he didn’t save me years of delays. “Anytime. You know that. We’re celebrating.” He glances back at his desk. “I have to finish the draft of that paper on AI and cybersecurity, but I should be done by six. Wanna hit up Bar?”
“Yeah.” I slip back into my chair and Hendrix does the same. Bar is a favorite and at one time may have had an actual name, but the sign out front has read Bar for so long that locals have long forgotten it.
Waking up my phone with a tap, I pull up the Price men’s chat as I loosen my tie and rid myself of the sports coat.
Me: We got the grant.
Dacker : Holy shit! Look at my brilliant little bro.
My brother’s unending support brings a sting to my eyes. We went through the same hell, but it was worse for him because for the first six years of his life it was essentially just him and Mom, until Dad showed up and fell in love with them both.
Me : I had a lot of help.
I scoop the thumb drive out of the pocket of my coat and unbutton my shirt, then attach the drive to the chain around my neck.
Dacker : But it was your idea. Your heart. Your project.
Dad : Your mom would be as proud of you as I am.
I hope so. The ethical issues of using a person’s likeness without their consent is questionable, but Dad and Dacker agreed that Mom would have done whatever I needed. The ethics of what I’ve created keep me up at night. There are so many people and organizations who would think nothing of using the technology for their own greedy purposes. But when I think of the ways it can be used to help people, all the issues that still need to be worked out—and there are a ton—will be worth it. If I can help one person from feeling less alone after the death of a loved one, then at least it won’t feel like Mom’s death was in vain.
Me : Thanks.
Me : Got to go. Just wanted you to know.
Dacker : Call tomorrow morning?
My brother and I do a video call every morning at seven and have since I left for college at eighteen. Why he needs to confirm is beyond me, but I still can’t help my chuckle.
Me : See you then.
Dad : Katherine and I are thinking about a visit after we return from our cruise. Let me know what works for you.
Me : Has it been three months already?
Dad : Smartass. Just send the dates.
I snort. My dad and his new wife visit me at least once a quarter to “check in” with me, and I love them for it.
Me : Love you.
Dacker : Back at ya, baby bro.
Dad : Love you both.
I set my phone face down and open my email. The thrill of the grant wanes while my brain races over all the issues that may arise with the technology. And then there are all the quirks that need to be fixed… So much to do, but I’ve worked half my life to get to this point. With this grant, we’ll be able to start prototypes using other people.
I open my email, clicking on the first one in my inbox, and my breath hitches. Staring at me are blue eyes I once convinced myself were mysterious rather than indifferent. Below them is the square jaw that only four weeks ago, I peppered with kisses as perfectly manicured fingers combed through my messed hair. Alexander Atteridge is still as handsome as he was when our legs tangled together; the sheets flung to the bottom of my bed, while he regaled me with version after version of our lives together. Each one, more romantic and fanciful than the last until we were both giddy with laughter.
But deep down, I knew better. So, two days after that night, when I spotted him with his tongue down the throat of a gorgeous woman—if she wasn’t a model, she was missing out on the gift of beauty she’d been blessed with—who was palming the bulge in the front of his pants at nine-thirty in the morning at a busy coffee spot, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Though, in that moment, all I could do was point and scream, “Cheater,” before spinning on my heels and pushing my way out of the cafe.
Not my finest moment, and I still feel bad for nearly knocking over the old lady with the walker, but it’s not every day one’s betrayal is so public.
Now, the blood pumping through my veins boils as the blue eyes I’d gazed into with affection stare back at me, pixelated and devious. “Give me a break.”
“What?” Hendrix’s gaze shoots over the top of his computer at me.
“Asshole Alex sent me another email begging forgiveness. Does he think the tenth time will be the charm?”
A low whistle accompanies his eye roll. “That guy needs to give up already.”
“Right?” I slam my laptop closed and stand. “I can’t work in this.” Tugging the scratchy fabric of the dress shirt, I say, “I’m going home to change and work from there.”
Hendrix looks down at his I love Pi shirt and jeans and seems to deem them appropriate enough for a night out. “I’ll meet you at Bar.”
“Want me to order food when I get there?” I collect my things, shoving them in my backpack, pissed that somehow I still care enough about stupid Alex to let him have this effect on me.
Mouth open in shock, Hendrix slaps his hand to his chest. “Are you insinuating that I’ll be late?”
“Not insinuating so much as planning for the inevitable.” In my pocket, my phone vibrates.
Laughing, he chucks a wadded-up piece of paper at me, and I easily dodge it. “Get me a burger and fries.”
“Got it.” I pick up the ball of paper and toss it at Hendrix’s head as I walk out, ready to forget about Alexander and dating and focus on finishing my dissertation.
One day, VirtUal, the company I founded, will change the way we address grief. And no longer worrying about how to pay for the continued research and development feels like things in my life are finally clicking into place.