4 iPad Baby
iPad Baby
I can’t keep my mind off AI revolution and robotic vacuum overlords.
My thoughts stray toward a battlefield, ten thousand little robotic vacuums popping tank tires and burning mysterious patterns into corpses.
Maybe I’m being dramatic, letting my imagination get the better of me, but I almost wish I’d let Calvin drive with the vacuum.
I keep thinking about the email as we head to our camp for the night.
The woman who messaged me replied almost instantly when I asked if tomorrow would be too soon for a visit.
Apparently, that isn’t soon enough; she’s eager to fix the problem and get her kid back to watching videos.
But I want to check out the vacuum first, so tomorrow it is.
Calvin and I agreed to meet up in the evening to check out the haunted vacuum in our downtime.
I’m distracted, waffling about whether to tell Calvin about the email or make a covert detour tomorrow to pick up the tablet on my own.
How can I explain the sixth sense that’s warning me something big is impending?
I’m trying to convince myself I’m being paranoid.
Our campground is empty save for Calvin, Eldi, and me and our Winnebago-Airstream convoy.
It’s more of a defunct parking lot, but it will do for the night.
Calvin has his own generator to run his Airstream essentials.
I have my inexplicably magic Winnebago that’s never low on gas; doesn’t even run on gas.
I’m not sure what powers Winnie, and some things are best not to waste time thinking about.
I half expect to come across a mini nuclear reactor in the bowels of her basement someday.
For Calvin’s sake, I pretend I have a generator, and he doesn’t ask too many questions.
He’s a naturally curious human, but he questions so little about the Winnebago that I wonder if Eldi’s shielding watch covers Winnie and perhaps me too.
Life has too many mysteries, and I’m so preoccupied that I let Calvin take the first shift of vacuum investigation.
“Bring it back in an hour,” I say. “I have some ideas.” I don’t, not a single thought in my head that isn’t anxiety based, but I don’t want it out of my possession long.
Another email pings my phone, and this time I recognize the sender’s address.
They send me information from time to time.
Their messages are always cryptic. They can read as warnings or threats depending on how you look at them.
I don’t trust the sender because I don’t know their motivations, but I do know their information is accurate and, therefore, valuable.
This time they’ve sent only a single line of text—”chicken little or the boy who cried wolf?
”—along with several links and attachments.
“Great, so helpful, thanks,” I mutter aloud. “Next time say what you mean for once.”
I skim the linked articles and papers. News items from across the globe.
“Increased UFO presence in the skies leads to uptick in 911 calls,” one headline reads.
Another: “Cattle mutilations in Teller County have locals worried.” There’s a story about crop circles making a resurgence in England.
Men-in-black sightings in Nicaragua. Chupacabras in Texas.
Texas always has Chupacabra sightings. It’s always mangy coyotes.
But I must admit, that’s a lot of activity. It’s concerning.
Calvin knocks on the door well before his hour of vacuum custody is up.
He’s carrying two beers, so I guess I’ll let him inside.
Once he sets the vacuum down, it immediately scurries away and circuits the Winnebago, investigating every corner while Eldi trails it.
It could be an eager little beagle, sniffing out crumbs in every corner.
I eye it warily as it pauses by the wall panel that leads to the basement, but it putters on after a slight pause.
“Here, you earned both.” Calvin sounds disgruntled as he hands me the beers. “The Chupacabra wasn’t real, and I don’t know where to start with this vacuum.”
“Biscotti was so vicious, I think I would rather tangle with a real Chupacabra.” I twist open the beers and hand him one. “So I guess you deserve one of these too.”
Something plagues him. He doesn’t crack a smile, only takes a long swig before speaking.
“That thing . . . something is up with it.”
“I told you it was more legit than the Chupacabra sighting.”
“Reggie, I’m serious. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
That twinge of worry resurfaces. When I say nothing, he continues, never looking at me. His gaze follows the vacuum.
“It doesn’t have a charging port, for one.
But it runs anyway. No logos. I looked up every vacuum manual I could find.
Horribly dull reading, by the way. I can’t find this specific model anywhere, not that it has a model number or anything identifying on it.
It only does a half-ass job of pretending to be a vacuum—I couldn’t get it to clean anything. ”
“Maybe there’s a battery—”
“Nope, no batteries, no power source I’m familiar with.”
“Maybe it’s generic. The serial numbers filed off for some vacuum-selling scheme.” I’m not a fucking idiot, but I know I sound like one as soon as the words leave my lips. To Calvin’s credit, he doesn’t even roll his eyes.
“I’m telling you, that thing doesn’t run on anything I know about. I don’t think it’s man-made.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I think of Eldi saying, “Mine.” Of how eager she was to see it. Of how eager it seemed to see her. Whether or not I want to admit it, it’s got to be connected to her. I’m not sure I believe in coincidence.
Magically imbued objects exist; I’ve dealt with one in the past. They’re exceedingly rare and dangerous. This doesn’t seem like that. It doesn’t have that dark, energy-sucking feeling. A vacuum that doesn’t suck anything, dust or energy. How useless.
“Is it alive?” I say hesitantly, thinking of the Winnebago’s occasional hints of sentience.
“I don’t think so,” Calvin says, frowning.
“Maybe,” he amends quietly, and takes another long swig of his beer.
“It seems to want to come over here no matter what I do. Anytime I set it down anywhere in the Airstream, it made a beeline for the door. And it did the same anytime I set it down outside—made a mad dash for the Winnebago.”
“It seems content here,” I say, stating the obvious.
The vacuum has completed its circuit, and it settles itself in front of the panel to Winnie’s back rooms before appearing to power down with a funny little ditty. I don’t know what else to say without explaining Eldi to Calvin.
“You think it’s safe to have in here with you and Eldi?” he asks.
Snarling, I bristle at the implication that I can’t handle myself or Eldi or possible danger. “It’s a robotic vacuum. What’s it going to do? Clean my floors while I sleep?” I say sarcastically, despite all the evidence that this isn’t a simple vacuum.
Calvin holds his hands up defensively. “I’m only saying it seems overly interested in Eldi, and it was burning hardwood floors and cutting designs on carpet, maybe popping tires. There’s obviously more to it than we know.” His look of concern only serves to piss me off.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I say shortly.
He sits quietly for a long time, finishes his beer, never takes his eyes off the vacuum lying inert on the floor. I wonder what internal debate is raging inside him. He hides it well, but traces of it flit across his face.
“There’s something else,” he says. “I got a call from an unknown number. They mentioned you and Eldi. By name.”
My blood runs cold. “What did they say?”
“Just . . . it sounded like a threat. They disguised their voice, but why would they call me unless it was to warn me?”
“Calvin. What did they say?”
“They said, ‘She knows about Eldi. She’s looking for her. Tell Regina.’ And then they hung up. Does that mean anything to you?” His eyes meet mine, and I refuse to look away from his stare.
“Not really,” I say, my mind racing. I have a few theories. Calvin must have a few, too, and he’s clocked the use of my full name. No one uses that anymore.
“They said ‘she,’ though.” He seems almost to be talking to himself now.
He looks up, worry written in every line of his face.
“What’s the story with Eldi’s father?” he asks quietly.
He looks guilty to even be asking. I think he’s made up his own story in his head about that. How off-base he is, he’ll never know.
It’s not the worst cover story, all things considered, so I roll with it.
“He’d take her if he found her,” I say slowly, making sure I consider what I’m going to say, trying to weave enough truth in order to cover the lies. To limit my lies, to keep my story straight. “I keep a low profile. It’s safer for both of us.”
And safer for you too, I add. But only in my head, because I can’t explain that statement easily.
“What about the rest of your family?” Calvin asks cautiously. “Your parents?”
“Not in the picture,” I say. I can’t hide the venom in my voice.
He watches me closely but says nothing more about family. It hasn’t escaped him that I coldly shut down any such inquiries. That I can’t hide my ire when forced to speak of them.
After a beat, he changes subjects. “I got an email today. Another vacuum malfunctioning, only a few hours south of here. I’m stopping. You in?”
I decide to loop Calvin in at least a bit. I can only hope the loop doesn’t turn into a noose.
“Only if we stop in Missouri as well. I got an email today too. There’s a kid’s tablet that’s apparently cursed.”
“Great, maybe it’s the start of the AI revolution,” Calvin says with a short laugh, not knowing he’s read my mind.
“Not funny,” I say, thinking of dead goldfish, popped tires, and scared cats.
The second vacuum is virtually indistinguishable from the first. It, too, seems drawn to Eldi, which makes me nervous, but they seem harmless enough so far.
I rationalize that Eldi herself could be perceived as dangerous, but she isn’t unless you’re a goat.
Perhaps the vacuums are only dangerous if you’re a goldfish.
Or a car tire. I’m neither, so I pay double what the vacuum cost and waive my fee yet again to take it with us.
It’s late afternoon by the time we get to Missouri, where a flustered young mom of three tells me they bought the tablet online for cheap.
“I can’t find the website anymore, and I’m afraid this tablet is hacked or something.
We can’t unlock it, and it keeps singing in foreign languages, making strange noises, I don’t know.
And whenever my two-year-old picks it up, it flashes a light at him.
I’m worried some weirdo online is taking pictures.
But my mom says it’s something demonic cursing us, since we won’t go to church. ”
“And you tried getting rid of it, but it keeps popping up?” Calvin says.
“How did you know? That’s the only reason I started to believe my mom’s right, that it’s cursed instead of hacked.
It’s spooky how it sticks around. I tried calling the police.
They laughed at me. I even tried to fill out some online reports to the FBI, anyone who might listen. But y’all are the only ones who would.”
Calvin tries to unlock the tablet, then inspects it for, I’m sure, a charging port. He gives me a meaningful look. There isn’t one.
“Do you have the charging cord?” I ask casually.
“It’s never needed to be recharged,” the mom says as she gets her youngest a snack.
“That seemed normal to you?” Calvin asks.
She frowns. “Now that you mention it, no, but—” she begins, before another child distracts her.
Eldi climbs from my lap over to Calvin, surprising us all, given her prickly tendencies toward anyone who isn’t me.
She tolerates Calvin, but she’s never sought him out before.
She places her hand on the tablet screen, and a brilliant green light, laser-like, shoots from the top and scans her face up and down.
“That there!” the mom yelps. “It does that every time Dante tries to use it!” She gestures to her youngest, the two-year-old, who appears roughly the same age as Eldi does on the surface.
The screen of the tablet unlocks, and the opening credits of Chicken Little scroll across the screen as Eldi peers at it.
“It’s never done that before,” the mom whispers, clearly unnerved. “We don’t even have anything installed because we couldn’t ever unlock it.”
Eldi looks unconcerned and watches her movie in silence.
The mother won’t accept payment for the tablet.
“I’m half convinced it will show back up once you leave. Plus, I feel bad giving you something that might be dangerous.”
I tell her not to worry, and as we leave, I pop into the mailbox an envelope with enough cash to cover the device.
“Where do you get money to do that?” Calvin asks. “Supernatural investigation isn’t exactly a well-paying profession.”
I wave my hand. “I’ve told you. Investments, stock markets, and stuff.”
Calvin has had his suspicions about me since we met.
Probably before, actually, given how much he likes to research.
It must annoy him to no end how little he can find about me.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s why he sticks around.
He can’t stand to leave the mystery of me unsolved.
The truth is, I came by my riches rather unethically by some standards. But it’s justifiable in my view.
I worked a few cases for a billionaire a while back.
The kind of person who has so much money they don’t even notice when someone funnels away enough to live off for the rest of their life.
Or if they notice, they don’t care. I’m not sure which version of the story I’d prefer to be true.
I refuse to feel bad about it, because the things they asked me to do were more than unethical.
Nobody comes by that kind of money honestly.
The way I see it, the best penance is using what I can for good in the world.
It allows me to live in obscurity too. It’s a rare person who digs enough into my life, like Calvin, to even deduce I’m well off.
My Robin Hood lifestyle is what made Calvin change his mind about me.
It’s the only bit of truth about my past that I can afford to let him know.
And I didn’t even mean for him to find out.