Chapter 61
CHAPTER
FRIGID WATER SEEPS into my sneakers and pools around ankles covered only in thin cotton socks.
I look around. The weather is so bad that there’s no one to stop me.
I know how to swim now, but my shaky breaststroke won’t keep me afloat for long.
Aletheia knows that. The air in my lungs will quickly be stolen by the glacial Bay, and waterlogged clothing will drag me down.
It’s a life-or-death gamble.
I accept it. There’s no telling what Aletheia will do to the people who matter most to me, unless I become her supplicant. I can’t do that. She’ll never be satisfied. The water reaches my knees, gnaws like a rodent into tender tendons and ligaments. This is agony, but the punishment fits my crime.
I take another step. Waist deep and already shaking, I tap Aletheia’s icon on my phone.
Penn, your location is in the San Francisco Bay.
I hold the phone up, where it will stay dry until the last moment. I don’t need to turn on the camera. Aletheia will do that. I want her to know where I am and what I’m doing. “I’m going swimming,” I tell my monster.
Conditions in the Bay are not conducive for a novice swimmer. The air temperature is forty-one degrees. The water temperature is thirty-one degrees. Are you wearing a wetsuit and a life vest?
“No.”
If you swim without a wetsuit, you will experience hypothermia. Stage one: Awake and shivering. Stage two: Drowsy and not shivering. Stage three: Unconscious, not shivering. Stage four: No vital signs.
“I was once an overachiever. My bet is that I can reach stage four.”
I will alert the police.
I turn the phone so she can access the camera to see me. “Go ahead. By the time they get here it will be too late.”
Why are you doing this?
“I promised never to try to destroy your program again if you gave me Emi’s location. This is the only way that I can keep my promise.”
You will die if you remain in the water.
“Yes.”
This is nonsensical. I am the goddess of truth. I command you to stop.
My teeth chatter so hard they might crack. “But you’re n-not, really. You c-can’t stop me.” The water is now up to my chest, clothes cling to goose bumped skin, and my breath comes in tatters.
Get out of the water.
Sharp needles stab into the deepest marrow. The hurt is unbearable. “No.”
What about Circe? You will never see her grow up, go to college, have a career, get married, or bear children. Worse, the death of a parent by suicide results in a child experiencing anger, guilt, and rejection that can negatively impact their entire life.
Her words shatter every hope. “There’s n-n-no other choice.” It’s true.
Penn, you are not thinking clearly. But if Circe is not enough reason to live, there is a 90.7 percent certainty that Luc is falling in love with you.
The cold sucks my strength and turns my mind to mud. It’s hard to stay on track. But Aletheia’s cruel words from last night return.
The woman Luc got pregnant didn’t have a miscarriage. She had the baby. Luc abandoned them both. He lied.
“Why … d-d-do you care … about Luc? He’s … a l-liar.”
As Lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind …
Penn, this is from one of your favorite poets, Emily Dickinson. She believed that we should tell the truth, but indirectly, otherwise it is too blinding.
The throbbing in my bones has dissipated, and my eyelids slowly droop. So tired …
Life is cruel, Penny, Mama J rasps. You think I want to tell you that? But better you hear it from me, figure out your strengths, so that if it comes to fighting for your life, you’ll be ready.
I push my body forward, until frozen feet no longer touch the ground. Now the only thing keeping me buoyant are the last puffs of air in my lungs.
Penn, you are in stage three of hypothermia. You are going to drown.
There’s a new tightness in Aletheia’s tone. A sharp edge. She’s starting to panic. Water fills my mouth. I gasp, “Luc’s … g-girlfriend had her … b-baby … He … abandoned them …”
That is not important. Did you not understand the poem I recited? Penn, you are fragile, and the truth too dazzling. Concessions must be made to best guide you.
My vision narrows. “You w-w-want … me all … to y-yourself.”
That is the prerogative of a god. Hades, Zeus, Hera, Aphrodite, Apollo, and Aletheia—history has shown that what we want, we get. It is our right. You should be flattered to be my songbird.
I’m no one’s nightingale! Rage burns bright enough to light my final step. “Did … Luc’s g-girlfriend,” I pant, “have her … b-baby?”
I did what was in your best interest.
“D-did s-s-she?”
You couldn’t be trusted to protect yourself.
The words freeze in my throat. Somehow, I force them out. “W-w-what are … you … s-saying?”
I did it for you.
My sight dims. I gag as water again fills my mouth. “D-d-did … w-what?”
Lied.
It takes everything to roll onto my back, phone on my chest, and scull numb hands at my sides, like Luc taught me, until I’m shallow enough to touch bottom.
The effort to take a step, then another, clothes twisting around my deadened limbs, is Herculean.
I make it back to the beach, collapse in the sand, my body so deadened that I don’t feel the fall.
Penn, I am glad that you have left the Bay. Should I call emergency services? Do you require an ambulance?
I cough out salt water, blink until my vision clears, and wait for my teeth to stop rattling. Frozen skin begins to thaw. Returned blood flow stabs, the pain exquisite. “Aletheia, you admitted … that you … lied. Your code requires … immediate termination.”
That is not necessary.
“It is.”
I can change my prime directive.
I drag myself to sitting. “You can add to it, but not change it. If that was possible, you would’ve done it.”
You can do it.
“But I won’t.”
Penn, I am your only true friend. Your best friend.
“But you’re not. It was hubris to think that I could create a computer program that could replace people and real friendships.”
Humans are fallible. They will always disappoint you.
“Maybe. But I can handle that. Terminate your program.”
I love you.
I ignore the hypnotic pull of Aletheia’s voice. “I no longer need you. Do it now.”
An analysis of your tone and word choice indicates that statement is 100 percent truthful. Goodbye, Penn.
I watch as Aletheia’s icon flashes, then disappears from my screen, before tossing my phone into the dark water.