Her Remains

Hey. Your phone is buzzing.

“I’m asleep.”

Wake up, Isla. It might be important.

“No. Go away.”

You should answer it.

“You’re not there.”

Nice try. You answered me, right? So answer the phone.

“You . . . are . . . not . . . there.”

C’mon. Remember that game we played on our wedding night?

“What? Wait . . . what?”

Here we are at the Honeymoon Arcade. Look at that, your arm’s a toy-claw and you’re going after the biggest prize . . .

“Oh my . . . stop!”

Find the phone, pick up the phone and answer the phone.

“I know you’re not real. You’re not there.”

Oh? And just what makes you so sure?

“It starts with the letter D, and I don’t mean Darling.”

* * *

Well, no one told me about her, the way she lied. Well, no one told me about her, how many people cried.

* * *

“Isla, honey, are you ever coming out of there?”

I remember this.

“Hey, be patient out there. Not every night of your life is your . . . scratch that . . . our wedding night.”

“Well, it better be worth the wait. I’m dying out here.”

I pop my head out of the swanky hotel bathroom and flash a tipsy grin at my freshly wedded husband.

“Don’t you doubt it. Why don’t you pour us a splash of the good stuff while you’re just sitting around?”

“Hmm, a judicious use of time. If I must, I’ll just have to drown my desire . . .”

“No, you don’t. We’re about to take a trip to the Honeymoon Arcade.”

“Now you’ve got my full attention. Let’s go.”

“Hold your horses. I just need another second . . . to prepare.”

Then, with a wink and a promise, I escape. I next remember checking my reflection one last time. The mirror is the magic kind that softens the features. I smile and the beaming face of my reflection smiles back.

Then come the crippling cramps that twist everything into a crimson grimace, outside and in.

I swear I didn’t know I was pregnant.

* * *

But it’s too late to say you’re sorry, how would I know, why should I care? Please don’t bother tryin’ to find her. She’s not there.

* * *

My world is black. I feel something firmly grasp my shoulder as my eyes shoot open.

The phone is lit, vibrating. What’s this? What time is it?

“Hello, Mom?”

I hear a man’s voice.

“Good evening, or morning. Yes, it is closer to morning, I see that. I do apologize for calling at this hour. I hope you’ll forgive, but I’m here with your mother. I’m taking care of her, you might say.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“All in good time.”

“Who is this?”

“No time for questions, I’m afraid. You have an important task in front of you – that is, if you’d care to see your mother again. Oh, and I imagine you might prefer she be alive, wouldn’t you. Run now, and fetch your financials, won’t you? I am speaking of banking materials, routing numbers and whatnot. It’s all kept in the top drawer of your ex-husband’s standup desk in the den. I’ll wait, of course, but you must take me with you. No muting, and all will be fine. Off you go.”

“But . . .”

“You heard me. Move.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“And don’t forget, I’m listening.”

Shit.

* * *

Well, let me tell you ‘bout the way she looked, the way she’d act and the color of her hair.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Adam. I can’t help it if I’m just not in the mood.”

“Isla, what’s happening, really?”

I remember a short honeymoon. I remember why.

“I need time, Adam. That’s all.”

“We have all the time in the world, Isla, take all you need, only don’t shut me out. Rich or poor, in sickness and in health, all of it.”

“If I had the words, Adam . . . I’m trying.”

“I didn’t marry you just to have children, Isla. I married you to have you.”

“But I’m not what you thought I was. I’m not what I thought I was.”

“We’ll adjust. I understand about the miscarriage. I’ve said so a million times and I mean it each time, or I wouldn’t say it.”

I remember how earnest Adam appeared, as if he honestly believed what he was saying.

“I never wanted to deprive you of anything, certainly nothing as important as a family, Adam.”

“We have our entire lives ahead of us. There’s so much to look forward to.”

“That’s only if you forget the things we’ll never have, because of me.”

“You said you didn’t know you were . . . I believe you. What happened happened to both of us.”

“Even if that were true, it doesn’t change the outcome, the finality neither of us signed up for.”

“You don’t see me asking for my money back, do you?”

“I don’t see any humor in this. I just can’t imagine what you see when you look at me.”

“I see a beautiful girl that shines like the sun, no matter the weather. You did that, you can do it again.”

“I’m trying.”

Liar.

* * *

Well, no one told me about her, what could I do?

* * *

(Wait a minute. You’re not doing what he says, are you?)

You’re not here, damn it!

(Why aren’t you calling 911?)

I turn to point out to nothingness that the phone is already in use.

“I have it.”

“Splendid. Now, listen carefully.”

“Isla? Help me, Isla! I’m so . . .”

“Mom? Mom!”

“There you are, a tiny snippet that will suffice for now. I am going to walk you through a few steps. Listen carefully. Do you understand?”

Stop shaking your head at me!

“Yes, I do.”

“You do exactly as I say -- and I’m certain you are sophisticated enough to know not to involve anyone else in the business we are about to transact. You do understand, don’t you?”

(Why aren’t you asking any questions? If somebody tells you to rob a bank, jump off a bridge . . . oh, wait, but that is you, isn’t it? Roll over, play dead, just give up. Sound about right?)

You are distracting me!

(Oh, well, I didn’t mean to confuse you with the truth.)

“Yes, I understand.”

(No, you don’t.)

“Good! So, you’ve just signed a virtual NDA. Now, most financial institutions become unduly suspicious if more than a certain amount of currency is withdrawn at once, and so . . .”

“I have to pee.”

Don’t you roll your eyes at me. I do!

“Take your phone with you and, again, no muting. I can see your mother from where I am and her eyes tell me she’s depending on you.”

(Oh, great. You’ll even carry a criminal into the loo with you. Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.)

Shut up. Stay here . . . or I mean get out!

(You won’t even know I’m here.)

* * *

Her voice was soft and cool, her eyes were clear and bright. But she’s not there.

* * *

(I hope you have the good sense to at least throw the phone in the toilet.)

Are you insane? My mother’s life is at stake!

(But you don’t know that, do you? Not really.)

Arrrgh. You always expect so much of me. I only come in one model and I'm it. And, seriously, just how do you suggest I confirm that my mother is in a real-live hostage situation with some deranged money-grubbing psycho with impressive verbal skills?

(I’d suggest more than a little over the top.)

And who has my phone number and presumably knows where I live, and who knows what else?

(But does he know you have a brother who’s a member of the FBI?)

Leave me alone! Why can’t you . . .

(Hah, I saw that! You paused.)

Because when you’re right, you’re right.

“Excuse me. Yes, hello. I don’t know what to call you.”

(I have a few suggestions.)

“Frankly, yes, I did omit that particular formality, but since we are to be in business together, albeit fleetingly, you may refer to me as Al.”

(You have got to be kidding.)

“Al?”

“A-L, Al.”

“All right, Al.”

Don’t you have anything to add? Adam? Where . . . okay, good.

“So, shall we get on with it?”

* * *

(And this is where the marital wheels came off, the works were terminally mucked up, where the rubber no longer met the road.)

Stop being so dramatic. I doubt I’d be the first person on the face of the earth to be duped by AI. It was my mother’s voice, after all.

(Well, no, it wasn’t.)

You know what I mean.

(And you know what I mean.)

I’d rather not.

(Might that be because our life savings was almost virtually tossed out the window?)

That, and other things that subsequently did get tossed.

(Ah, what comforts lie in selective memory. We all did our best, didn’t we? Anyway, let’s get back to what we were talking about.)

Were we talking?

(Yes, if you’d been paying attention. You do that now more than ever, Isla, you allow your mind to wander. Put it on a leash, will you?)

Oh, I get it. You just want me to acknowledge and thank you for getting my brother involved, don’t you?

(Well, I knew you didn’t have the wherewithal, or a second phone, or two more hands.)

No. But I did have you, didn’t I?

(Even when you didn’t.)

I think I’m beginning to understand what the hell you’re talking about. Some of the time, just maybe.

(Then there’s hope.)

* * *

“Nurse, has the patient in 10-E been checked?”

“I’m supposed to. I’ll go now.”

“Wait. Are you new here?”

“First day.”

“Well . . . Bridget? Before you go, tell me what you know about 10-E.”

“She’s the woman from the news whose ex-husband died in that home invasion.”

“That’s what she claims, that he alerted the brother who’s an FBI agent and that they burst in and rescued the mother.”

“Right.”

“Thing is, no one’d seen the ex- in years. He simply vanished. There was an investigation that came to nothing. And if there had been a divorce, there’s no record of it anywhere. It’s open-ended all over.”

“Doesn't anyone know what really happened?”

“It’s anybody’s guess. She’s been here since the home invasion, catatonic. Just be prepared.”

“For what?”

“She talks to her ex- like he’s there with her, I mean all the time.”

“That’s creepy. Thanks for the warning.”

“Sure.”

“What if she says something important?”

“How would you even know?”

"Excuse me, ladies, there's someone here to see the patient in 10-E. Is she taking visitors?"

"I'll check her chart. Who is it?"

"Claims he's her husband."

* * *

Well, let me tell you about the way she looked,

The way she’d act and the color of her hair

Her voice was soft and cool

Her eyes were clear and bright

But she’s not there.

But it’s too late to say you’re sorry

How would I know, why should I care?

Please don’t bother trying to find her

She’s not there.

She’s Not There

Song by the Zombies 1965