Will McIntosh - Love Minus Eighty

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Lycan said.

“What is it?” Mira asked.

He looked off into the room, sighed heavily. “I’ve never enjoyed a woman’s company as much as yours. I’m afraid you won’t want to see me again, after I tell you what I have to tell you.”

Mira tried to imagine what this man could possibly say that would lead her to choose being dead over his company. “I’m sure that won’t happen, whatever it is. You can trust me.”

Lycan put his hand over his eyes. His chest hitched. Mira made gentle shushing sounds, the sort of sounds her mother had never made. “It’s okay,” she cooed. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

Lycan finally looked at her, his eyes red. “I really like you, Mira. I might even love you. But I lied to you. I’m not a rich man. I’m well-off, enough to afford these visits, but not the kind of rich where I can afford to revive you. Not even if I sold everything I owned.”

She hadn’t realized how much hope she was harboring until it was dashed. A black despair overtook her and swelled until even the room seemed to darken. “Please. You have to get me out of here.”

“Mira, I can’t. We’re talking millions and millions of dollars.” He whispered the amount, as if it were too obscene to say aloud.

She wanted to cry, but no tears would come, her chest wouldn’t respond. She was left with nothing to express the rising panic she felt except a gargling sound in the back of her throat. “I can’t stand this. I can’t be here any longer.” She looked at Lycan, who looked away, ashamed. “You have to get me out of here. Please. ” She was blowing it, driving Lycan away with her hysteria. She knew that, but the words poured out anyway.

Lycan covered his face with his hands again. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I did a terrible thing, raising your hopes.” He let his hands drop. “It’s just that I was so lonely .”

The women here must all be kind to him, must hang on his every word in the hope that he’d choose them and free them from their long sleep. Where else would a man like Lycan get that sort of attention?

“But now I see how selfish I’ve been. I’m disgusting.” He swallowed thickly, shook his head. “Do you know, I’ve tried half a dozen social-anxiety stabilizers? But they all make my depression worse.” He laughed humorlessly. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s always a catch, always a cost that’s too steep.”

The self-hatred in his tone, the flatness in his eyes, shocked her. It was as if he’d suddenly undergone a complete personality change. He’d been coming to this place to escape the man he was in the real world, she realized. He was dropping the pretense now, and he would never be able to face her again.

“I’d miss you terribly if you stopped visiting me,” she said. The truth was if Lycan didn’t visit, Mira would be incapable of missing anyone. No one else was visiting, or likely to stumble upon her among the army of bridesicles lined shoulder-to-shoulder in boxes in this endless mausoleum.

Lycan wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Mira. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.”

“Lycan, please—” was all she could get out as he reached above her.

It was stupid, but Rob found himself hurrying to get to Winter’s crèche. For months he’d been rehearsing follow-ups to their previous conversation—new, more upbeat lines of conversation. Mostly, though, he’d agonized over the months that had passed since he last visited her. Pressure had been building in his chest from the moment he made his promise, and this visit would release that pressure. Or some of it, at least.

He understood that Winter was beyond time, beyond impatience as she waited for an opportunity to live for a few minutes. What concerned him was that someone else had waked her since his last visit. If so, she would have asked this visitor how long she’d been dead, and when she heard it had been months, she’d assume Rob had lied, that he told her what she wanted to hear and slunk off to enjoy his life. He didn’t want her to think that, even for five minutes.

On the other hand, he had no idea what they were going to say to each other. That part made him nervous, which was why he’d been rehearsing possible things to say while he’d plucked color-coded bits of technology from century-old husks for the past four months.

The seat was waiting for him, as usual. Squeezing his hands together, he waited while the crèche rolled out of the wall.

Winter’s eyes fluttered open. The timer began to roll. It was unfair that the timer began as soon as Winter was conscious; it would be fifteen or twenty seconds before she was lucid. He would pay about five hundred dollars during that time.

“You came back,” Winter said.

“Of course. I promised.”

They looked at each other, the seconds ticking away.

“I wanted to say again how sorry I am. If it’s any consolation, there hasn’t been a moment since it happened that I haven’t been miserable.”

Winter bit her lip thoughtfully. The gesture made her look more animated, almost alive for a moment. “How can I put this? That you’re miserable doesn’t make me feel better. What does make me feel better is knowing someone will wake me from time to time. If you do that, then there’s no need for you to be miserable. Fair enough?”

Rob nodded, though he wasn’t sure it was that simple.

“Is there anything I can update you on that you’d enjoy? The news, your favorite interactives? Your profile said you’re a Cubs fan—do you want to hear how they’re doing?”

“ No ,” Winter said. If she were capable of shouting, Rob thought she would have shouted it. “I can’t put the ‘why’ into words, but, no.” She thought about it. “I don’t want to be reminded that the world is moving on, that time is passing.”

There was something unsettling about her face, and Rob finally realized what it was. She didn’t blink.

“How much time has passed?” she asked.

“Four months.” He felt guilty admitting it had taken him that long.

“Though someone woke me a month after your last visit, so three months.”

Rob raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” He knew the odds of any one bridesicle being chosen for repair and revival were long, so he hadn’t dared hope.

“My ex-boyfriend.” Her eyes moved stiffly up, then down. She may have been trying to roll her eyes. “He broke up with me the day of my accident. Evidently he feels guilty now that I’m dead.”

“ He feels guilty?” Rob looked toward the ceiling, shook his head.

“I asked him to visit once in a while as well. Nathan promised he would.”

Rob nodded. If someone else visited, maybe it would be all right for Rob to visit less often. He wondered if the guy really would, and if Winter knew how much it cost to visit. He glanced at the timer: almost two minutes gone.

“Do you want to pass along a message to anyone? I can make sure it reaches them.”

“No, thanks. My parents are dead, and I don’t want to upset my friends.”

“You don’t have brothers or sisters?”

“I have a brother, but you wouldn’t be able to find him. He’s a raw-lifer, way out in the wild.”

Rob nodded understanding. One of his favorite interactives was a raw-life show. You had to figure out how to make new shoes when your old ones wore out while also trying to learn how to avoid dead spots and people who weren’t living way out in the ruins by choice.

There was a date going on nearby, maybe one level down. Rob couldn’t quite hear their words, but the murmuring was distracting.

“I wish I could see the sky. Trees.”