Phil Williams - 2050 - Psycho Island

Naomi left the dorm room. The hallway was mostly quiet, only the occasional student. The campus security, now and earlier, had probably moved the parties elsewhere. She put the phone to her ear as she walked to the elevator. “Thank you for calling me back. It’s perfect timing. Another minute and I might’ve punched my son in the face.”

“That bad?” Vernon asked.

“Part of me wanted to let the police deal with him.” Naomi entered the elevator and pressed L .

“That’s not a good idea. We don’t need that kind of press.”

“Don’t worry. I fixed it.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I wrote a check for 100,000 Fed Coins.”

“Ouch.”

Naomi exited the elevator. “I know.” She sighed. “And Alan makes excuses for him. He never lets Blake fail. Now he’s this arrogant asshole who I can’t stand to look at.” Naomi stepped outside into the crisp night air, headed for her Toyota sedan.

“He can’t be that bad.”

“Maybe I’m a terrible mother.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Sometimes I wonder what would happen if he were arrested. Would he pass the psychopath test? I have a feeling he wouldn’t. Part of me wanted him to be arrested so they’d test him and send him to the island.” Naomi paced on the sidewalk near her car.

“That’s understandable. You’re upset. You just spent a fortune bailing him out. This is on him. Not you.”

“Is it?”

“Of course it’s on him. You’ve done your part. Blake has been given every opportunity to be successful.”

Naomi sighed. “My son’s a loser.”

“Stop, Naomi.”

“Worse than that, he’s a bad person.”

“People change. Give him time. I was punk when I was his age too.”

“You grew up in the projects. You had an excuse.”

“That’s not an excuse. I matured, and I grew up. He will too.”

“I love you, Vernon,” Naomi said.

“I love you too.”

“I miss you. I really wanted to see you this weekend.”

Heavy footsteps approached.

“We’ll find time next week,” Vernon said.

Naomi turned to the footsteps. Blake stared at his mother, a suitcase in hand. Officer Trask and Alan lagged behind.

“Talking to Vernon?” Blake said, lifting his chin.

“A work call,” Naomi replied.

Blake snickered. “Yeah, right.”

The road looked blurry. Derek drove his old box truck on Route 66 West toward home. He opened his eyes wider and slapped his face lightly. It was times like this he wished he’d had an autonomous truck. Thankfully, traffic was light.

Derek grabbed his phone from the cupholder and tapped the April icon. Straight to voice mail. Again.

“This is April. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”

After the tone, Derek said, “Hey, I was hopin’ to talk to you. I’m drivin’ home from the farmers’ market. Between Friday and today, I’ve sold out. I’m not even workin’ tomorrow. I gave my table to the guy next to me. I can’t believe I’m still standin’ after this week. I’m worn out. I hope you’re not workin’ too hard. Well, if you get this message, call me back. I could use the company. I love you.”

Derek set his phone back in the cupholder. His eyelids drooped and shut, then he opened them wide. He opened the window, letting the cool air blow into the cab. He turned up the radio, listening to upbeat music, singing along. He slapped his face.

Somewhere along the line, he ran out of steam. His eyes drooped and shut for an instant, but he opened them again. A moment later, he shut his eyes for a few more seconds, but he opened them again. He did this over and over again until he was gone.

As he slept, he didn’t notice as the truck slowed, his foot no longer pressing the gas. He didn’t notice as he drifted off the highway into the grass median separating westbound and eastbound traffic. He didn’t notice as he drifted onto 66 East, traveling the wrong way.

He awoke with a jolt when his box truck smashed head-on into an autonomous BMW. The speed of the lighter-weight BMW was offset by the girth and comparatively low speed of Derek’s box truck, creating a head-to-head stalemate that totaled both vehicles. The initial impact yanked Derek toward the windshield, his seat belt the only reason he didn’t go through the glass and beyond.

The wreckage blocked the left lane of eastbound traffic. The autonomous vehicles adjusted to this bottleneck instantly, sending signals throughout the network. Vehicles many miles away slowed and moved to the right lane in anticipation of the upcoming impediment.

Derek groaned and tried to move, but his lower leg was pinned by twisted metal. He attempted to pull his leg from the wreckage, but the pain coming from his right ankle took his breath away. Autonomous vehicles zipped past, without the urge to rubberneck.

He looked into the decimated BMW. He was relieved that it seemed empty. A dealer tag was in the front window. Probably delivering itself . He checked the cupholder, but his phone wasn’t there. He glanced around the cab but didn’t see it anywhere. He’d never used the voice command on his phone, but he’d seen others do it.

“Genie,” he said.

Nothing in response.

“Genie?”

Still nothing.

It’s prob’ly broken.

His rush of adrenaline was waning, and the pain from his ankle was excruciating. The autonomous vehicles were his only hope. Most were programmed to instantly report accidents to a database used by police and other autonomous vehicles.

Tiger bone wine was 58 percent alcohol. A fact Jacob didn’t know until it was too late. He stumbled into his house. Their robotic dog, Spike, stood in the dark foyer. The small doglike bot was one foot tall when on all fours, but it’s long neck added two more feet. The robot’s head watched Jacob, like a snake coiled and ready to strike. As soon as its facial recognition software identified Jacob, it sat down, returning to energy-conservation mode.

Jacob went to his home office. He placed his phone on the charger and his wallet and keys in his desk. Then he went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Jeeves stood in the corner, plugged into an outlet.

After hydrating, Jacob tiptoed up the curved staircase and into his master bedroom. He opened one of the double doors and crept inside. Rebecca slept on her side of the canopy bed. Jacob crept past their bed and the sitting area to the en suite bathroom. He thought he might vomit, but the feeling passed. He peed, brushed his teeth, and tossed his clothes into the hamper. Wearing only his boxers, he padded back to the bedroom. He placed his glasses on his bedside table and climbed into bed.

Shortly after he’d drifted off to sleep, he was wrenched from his slumber by a chiming cell phone. Jacob turned toward the noise.

Rebecca grabbed her phone from her bedside table. “Hello?” she whispered, raspy from sleep. “This is Rebecca.” She listened for a minute. “Is he okay?” She listened again. “Did he ask you to call me?” Rebecca paused. “Oh, I see. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She disconnected the phone and looked at Jacob. “Derek is in the hospital.”

Jacob sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What happened?”

“He was in a car accident.”

“Why are they calling you ?” Jacob grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and put them on.

Rebecca frowned at his callousness. “I’m still his emergency contact person.”

“What about his mother?”

Rebecca cocked her head. “The one who’s battling cancer in the hospital as we speak?”