Approximately Two and a half years Ago

There were some things that hadn’t changed over the years. Video recordings were restricted, projections, Bio-Watches, anything modern had been dialed back to keep the setting classic. We had a single publicly owned camera rolling footage for security reasons. Metal chairs, all in a circle, guys, girls, all shapes and walks of life, here to share their stories.

Next was my turn. To finally share my hand wringing sob story. Like the others before me, and the others after me. This was the circle intended for support. Support required sharing oneself in a room of near strangers. I didn’t like it, but eventually we all shared.

“My fiancée had taken a trip to Florida that morning. Part of her job application process, some tests. She left a day early and took the train because they were going to retire the public rail program to make room for the TRANS Tunnels.”

“I dropped her off, kissed her goodbye, and said I’d see you soon.” Those who’d shared before me all followed the same pattern. Final words to the departed mattered more than air.

“I didn’t know exactly what time the call came in, not until later. Four oh seven PM, for seven minutes, thirty-two seconds.” I’d stared at my phone call log absently until the numbers were burned into the back of my retina.

“The woman on the phone told me that there had been an accident with the train. She was clinical. Maybe a robot.” I shook my hands from where the rubbing had pushed out too much blood.

“The train had crashed. Just, spilled over onto the interstate. Cars, passenger cart, just, just, chaos everywhere. Casualties and unidentified bodies. The woman on the phone said they were calling all sorts of family members.”

“I got in the car, set a destination, and let the Auto NAV take me cross country. You know, normal tragic mind numbed beyond belief stuff.”

The actual ride had been much more complicated. I’d made calls to my sister and parents, called my fiancée’s mother and broke the news, looked up news articles. All the standard robotic actions required in order to keep everything neat and compartmentalized. My attempts at sanity were completed between bouts of screaming and raging denial.

“So I get there, identify the remains, there was no doubt, her parents had asked for a cremation, which I told them.” That was before the bomb that had just hammered the news to a worse level.

“The person, uhh, a doctor, I guess, he was wearing a white coat, he told me she, my, uhh, fiancée, had been pregnant. Had. Wasn’t anymore. Almost three months.”

“I nodded, tried to smile, and just, did, did all the paperwork. The uhh, cremation, took only a few hours.” Modern technology painted a very clear picture of what happened. A simple turn gone wrong on the tracks, not even slightly malicious, no murder plot, one stupid accident that ended so many lives.

“A technician handed it to me, the remains, and I sat there, uhh, thinking to myself, how neat, the sum of her life and our unborn child is smaller than a breadbox.”

A broken chuckle escaped me. Someone else muttered that the attempted humor wasn’t funny. I just looked around, trying not to break down while avoiding eye contact.

“No, it’s not is it.” There was a pause while I tried to piece myself together once again. Something I’d done over and over since she passed six months prior. In front of these people, I couldn’t do it. Everything slipped.

“You know, I thought I’d be stronger. I’d always thought I’d be cool as a ship in clear waters. I wasn’t. I went back to the hotel I’d rented, crawled into a bottle, and life went downhill from there.”

Someone handed me a cloth because heaving sobs were all too common during these meetings. I thanked them and wrapped up so another sob story could be shared.

“So here I am, uhh, like you guys, trying to not need a bottle to get through the night.” I gave a weak smile and covered my face, dabbing my eyes and wondering how snotty my face was going to get this time.

They let us take a sorely needed break. Some people’s stories were harder than others. I took a breather and walked to the bathroom to compose myself. It had only been six months since she passed, but every day was a short hop away from mental Hell. The wrong thought would cause my chest to seize. Moments later and I’d be fighting to unclench my hands from curled fists. A deep pain that felt like a knife would jab into my heart.

This was meant to be the start of my attempt at self-repair, to make myself something resembling a whole human being. All these technological advances and still the human heart was a frail thing.

Two months ago I tried to kill myself.

Six months after that introductory meeting, on the anniversary of my fiancée's passing, I tried again. That was my lowest point.

Approximately Two Years Ago

"God dammit, Grant!" My sister Liz was storming around the digital representation of a tranquil riverside camping spot. We were currently engaged in an online conference call because the doctor thought it was the safest thing for my recovery. I was on all sorts of drugs so it was hard to focus on anything but the sound of water.

"Seriously! Again! You did this to me again!" She shouted, but all that made it through was a slow drip. Her words took time to catch up.

"I didn't do it to you," I muttered. There was no good self-defense for trying to end my life. Intellectually the idea was absurd but suicide wasn't about thinking. It was about feeling. "I did it to me."

"Get it through your thick head! What you do affects me." She said. I slowly managed to tilt the virtual headset up and Liz's face came into view. My sister was waving her arms around rapidly then crossing them. One lip was being chewed on while she thought. "God, I don't know if I can explain this to Beth."

"Don't." The drugs made the word slur a bit.

"What am I going to tell her then? That her Uncle, the man who basically acted as a father when she was young, gained a new scar by accident?" Liz glanced at me sidelong then looked away. That brief glance felt both accusing and ashamed.

"Don't tell Beth," I said.

"Of course not Grant. Of course not. But I thought we were doing well. We had the meetings set up. Your counseling is going well still, right?" Liz kept pacing around the room. She managed to keep both hands under control by tucking fingers up into armpits. Every so often Liz stared at the digitally rendered sun slipping lower over the camps treeline.

"I guess." I may have missed a few meetings. I may have ignored a few calls from my sponsor, which was a glorified way of saying a babysitter. The thought made me frown, thinking badly about him was uncharitable. Leon, the man who checked in with me once a week, had been trying hard.

"I swear to God, when you get home I'm going to rattle all your teeth until some of this nonsense leaks out of your head." Liz stood still for a moment before stomping around again.

"Okay, Liz," I said.

"God dammit, Grant!"

"I know." I kept the tone low. Longer sentences were hard to get out. Drugs had a very adverse effect upon the digital software used by ARC devices. Being sedated was bad enough but the hospital had put me into a Second Player helm. This wasn't even a full Alternate Reality Capsule.

Somewhere in the virtual landscape a bird chirped happily. Crickets and frogs made noise to fill the silence. None of them were real. I wasn't comfortable in the wild anyway. Like most children of my generation, we were all city kids who rarely visited nature. There was a bench nearby that I could sit on. Liz kept weaving around it in her endless pacing.

"Okay. Okay. We can do this. Just like last time. The doctor said you've got two days under observation. Then we have to put the band on you again." Liz said. She turned and started walking back towards me. Having a plan made it easier for her to focus. We both had that in common. At least we used to.

"I know," I said slowly.

"Then after the band is on and working you're clear to come home," Liz looked down at my foot. That was where they would put on the ankle band. Anywhere else and it was too easy to disrupt.

"I know." I hated the band. It was part of my insurance plan. God knows what those people would have to say about all this. Tests, price hikes, rules would change. Everything would go together and just cause me a headache once these drugs wore off. Right then I wasn't coherent enough to have a headache.

"And we'll make sure there's a car available for your meetings. I'll start working from home a few more days a week. We can do more dinners." Liz pulled one arm out and looked at it. Her hand was shaking. My twin sister shook her head and arm rapidly then tucked it back in again.

"Liz." I had to tell her.

"Then we'll have to watch things carefully again. Shit, Grant, do we have to do this every year?" Liz responded.

"Liz." I tried to get through to her again. Maybe the Second Player helm was running poorly. Maybe the internet in my room had dropped in and out of service.

"And what am I going to say to Beth? She's a teen, but she isn't stupid, Grant!" My twin sister had gone back to pacing around the room. Her footsteps were heavy enough to clomp in the grassy riverside.

"Liz!" I shouted.

"What, Grant?" She was only interrupted for a moment. My sister had a wild look to her eyes. "Jesus. I don't know."

"Thank you." I didn't know what else to say. There wasn't enough in the world to repay her for even trying to help me pick up the pieces. Only the drugs in my system kept the feelings of absolute powerlessness away. Every time I thought about the loss it clenched my heart. The cracks of my life were that much more obvious. And it felt like those thoughts crossed my mind all the time. Grant, the Broken Record.

"God dammit, Grant. God dammit." Liz was crying. God how bad had I messed up? "No. No, I'm sorry. You're recovering. I know, they said I shouldn't take it out on you, but, Jesus!" My sister was shouting by the end.

"Thank you, sis," I said it again.

"Just, just sit tight. I'll be there in a few hours." Liz still couldn't look directly at me. The first time had been bad enough and here we were going through the whole process again. I watched my sister wave an arm in the air and her image started to fade.

My own interface faded slowly. Both eyes were unfocused as a disconnection screen came into being. It counted down from ten. Each second was like a funeral march celebrating reality's return. Finally, the world was mostly dark with the smallest bit of light piercing up through the helmet's bottom. I slid the device off my head and set it on a table next to the hospital bed.

Approximately Eighteen Months Ago

After months of searching and calculations, I had managed to get some things straightened out. Not myself, not perfectly. My life was too far gone and even an entire roll of duct tape wouldn't solve it. I shook my head while trying not to think about the missing piece of my life. It was nearly a year and a half since my fiancée had passed taking our unborn child with her.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Liz asked me. I was staring at a series of spreadsheets across her kitchen table. They were digital projections like so many things in life. It was easier to clean up a computer image. Plus voice commands worked when the program was well done.

"It is." I nodded.

"And you're okay with this new job?" Liz sat there with a coffee mug in her hands. That was her comfort method. Often the aroma of coffee beans mixed with vanilla would spread throughout her home after a rough day. My sister didn't like her bosses.

"The hours are flexible. I can work as much or as little as I want." I kept my voice positive.

"I'm still not sure if you should work for them." Liz shook her head over the mug of coffee. She wasn't even drinking it, just sniffing. "You know how much I don't like those machines."

"They're here to stay, plus this way I have job security. My old market isn't what it used to be as the AIs improve." The degree I had in accounting and business was absolutely useless now. Machines could predict market trends and stock changes faster than any human. Their accuracy was often off the chart.

"So you go from managing all that money to being a grease monkey for the machine?" Liz set down the cup and stared at the images scattered over her table.

"Not even that," I said. The job was more like being a mouthpiece for the machine. My part of the work would be minimal. We both turned as my niece, Beth, bounded up the stairs. She had just come in from visiting a friend or something. It was hard to believe that she would be eighteen soon.

"Are you still going to visit us, Uncle Grant?" Beth said while going straight for the fridge.

"I'll drop by a lot. I need to find my own space." I smiled at Beth. She seemed so carefree compared to her mom and I. It was amazing to think that we had ever been that young.

"Alright, I've got to go log in for school." Beth had buttered bread in her mouth and a container of water in each hand. She managed to wave goodbye with a few free fingers.

"I'm glad the ARC is working for you." It had been my first purchase with this new job. Ten thousand dollars up front for something the size of a twin bed. The price point could have been higher, but Trillium had given me an employee discount.

"Oh it's great, I don't have to commute anymore! Mom kept making me take the bus." Beth said while chewing on her bread. She was walking backward towards the stairs while talking.

"It's good for you." Liz wiggled a finger at her daughter. I tried not to laugh as Liz sounded more and more like mom. Soon she would be nagging Beth to find a good husband who would be a doctor. Not that doctors actually performed operations anymore. Most operations were done by machines and computer programs that reacted faster with more precision.

"Bleh to that. I'll be eighteen soon, and I can't be taking a bus." Beth said as she approached the stairs.

"Alright. You go to class, let your Uncle and I talk." Liz waved her daughter off and Beth nodded happily. Soon she was down the stairs and in her room.

"You know that the monitors will still be in place, right?" My sister whispered.

"I know. I'm okay, Liz." I said. The doctors had told me all about the rules for moving out on my own. There was a long line of do's and don'ts in order to meet insurance requirements. Part of me longed for the days where a person could vanish into the hills and never be heard from again.

"No, you're not." Liz responded slowly.

"I just need time away from everything," I said. Every damn thing on the planet reminded me of her and it was killing me. Staring at the ceiling at night, going out to our old car, driving by the old house to talk to renters.

"That's avoiding, Grant. You're avoiding." She had gone through all the courses with me. Liz often talked trash about other people, she got mad at the drop of a hat, but was nothing but supportive in the long run.

"I've got to do something, though." I put a hand on the pile of images and pulled up the small houses image. This was where I would end up once everything cleared. Would my past keep haunting me there?

"So what, you're going to sit at this new house, and work yourself into oblivion and hope everything gets better?" Liz was back to her coffee. This time she was sipping at it.

"I'll still do my meetings, I'll still make my sessions. I'll show up at work. What else can I do but try to go on?"

"When Beth's," her lips curled distastefully "asshole father ran off, I cried for weeks, Grant. Weeks."

"I know."

"And I would have never survived it you hadn't stood up for me to mom and dad." She took a big gulp of coffee then stared down. I spared her a quick glance and smile.

"You were in pain, of course I would help," I said slowly. We had been seventeen then. Neither of us knew a damned thing about life at that age. Twenty had been so long ago too. I wasn't engaged, didn't have my degree, hadn't even bought a house. There were so many differences.

"And I had to face the reality that Beth wouldn't have a good father figure in her life." Liz was quiet. Her eyes gazed off into the distance before she took another gulp of coffee. "Not that any of the others were worth much either."

"You should have taken him for child support." I said. Beth's father demonstrated absolute scum qualities by running off like that. We still had no clue where he had ended up.

"No, no I wanted nothing to do with that man, and I still don't. That's not the point." Liz said. I could almost hear the coffee mug in her hands cracking under pressure. "If you are in trouble, then let us, let me know. We, I owe you, Grant."

"We're family." My sister said softly. It was the same line I had used when helping her with the bills after Beth's father dropped out of the picture. The simple statement made me feel guilty all over again. For being so broken, for being able to keep it together. Other people moved on after a year. It hurt, but they somehow did it. Not me. In my heart, I still clung to the memory as if it was my only lifeline, which was almost spitting in the face of my sister's kindness.

"Damn right. And if you ever scare me again with these sorts of threats, I'll kill you myself." Liz said. She walked off down the hall and left me alone at a kitchen table full of my future.

Two months after that conversation everything got a final seal of approval. I was certified as tentatively stable. My insurance company was on board. My old house had been successfully sold to the renters who seemed eager to make things official. This new home was hours in the other direction but still close enough to Liz and Beth. That way if I had a bad night, home was just a car ride away.

I had set up a few other purchases as a result of my job. Things that Trillium easily provided to all contractors. Liz would have her coffee as comfort, I would have a dance program. Part of me felt ashamed to use a dead woman as the basis for my dance partner. The other part of me wanted to hold onto any remaining image of her in order to keep myself together.

The doctor said I had complicated bereavement issues. None of the clinical explanations helped. My psychiatrist had said that finding the will to continue was an exercise in distraction. Not avoidance, but finding other things to focus on and live for. We had discussed the move and he suggested that it might be a good way to progress with my life. Changing where I worked and lived was a thin line he warned. Overworking was my last major crime now that I had given up drinking again.

This was my life now. If overworking kept me around for Liz and Beth, then it was a small price.