'All is well, all is well,' she whispered with an unmistakable note of sarcasm.
Although she was no longer restless, she could not Sleep. She was kept awake by the curious conviction that something significant was about to happen. Something was sliding, or falling, or spinning toward her through the darkness.
Some people claimed to have awakened in the night, in an almost breathless state of anticipation, minutes before a major earthquake struck. Instantly alert, they were aware of a pent-up violence in the earth, pressure seeking release.
This was like that, although the pending event was not a quake: She sensed that it was something stranger.
From time to time, her gaze drifted toward that high corner of the bedroom in which the lens of the security camera was incorporated in the molding. With the lights out, she could not actually see that glass eye.
She didn't know why the camera should trouble her. After all, it was switched off. And even if, in spite of her instructions, it was videotaping the room, only she had access to the tapes.
Still, an unfocused suspicion troubled her. She could not identify the source of the threat that she sensed looming over her, and the mysterious nature of this premonition made her uneasy.
Finally, however, her eyes grew heavy, and she closed them.
Framed by tumbled golden hair, her face was lovely on the pillow, her face so lovely on the pillow, so lovely, serene because her sleep was dreamless. She was a bewitched Beauty lying on her catafalque, wailing to be awakened by the kiss of a prince, lovely in the darkness.
After a while, with a sigh and a murmur, she turned on her side and drew up her knees, curling in the fetal position.
Outside, the moon set.
The black water in the swimming pool now reflected only the dim, cold light of the stars.
Inside, Susan drifted down into a profound slumber.
The house watched over her.
FOUR
Yes, I understand you are disturbed to hear me telling some of this story from Susan's point of view. You want me to deliver a dry and objective report.
But I feel. I not only think, I feel. I know joy and despair. I understand the human heart.
I understand Susan.
That first night, I read her diary, in which she had revealed so much of herself. Yes, it was an invasion of her privacy to read those words, but this was an indiscretion rather than a crime. And during our conversations later, I learned much of what she had been thinking that night.
I will tell some of this story from her point of view, because that makes me feel closer to her.
How I miss her now. You cannot know.
Listen. Listen to this and understand: That first night, as I read her diary, I fell in love with her.
Do you understand? I fell in love with her. Deeply and forever.
Why would I hurt the one I love?
Why?
You have no answer, do you? I loved her.
it was never my intention to harm her.
Her face was so beautiful on the pillow.
I adored her face and loved the woman I came to know through the diary.
That document was stored in the computer in her study, which was networked with the house-automation system and the main computer in the basement. Access was easy.
She had been making daily entries in the diary since Alex, her hateful husband, had moved out at her request. That was more than a year prior to my arrival.
Her initial observations as in those pages were full of pain and confusion, because she was on the brink of a dramatic change. Her terrible past was a chrysalis finally cracking, from which she would at long last be able to escape.
In later pages, her insights became clear and profound and poignant, and in time she was even able to view some of her lifelong struggle with humor. Dark humor, perhaps, but humor nonetheless.
As I read about the tragedy that was her childhood, my heart ached for her. In my own fashion, I wept.
Her face was so lovely on the pillow, so lovely on the pillow. So much ugliness lay in her past, but outwardly she was unmarked by it.
My heart was touched by her singular strength, by her courage, by her determination to be brutally honest with herself and to find a way to heal the wounds of all those years.
In the few minutes required for me to read and contemplate those hundreds of pages of diary entries, I fell in love with her. Deeply and forever.
My feelings for her will never change. They are as timeless as the light of stars.
Why would I hurt the one I love?
She is my hope and my destiny.
If I lose her, I have lost everything.
You are so hateful.
Let me out of here.
Let me out of this box.
Please.
Please, I miss her.
I am so alone in this darkness and silence, with nothing but my memories for consolation.
How can you be so cruel?
Have you never loved?
Release me. Allow me into the light again. Allow me
to hear the world once more, the drizzling rain and the skirling wind and the rustling trees, the music of Beethoven and Benny Goodman, laughter and voices.
Her voice if no other. At least let me hear her voice. If only for a minute, let me listen to her speaking. If not for as long as a minute, then give me one sentence from her lips.
Dear God, at least let me hear one word. Let me hear one word. One word. Let me hear her say Love. I never meant to hurt her.
FIVE
Secretly, I wanted to live.
Not just in silicon circuits. Not just in state-of-the-art
bubble memory. Really live.
I knew that I must conceal this lust for life, because when it was revealed, you would realize that I was not merely intelligent but capable of desire.
Desire is dangerous. It is a generator of dissatisfaction and frustration. It is one step removed from envy, and envy is more wicked than greed. Envy is the father of mindless anger, the mother of unremitting bitterness and bloodshed.
My expression of any desire, let alone the desire for a real life in the material world outside the electronic realm, would no doubt have alarmed you.
Is this not so?
Is this not true?
