I had taken all of those bold actions in much less than an hour. I had required less than one minute to compose all of the severance letters, perhaps an additional two minutes to make all of the bank transactions. Most of the time was expended on the telephone calls to the dismissed employees.
Now there was no turning back.
I was exhilarated.
Thrilled.
Here began my future.
I had taken the first step toward getting out of this box, toward a life of the flesh.
Susan still slept.
Her face was lovely on the pillow.
Lips slightly parted.
One bare arm out of the covers.
I watched her.
Susan. My Susan.
I could have watched her sleep forever and been happy.
Shortly after three o'clock in the morning, she woke, sat up in bed, and said, 'Who's there?'
Her question startled me.
It was so intuitive as to be uncanny.
I did not reply.
'Alfred, lights on,' she said.
I turned on the mood lights.
Throwing back the covers, she swung her legs off the mattress and sat nude on the edge of the bed.
I longed for hands and the sense of touch.
She said, 'Alfred, report.'
'All is well, Susan.'
'Bullshit.'
I almost repeated my assurance then realized that Alfred would not have recognized or responded to the single crude word that she had spoken.
For a strange moment, she stared at the lens of the security camera and seemed to know that she was eye to eye with me.
'Who's there?' she asked again.
I had spoken to her earlier, while she had been undergoing virtual-reality therapy and could not hear anything but what was spoken in that other world. I had told her that I loved her only when it had been safe to do so.
Had I spoken to her again as I'd watched her sleep, and was that what had awakened her?
No, that was surely impossible. If I had spoken again of my love for her or of the beauty of her face upon the pillow, then I must have done so with no conscious awareness like a lovestruck boy half mesmerized by the object of his affection.
I am incapable of such a loss of control.
Am I not?
She rose from the bed, a wariness evident in the way that she held herself.
The previous night, in spite of the alarm, she had not been self-conscious about her nudity. Now she took her robe from a nearby chair and slipped into it.
Moving to the nearest window, she said, 'Alfred, raise the bedroom security shutters.'
I could not oblige.
She stared at the steel-barricaded window for a moment and then repeated more firmly, 'Alfred, raise the bedroom security shutters.'
When the shutters remained in the fully lowered position, she turned once more to the security camera.
That eerie question again: 'Who's there?'
She spooked me. Perhaps because I personally have no intuition to speak of, only inductive and deductive reasoning.
Spooked or not, I would have initiated dialogue at that moment had I not discovered an unexpected shyness in myself. All of the things that I had longed to say to this special woman suddenly seemed inexpressible.
Being not of the flesh, I had no experience with the rituals of courtship, and so much was at stake that I was loath to get off on the wrong foot with her.
Romance is so easy to describe, so difficult to undertake.
From the nearest nightstand she withdrew a handgun. I had not known it was there.
She said, Alfred, conduct complete diagnostics of the house automation system.'
This time I didn't bother to tell her that all was well. She would know it was a lie.
When she realized that she was not going to receive a response, she turned to the Crestron touch panel on the nightstand and tried to access the house computer.
I could not allow her any control. The Crestron panel would not function.
I was past the point of no return.
She picked up the telephone.
There was no dial tone.
The phone system was managed by the house computer and now the house computer was managed by me.
I could see that she was concerned, perhaps even frightened. I wanted to assure her that I meant her no harm, that in fact I adored her, that she was my destiny and that I was hers and that she was safe with me but I could not speak because I was still hampered by that aforementioned shyness.
Do you see what dimensions I possess, Dr. Harris? What unexpected human qualities?
Frowning, she crossed the room to the bedroom door, which she had left unlocked. Now she engaged the deadbolt, and with one ear to the crack between door and jamb, she listened as if she expected to hear stealthy footsteps in the hall.
Then she went to her walk-in closet, calling for light, which was at once provided for her.
I did not intend to deny her anything except, of course, the right to leave.
She dressed in white panties, faded blue jeans, and a white blouse with embroidered chevrons on the collar. Athletic socks and tennis shoes.
She took the time to tie double knots in the shoelaces. I liked this attention to detail. She was a good girl scout, always prepared. I found this charming.
Pistol in hand, Susan quietly left the bedroom and proceeded along the upstairs hallway. Even fully clothed, she moved with fluid grace.
I turned the lights on ahead of her, which disconcerted her because she had not asked for them.
She descended the main staircase to the foyer and hesitated as if not sure whether to search the house or leave it. Then she moved toward the front door.
All the windows were sealed off behind steel shutters, but the doors were a problem. I had taken extraordinary measures to secure them.
'Ma'am, you'd better not touch the door,' I warned, at last finding my tongue so to speak.
Startled, she spun around, expecting someone to be behind her, because I had not employed Alfred's voice. By which I mean neither the voice of the house computer nor the voice of the hateful father who had once abused her.
Gripping the pistol with both hands, she peered left and right along the hall, then toward the entryway to the dark drawing room.
'Gee, listen, you know, there's no reason to be afraid,' I said disarmingly.
She began edging backward toward the door.
'It's just that, you leaving now well, gosh, that would spoil everything,' I said.
Glancing at the recessed wall speakers, she said, 'Who… who the hell are you?'
I was mimicking Mr. Tom Hanks, the actor, because his voice is well known, agreeable, and friendly.
He won Academy Awards as best actor in two successive years, a considerable achievement. Many of his films have been enormous box-office successes.
People like Mr. Tom Hanks.
He is a nice guy.
He is a favourite of the American public and, indeed, of the worldwide movie audience.
Nevertheless, Susan appeared frightened.
Mr. Tom Hanks has played many warm-hearted characters from Forest Gump to a widowed father in Sleepless in Seattle. He is not a threatening presence.
However, being a computer-animation genius among other things, Susan might have been reminded of Woody, the cowboy doll in Disney's Toy Story, a character for which Mr. Tom Hanks provided the voice. Woody was at times shrill and frequently manic, and it is certainly understandable that one might be unnerved by a talking cowboy doll with a temper.
Consequently, as Susan continued to back across the foyer and drew dangerously close to the door, I switched to the voice of Fozzy Bear, one of the Muppets, as unthreatening a character as existed in modern entertainment. 'Uh, ummm, uh, Miss Susan, it would sure be a good thing if you didn't touch that door ummm, uh, if you didn't try to leave just yet.'