Impossible Miracles

Chapter 10
The Third Miracle

When he woke, it was already past noon.

He blinked blearily. Light streamed in tangible ribbons through the curtains.

His brain was still fuzzy with sleep. It didn't hold any thought for long, and any attempt just ended in a mental slap on the cerebrum. Still tired. He yawned, stretching before realizing that something pulled at his wrist.

Why was there an IV?

His lips turned downwards, a frown marring his features. He had no intention in being a marionette with cut strings for what remained of his life. If he were to live, he'd live as he wanted.

He rubbed his eyes free of the remnants of the dreamless night before shuffling over to the edge of the bed. Looking around, he saw his clothes in a corner.

Where was the robot? Usually she woke him up by this time.

When his thoughts alighted on her again, he sighed, this time in regret. If there were one thing he could wish for, he wished he could have completed her. The reasons varied, but it was all the same.

He was a perfectionist. Leaving an incomplete project behind bothered him on a fundamental level.

She was still learning. He wanted to teach her as much of the world as possible. She was like a child; one he had raised, and even if he hadn't yet reached the second decade of his life, he still felt some emotional investment and pride.

She was … still learning. He had to tell her as much as possible. He had to tell her as much as possible about her, because he was the only one who could do so, and with him would die the rest of her.

It wasn't even about making the robot into her, either as a replacement or a substitute, or even a copy. It was about her memories, and even if the robot could never be human, her data banks would keep her alive long past his own lifespan.

No, he didn't want to die. He didn't want to die yet. There was so much to do!

He dressed and exited the room. Only a small cough interrupted him in his processes. He didn't let it bother him. After all, it was a small ripple in an ocean of waves. There was more to worry about.

Where was she anyways? The past days, she'd come running at the slightest sign of trouble, and with her sensitive hearing…

He froze in his steps. Suddenly, a sound that he hadn't heard in … he'd forgotten how long. A sound that definitely should not have been in the house was there.

He almost missed it, but the moment it entered his ears, his mind focused on it. It was all he could hear because for the life of him he could not figure out why it was there.

It had been so long since…

The noise emitted from beyond the kitchen. He followed it. He couldn't explain the attraction. He hastened his steps. Closer and closer, it was drawing him.

It should have been impossible.

Through the hallways. Past the stairs. He was running.

Down into the basement. The lights were still off, the rooms dark. With a flurry of cloth, he stopped at the door, hand resting on the frame as he fought to catch his breath.

He could make out the silhouette from the blinking red light on the machine.

Kneeling on the ground, face buried in hand, she sat there. Soft sniffling pulled at his mind, and suddenly he was no longer in the laboratory any more. He was at a roadside, at a parking lot, any of the many places his memory still held tightly.

And the girl crying softly before him wasn't the robot. She wasn't "the girl." She was her.