Artist: Vesqid
USE OF VOICE, IMAGE, AND LIKENESS. Contracted Subject gives the Company permission to use any and all of their voice, image, and likeness for the purposes of advertising and promoting the Product and/or the Company, and/or for other purposes deemed appropriate by the Company in its reasonable discretion.
#
“You’ll be great,” Lily says. “Just keep smiling!”
Speaker identified. Previous contact: Lily Boone. 95% assessment certainty. More information?
I shake my head slightly, the prompt fades.
Applause erupts.
“That’s your cue, babe!” Lily says and pushes me forward.
Possible obstruction identified: curtain — 86% assessment certainty. More information?
I feel the fabric against my face, my body, then release into heat. There’s rising applause that deafens. I smile. As instructed.
USE OF PERSONAL INFORMATION. Any information and data collected by the Product during the experimental trial will be sent to the Company at the end of every business day. The Contracted Subject acknowledges and agrees to allow the Company to use recorded data to further develop the performance of the Product.
#
“It’ll be booting up now. Any pain?” the nurse asks.
I shake my head, despite the dull throb echoing through my brain.
“Dizziness?”
My head feels strange, alien, stuffed to overflowing.
“Mrs. Alasdair?”
“I — ” My head vibrates, my brain fills with static.
Identified user: Nettie Lynn Alasdair. Confirm?
“I — there’s thoughts in my head, appearing — ” I press my hands against my temples, my brain running hot, stifling.
“Excellent, are you receiving a confirmation request?”
The strange feeling of a message pulses again:
Identified user: Nettie Lynn Alasdair. Confirm?
Not words or images, just thoughts. A stranger’s thoughts in my mind.
“What is this? What’s happening?”
“I need you to say or think ‘confirm’. Do you understand?”
Confirm. “Confirm.” I say and think at the same time.
Authorized user accepted. Welcome Nettie! I am your new InSightFull v0.0.
“I wasn’t expecting…”
“Are you experiencing some discomfort?”
Speaker: mid-forties femme-presenting humanoid. Black hair, brown skin, brown eyes. 90% certainty in assessment. More information?
“I wasn’t expecting it to feel like… thoughts,” I say. “Do you have black hair?”
The nurse laughs. “Glad to hear it’s working. InSightFull responds to both mental and verbal commands. Don’t forget your first physical is in thirty days.”
PAYMENT TERMS AND CONDITIONS. Contracted Subject agrees to participate in Company’s experimental trial in exchange for ownership of Product upon completion and one lump sum of $100,000 USD. Should Contracted Subject resign from the trial period, they will relinquish Product within seven business days and uphold the terms of Appendix 1A: Non-Disclosure Addendum.
#
“Does Carl know?” Mary asks.
New object in range. Mug containing dark liquid, steam indicates high temperature. Caution is advised. 70% certainty in assessment.
I reach out. InSightFull predicts my intent. I feel a kind of pulse in my head, its frequency increasing as I move my hand outward. The pulses increase into a steady hum and I find the mug easily, feel a flare of satisfaction despite the pounding behind my eyes.
“No, he thinks I am just visiting you,” I say, finding the cream.
“He’s so controlling,” Mary adds.
“I don’t know if I would say it was controlling…”
“He tried to forbid you from getting a free implant that could help you be independent of him,” Mary says. “I did warn you before you got married, Nettie.”
“He was worried about the side effects, Mary. InSightFull isn’t FDA approved. It’s still in testing.”
“I’m just saying, I’ve never trusted him.”
I try to imagine how the conversation would go, telling Carl I’d lied, that I’d gone behind his back and gotten the surgery. He worried. I couldn’t blame him. The bills, my struggle to find regular work, his increasing workload. I just wished he would rely on me more, talk to me more, instead of just getting frustrated.
“You’re so far away from everything in that stupid fucking cabin.”
“He just wants to keep me safe, Mary. The city isn’t really safe,” I echo Carl’s words.
“He wants to keep you isolated. Common red flag for abusive relationships,” Mary replies. “It happens all the time in my true crime podcasts.”
“Mary, please.” The pounding intensifies, like clamps pinching each optic nerve. “Can I have an aspirin or something?”
“Stay with me, Nettie. Just for a month or so, okay?” Mary’s voice moves away, returns. “I can talk to my boss, I’m sure we could find a job for you. Data entry or something.”
InSightFull identifies the pill bottle as containing sedatives. I pour a couple pills into my palm, allowing it to use my optic nerves to read the imprinted lettering and correct itself to generic aspirin. Satisfied, I swallow both dry.
“I appreciate the offer,” I reply.
“Are you still thinking of leaving him?” Mary says.
I forced out all the air in my lungs in a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Mary. I… I guess I want to see if he’ll go back to being the Carl I fell in love with.”
“What? Cause you can see now?”
“I can’t see — never mind.” I press my palms against my temples. “The money I’m getting will help with bills and stuff. Maybe with less money stress, things will get better.”
“He’s showing you who he really is, Nettie. How long are you going to pretend it can get better?”
“Marriages go through rough patches, it’s normal.”
“How come he never lets anyone over then?”
“He just gets anxious, having guests in his living space — ”
“When are you going to stop making excuses for him. Nettie?”
POSSIBLE HEALTH RISKS. Potential side effects associated with the Product include, but are not limited to: nausea, vomiting, confusion, glitches/errors, headaches, nose bleeds, misidentification of objects/persons, inner ear canal pain, general fatigue. Severity and occurrence of these side effects may vary. Any experienced side effects should be promptly reported to the Company contact provided.
#
Carl is home when I return. I can hear him in the kitchen, the air is humid, smelling of tomato and onion.
Footsteps approach, ones I recognize. I set my bag down.
“Babe! You’re home!”
Speaker identified: masc-presenting humanoid, short cropped red hair, blue eyes. Late thirties. 95% certainty in assessment. “How’s that sister of yours?”
InSightFull alerts me so I don’t flinch as he pulls me in for a hug, picking up his name from my thoughts — Carl Alasdair.
“She’s good. The baby is doing well.”
“She still talking shit about me?” He laughs but there’s bitterness in his voice.
“Carl…” I follow him into the kitchen.
I direct my face towards the stove.
Stainless steel pots. Left pot containing boiling liquid. Water. 61% certainty in assessment. Right pot contains mixture of red sauce, tomatoes, mushrooms, onion, ground meat.74% certainty is assessment.
I sniff. The acidity of the tomatoes overwhelms everything else.
“Are there mushrooms in this?” I ask.
Carl barks out a harsh laugh. “Why would I put mushrooms in it? We’ve been together for eight years now, I know they make you shit yourself.”
I grimace at his choice of words.
“You okay?” He’s close. I can feel his body heat, smell his sweat.
“I’m fine,” I lie, hoping he can’t see the small incision mark behind my right ear, one that Mary promised me wasn’t noticeable.
INFORMATION STORAGE AND USE. Contracted Subject understands that the Product will be recording all visual data for use in advancing and developing the Product’s analytical and identification programs. Contracted Subject consents to the collection and use of such information. All collected data used in training and advancing Product is owned by the Company. The Company may use this data for any purpose deemed necessary, including commercial.
#
The toilet’s flush is thunderous. It’s late. The house is swallowed by the hush only deep night has. I don’t need InSightFull’s guidance to find the sink, the hand soap, the towel. It’s all memorized routine now.
My lower belly cramps.
Was it the dinner Carl made me? I think of InSightFull identifying mushrooms in the sauce. I remember Carl’s harsh laugh.
Another cramp ripples through my guts and I press my fists to where it aches. It could be a reaction to the pain medication I’d been given.
I wait until the last cramp passes, my belly roiling uneasily, then I softly return to the bedroom. Despite the darkness, InSightFull notifies me of the dresser, the foot of the bed, the closet door. I locate the edge of the covers.
Object identified: photograph in plain black frame. Located above nightstand on left hand side of bed. Black and white photo of naked femme-presenting humanoid, lying on black sheets, handcuffed. 83% certainty in assessment.
The pictures above our nightstands are from our wedding. Carl had them printed and framed himself. Pictures of our kiss at the alter, our first dance.
Tiptoeing around the bed, I stop in front of his nightstand, reach out, touch the frame — guided by InSightFull’s nudges. I prompt it to analyze the image again.
Object rescanned: photograph in plain black frame. Photo of nude femme-presenting humanoid, handcuffed. Short dark hair. Mid-twenties. 90% certainty in assessment.
Stumbling, numb, I go to the dresser, avoiding the floorboards that creak as best I can. There are five more wedding photos above it. Or at least, that’s what Carl had told me.
Five photos, black and white, nude women. Two tied, three gagged, two blindfolded. InSightFull is 85% certain.
I shake my head, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth. It’s dark. The AI could be struggling to identify the subject of the photographs. It has to be struggling.
Another cramp grips me.
“Babe?”
I jump at the sound of his voice, sleepy and hoarse behind me.
“Just an upset stomach,” I say and return to the bathroom.
CARE OBLIGATION. Contracted Subject is responsible for reporting any and all issues regarding Product use within 3 hours. Any delay, damages, or bodily harm as a result of unreported Product issues will solely fall on Contracted Subject.
#
“I — I understand InSightFull is in a trial period but — ” I’m sitting in the bathtub, the curtain drawn, sink tap running, door locked. Anything to act as a sound barrier between me and Carl.
“I just — I need to know, how can I verify — ”
I press the knuckles of my free hand into my forehead, digging and kneading.
“No, I don’t want to halt the trial — ”
There’s a trio of loud knocks on the door, I can practically feel it rattling in its frame. “Babe, you done in there?”
“Just a moment!” I call, free hand cupped over the phone’s receiver.
The doorknob jiggles brightly. “You stuck in the toilet or something?”
I used to find his humour more… endearing.
“Just a fucking minute!” I snap as he knocks again and again. “No, not you, sorry — no, it’s not an emergency. I — ”
My chest tightens slowly, the sounds grow, overwhelm me, suffocates. My head throbs. The hissing of the sink, the woman in my ear, Carl at the door, his fists on the wood.
“I just need to know how can I verify it’s working? How can I know? Don’t you get the visual recordings sent to you or something?”
“Babe? Seriously, are you okay?”
“I’m not saying it’s not working! I just need to — ”
Over it all, all the sounds, I hear the assertive bright click of a lock opening. I end the call, jamming my phone into the pocket of my jeans. The bathroom door squeaks and I desperately scramble to come up with an excuse, while also wrestling with my disbelief that Carl has just come barging in.
“Jesus, Nettie! Why didn’t you answer me?”
My tongue trips over anger at my privacy being violated and guilt at hiding something from him. “Can’t I get some — ”
“Oh my God, babe! You’re bleeding!”
His hands are on me, pulling me to sit on the edge of the tub. He cups my face, turning my head up.
“Blood?” I ask, raising a hand to cover the surgical site.
“Your nose, fuck’s sake, you’re soaked! Just fucking drenched in it.”
His body heat fades, I hear activity at the sink.
Identified contact: Carl Alistair. Activity: washing dishes. 86% certainty in assessment.
I shake my head.
Reassessing.
I feel him approach and kneel in front of me, smell steam, then a hot cloth presses against my face. He had been wetting a cloth.
Activity: wetting a cloth. Data noted.
“Shit, maybe we should take you to the ER. Is this a normal amount of blood?”
Panic blooms, not for the blood, but for what would show if we went to the ER and I was examined. I push Carl away, taking the cloth from him. I can smell the wet hot copper now. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”
“Babe, I know you can’t tell, but this is a lot of fucking blood.” His hands are on me again, pulling me up, gripping, tugging.
“Carl!”
He pulls me through the bathroom door, my elbow bouncing off the threshold in a way I know will bruise. I slip on the floor in my socks, slamming to my knees, pain lancing through my body. His hands are all over me, so much so that InSightFull identifies him as three people before it corrects itself.
“Stop, Carl!” I swing out with the now cooling wet cloth and feel an impact, hear a sodden smack.
The hands shrink away, accompanied with a sharp intake of breath.
“Now there’s blood all over my fucking shirt, Nettie,” he says. “Disgusting. Jesus Christ.”
“I don’t need the ER, I’m fine! Why won’t you just listen to me?”
“Fuck sakes. All you had to do was say so, not ruin my favourite fucking white polo!”
Reassessing. White shirt. Correcting data.
He walks away, I feel his footsteps reverberating through the floor, up into my knees. I urge InSightFull to audit its data.
It had identified Carl as wearing a black t-shirt.
CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION. Contracted Subject acknowledges and agrees to keep confidential and not reveal to any person, press, company their participation in Product experimental trial. Only persons approved by Company in advance may be informed of Contracted Subject’s participation and Product information, usage, and intent. Any breach of this clause must be made immediately aware to the Company.
#
Carl is sulking in his workshop, out behind the garage. I am alone in the kitchen, phone in hand, wondering if I should call Mary. She’ll overreact. Or maybe I’m underreacting.
Maybe she’ll tell me to leave the experiment, get the implant removed. My nose itches from the thick crusts of dried blood that rim it. I set my phone down instead. I need the money. I need the freedom. I was briefed to expect side effects, that InSightFull would be learning day by day. I just had to give it time, do what I was told to help speed the training.
Step one. Map each room.
Slowly, I make my way through the kitchen and living room, marking the perimeter of each, trying to pause in front of each piece of furniture, each window, each door. InSightFull marks each one, asking for confirmation, which I do by touching the items myself.
I make some coffee, InSightFull guiding me so I fumble less, find things faster.
Next: front hall, front door, out to the front porch, I can feel the sunlight on my face, smell the evergreens that ring the house.
InSightFull guides me around a fallen branch as I go behind the garage and to Carl’s studio. His passion is woodworking, creating sculptures and ornate furniture that people rarely buy. InSightFull alerts me as I approach one sculpture, then a statue, another sculpture. Each one apparently too ill-defined for InSightFull to identify what they were supposed to resemble. I feel the sculptures briefly with my free hand and am just as confused at their planes and angles as InSightFull.
At the shed door, I listen. Beyond is a soft whir of a saw. It sounds off to me. Woodworking is a harsh hobby — splintery crescendos, barking breaks, whining saws. But the saw sounds as though its eating through something soft, wet.
I shiver, push open the door.
Immediately the sound stops.
“Nettie? What are you doing here?” Carl snaps, footsteps thudding across the floor.
InSightFull lets me know he’s coming towards me, then lists off the tools that surround me. I stop in front of a table it identified and hold out the coffee.
“Thought you could use some fuel!” I say.
Contents on table closest to user Nettie: 2 by 1 foot plank of wood. Human arm. Hand saw. Two screwdrivers. Box of nails. More information?
“I — ” I freeze, trying to play back what InSightFull had reeled off.
“You know I don’t like you in here.” Carl takes the coffee mug from me. InSightFull notes that he places it on the table, next to the hand saw. “It’s dangerous. There are tools everywhere, you could hurt yourself!”
“Tell me what you’re up to, let’s spend time together!” I feel guilty for keeping secrets. We’ve never kept secrets from each other. Or, at least, I know I’ve never kept secrets from him…until now. I slide past him. “Is it a new sculpture?”
“Babe, let’s talk outside. You’re gonna knock something over.”
But I don’t. InSightFull makes sure of it. I slip around a chair on the right, a chest of tools on the left. It gives me pleasure to walk freely, not to fumble or reach.
Passing 2 foot tall mask. Crude features. 32% certainty in assessment.
“Did you get a custom order?”
“Nothing like that, babe. Come on, there’s just saws and shit back there.” His hand brushes over my back and I slip away so he can’t grab my elbow like he always does.
On the right: tree trunk. 87% certainty in assessment.
I reach out with my fingers and feel the rough bark, the faintest raised rings marking the years the tree lived.
On the left: humanoid leg on floor. 63% certainty in assessment.
I stumble.
“See, babe? I told you!”
I kneel, reaching out, InSightFull pings me, and I have to know. I have to feel it. I swear I smell copper, old and musty. It makes my throat itch.
His arm finds my elbow and he pulls me to my feet.
RELEASE OF LIABILITY. Contracted Subject understands that there are risks associated with their use of Product, such as physical and/or psychological injury, pain, suffering, illness, disfigurement, temporary or permanent disability, death or economic loss. Contracted Subject assumes all risks of their participation in Product test trials, whether known or unknown to them, including any events incidental to the use of the Product.
#
“You found a fucking arm? Like a dead human arm?” Mary hisses.
“I don’t know what it was, I didn’t get to check.”
“I’m coming to get you, okay? Holy shit. Charles? Charles! I gotta get my sister — ”
“Mary! Just chill, okay?”
“Chill? Chill!? My sister finds a decapitated arm in her husband’s workshop and tells me to chill?”
“I — for one thing, you don’t decapitate an arm, secondly — ”
“Charles! I need you to watch baby Chuck for a few — ”
“Secondly, I don’t even know it was an arm. InSightFull is still learning! I just need to go back in and check. I need to feel it for myself.”
“Oh fuck no, Nettie. You wanna be the stupid slut who ends up being in one of my true crime podcasts who should’ve known better?”
“What crime? There’s no crime, okay?” I try and sound calm but my heart is racing.
“I am coming to get you. End of story.”
“Come on, it’s late. If you’re really worried, come by tomorrow, okay?”
She sighs, the baby cries. “Fine. First thing in the morning. Don’t you fucking dare go back to that shed.”
#
I wait until I hear Carl’s soft snores before sneaking out of the bedroom, barefoot across the hardwood floors. InSightFull guides me out into the night and back to the shed. My nerves are locked tight as my entire body thrums with anxiety.
I tug on the door handle and the door is locked. I can’t go back. I have to know. I circle around the shed.
Object identified: window. 98% certainty in assessment.
I reach out and find glass, probe until my fingertips locate the bottom of the window and I push up. With a soft squeak, the pane rises. A part of me thrills, lightning in my veins, I never would have done this without InSightFull. Never would have risked it.
It guides me as I crawl through the window. My elation soon withers as I tiptoe through the workshop. InSightFull identifies the mask, the stump, the wooden planks. It calls out the tools, the half-finished chair. But the leg is gone.
If it’d ever been there at all.
I shake my head. As amazing as InSightFull is, it’s still new, still learning. “I’m an idiot.”
My knees ache from crawling through the window and I am pretty sure my palms are likely scraped up from the heat and stinging, so I decide to exit out the door.
InSightFull pings me in the right direction. I slip as my left foot skids in a cold tacky puddle on the floor. I stumble, my feet squelch on the floor.
I tilt my head down.
Object identified: stain. Origin and composition unknown.
It wasn’t like Carl to leave a mess.
Kneeling, I let InSightFull have a closer view.
Reassess: liquid, unknown composition.
Dipping two fingers into the sludge, I bring them to my nose and sniff. Metallic, sour smelling.
It reminds me of my nosebleed.
My heart tolls in my chest. I find door, then the light switch that will illuminate the shed and give InSightFull a better chance at identifying whatever is on the floor.
I don’t sense the light come on but I hear the click and kneel again.
Reassess: puddle, semi-dry liquid, burgundy in colour with black, cracking perimeter.
I choke down a cry, rocking back on bare heels that are sticky with whatever is pooled out in front of me.
Blood?
User suggested input: blood. Reassessing. Possibility of blood — 78%.
The door squeaks and I scream, standing, whirling.
“Nettie? What the hell are you doing in here?” Carl snaps. “How did you get in here?”
“Carl, what is that?” I point where I remember the stain being. Oh fuck, this is exactly what Mary would tell me not to do. Do not confront the killer all alone.
“What are you talking about, Nettie?” he says, dangerously calm. “There’s nothing there.”
“The pool of — of whatever that shit is,” I say. “Whatever is all over my feet, Carl.”
“That’s just wine, Nettie. I spilled it earlier.”
“Don’t lie to me, okay? Don’t you fucking lie to me. You don’t drink. We don’t drink.” InSightFull alerts me as he approaches and I stumble back.
“I — I’m sorry, babe. I have been drinking,” he says. “I had a couple of drinks with the guys after work last month, and then I just couldn’t stop. With the stress and everything…”
“That’s not wine,” I hiss, my nose coated in the stench of copper. “What about the pictures in the bedroom?”
“The what?” InSightFull alerts me as he lunges, reaching for me.
I dodge, tumbling into a table rattling with tools. I grab one — a hammer, swing it in front of me. “Stay back, Carl.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Nettie?” he snarls.
“The pictures in the bedroom.” I point the hammer at him. “They aren’t of us or our wedding, are they?”
“What are you talking about, of course they’re of us!”
“Yeah and that’s just wine on the floor.”
He’s trying to sneak around the workbench. I turn to face him, hammer still raised.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Nettie.” He pauses in front of me. “I’m sorry I lied to you about being sober, okay? Just calm the fuck down.”
“Let’s call the cops then,” I say. “Let them come and tell me what that really is.”
“Jesus Christ, Nettie. Are you drunk?” He steps closer.
“Stay back, Carl. Stay the fuck back or I will use this.”
He lunges.
REPRESENTATION. In the event or need of legal and/or public representation, Contracted Subject waives their right to choose their own representative while using Product. All legal and marketing representation will be provided by the Company. Contracted Subject will obey all decisions as made by the Company legal/marketing representative. Failure to do so will result in repossession of Product and $100,000,000 USD fine.
#
“Mrs. Alistair declines to answer any questions at this time.” My Company appointed lawyer, Minh Nguyen, distracts the reporters outside the courthouse, allowing InSightFull to guide me straight into the hired car that’s waiting for us.
The AC blasts me, freezing my sweat to my skin. The car rocks as Mihn joins me.
“Couldn’t have gone any better,” Mihn says.
I can still hear the echoes of Carl’s mother crying in the courtroom.
The defense lawyer describing the destruction to Carl’s cranium, the brains on the hammer head, the sloughing of his face, the blood that pooled with the wine on the floor.
Mihn’s damnation of Carl of a drunken husband.
Mary crying on the stand, painting Carl as a man who left bruises and controlled his blind wife.
I feel the phantom hot splatter of blood across my face, the thicker impacts of what may have been brains. I want to vomit. I want to forget.
A hand falls on my knee and I start, turning to another passenger I had no idea was there.
“Congratulations on the settlement, Nettie,” a woman says. “Of course, there is the matter of paying back the fees for representation. I’m Lily Boone, Vulpes Company PR representative. I’ll walk you through what you’ll be doing for us from now on.”
P.L. McMillan’s short fiction has appeared in a variety of anthologies and magazines such as Cosmic Horror Monthly, Strange Lands Short Stories, Negative Space, and AHH! That’s What I Call Horror, as well as adapted to audio forms for podcasts like NoSleep and Nocturnal Transmissions. In addition to her short stories, McMillan’s debut collection, What Remains When The Stars Burn Out, and debut novella, Sisters of the Crimson Vine, are available now. Besides being a fiction writer, PLM has experience as an editor (Howls from the Dark Ages and The Darkness Beyond The Stars: An Anthology of Space Horror), hosts PLM Talks on Youtube (interviewing peers and professionals in the horror industry), and is the co-host of a horror writing craft podcast, Dead Languages Podcast. Find her at plmcmillan.com
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