Like Clockwork (4 page)

“Thank you,” she ventured. It didn’t reply.
“For last night. For … for what you did. Thank you.” Nothing but whirs.
Had
he saved her? That little dance, the whole act that completely distracted
Boston and his goons. Or was it … just something he did?

“Is Miss Evie hungry?” it said, after a
minute.

“No no, it was … it was.” What? Noble?
Gallant? Pathetic? “You were very …” but she couldn’t finish. She didn’t know
how.

It whirred and clicked, and it may have
nodded, or it could only have adjusted its head. “Miss Evie must be hungry,” it
said. “It is morning. Ladies, Gentlemen, and Children of all ages are generally
hungry in the morning.”

“Is it morning?” She yawned.

There was a chime from somewhere within it.
“The time is now 11:52,” it said in a different, more authoritative voice. Its
head swiveled to face her again, and there was that smirk on its frozen mouth.
“It is morning.”

“Oh,” she said. “Right.” She frowned down
into her coffee. “I’m ah … be honest, umm ….” She looked at it. “I don’t even
know what you’re called. Who you are, I mean?”

“Who it is ...” it said. And there was a
long silence then. “It was called Adam,” it said. “When it was made.” And
though the eyes were facing her, she thought it wasn’t seeing anything in the
room at all. The whirs and clicks inside it when on for some time. Then the
eyes seemed to come back to her. There was a chime. “The time is now 11:58,” it
said.

“Well, I’m not hungry,” she said.

“Peculiar,” it said. “Ladies, Gentlemen and
Children of all ages are generally hungry.”

“Yeah, well I’m not.”

“May it inquire as to – ”

“I couldn’t eat a thing. Okay? I’m – ” she
flushed, though she didn’t know why. “Just a wee bit hungover right now, Adam.
Thank you, though.”

There was a silence. “Ah,” it said, and she
wanted to strangle it for that condescending tone, although there was no
inflection. None at all. “That is unfortunate.”

“Yes. Yes it is,” she snapped. “
Thank
you,
though. For your concern.” Christ, now she was turning sarcastic and formal. ‘This
thing’ was skating on very thin ice.

“Perhaps a bromide?” it said, looking to
her once more. “It is said they are quite helpful.”

“That isn’t necessary. A little silence.
That would be helpful.”

She could feel those whirs and clicks.
Just
don’t know when to quit, do you?
she asked it in her head, daring it to go
on.

“Perhaps, if it knew how much Miss Evie had
imbibed last evening, this thing could perhaps – ”

“
Miss
Evie
had enough last
night. Thank you, Mom.” She glared at it, and put down her coffee, stalking to
the bedroom.

“It is only trying to be helpful,” it
called after her.

“Fuck you,” she called back, helpfully, over
her shoulder, grabbing a shirt and jeans from, well, whichever pile, on the
floor in the hall.

“This thing has served others who have had
many hangovers,” it said. That flat tone seemed full of distaste.

“Oh yeah?” She came back into the living
room, throwing her nightshirt off. She heard a thump. “Captain Antilles? Was
that your last master?” She saw the thing was standing now, staring pointedly
out the window. “What. Huh? What?” The whirs it made were very quiet.

“Would Miss Evie prefer to dress ... ” it
said, “ ... more privately?”

“Miss Evie is going out for coffee,” she
said, throwing her shirt on savagely. “Miss Evie is going out shopping. Miss
Evie,” she seethed, trying to get into her jeans and tripping a little, “is
going
out.
” She glared at it. “And when she returns, Adam had best be
gone.”

It whirred and clicked, but Evie didn’t
wait for it to reply. She slammed the door despite her pounding headache and
made for the nearest Starbucks flushed and embarrassed, though she wasn’t quite
sure why.

There was no way it could be alive, she
thought
.
When she looked at it that way, sipping on her coffee as she
stared out at the rain from the Starbucks, it made a lot of sense. Adam really
gave no sign of being
alive-
alive. He’d winced, yes, but that could very
easily have been her imagination. Had he really blushed when she was changing (
had
she really just changed right in front of it?
) Or was that just ... was it
a program or ... she wasn’t sure.

She went over that moment again and again,
turning it this way and that. How he’d pretty much
jumped
to his feet,
his eyes going to the window, all those furious clicks and whirs growing
quieter.

The memory came back, then, through the fog
of her hangover, of stopping last night in the rain. She had been shivering,
near tears, wanting to just give up on walking, her feet tired, and she had
been soaked all the way through. Adam had been standing beside her, clicking,
and then he’d ... he’d just reached down and put one arm around her knees, the
other around her back, and she had felt the steady grip of those arms lifting
her up and drawing her close to his (
its? his?
) bronze chest, and then
he’d started walking again.

“Just say where,” he’d said, in that warbling
voice. “This thing will carry you. It does not tire.” And she’d started crying
then, partly due to how tired she’d been, but also because she couldn’t stop
shaking, the cold and what they’d done to him in the clearing still so fresh in
her mind. Had his arms drawn her closer then? Had they held her even closer as
she wept, her hand pressed to his chest as he stumped through the puddles in
the rain?

She’d fallen asleep at some point in the
walk, she must have, because she remembered waking up to find those little
copper balls staring down at her. It was funny, she thought, stepping out under
the awning of the coffee shop, but she hadn’t felt so cold then. You’d think a
thing made of metal would be cold, and maybe it was only her body heat warming
it up, but she hadn’t really felt the chill at all. Maybe it was all those
gears turning inside him, but she had felt so warm, and safe and ....

She had bought a pack of cigarettes. She
was smoking one now, apparently. Evie looked down at her fingers as if she was
holding a snake. When did
that
happen? she thought.
The fuck? You
quit.
We
quit.
“I thought we agreed on this,” she said to herself.
Smoking
again?
Her mother’s voice chimed in, now sounding mildly mechanical and
flat and clicky at the same time.
That isn’t a good sign, my girl.

“Shit,” she said out loud, under the
awning, sucking back on it just to spite all of them.

Hopefully, the thing (
Adam? he or it?
)
was out. Was gone. She didn’t want to deal with all this.

Smoking was a bad sign. It would be so much
better if she hadn’t taken (
him, it?)
home, if she’d just left it there
as a thing she would wonder about from time to time. Because, let’s be honest
here, he (
it? fuck
) had done nothing but laugh at her that morning.

Had he? (
it? Jesus!)
She lit another
cigarette. It was just ... he was so ... she couldn’t
think
of a word to
pin on him at first, but as she heard that flat, sardonic warble in her head, ‘pompous’
sprang to mind.
Not bad
, she thought, heading back to her apartment,
cupping her smoke to keep off the rain.
Pompous works.
She should have
thrown the smoke out, thrown the whole pack away, but ten dollars was a lot,
and it’d be stupid to just throw them all away.
Pompous, arrogant ...
machine
.

She paced back and forth in front of her
building. She glared at the cheery and helpful blue touch-screen beside the
entrance that her Strata felt was somehow worth an extra god knows how much on
her mortgage.
Fucking machines. Fuck you too.
She watched it. The screen
burbled up nearby cafes, ice-cream shoppes, events-around-town with mindless
good cheer at every chirrup and chime.
Yeah,
she said to it in her head.
I’m chain smoking, you stupid touch screen motherfucker. Care to make
something of it?
That was when she shook her head and snorted at herself for
being so wound up. She tossed the half finished smoke into a puddle, and then
moaned that she had.
Oh well
, she thought, with one last glare at the
touch-screen bleeping in time to the cross-walk’s helpful burbling warble.
At
least that one’s out of my house. He’s gone. (Its. Shit) It doesn’t matter.

But he wasn’t gone. He was actually still
sitting on the couch when she opened the front door, as if he hadn’t moved
since she had left. Parcifal was lounging on top of the couch against his back.

“Miss Evie,” he said, standing up to let
Lancelot off his lap. He turned with a click and a whir. “Miss Evie – ”

“I thought I made it clear ... ” she said,
throwing her floppy hat on the shoe rack and tossing her jacket on the floor
beside it; “I thought I made it perfectly clear I wanted you to leave.” She
planted her feet. “Did that not ... what, did that not like compute or
something?” There was something wrong with the apartment. She could sense it.
Right now, though, she would deal with this thing in her living room. It (
if
she was going to be pissed with it, it was an it
, she thought) was staring
at the floor in front of her.

“Miss Evie,” it began again; “This thing.
It has displeased.”

“Goddamn right you did,” she said, “
This
Miss Evie is quite displeased. Don’t you
dare
judge me in my own house.
Who does that?”

“It acted – ” a series of clicks. “It was ....”
Evie folded her arms across her chest.

“Go on,” she said, very softly,
dangerously. “I’m waiting.”

“This thing behaved ... in an ungentlemanly
fashion.” It looked up at her then, and back to the floor once more. “Miss Evie
was kind enough to offer it shelter, and .... ” It stopped. It clicked.

“And ... wait.” She looked over his
shoulder, putting it together now. “Did you ... did you
clean?
”

Adam nodded, still looking at her feet. “It
would like to make amends,” it said. “This thing’s behavior was very ....” It
stopped. “Untowards.”

“You touched my stuff,” Evie said, stalking
past him down the now pile-free hallway. “You touched my stuff.” Adam turned
with her; the whirs and clicks coming from it got quite loud once again.

“It begs your pardon?”

“You cleaned my
house?
” She opened
the bedroom door. All of her dirty, slightly dirty, clean but ugly piles, and
the rest were gone. “You went into my bedroom? The fuck is wrong with you?”

“It is sorry,” it said, clicking rather
audibly. “It seems to have offended you.” It paused, and with a creak of gears
straightened its back, looking her right in the eye. “Yet again. However ....” It
stumped one step forward. “It thought, perhaps, an overture of .... ” It
clicked. She could feel it bite its tongue. “Kindness. A favor. Would help set
things to rights.
Apparently
....” The words, she could tell, were
stressed by that whir and click of gears, so furious within it. “It has
misjudged
.
Yet again.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you to clean ....”

“
Miss
Evie did not ask to be carried
home
intoxicated
last evening either, as this thing recollects.”

“Oh, we’re going to start with that again
are we ...?”

“
This thing
did not ask to be taken
home by her. Or to be – ”

“What? Hmm? To be what? Huh?”

The clicking subsided.

“Please,” it said. “Please. This thing is
truly grateful for your hospitality. Truly, it only wished to make amends. It
is sorry it has offended. It did not mean any harm, or disrespect.”

She opened the bathroom door.

“You cleaned ... you cleaned the sink,” she
said.

“Please,” it said. “It is lost. It does not
know this place. This – ” it looked around, its shoulders slumping with a creak;
“it is all terribly confusing. It – ” a sigh of gears as he slumped a little
more; “it desperately needs assistance, and would be truly grateful for Miss
Evie’s help.”

She looked at Adam then, and something in
the way he stood reminded her of how she’d found him, forlorn and frozen in the
woods, a statue, god knows how old. The house was spotless. She folded her
arms.

“How long?”

“Pardon?”

“How
long
will you need to stay?”

“It is looking for a Mr. Stephen Shepherd.
Once it has found him, this thing will go.” Adam looked at her from out of the
corner of his rolling round eye, lowering his head slightly, before those
copper balls clicked to look at the floor once again.

“It will do its utmost to not become an – ”
he clicked. “An inconvenience.”

She heard a few soft whirs and clicks, very
muffled.

“A week,” she said at last. “One week, and
then you’re out of here.” She’d been through couch-surfers before. She knew if
she gave him longer, he’d just ... always be there.