SENTIENT

Ad Infinitum

A woman named Margaret sweeps the dust off the parking lot of Memoriam Inn. The property was one of the things left behind by her beloved husband. Beloved was an overstatement. One of the many things he left was also debts.

There's a parking spot right in front of room number one. That's where AJ parked her Chevy. The next thing she saw, her belongings have been stacked in front of the door. Luckily, not many important items, just a bag filled with her clothes and shoes, some books, and personal memorabilia inside a cardboard box.

"Excuse me! What the heck?" She waved at Margaret from the distance.

Margaret placed her fists on her hips, "It's a non-smoking room, lady!" The woman yelled back and resumed sweeping the asphalt ground.

She decided to load up her items in the backseat of the cat. She drove away and past Jimmy's Bar, just to make sure. Then, straight to 115 Michigan Drive where she felt she needed to be. Her car parked out front by the curb.

The front door was locked, which was good. Sumo gave her a bit of attention when she entered the backdoor, and then went back to snoozing on the kitchen floor. For an android dog, it does tend to sleep a lot.

Connor's silhouette was dimly lit with a standing living room lamp. She placed her big bag of clothes on the kitchen counter, which startled him. She asked, "You alright?"

"I'm fine," his lips moving in the dark. "How'd things go for you?"

"I hope you don't mind, the motel kicked me out," she frowned.

He shook his head as to say he doesn't mind. He doesn't have much else to say. She flipped a switch that illuminates the living room with the ceiling light. When she touched him, he was no longer overheating, but he wasn't cold either.

He welcomed her hand on the back of his neck. When he rose from the armchair, the distance between them tapered and he was looking down into her face.

"Connor, is everything alright?" She said, quieter than the crickets outside.

"I'm fine, there's nothing we haven't talked about." He pressed his lips together to form a subtle smile. Somehow, she's not yet convinced.

He kept his hands where she couldn't see them. On the side of her jaws to position her face closer and closer to his lips. Her tiptoes lifted her to meet his height. The tip of her nose was cold from the weather, but the rest of her was the warmth he needed.

They have yet decided how the kiss felt, but it was lethargic. It's funny to think how long they've been meaning to do it. When they say 'it'll happen when it happens', sometimes it just happens.

She would know if it didn't feel right and he would stop if he felt he should – but they didn't. When they pulled away from the kiss, he asked, "Was that okay?"

"I'm glad I stayed," she said.

There was no holding back, except for her breath, just like his mechanical lungs. She let his mortal parts overpower her body. She was as beautiful as he remembered. He was stainless and efficient. Maybe he underestimated the virtue of their collision, but they were sure what they needed was more. In the end, everything was sweet and subdued, like the blooming of spring after a storm.

Before they know it, the sofa in the living room fits two. She traced her finger on his skin, just to make sure what just happened was real. He was staring intently on the texture of the ceiling. There was nothing there, except for the repeating images of the explosion. The image of her face when she was pinned under him morphed into reality.

"Connor?" She called.

"Hm?" He said, still holding her.

"I have to go for a drive," she said, wishing she would've said something else not so trivial.

"Oh?" His eyes fixed on hers, even when her hazel eyes fluttered away. "Alright, I'll come with you."

"You don't have to, I'll be back in the morning," she smiled.

"No, I think it'll be good for us," he was smiling too. He kissed her again, it was undeniable this time.

They got dressed and shortly after, they were buckled inside the Chevy. Conversations about what just transpired were pushed to the back of their minds. Let it become a memory they can long for again.

She told Connor about the FBI's involvement in the Blueblood Ripper investigation; how Gregory Miller and Elizabeth Larrosa are starting to get on each other's nerves; and his wife and the invitation for their anniversary diner.

"Where are we driving to?" He asked. "Don't we need a GPS?"

She answered, "Uh... I know my way around, I think."

She wanted to say so much more – how she could've driven all the way by herself – but she didn't want to leave Connor to his thoughts alone. Also, there was that book which he stole. Although, she was not brave enough to ask about yet, not knowing how she could make things worse for him.

Just when AJ thought it was going to be a silent road trip – where the two of them could do their personal reflective thinking – he pondered out of the blues, "Do you pray?"

She let out a nervous laughter, "My parents taught me how to. Why?"

"Out loud, or just... you know, in your head?"

"When it was just the three of us and we were eating dinner together, my father would say the prayers out loud and we would say the amen," said AJ. Her eyes looking straight ahead the empty highway. "But I... I talk to myself in my head all the time, I guess."

She remembers the last time she prayed. It was that night when the television was filled with live broadcast from the Battle of 2038. She hoped to see her father on that screen, but her mother had dreaded otherwise.

"When you speak in your mind, is it your voice? Or someone else?" He muttered to himself. He looked out his side of the window. The skyline of Detroit appears to follow them in the distance.

"Or is it something sovereign, all-powerful, all-knowing..."

She asks, "Like a God?"

"Like a God," he says.

She gave the man the loving of his life and he started wondering about God. She was right to be concerned for him, "Driving around, it always clears my head, you know... and I don't have to think about God or whatever it is..."

"Yeah, this is good for me," he said. "AJ, thank you." He placed his hand on her right thigh. His hand was large, as it is warm.

The drive took four hours, twenty minutes, and two gas station stops. The last highway exit led them to rural Indianapolis where the car made its way through the backwoods roads and trailed the perimeter of the farm. There's a barn and a silo. On the west side of the confinement was the 30-years old farmer's house.

Nothing seems to grow on this land anymore. Just dirt and a lot of silence. Connor watched as AJ made sure she stayed strapped. He wondered why she would need a badge and a weapon just to see an old friend.

"AJ, who lives here?" He asked.

She hesitated to answer, "Stay in the car, alright? I won't take long."

Connor knew he's had a problem being told to stay inside the car, but he stayed put. The darkness around the woods that surround the farms can't get inside. He then realized something, that he too, was strapped.

She knocked on the front door and received no answer. All the windows had the curtains drawn, so she went for the back door instead. It was unlocked and the interior of the kitchen was lit by a few wall scones. It connected to the dining room. There was a photograph stuck on top of the China cabinet like a forgotten artifact.

There were six men and women in uniforms posing for the picture, and then there's Hank, whose white hair combed back below his ears. He shaved and he dressed, at the time the picture was taken. On the far left, she spotted Connor in this photograph.

On the back of it, a black marker scribbled the date; 20/02/40. The profile for the Detroit Mad Bomber was delivered to the live media the previous date.

"I swear to God, I'll shoot," threatened a man's voice. Followed by the horrifying noise of a rifle gun being cocked.