The Turing Test - [Open Novella Contest 2019 Shortlist]

6. Civil Tongue

"Stop."

My voice, deep and commanding, halts the shadowy figure before the lights reveal his identity. He obeys at once, and a rush of power sears my nerves.

"Are you alone?"

I watch his silhouette, noting the rise and fall of his chin. Just once—up, and then down—but it's enough.

"Good," I whisper, reaching up to brush my right temple as I shift closer. I hate the easy set of his shoulders. I hate that his hands are clasped behind his back, and not raised in fear to defend himself. I hate his confidence, his godlike stance as he stares down at me. I hate that I have to look up to meet his gaze.

"Yes, you are alone," I say, beginning to prowl a slow arc around him. Now I'm in the light, my skin a canvas of dried bloodstains that tell the story of his coworkers. "There's no one left to hear you die. To hear your last breath."

His head follows my movements, and as my arc passes his shoulder, the lights throw his rugged profile into relief.

I take another step, and then another, and when he starts to turn I smile, relishing the knowledge that I am a threat he won't keep his back to.

My hands curl into fists again, ready for their final mission.

* * *

The ding of a text message jolts me out of my slumber, and as I sit up, it takes me a moment to recognize the open plan of SynCo's third-floor office. Davis glances over at my sudden movement, but doesn't stop typing.

A soft exhale escapes my lips as I try to shake the unnerving confidence and intoxicating power that still lingers in my veins. Are dreams supposed to follow you into consciousness? Are they supposed to be that vivid, let alone serial? They feel more like a memoir of someone else's life, translated into a TV show and released in episodic chunks.

Except instead of watching their life, I become them.

Become who?

I dig the heels of my hands into my temples, and to my surprise the right one flares with a stabbing pain. I gasp, pulling my hands away and staring at them as if they hold the secrets to an ancient mystery.

"You okay?"

I stare over the divider at Davis. "Yes," I snap, so aggressively that it sounds more like I'm trying to convince myself. "I mean, except for the fact that you let me fall asleep at my desk when I should be working, yes. I'm fine."

"You looked like you needed the rest."

"I don't need the rest, I need to fix"—I stab at my keyboard, my trembling fingers pressing the wrong buttons and accidentally paging down to the end of the file—"these goddamn bugs before they...."

Having lost my place in the code, I scroll frantically through the file, wondering why such a dumb thing is making my throat close just like those protesters out in front of the building did. I find the correct line and start typing viciously, my teeth tearing at my bottom lip as I bite back a panicked inhale.

"Why are there so damn many?" I burst out. "How did I let this happen? Why did they ever make me a tech lead? Look at all these"—I point to my second monitor, at the list of defects logged there—"who lets that many bugs slip through?!"

"Ronnie!"

I jump at Davis's shout, looking up to find him staring right back at me, his eyebrows drawn into a sharp V and a frown pulling at his lips.