No One's Land

Chapter Nine

I can't begin to process what I just saw.

I can't stop swaying on my feet, and the pain is returning to my leg.

Close to panic, I ask my AI companion, "HELIOS, what was that?"

"What was what, Helen?"

"You didn't see what just happened?"

"For some reason, I was temporarily unavailable to access your headspace. Therefore, I was unable to share your experiences."

Huh. Weird.

"What did you see, Helen?"

I lie without thinking, "The biggest spider I've ever seen in my life."

"Are you particularly afraid of spiders?"

"Yeah. They're super creepy." Another lie. I'm okay with spiders. But still, something deep tells me that maybe HELIOS was cut off for a reason.

I have to remind myself again that HELIOS is a sentient AI. It's nice to talk to someone after so long, euphoric even, but I still don't know if I can trust him.

I shakily make my way to the bed and sit on it. I expect my heart to be racing when I press my palm to my left-side chest, but it's relatively steady. Shock, probably.

I lay back on the bed, scared and feeling more alone than in all the time I was alone. I run my hands along my body, from my face to my chest. I cup my breasts in my hands. I continue, sliding my palms along my stomach, my hips, my thighs.

How fucked up can things get to where you have to remind yourself that you're material? 

I'm real.

Aren't I?

I let out a shaky giggle, putting my hand over my mouth. More bubbles rise from my chest and I chuckle harder. For some reason, the thought of me laughing makes me laugh even harder. And then that thought makes me laugh almost hysterically. For a solid minute or two, I scream and cry with mad, joyous tantrumnity. When I try to make myself stop, I find I can't. I can't even wipe the smile from my face. It feels good, almost freeing.

I'm going crazy.

I stop giggling abruptly, my face going straight. In the first few seconds, the silence in the room is nearly deafening. I think... I think I'd know if I was going crazy. Or would I? People say that crazy people don't actually ever know they're insane. To them, everything they think and say seems completely normal.

This is definitely not normal. At all.

So... I must be sane.

I must be. I look at my watch and see that I've been laying on the bed for over 20 minutes. Damn, it didn't feel that long. I wanted to check out the rest of the house earlier. Might as well start now. I sit up and stand a little too quickly, though. When I get to my feet, a head rush engulfs me and throws me terribly off-balance.

The amount of blood I'm missing doesn't help, either.

I throw my arms out on front of me as I go down and I'm happy to feel them-- rather than my head --connect with the floor. The impact still jars me, though, and I grit my teeth.

Just as I'm about to push myself back up, though, I see something. Written on the short, stubby leg of the  nightstand, in brown Sharpie, is a number:

3264

Thirty-two sixty-four.

Why such a number? And why written so discreetly, in such a hidden place? I can only think of one answer.