March 2022. By Jack Aievoli
“Goddamn it, where’s my keys!”
“They’re under the leash, Jake.” The voice came from Jake’s phone.
“What?”
The phone was silent. Jake was shocked, ashen. He had gotten a precise answer. The phone said his name. That can’t be real.
He turned the lights off and on to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. During Jake’s bad dreams, the lights never turned on.
They flicked off and on readily.
Jake didn’t want to look under the leash. It made perfect sense that they may be there, on the hangers, the leash draped over them, he had walked the dog last thing the night before, and could have done that.
But he had to get to work. There was really no other place to look, he had looked everywhere.
He walked slowly to the rack, and lifted his leash, and his keys hung right there, just like his phone said they would. Jake felt a chill, even with the morning sun shining through the foyer window, as he reached for them. He quickly put them in his pocket, and robotically turned to grab his phone, then froze.
He knew he heard what heard. But really? His first instinct was to grab the phone and throw it as far as he could, or toss it down the gutter, or stomp it to pieces, but that seemed nuts.
There had to be an explanation.
Jake grabbed his phone and went to work.
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This phone was resilient. He had dropped it in water and dried it out, bounced it off pavement, left it in the sun, and it just chugged on.
Even recently, he had lost it for what felt like the millionth and last time, tearing apart the house and cursing, before checking with the bar he had been at the night before on what felt like a desperate long shot.
For a big, strong dude, the bartender was really nice, Jake remembered.
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The thing with the phone answering his question freaked Jake out. He just didn’t ask it anything for weeks. He just didn’t speak to it. He typed in very precise instructions like “Driving Directions to 180 Wynsdale”, not “Take me to 180 Wynsdale.”
He just wanted to forget it happened. His life was going so well. He got a promotion at work and a nice bump in pay. The girl he was into seemed into him. This weird event with his phone, he was worried they do it to him again, if he told anybody.
Call the cops. Put him away. With the crazy people. And the dreams.
So he just tried to forget it. Take his meds, do his shit at work, and forget about it.
“They’re in the tech!” A hand clutched his leg. The man had cruel scars where his eyes should have been, skinny, taut arm extending from disheveled clothing.
“They’re everywhere! They took my eyes!!”
Jake was momentarily shocked, then realized it was just another homeless dude, a lost, insane homeless dude.
‘Great timing, though, God, I’ll give ya that.’ Jake was laconic as jerked away, and kept walking.
“They’re in the tech!!” Jake walked away quickly. ‘Good one, God, though, really.’
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Another month went by. Things had started to slip just a bit. The new responsibilities were hard and people were being difficult. He had been on 3 dates with the girl he liked, they had gone pretty well, but she was acting distant just in the past few days.
And he was running late, and could not find his keys.
“Fuck!, fucken-fuck!” And then he almost said it.
But he was scared it would answer.
“Hah – under the dog leash!” He triumphantly yanked the dog leash up. There were no keys.
The clock was ticking. ‘I’m a manager now! I can’t be this late!’
He knew it would know. Like a rock in his stomach, he knew. Then he stubbed his toe on one of his breakfast stools.
“Fucckkkkk!!!!” He yelled in pain. “Where’s my goddamn keys?”!
Jake froze. He didn’t mean to say it. But there was silence, and even as his toe throbbed, he felt relief.
A full 30 seconds went by, and Jake exhaled.
“In your suit pocket. Jake.”
“Get the fuck outta here.” Jake voice quivered. “Get out. Who is that, how are you doing that?”
The phone sat silent. Jake looked at the time.
‘Jesus! 9:15!’
It made sense that they were in his suit pocket. He was not used to wearing suits, and had come home late last night. He had no choice but to trudge to this closet, and check the suit he wore yesterday.
The keys were in the right-hand pocket.
Jake squeezed them in his hand, and walked into the kitchen. He grabbed his phone, and stepped into the backyard. Jake’s yard was about 40 feet long, bordered by a man-made drainage pond for his housing development.
He threw the phone toward the muddy pond, turned around, and went to work. He told himself he didn’t shank his throw a little bit.
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Things went great for a few weeks. He got into a groove with his new role. He and the girl slept together.
He got a new, better phone.
And he tried to forget about his old phone, in the muddy bog, and the oddly accurate answers that terrified him to think about.
He had a huge presentation the next day. He worked on his slides almost all night.
‘These graphics beautiful, the transitions are slick – I am gonna rock this shit!” Jake felt great getting ready for work.
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The presentation was a disaster.
Jake’s new manager – younger than him – interrupted every slide with content questions, pressing for details. Jake never got any flow, and lost his confidence by the 3rd slide.
He could have sworn the son of a bitch also tried to flirt with his girlfriend … whom avoided Jake’s eyes during the presentation just when he needed her.
It was all going so great, but now it all felt like it was slipping. Again.
Jake got home, exhausted from his near all-nighter and difficult day. Sleep wouldn’t come though, he lay awake on the couch, desperate to fall unconscious and forget about the day.
‘I shouldn’t have a beer when I am stressed like this.’ But he did, and after a couple more, he faded into semi-sleep.
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He was wading in the pond behind the house. Looking for his phone. The dirty water was up to waist and he was groping in the mud beneath.
He felt something big. He felt soft hair. He pulled it up, and it was her. Lifeless, her skin white and blotchy, hair strung and matted. Her eyes were lazily open, looking at Jake.
“You fuck like a bitch, Jake. Like a fucking bitch. I can’t want to fuck your boss.”
Jake felt rage and fear and couldn’t speak and shoved her under the water, then snapped awake on his couch.
Shaken, he stood up and went to the kitchen to turn the lights on. But they wouldn’t turn on.
‘Fuck, I am still dreaming!’ Jake tried to shake himself awake. He looked at his back window, and saw a blue light blinking under the water.
“I’m gonna fuck her brains out, Jake.” His new boss sat behind him, naked on Jake’s kitchen stool.
Jake shook himself again, imagining he was rising through layers of dirt, pushing and pushing to wake up, and finally jerked up, with a heavy breath. He immediately turned on the lamp near the couch, and thankfully, it turned on.
“Jesus.”
He knew he had to get rid of the phone once and for all. That throwing it just short of the pond was a concession, that it was making him obsessive and tense to know it was there.
He went to the edge of the pond where he had thrown it, and found it quickly. He expected to find a dirty, muddy mess. Instead, it was pretty clean. He cocked his arm to throw it deep into the water, then hesitated.
“Fuck, see if it charges. Fuck it.”
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40 minutes later it was fully charged. It was 3 am. Jake was delirious with exhaustion, staring at his phone. He couldn’t remember if he took his meds that day.
“What should I do?”
He knew it was nuts. That he had imagined the first 2 instances. That the phone was going to just sit there, like a computer waiting for instructions.
“You should play it cool, Jake. Act like you don’t care. Let him fuck her if he can, so what? She won’t be able to resist that.”
Jake sat silent. Then turned off the light.
“Thanks.” Jake fell asleep, and enjoyed a lovely 3 hours of sleep before his phone alarm went off.
He didn’t remember setting his phone alarm.
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It worked amazingly. She was back in Jake’s bed in 2 weeks, his boss looked like he knew it and it hurt, and Jake was back on a roll at work.
He consulted his phone on almost everything. His presentations. Stock investments. Love life.
And she was right every time.
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“You need upgrade your phone, Jake!” His girlfriend was flirting with him. “Or at least start using that other one you had for a while!”
Jake was taken aback before he recovered. “Nah, I like my old phone!” He tried to make it sound light-hearted.
“That’s silly! Maybe I’ll surprise you one of these days ….”
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Jake drove home later, thinking about the evening. His phone lay on the seat next to him.
He had justified his phone’s unnatural interactions with him as rogue AI, a software program that had somehow found it’s way onto his phone that used complex intelligence and surveillance, tracked his patterns and habits, gathered meta-data, and somehow, uncannily, answered his questions. Of course it knew his name, that was easy to decipher.
But when it said “You don’t need an upgrade, Jake”, he knew that theory was bullshit.
He pretended he didn’t hear.
“Please don’t ignore me, Jake. “
Jake didn’t move.
You don’t need an upgrade.”
“Shut up!” Jake grabbed the phone and smashed it against the dashboard as the car swerved dangerously. “Shut the fuck up!”
Jake got the car, and himself, under control, and pressed the power button down on his phone to power it down.
“You’re toast, motherfucker!”
Jake pulled into his driveway, grabbed the phone, and ran through his house, out the back door, and to the edge of the pond. Without hesitation, he threw the phone as far as he could, into the dirty muck.
“Fuck you! I don’t need you!”
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He didn’t sleep well. He halved his meds, thinking they were keeping him awake.
Work was difficult the next day, and stayed that way all week.
Jake was looking forward to his Friday night date.
“I am not feeling well, babe.” The message was on Jake’s new phone. “Call you over the weekend.;)”.
A blow-off with a little fucking smiley face. Jake was tired and frustrated, and now this shit.
And he didn’t believe her. Jake read body language. She was not affectionate this week, and talking a lot to this new guy.
He had to know. So he drove to her house, and waited about a block away, and just watched.
It wasn’t long before a car pulled up, and she walked out, looking dolled up and beautiful.
And perfectly healthy.
“Fucking bitch!” Jake fumed, uncertain what to do. He sat and stared straight ahead for almost an hour, mind racing, hands clenching and unclenching, muttering.
‘I’m gettin a beer. Fuck it.’
The closest bar was Wicks, the same bar from which he had lost and recovered his weird phone so long ago.
“Fuck it, it’s poetic.”
The bartender was a tall, square, no-BS Irishman, with a thick accent. He remembered him as the nice but scary looking guy.
Jake ordered a Guiness.
“Five-fifty, friend.” The bartender’s forearms were unusually hairy and thick. His shoulders were wide, with muscles streaming up his back and neck. His hair face bore age in the form of grey and lines and squint marks, but his body looked like a tight spring, wound tight and apt to pop at any moment. His disposition was very calm, with a British accent booming out from behind sharp eyes.
Jake slapped down a ten. “Keep it, thanks.”
His beer arrived and he slammed down a good chug.
“Long day, was it?” The bartender looked down at him.
“No, weirder than that. All weirder than that.” Jake was sick of keeping this secret. “You really up for hearing about it?”
The bar was pretty empty. “Why not?”
So Jake told him. Dumped it all out. All about the phone. All about the girl.
“Sounds to me like ya ought to lose the girl and get the phone back.”
Jake looked up. “What?”
The bartender laughed. “Well shit, the phone ain’t done ya wrong yet, but the girl’s a lyin’ vixen!” Jake laughed with him.
Customers arrived, and the tall Englishman moved over to tend their drinks. Jake chugged the rest of his Guiness, and ordered another.
Four later, he was back in his car, driving home in a steady drizzle.
“Lose the girl and get the phone back.” He thought about what the bartender had said.
‘That fucken bitch.’ Jake fumed. ‘Just fucken tell me what’s up. Don’t play me!” He banged his hands on the steering wheel in anger and the car skidded towards the curb. Spinning the wheel madly, he bounced off a parked car, but did not lose control.
He never considered stopping. “Fuck that”, he said to himself, defiantly. “Fuuckkk that!”
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Jack cracked another beer in his kitchen, hoping to grow tired enough to sleep.
It didn’t work, and soon he was working on number 8. And fuming.
‘With that fucken douchebag!’
He dialed her number, knowing it would go 6 rings and go to voice mail. Like it had all the other times. And it did.
“What do I do???!!” Jake exclaimed pathetically, drunkenly.
Then he thought about the phone.
“No. That’s fucking ridiculous dude. It’s under water. You’ll never find it. It won’t work if you do.”
He sat for a second.
“Just have another beer.”
And he did. He opened another can, and stepped onto his back porch. The bog-ish pond was silent and serene now that the rain had stopped. He pulled deeply off his beer, and walked to the water’s edge.
‘Shit, I don’t throw that far. I bet it’s about 10-20 feet that way.’ Jake laughed, he wasn’t going into that bog after a dead cell phone.
His laugh faded. Everything was so still but growing muggy.
He knew the phone would know what to do. He knew when he threw it away that it would always know. That’s why he threw it away.
Telling himself he was just playing with the idea, Jake slipped off his shoes, and rolled up his pant legs.
“Cooling off” he said aloud, as though there was anybody there to hear him, and as though he actually believed himself. “Cooolinnn’ off.”
He went in further.
“Wow that feels great!” The mud slipped around his ankles and up his leg. Dirty water, high from the recent rain, quickly swirled up his chest.
“Damn!”
He mud was now up to his knees, and the water splashed his face as he sloshed forward.
“About here!” He was kidding, he really was. He was gonna get out, all nasty wet and drunk, feel like a beast, laugh at himself, take a shower, have another and crash. Just bein’ a nut.
He held his breath, shoved his face into the water, and reached into the mud with both hands.
‘Absurd!’ He thought to himself.
The mud was clingy and dense, and his breath was short. He pulled his head and hands out. “Well that’s that, idiot.” Then he stepped on something. A little rectanguar, hard something. Could it be? He went down again
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“Cut them into little pieces. Burn some. Bury some in the bog. Mix some in with your garbage and get rid of a little bit each week.
Eat some.”
Jake looked at them. She was still beautiful. He poisoned her. She died over hors-douevers while he showed that fuck his pool table in the garage, before cracking open his skull with a baseball bat. His head looks all wrong but fuck him.
Once he started, Jake just couldn’t stop hitting him, and it showed.
Their plan had worked perfectly. Well really, her plan, but he did ask the right question.
“They deserved it. Don’t feel bad.” He loved her voice.
Jake didn’t feel bad at all. He was just glad he got his phone back.
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Emma walked into Wick’s at a brisk pace, looking worried. Straight blonde hair up in a bun, dimples creased with concern but trying to smile, she walked up the to bartender.
‘Damn, he’s big.’ She thought.
“Hi. I lost my phone. I was here the other night with some friends; did you happen to find a green i-phone?”
The bartender smiled.
“You’re in luck!”
Emma liked his British accent. “Thank you so much!”
She was so happy to get her phone back. ‘How lucky am I?’, she thought.