Ghost in the Machine

Note to readers: this story exists because one of the characters took over during the writing process and forced me to write it this way. I submitted to her will. Contains mild elements of (male) non-consent, BDSM, and horror - though I'd hope that there's something in here for everybody, if those elements aren't your jam then you might want to skip this one.

---

My body is pale and white and weak and since the accident it does not move. My body sits in a hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines and efficient nurses and the smell of floor cleaner. I have lain here now for thirty years, visited by my mother daily, my father weekly, and other relatives fewer times, still fewer as decades go by. My eyes fix to the ceiling, noting every crack, every slight dust particle, every spider web that breaks the monotony. Twice a day a nurse shifts my position, and twice a week a man comes by with a machine to read my mind. He shakes his head every time, and repeats "no change."

But he's wrong. I'm in here.

I just don't want to be found.

I have had to get used to indignity. The ventilator presses, scratches, against the walls of my trachea. The nurses changing my catheters are careless -- why take care with a fleshy lump like myself? Once a day, the stench of my own shit, and twice a day the ammoniac tang of my urine, as they change the bags. I am a machine that takes in nutrients and turns them into dung. Nothing more.

---

The sun was shining through the thin curtains, but Jenny screwed her eyes tightly shut against it. If there was one absolute certainty, it was that today was going to be the worst day of her life. Yet she was going to have to face it. A week ago, she had finally screwed up the courage to hang back after class, get Tom Henderson alone, and ask him out. A week ago, she'd listened as he had explained that he already had a girlfriend, thanks very much. She'd also deduced from his bored expression and downcast eyes that even if the girlfriend were not in the picture he would not exactly be making a beeline to Jenny's door. Now she was going to have to sit opposite him in the seminar room, pretending that nothing had changed.

It was so unfair! She'd barely noticed Tom in their first year, where they'd taken several classes together, and when he'd been, as far as she could remember, just another somewhat geeky teenager, fit enough but basically indistinguishable from all the other guys on their engineering class. She'd spent the first part of that year getting over her high school sweetheart and the second enjoying the excessive attention that came with being one of the few girls to take engineering as a subject.

Then they'd all gone home for the summer, and Tom had seemingly had some kind of personality transplant. Not to mention the transformed looks. His skin had lost its adolescent pimples. He'd also been working out a lot, that much was obvious, and with the new muscles he'd acquired a great deal of self-confidence. When he walked into the seminar room for the first time, bouncing on the balls of his feet, she could have sworn he'd grown a foot taller in just a few months. He had also, she noticed, started paying attention to his fashion choices, choosing shirts that fit snugly to his frame and accentuated his pectorals and biceps. Not to mention tight jeans that had drawn her eyes more than once to his perfect, muscular, firm ass.

Jenny idly traced one finger around her left nipple, trying to recapture the high she'd had the previous week, when she'd looked at her reflection and persuaded herself that she was worthy of the guy she'd been crushing on all year. OK, so not everyone shared her dark sense of humor, and not everyone liked her lightly gothic fashion choices. OK, so she might not be the hottest girl in the world -- not everyone was blessed with the strength of character to avoid food, or to work out every day. OK, so she might be so short that Tom probably didn't even see her half the time when he walked in the room. But she wasn't a monster. Her long, dark hair, an inheritance from her Malaysian mother, drew admiring glances from other girls from time to time. When she'd put on new underwear last week and practiced her most seductive looks to her phone, she'd convinced herself no man could resist her.

"Well, you were wrong, you stupid, ugly, fat, stupid, pointless, self-loathing bitch," she said to her empty bedroom.

But then came another unexpected thought. Maybe she was being too defeatist? After all, she'd not been fair to him, just blurting it out like that. Maybe his girlfriend was just some home-town skank who'd got her claws into him over the summer, and he'd just been too decent to betray her? Maybe he'd thought more about Jenny since -- hadn't been able to get her out of his mind, actually -- and it had given him the courage to make a decisive break. Maybe this time he'd be the one waiting for her after class, waiting a little nervously to tell her that he'd made a mistake, that he now knew she was the only one for him, and then he'd lean in close enough so she could smell him -- he smelled so good -- and she'd feel his body between her thighs -- his taut, muscular body -- as he leaned in for a kiss -- gentle at first -- then increasingly passionate, his tongue -- his hands -- his...

Jenny's hand moved lower, her fingers sliding under the elastic of her fading grey boy shorts. There was still some time before she had to face reality.

---

On the other side of campus, Tom was checking himself out in the mirror. He'd been up early for a run, and felt an upwelling of pride as he looked at the body he'd worked so hard to sculpt. Intensive swimming had given him enviable arms and a flat stomach, and the past two years of work and self-discipline were paying off, sketching in lines of muscle across his body. While he'd originally started working out as a way to get over his breakup from Sarah, he had to admit that it had almost become a drug for him now. One of the best things, he'd noticed, was that improving his body had also, somehow, improved his mind. His drive to succeed, already strong, had become unbreakable after the experience of returning to school in the second year and having everyone notice just how good he looked. Now he spent every hour of the day either improving his mind, improving his body, or working to make the right connections. In five years' time, he was sure, he would have his own business. In ten, he intended to have his own house, and his own young, hot wife. In fifteen, there would be children. Twenty years on, he intended to be a millionaire many times over -- with a little luck, a billionaire.

A brief shadow crossed his face as he remembered the awkward moment after last week's class. The dumpy half-Asian girl had kept him back on some flimsy excuse, then abruptly told him that she wanted to go on a date. As if it was suddenly the 1950's all over again. He'd done his best to be gracious -- he didn't want to end up being stalked by some psycho, after all -- and had made up a story about having a girlfriend in town. It was all lies, of course, but she'd seemed to believe him, and after a couple of half-hearted attempts at conversation she'd left the room disconsolately.

He snorted at the thought of her. He'd nothing against Asian girls -- actually, there were a couple of babes in the spin cycle class he could definitely see himself going with some time -- but there was no way he intended to date anyone who still thought heavy eyeshadow and dark lipstick was a thing. You needed to be tall and model-thin to carry that look off, and this girl just wasn't blessed that way. Plus, and Tom wouldn't say this to anyone else, he knew damn well that he'd gone from a "five" to an "eight" in a very short time, and with a little more work and some cash in his pocket he had a good chance of being a nine before long. He wasn't intending to waste any time dating this year, and when he did start to date he would be looking strictly for girls that could be an asset in his life. Honestly, he was kind of insulted this chick had even asked.

Tom took a little extra time getting dressed, choosing a figure-hugging T-shirt with a V-neck deep enough to give just a hint of his pecs, and tight enough sleeves to show his muscular arms. He carefully shaved and splashed on a little eau de cologne, then added just a little product to his hair and carefully shaped it. Examining his reflection, he knew he would look far better than anyone else in the class. Let that be a message to any other girls who felt like disrupting his routine. "You need to work harder if you want to get with..." and here his eyes ran down his own body, his cock gently becoming semi-erect "... this!"

---

It is hard to hide my thoughts from the scanning machines, which seem to improve every year, but since the accident I have nothing but time to learn. When they see the flickers of activity, they come with more wires and exercises, and my time is taken from me. When the line on the screen is flat, there is only my mother, and I know how to tune her out. I lie here in the fluorescent light and listen to it whine. Memories of life with my body unspool themselves.

---

Jenny was already seated at the back of the class, her head lying on her crossed arms, when Tom walked in. "Why does he have to look so damn good?" she thought, her eyes reflexively running over his swimmer's frame. He was surrounded by a group of friends, laughing loudly, the center of attention. The room seemed to become just a little more grey and unwelcoming as the final vestiges of the morning's fantasy dissipated.

He looked her way, their eyes briefly meeting. His expression, far from being the shy glance she'd hoped for, was malicious, mocking. It was too far across the lecture hall for her to be able to tell exactly what he was saying, but there was no mistaking the looks the other guys were giving her, or the cruelty of their grins. This was so much worse than she'd thought -- they were actually laughing at her presumption for -- for what? For thinking a lump like her could ever hope for anything from their diamond prince? Fuck them! Fuck them all! And especially fuck that bastard!

She stuffed her lecture notes hastily back into her bag and fled the room before the welling tears overcame her.

---

In the library later that day, Tom was feeling good about himself. The mid-term grades had been published and he was certainly on track for a good GPA. Sure, he'd felt a twinge of guilt when the goth girl had run off, but if anything the guys had found that even funnier, and he'd cemented himself in their eyes as an alpha dog who'd turn down free pussy if it didn't meet his standards.

He opened his email. Amongst the usual spam and all-campus emails, one new message seemed weirder than most. It seemed to be from someone called "Protector," and the header read, simply, "WELCOME TO THE WORST DAY OF YOUR LIFE." He snorted quietly and deleted it unread. Immediately, a new message notification appeared, again from "Protector." This time, the subject line read "YOU DON'T WANT TO IGNORE ME, TOM HENDERSON." He shook his head in mild irritation, and again clicked "Delete" - or, rather, he tried to click delete. The mouse pointer, however, seemed to have different ideas. It moved jerkily across the screen, highlighting the new email.

"The fuck?" Tom muttered. He quickly swished the mouse around on the table several times, but the on-screen pointer remained stubbornly stuck to the threatening header. He hit the DELETE key, and was relieved to see the message disappear. But once again, a new email instantaneously arrived, from the same anon account, this time with the header "YOUR LAST CHANCE."

A fucking virus was all he needed. He pressed the power key for a few seconds. Nothing happened. Instead, the pointer moved down to the mystery email, and it opened. He scanned the message.

DEAR MR HENDERSON

YOUR CONDUCT TOWARDS JENNY THIS MORNING WAS UNACCEPTABLE. IF YOU DO NOT MAKE AMENDS, THERE WILL BE... CONSEQUENCES.

---

It's the tragedy of life: the young and healthy don't appreciate what they have. Certainly I didn't. I wish I'd paid more attention to what it felt like to stretch up my arms in a yawn, for example. There was a sequence of muscle contractions, I remember, and the great gulp of air. Then the letting it all out in a whoosh, and the relief of relaxation.

I haven't yawned in thirty years, nor scratched an itch, nor screamed. A scream was the last noise I made, in fact, as I turned, throwing out my arms in fruitless protest, as I looked into his eyes. As the boy's car broke the fortress of my body, turned my bones to jelly, launched me toward the heavens.

Heaven hasn't found me yet.

---

Jenny was lying face down, her bed covered in used tissues and empty Cheetos packets, when the banging on her door began. Of all the people who might have checked in on her, the one she never expected to see through the peephole was a seemingly furious Tom Henderson. She opened the door just a crack, trying to hide her baggy, fraying, T-shirt, but he just pushed her aside and strode in.

"Look, I don't know what the fuck you think you're up to, but this shit stops now," he began. "Fucking weirdo messages! Giving my computer a virus? I mean, what the fuck, Jenny?"

("He remembers my name!" a rogue thought whispered)

"What? I don't... I mean..." She coughed "Um. What are you talking about?"

"I thought I was quite clear last week." He leaned in close to her face, speaking slowly and loudly. "I'm. Not. Interested. In. You.

"I don't even know you. And if you pull some stalker shit, I swear, you will be sorry. I know where you live now. Got it?"

For one terrifying moment, she thought he might hit her. Her head nodded convulsively.

"Good!" The door slammed hard behind him.

---

As he strode towards the gym, Tom's phone gave out a new message tone. A withheld number.

THAT WAS RECKLESS. CONSEQUENCES WILL ENSUE.

For a crazy moment, he fought down the urge to go back, grab the girl's phone and laptop, and throw them in the lake. This wasn't worth that kind of hassle, he assured himself. This was all evidence he could present if he needed some kind of restraining order. But the girl wasn't going to knock him off course. If he spun it right, this could even end up adding to his cred -- he was a guy so good-looking, it literally drove girls crazy. That kind of thing. Also, he'd felt sorry for her, standing there with her hair unbrushed and, he remembered with distaste, some kind of yellow food smear round her mouth.

He dumped his bag in the corner of the weights room, and began his warm-up. He preferred to work out during the quiet times normally, but he'd had to waste time finding the girl's address and going over to threaten her, so the gym was packed with sweating bodies. Then again, he could probably put the adrenaline in his system to good use by adding an extra set of reps, or maybe going up a few kilos on the bench press. Maybe this day wouldn't be a total bust after all.

He was just squatting into position for a deadlift when he became aware of something nagging at the edge of his attention. A dissonant noise beneath the ceaseless EDM. Layered in with the beats, a single word, repeated over and over again in an emotionless, robotic voice. "Consequence." "Consequence." "Consequence." Weird. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on keeping his back ramrod-straight as he raised the heavy barbell.

Rep 1. "Consequence." Rep 2. "Consequence." Rep 3. "Consequence." The track changed, to something even more up tempo, but the words continued. Sweat lightly prickled his back as he began his third set, ignoring the strange voice, beginning to feel the familiar satisfying ache in his arms and back.

Abruptly, the music and the voice both cut out, leaving behind only the sound of hissing and grunting from his fellow gym rats. Then Tom became aware of another noise, from across the room. A moaning, frantic noise, tinny and distorted from the speakers, but unmistakably the sound of porn. The groaning grew louder, and resolved into words. A male voice, yelping "Screw me! Stick that big cock in my ass! Yes! Yes! Oh god, yes, that's so good..."

With a shock, he realized people were clustering around his gym bag. Before he could even put down the barbell, someone had reached into it and pulled out his mobile. The gym fell completely silent apart from his phone. On its screen, there was no confusion about what the hairy and undeniably male figures were up to. Faces watched silently as he grabbed his bag, the phone -- which ignored every attempt to shut it down -- and ran from the gym, trailing the sounds of sex behind him.

---

When I returned to consciousness in the weeks after the accident, it was, first of all, to pain. Unimaginable, all-encompassing pain throughout all of my body. Then, as the nerves healed and the medications took their effect, came the knowledge that my limbs would never again move under my command.

My mouth and eyelids moved, but not under my volition. A clean break had been made between my will and the world, and no therapy, no wonder drug, would ever mend it. For weeks I screamed in silence. I had been athletic, young, full of hope and promise, and now I was... a thing. An object.

---

Jenny folded the lid of her laptop, bewildered. Something was going horribly wrong. She'd been worried to see an email from Tom arrive in her inbox, but nothing could have prepared her for the illiterate mix of threats and accusations she'd just read.

One thing was clear -- this guy was not the man she'd fantasized about. The way he was acting, you'd almost think she'd been the one to turn him down, not the other way around. Also, he seemed to think she had done something to his computer. It didn't make much sense. Was she going to have to call in campus security to deal with this situation?

In the corner of the room, her ancient laptop screen suddenly brightened. Preoccupied with her thoughts about this odd situation, it took her a moment to notice that it wasn't displaying her normal screensaver. Instead, the backlight was almost strobing, flashing on and off behind a single word. "WATCH." As soon as she walked over to her desk, however, the screen changed.

This time, it was displaying what looked like grainy security camera footage of a random classroom. A few seconds later, a door opened, and Tom entered the room, carrying a heavy sports bag. He pulled something small from the bag -- a phone? -- and smashed it on the ground, stamping on the remains over and over again, then began to walk up and down rapidly, muttering to himself. The volume came up and she was suddenly able to both hear and see him.

The first words she could make out were "That fucking -- fucking -- fucking CUNT!" He continued to pace rapidly up and down, unconscious of the watching camera. "Fat bitch! Loser skank! Teach her to -- fucking bitch! -- what the shit what the shit what the shit -- fucking six-hundred-dollar phone -- she's going to pay -- fucking pay for it..." The feed froze, his wild eyes staring directly into the camera. Across the image was written THIS IS WHAT HE THINKS OF YOU.

Jenny's eyes prickled with tears. Tom must have set this weird power game up to humiliate her further. Obviously it hadn't been enough just to laugh at her in front of everyone, to hold her up for universal scorn. Probably his email had contained some kind of trojan, and even now he was scrolling through her private files. Oh God, she thought, what if he finds my journal? She'd written down all sorts of fantasies about him in the last year, fantasies she'd never even have considered telling her most intimate friends, and now presumably these were going to end up spread all across campus.