The Future of Deepfakes

"This isn't about gloating," Lane said softly. He kept his eyes fixed on Jessie's. There was a nervousness somewhere she couldn't explain. Even as he reached for his laptop, there was something in his eye she couldn't quite place.

"This isn't some elaborate reminder about how I warned you about him," Lane went on. His hand shot out, almost to fix her hair, but it was too nervous, and it dropped down, instead trembling against the computer frame, "I don't even want to bring it up, but you have to see this. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't show it to you."

More nervousness and trembling as his fingers pressed into the laptop's groove. He held his hands for a moment, shakily, then met her worried eyes. "If you need to puke," he said, "If you need to yell and scream -- whatever. Just know I'm here for you, it's completely fine. And I'll turn it off the second you ask. You need to see it, but don't torture yourself."

The trembling spread across the small car. Jessie's eyes watched his every move, and felt herself start to shake as he opened the laptop. He held it, almost for dramatic effect, a moment of pause while he second guessed the reveal, but the screen shot open in one fluid motion.

Jessie didn't recognize anything at first. The images were too sudden, too shocking to make sense. They couldn't be real. They didn't look real.

For a moment everything seemed blurry. She didn't notice the tears had started to fall. Her emotions had beaten her processing of the image. The entire screen become blobs of color, but she couldn't look away.

All she had was a vague recognition. The bedspread looked familiar. The drapes were one's she'd seen every morning. It took her blinking slowly, taking in the image before her brain clicked and she made the connection.

That was her husband. He was naked, his arms wrapped around a girl, but her hair was blonde, and she were thinner than Jessie had ever been.

Lane's fingers gave the laptop a nervous brush, ready to slam it shut, but Jessie was transfixed. Her mouth hung open, a small splotch of white tugging at the corner of her lips while she stared.

She watched with a silent mind, taking in every detail, but the pain still budding, far too new to let her process anything.

She saw all the small details. She saw the way the video was shot, clearly through the window. She saw a glare where the light caught the glass, a small detail that just made everything seem so real. She saw the way the sheets caught on the woman's foot. She saw the way she distractedly kicked it aside, not quite getting it with the first, so Evan reached down and grabbed it, tossing it past the bad. She saw the way the bed shook, rocking in time with her husband's thrusts.

Jessie saw the anchor tattoo, just above the girl's young ankle. She saw her brown eyebrows that didn't match her hair, the ring that went through her nose. She saw the way the necklace sat on her chest, the cross at the end bouncing, rocking side to side as squealed.

The video didn't have sound. It probably couldn't make it through the glass. Still, Jessie saw the laughter on the girl's face, the smile wide as her hand reached out, feeling Evan's pecs, her knuckles turning white as she gripped his ribs, pulling him closer.

Lane tried to act on his own. He saw the fresh tears in Jessie's eyes. He heard the way she started to dry-heave, struggling for breathe while she watched. He moved to shut the screen, but her mind had woken enough to stop him.

She'd barely begun the flurry of emotions. She felt the anger that come from somewhere primal, the raw betrayal that forced the tears before she realized what was happening. She felt herself questioning, trying to picture every little fight, trying to imagine what she'd done wrong to push him away. She couldn't help but compare herself to girl, wondering if Evan just needed someone younger, thinner; a woman still in her prime. She felt the fear of being alone, the terror of being back at square one, lying in a cold silent bed, struggling every goddamn night to keep the tears away. She thought about how entangled their lives were, and knew how big of a lawyer-filled mess her life was about to become.

The hyperventilating had turned to cold chills. Jessie felt an archaic pain stretch down her spine. She felt the way her fingers tingled and went numb.

Lane placed a hesitant hand on the laptop again, ready to close it. Jessie couldn't stop watching.

She stared at the woman's sultry, blue eyes. She realized the woman's hair wasn't totally blonde, she had a two color process, and when her hands shot up and grabbed her hair, she saw streaks of brunette underneath.

She couldn't take her eyes off Evan either. She saw the raw joy on his face, an expression she'd never seen, one that didn't even look like the Evan she knew. She saw the way his hands reached out, fondling her tits, squeezing them like a stress ball while his hips shook the bed. Evan grabbed her legs by the ankles. He spread them wide, almost teasing towards the camera. Jessie watched as he pulled his cock out, gave it a pair of quick strokes, before slapping it against her clit.

Jessie didn't need audio to see the way the woman's eyes rolled back. It didn't take much imagination to picture the little moan she gave.

It got to a point where Jessie was counting moles. She stared at the two utterly transfixed. Her thoughts got more complex, her emotions more contradictory. This is what made you throw away our marriage? Her?

The laptop slammed shut. The sound made Jessie flinch, and Lane's eyes had narrowed in worry.

Now that the image was gone, nothing more than an echo in her mind, the tears fell harder.

"I am so sorry," Lane said, his voice sounding more sincere than she'd ever heard him be.

Jessie's bubbling wouldn't stop for hours, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to form a coherent thought for weeks.

"I wish I didn't have to show you," Lane said, his voice quiet. He nodded, almost like he was convincing himself, "But I had to."

He said it again, "I had to."

Henry had started his nighttime ritual of winding down. He had already changed to his pajamas, at his age nothing more than a wife-beater and boxers, and sat in the rocker with a single reading light. Marnie had already turned in for the night, but that was ok, because he enjoyed the hour or so of silence, just him and a book, his mind clear.

He turned the page. It didn't matter that his glasses were a prescription out of date; they sat at the bridge of his nose, and his eyes scanned, his smile barely there, but content. He sat with one leg crossed, the other on the ground, his toes barely touching. He let himself rock, the gentle sway slowly starting to tire him out.

It barely took another chapter before Henry heard the sandman's alluring call. He felt his eyelids turn heavy and his fingers turn clumsy. It wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen asleep in his rocker, and it wouldn't be his last. In truth, he enjoyed the gentle ribbing Marnie gave him each morning. That's what a marriage is supposed to be. Those little moments that make you smile-

The phone rang.

Henry had just reached that stage where he couldn't quite tell if he was asleep or awake, and the sound jerked him upright. He felt the muscles in his thigh cramp, while the falling sensation made his heart skip a beat. He gave it a quick pounding, beating the rhythm into submission while he worked aside the coughing spell that came with it.

His legs shot out, churning the air like a cyclist while he tried to find his footing. He flexed the life back into his fingers, then reached for the phone. He answered groggily, and his quiet night was filled with hysterics.

At first, Henry couldn't make out the woman's words. It took her two bouts of repeating before he even realized it was his daughter speaking.

"Dad," she said, her words thick with phlegm, warbly with snot, "I need you to come here, I need you to-."

It took everything Jessie had to get the sentence out. Every word tugged at her hyperventilation, every syllable made her tremble more than before.

Henry gave a pair of groggy blinks and let his eyes wander to the kitchen clock.

"Jessie," he tried to protest, but he heard her voice too clearly. Her words were too frantic, too pained and incoherent to ignore.

"Come to-" Jessie said, breathing harder, "I need you to-" Her herculean effort was running out, and her words had become indecipherable.

"Jessie-" Henry said again. He was standing now, "You're not making any sense. Tell me what's going on-"

"You were right Daddy," she breathed, "You were right, you said from the beginning-"

He was as wide awake as he could make himself. He scoured the floor for pants, while he leaned in close to the phone, "Jessie," he said, his voice full with parental concern, "Are you ok?"

"Just come get me."

It was all Jessie's brain could say. She felt like a record stuck on repeat, as the phone line went quiet.

Henry slammed the phone down and missed the receiver. There was shouting on the other end. A lot of it. He stormed towards the door, slipping his jeans while he walked, and swapping his work shoes for slip-on sandals. Then he was off to Jessie's house.

By the time Henry pulled up, he'd been driving long enough for his grogginess to return. He blinked in the streetlight, and tried to make sense of the situation. He saw Evan, shirtless in pajamas, while Jessie shouted something at him. She stood with an unfamiliar man at her side, struggling to keep the peace. Henry threw the car into park, and hurried out towards the lawn.

Henry meant to speak. He meant to yell something, tell them to break it up, but Jessie's words brought out a rage he didn't know he had.

"You fucking cheated on me?"

Evan held his hands up, an invisible defense. Jessie was crying, and the strange man Lane was trying to keep space between the two.

Henry felt determination in his legs and he stormed across the lawn.

Evan tried to make a rebuttal. He tried to deny, tried to ask what she was talking about. His confusion looked genuine, but the act didn't work on Jessie. It wasn't working on Henry either.

"I saw the video!" Jessie screamed. She took an angry step forward, Lane catching her waist.

It was Evan's turn to advance. He tried to lock eyes with her, tried to make himself look as convincing as possible. "Babe," he said, his confused voice soft, "What the hell are you talking abou-"

Evan never saw Henry's fist. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, his eye already throbbing and red as he stared up at the sky. He blinked painfully. For a moment, Evan's mind was clear, too rattled to remember the situation, but then he saw Henry's pissed off silhouette. The man was old, but as he dug his knee into Evan's ribcage, it sent searing pain up his chest that knocked the wind out of him.

"Baby," Evan tried, his words labored, "I didn't-"

Another fist. This one caught his cheekbone. The punch hurt Henry. He felt the way his knuckle fragmented, but he knew the cheek sang the same song- and that made it worth it.

Henry raised his fist, ready to strike again, but a hand stopped him. Lane had let go of Jessie, just long enough to intervene. His eyes were wild with concern, as he struggled to find the words he needed. "Don't," Lane heaved, his mind in overdrive, "Don't, I mean, He'll get his comeuppance."

Henry relented, just for a moment, and it gave Lane a chance to pull him off of Evan.

"Don't give him," Lane heaved, his words low enough so only Henry could hear, "Any ammunition. Don't let him sue. He'll get what's coming ok?"

Henry stopped struggling, but his eyes were deadly lasers that watched Evan's crumpled form on the grass. It gave Lane just enough time to look over his shoulder. He expected to see Jessie fighting. He thought he'd have to sprint after her, constantly fighting father and daughter to keep them away, but she was a bubbly mess, sprawled on the grass, shaking with incoherence.

Henry gave Lane a quick shoulder check, a threat that he wasn't finished. Jessie saw, and she had just enough awareness to yell after him.

"Dad," she said, her words still thick, "Stay off him."

She was still struggling to her feet. Henry let his eyes wander, watching Evan, watching Jessie, feeling Lane's hand, still against his stomach, but he relented. It was Jessie who asked, and that made all the difference.

Henry gave Evan one last spiteful glance, then started back towards his car.

Even as the truck sped away, Evan was still massaging his cheek, in shock as he felt the bone shifting under the skin.

"I didn't," he tried, his words tinny, "I didn't do anything."

Lane knelt at Jessie's sid. He held her, his eyes closing, breathing in the moment as he felt her pressed against him.

"Jessie," Evan tried, his voice a worm that slithered across the lawn, "I didn't do-"

Lane took a deep breath. He built his confidence, and let himself snap. He stood with an angry finger and stormed across the grass. "You know what you did!"

Evan's hands shot up again, cowering like he expected another blow. Lane had no intention to hurt him.

Across the street, house lights started to turn on. Distant dogs barked, and they heard the shouts from curious neighbors. Lane felt his heart racing, and he knew their time was running out. He worked his way back to Jessie's side and gave Evan one last venomous look.

"You stay the fuck away from us," he screamed. He let his hand fall to Jessie's armpit, guiding her up to her trembling feet.

Jessie tried to add something, but her eyes were still wide with a thousand-yard stare and the words were incoherent.

"You cheated on her," Lane added, once more to be certain, "You'll be hearing from our lawyer."

Evan's head was still ringing as the two left. He still saw black spots that danced in his eye every time he blinked. When he tried to stand he felt the urge to puke, and saw the way blood poured down his chest.

The neighborhood had left their houses now, and bare feet crossed the road in concern.

"I'm fine," he waved. He desperately wanted to go back to bed, wrap his arms around his wife and forget the entire night. He waved off the last of the gawkers and limped through the front door. He made his way to the bed, but had to settle for sleeping alone.

All Evan ever did was deny, and that pissed Jessie right off. Did he think she was stupid? Did he think he could talk his way out of it?

Her hand slammed down on the dash. Lane was driving, and the movement was sudden enough for Lane's head to snap over, his eyes wide with concern.

He didn't even have the courtesy to shout back. Didn't even try to fight. Didn't even try to get emotional, Jessie thought. How could he not get emotional? Jessie couldn't help but get emotional. Their whole world was crumbling, no, that's not a big of enough word. It was shattering. A fucking earthquake opened up between them, and he just stood there like a dumbass, his eyes wide with his fake confusion.

That fucking coward, it was another thought Jessie couldn't stop. He couldn't even own up and face her. He couldn't just saw he did it, say he was wrong. He couldn't even apologize. Coward.

Jessie's hand slammed again, but it wasn't venting her frustration the way she'd hoped.

I cant wait. I CAN'T WAIT. To hear what bullshit excuses he was gonna come up with. Jessie was already filling his mouth with excuses. She pictured the way he would say them too, and that drawling voice she used to love, grated in her mind like nails on a chalkboard, You don't understand, it's not what it looks like, it was a one time thing-

The excuses hadn't even stopped by the time Lane pulled into his house. He held the door, for her, and Jessie stepped out on wobbly knees, her eyes still glazed while her mind worked overtime.

Everything felt shaky as she stood. The world seemed off access, and if Lane's hand didn't guide the small of her back, she doubted she could have made it up the front steps.

He brushed past her, turning the door and finding the lights. Everything was bright, but her mind was too frazzled to blink away the brightness. She didn't even notice Lane was talking.

"Whatever works best for you," he said, running through the words like he'd rehearsed them a hundred times, "If you want the couch, if you want my bed, I'll completely accommodate, you're going through so much, you-"

Jessie shook her head. It was the only thing she could think to do to clear the light spots from her vision. She collapsed on the couch with a pulsing headache while Lane kept prattling on. He was talking as fast as he could, discussing everything but the affair. He talked about breakfast, how long she could stay, how he'd be there for her. It's like he thought she just needed to move on, but every thought other than that fucking image of Evan's cock in that girl, went in one ear and out the other. That was all that mattered.

"Couch," Jessie finally mustered. Her voice was a million miles from her mind, but it seemed like the only word that would shut him up, "I don't want to put you out."

The words worked. Lane gave a frozen stare. His mouth opened once, closed, then dropped again.

"Are you sure you're gonna," he tried, gulping air to get through it, "Are you gonna be ok?"

The question wasn't worth an answer, and the only one she gave was a plop down to the couch. She wanted to shut her eyes, exist solely in her head while her thoughts beat their ugly drums in her temples.

Lane gave one last look at her, his lip uncertain. He reached for the light, and left the woman in darkness.

As Lane lay in bed, he doubted Jessie would sleep at all. He was certain he wouldn't do any better. His mind didn't start racing until his head hit the pillow; then everything hit him all at once. The girl of his dreams was in his house on his couch. She was on a fast track towards divorcing her husband, and that meant he had a shot, everything was becoming real.

Lane felt a cold sweat run down his back. He wasn't sure if it finally hit him that all of this was real, all finally happening. It was the first time he felt real guilt, and the nagging thought that he was taking advantage of her starting playing hopscotch across his mind.

It took three weeks before Jessie started to seem like a human again. She still struggled to sleep, and she wore heavy bags under her eyes like badges of honor. She was still living with Lane, and he still cared for her just as intently as he did that first night. He cooked for her, did her laundry, even made a trip back to her haunted house to grab a handful of things she needed.

She hadn't gone to work and barely left the couch, a blanket always hugging her body. She spent most days trying to clear her mind and lose herself in whatever happened to be on tv.

The only real contact she'd made with the outside world were the endless calls from her father, just to be sure she was doing ok. Sure, she'd received a litany of calls and texts, the endless support that she supposed was supposed to lift her cold dead heart, but responding felt like a chore, and after the first few days she let her phone turn silent. Lane poked into the living room and set up a little tray in front of her. "It's simple," he said, "just made a little omelet, but you should eat something."

She knew there was some truth to his words. She'd probably lost close to fifteen pounds, but food seemed so unappealing to her. He might as well have set down a rock.

"Thank you," she forced herself to say, "You've been really good to me." Lane gave a soft smile, before slinking into the couch next to her.