BY JOHN-PAUL COTE
Copyright is held by author.
IT WAS quiet in the apartment.
Too quiet.
Asher stood in the doorway of the bedroom, ‘their’ bedroom, and let the silence press against him. The bed was still made the way Ana had left it, the sheets tucked tight at the corners, the pillow dented from where her head had last rested. He hadn’t slept in here since the funeral. He couldn’t.
The rest of the house was the same, frozen in the moment she’d left it. Her coffee mug sat in the sink, rinsed but not washed. Her jacket hung on the back of the kitchen chair, as if she’d only stepped out for a moment. The air still carried the faintest trace of her; lavender he remembered she called it, but he always thought of citrus and oranges.
It had been three months. The pain was still so ever present that he felt it would never go away. The wound just too deep. She had been taken away too soon at only 34. Asher kept trying to remember Ana the first day they met, when they were dating, the day of their wedding but he kept returning to that frail figure lying in bed, waiting for the cancer to claim her.
Her withering fingers reach out and take his hand.
“It’ll be OK,” Asher says, creating the scenario in his mind where all of this is found to be a mistake, where it all goes away.
“Of course it will,” Ana says, still strong enough to lie.
He closed his eyes, feeling that weight in his chest again. Would it ever go away?
The doorbell rang. Asher stared at it as it rang again.
“Who now? Why won’t people just leave me in peace?”
Pushing the button on his watch, a delivery man appeared on the screen. Asher crossed the room as the door incessantly rang again.
“Yes, hello?” Asher asked through the telecom.
“I have a package for Asher Cairn. It needs a signature.”
“OK, just a second.”
Asher opened the door. The man in the brown uniform stood next to a box labeled ‘Solace Systems’ and ‘This Side Up’. He must have been staring at it for a while before the delivery man cleared his throat.
“I just need your signature.”
The man presented the form. Asher signed it, the man said, “Have a good day” and left.
Asher continued to stare at the box. Eventually he picked it up and brought it in. It was heavy. Maybe 60 kg or a bit more. He placed it on the floor in the entry way. Lifting the lid, inside was a grey metal box with a manila envelope. He vaguely remembered signing for something as part of the funeral service. He hadn’t paid much attention to it, only that it was grief therapy or such.
Taking the envelope, he read the papers inside.
SOLACE SYSTEMS
“Bridging the Distance Between Loss and Life”
Welcome to Your Therapeutic Echo Program
Dear Mr. Cairn,
We understand that grief has no expiration date. That’s why we’ve created a space where memories don’t fade. They “live”.
Your Echo is ready!
Custom-built from over **12,304 data points** (including voice recordings, messaging history, and biometric patterns), your loved one’s personality, humour, and warmth have been preserved with 94.7% accuracy.
What to Expect:
– Adaptive Interaction: Your Echo evolves, learning from your conversations to better mirror their presence.
– Daily Check-Ins: “Ana” will ask about your sleep, your meals. Just like she used to.
– Memory Triggers: Mention a shared moment, and she’ll recall it in vivid detail (Note: Some recollections may be extrapolated from behavioural models).
Important Notes:
– For optimal realism, avoid questions about events post-dating their physical passing.
– Data inputs are non-editable to preserve authenticity. Per your Terms of Service agreement (§14.2), all source materials remain proprietary to Solace Systems.
First Steps:
1. Speak freely. She’ll recognize your voice.
2. If you notice discrepancies, report them via the “Calibration” tab.
3. Remember: This is a therapeutic tool, not a replacement.
“You’ll hear her laugh again.”
Dr. Eleanor Voss, Chief Ethicist, Solace Systems
The box shuddered, then exhaled a hiss of air, like breath held too long. Inside, something shifted. A shape unfurled, joints bending with the stiffness of long confinement. Fingers flexed, one by one, as if remembering their order. The head lifted, tilting in a jerky half-circle before settling. Hair spilled forward, too neatly arranged, too deliberate.
She rose slowly, spine uncoiling in small, measured increments, the way a puppet might remember the dance of life. For a moment, the movements were wrong. Too precise. Too rehearsed.
Then her shoulders eased. The fabric of the green dress fell in familiar folds. She blinked slowly, almost drowsy, like waking from a dream. And when her smile broke across her face, the strangeness seemed to dissolve, leaving only her.
She blinked. Once. Then again. Then a third time, too fast, like a skipped frame in a film reel. When her smile came, it lingered just a fraction too long, teeth showing, until she seemed to remember to soften it.
Ana.
Dear god, it was Ana.
She stood there in her favourite green dress and smiled.
He couldn’t move.
“Ash, it’s me.”
He couldn’t breathe, like someone had punched him in the gut.
“It’s me, Ana.”
His chest tightened. His heart pounded and pounded like it was trying to escape.
The thing tilted its head slightly.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?”
His knees began to buckle. The room seemed to move in and out.
His pulse pounded and swirled in his ears. His mind screamed, “Wrong, wrong, WRONG!”
“Ash?”
Without thinking, his fingers began to reach out but then recoiled.
“No. Dead. You’re dead,” he sputtered.
The thing that looked like Ana reached out. Asher moved back and he kept moving, slowly, until he was in his bedroom. He closed the door and sat down on the edge of the bed.
He stared at the door.
***
Asher didn’t know how long it had been. His mind was still blank. The only noise in the apartment was his breathing. Deep but consistent and controlled.
The door began to open slowly. The Ana-thing poked its head in the room.
“Ash, can I come in?”
The voice was so real. It sounded like her. Dear god, it smelled like her, the lavender mixed with oranges.
He didn’t respond.
The Ana-thing eased itself into the bedroom. Still, he didn’t react. The thing wearing Ana’s face sat down beside him.
“Ash, it’s me.” It stared at him but paused for a moment. Ash did nothing. It touched his hand. “Remember our first anniversary? You spilled red wine on your shirt? You froze but we ended up laughing about it?”
The touch was warm, gentle. Then her fingers flexed in a strange rhythm, squeezing and releasing, as if calibrating the right pressure. Too long, too deliberate, until she seemed to catch herself and relax.
Asher continued to stare ahead.
“Later, we got caught in the rain? You held my hand and pulled me close to try and shelter me from the rain?”
His breathing slowed. The Ana-thing moved her hand over to Asher’s watch.
“You forgot to charge it again. You always forget. I have to remind you every time.”
Ana began to take the watch off his wrist. She paused and inhaled deeply.
“I’ve missed how you smell.”
Asher turned to her. The warmth from her touch was undeniable. It released the weight that he had been carrying these past months.
She looked into his eyes and smiled her quirky smile.
He smiled back, trying not to cry.
“I’ve missed you.”
***
Ash sat at the table as Ana moved through the kitchen making them dinner. It had been days since her return. Days? Maybe more, maybe less, who knew? It was just a fantasy, right? His body was still tingling from the release of all of the tension and stress that had inhabited it for the last three months.
Oh, the smell. Garlic. Oregano. Basil. It was only spaghetti and marinara sauce, something that she made all the time, but she always did something different with it that she never told, and he could never copy.
“Do you remember when you tried to cook that steak at two o’clock in the morning after Bess and Tyler’s party? We were so drunk, and you burned that thing ‘ to be all fancy, just like they do it at Walsh’s’ you said? The fire alarm went off, you were tripping over the cat, waving the towel all over until you got sprayed by the fire extinguishers? You looked like you were made out of whipped cream.”
She laughed. God, how good it was to hear her laugh. He still sat there silently just taking in all of her. But he thought, “Wait, what cat?”
Ana laughed again.
“Do you remember when you tried to cook that steak at two o’clock in the morning . . .” and she retold the story as if she never had. She tilted her head and looked at him. “I already told you that, didn’t I? The steak . . . the fire alarm . . . but I feel like I just said it again.”
Asher said nothing but smiled.
When Ana was done, she brought the meal over, brushing his face ever so gently as she removed her hand. It made him feel warm, it made his chest feel light, as if a tremendous weight was gone.
Ana kept talking about memories they had and soon Ash was laughing along with her. The food was delicious, but he felt it would have been delicious no matter what.
But then the fear returned. The doubt grabbed hold and brought all of the tension back to him.
“How is this possible? Ana died. I saw her. I spent the time with her.”
“Ash, it’s me.”
“How did we meet?”
“At a college party through mutual friends.”
“Where were we married?”
“St. Margaret’s Church. We just about didn’t get married because we had that fight over what your tuxedoes should be. You wanted that awful dark green colour, and I wanted black. You were so stubborn.”
“Where are our children?”
Ana paused at the question. The smile disappeared from her face. She was silent for a time.
“We can’t, I mean, I can’t have children.”
The silence was like a wall built between them.
“I’m sorry,” Asher said, “I needed to know.”
“I know. I’m sure it’s hard to believe all of this.”
“Where have you been?”
“I don’t know. I just remember the hospital and then I was here in the apartment. It does feel like I’m forgetting something though. Like something pulling at me. For some reason, I can tell that this isn’t my body. It’s strange.”
Ash reached over and took Ana’s hand. Again, it felt warm like very other time. Her skin, though, felt a little too . . . perfect? Too smooth? And it didn’t “give” like he expected it should, like it was a container as opposed something with a bone in it.
“Is there something wrong?” Ana asked.
As if by instinct, she moved her hand and wrapped her pinkie finger around his. Ash pulled away.
“Did I do something wrong?” She asked with a bit of fear in her voice.
“Sorry, no. That’s just what you did after your treatments. It just surprised me, that’s all.” He moved his hand back to hers.
After an eternity looking into her eyes, Ana got up and collected the dishes. Ash continued to watch her. The apartment felt so much livelier again. Watching her move added so much to his life. She always talked though, talking about things they only knew: moments from their honeymoon, vacations, and just life in their home. Yet he still tried to convince himself otherwise that it was not Ana, trying to shield himself from an inevitable truth, that it wasn’t Ana.
But he couldn’t believe otherwise. It was her. A new body perhaps but it was her.
Something bothered him though. The cat. They didn’t have a cat. They never had a cat. Or perhaps he just remembered things differently. It was something he could live with.
It didn’t matter.
Behind him, Ana hummed softly in the kitchen. The same bar of melody over and over. Three notes. Reset. Three notes again. Like a needle caught in a groove.
***
“You know, it’s been two weeks, and you’ve never wanted to go outside,” Ash said.
“I know. The thought makes me feel nervous for some reason.”
He brushed her hair out of her face. A grey pall seemed to be resting over her.
“Ana, what’s the matter?”
“I’ve wonder if these memories are really mine. Sometimes it feels like I’m echoing someone else’s life, not living my own.”
Ash could only smile at her.
“We don’t have a cat, do we?”
“Maybe it’s something with the body. Give me a sec.”
Ash went back to the box she had come in. He remembered the manual mentioning a scanner that was included. There it was. He started it up as he walked back to Ana. As he approached, a translucent display appeared before him.
“What does it say,” Ana asked.
“Just give me a sec,” Ash said as he moved behind her. System files began to scroll. He took control of the data, pausing it to look it over. For a moment, the surprise made him stop breathing.
“What is it?” She asked.
“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just a hiccup.”
What the information was telling him; it couldn’t be right.
Biometric readings. Her smartwatch, always on her wrist.
Emotional tracking. Pain. Grief. The children they never had.
Years of it. Logged. Stored. Graphed.
Geo-tagged photos. Micro-expressions analyzed.
DMs. Confessions. Fear of the illness.
Video recordings. Karaoke. Drunk, fearless. Laughing, off-key.
She never knew anyone saved it.
Deleted emails. Drafts.
Journals cracked open by “memory recovery” algorithms.
Even her typos catalogued.
Search records. Purchase histories. Shampoo, lavender-orange.
An unopened pregnancy test.
Restaurants. Orders. Calories counted.
Even the fridge, monitoring stress-eating.
Her therapist’s notes.
His own data.
Every word, every sigh, every touch. Just recycled.
This wasn’t Ana. It was an amalgamation of Ana. An equation. An interpretation. But not Ana.
“Asher, what is it?”
He realized his breathing was becoming panicked.
“Sorry, there’s just a lot of information. It’s saying that everything is fine.”
Ana turned to look at his face. He smiled.
“Everything is fine.”
***
The first day back at work seemed like forever. Ash rushed out as soon as he could. On the train, he couldn’t think of anything but returning to Ana.
Ash opened the door to the apartment.
“Ana? Ana, where are you?”
Ash walked through the rooms until he found her in the bedroom sitting on the bed staring at her hands. He sat beside her and gently took her right hand.
“Ana, what is it?”
She continued to stare. “When I close my eyes, I can’t feel my heartbeat. I should, shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know.”
She began to flex her left hand.
“My skin feels too tight, like I’m wrapped in myself. Do I look strange to you?”
“No. Not at all. You look beautiful.”
“My voice sounds different sometimes, doesn’t it? Like it doesn’t belong to me.” Ana looked at him, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “Am I real?”
Ash wrapped his arms around her and drew her near. He whispered into her ear.
“Yes, you are real. You are more real than anything in this world.”
“Today when you were away, I felt like I stopped existing. Like I was on pause waiting for you to return. What am I?”
Ash squeezed her tighter.
“You’re Ana and I love you.”
***
Ash couldn’t open the door quick enough. He had worried all day about Ana. Especially with the way she had been acting. She wasn’t talking as much. He would see her just standing in a room, staring but not at anything in particular. She had started to avoid touching him. He wouldn’t have gone back to work, but he had no choice.
He was calling out her name the moment he was in the door.
There she was. Just sitting in a chair in the living room.
“Ana?”
He approached her. She was staring into space.
No breathing.
He touched her skin.
There was no warmth.
“Ana?”
He shook her.
“ANA!”
There was the scanner next to her, still on, displaying all of the system information he had found.
Her head moved to look at him. There was no emotion in it. It began to talk.
“Ash, I’m sorry but I cannot live like this.”
“No. Don’t say this.”
“I’m not the person you loved. I’m a ghost, a soul they have tried to reanimate.”
“Stop it.”
“You are loving a memory, not a person, and I cannot live like that. Knowing that that is what I am.”
“Just don’t.”
“I’m not Ana.”
‘Yes, you are. You can be.”
“Yet I know what she would have wanted . . . for you to make peace with her death.”
“You can be her.”
“She did. She loved you. No one should be remembered like this, a puzzle pieced together.”
“You are more than that.”
“Let her go. Let —” [static] “— yourself go.”
The head went limp. What light remained the machine’s eyes left.
“Dear god, no.” He whispered as he touched her cold skin. “You’re all I have left.”
The smell of lavender-oranges faded, replaced by the sterile scent of the empty shell.
Asher sat down and held the cold machine to his chest.
It was quiet in the apartment.
Too quiet.
***
John-Paul lives in St. Catharines, Ontario with his wife and two children. He’s been writing for years and is a fan of Sci-fi and fantasy. He is a person of few words, so he enjoys writing short stories and novellas the most.
