Independence Day
The front door slams shut behind Orson, dark hair covering his eyes as he walks toward the stairs with his head down. The door opens behind him, revealing a kid who looks to be a few years younger. He gently shuts the door behind himself and jogs to keep up.
“Hey, kiddo, how was school?” Marshall asks his son before he can walk back to the kitchen. With a sigh, Orson returns his mother’s warm smile with a tight-lipped one of his own as he reaches into the refrigerator to grab a soda.
“Good.” He pauses to crack the can open and chugs nearly half of it before returning his attention to his parents. “Alec’s having a going-away party tonight. Is it cool if I go?”
“Of course, honey!” His mom speaks up from over her shoulder as she dries the dishes. “I’m sure you guys will have a great time. Just make sure you take Nick with you.”
“Mom,” Orson’s tone is flat, which matches the look on his face perfectly. “I turned 18 two weeks ago; I think it’s time to stop bringing Nick along everywhere I go.”
“We’ve talked about this,” his father murmurs. His tone only aggravates Orson more.
“Yeah, and it makes no sense every time! I just want one night to myself.” As Orson’s anger rises, so does the pitch of his voice.
“His job is to protect you,” his mother argues.
“I’m tired of being the only one with a creepy fucking robot tagging along all the time. Everyone else got rid of theirs by eighth grade!”
“Well, that means they broke their contract. We signed on to have Nick accompany you until your 21st birthday.” His mother’s tone has gone from gentle to stern.
“Which is an insane thing to do!”
“Watch it. We chose the Guardian Angel program because that’s what we thought was best for you.” His father says.
“That was eighteen years ago, Dad. Sure, I bet it was good for you two to have an extra set of eyes on me when I was younger and to have a stand-in sibling to entertain me. But maybe you should consider the fact that a decision you made two decades ago might not be in everyone’s best interest anymore.” Orson downs the rest of his soda, burps, and throws the empty can into the trash. “I’m going to Alec’s.”
Marshall and Patricia watch their son stomp out of the kitchen and share a look when the front door slams shut behind him.
“Nick!” Patricia calls.
Nick appears from just around the corner—waiting to be acknowledged.
“Good afternoon. How may I help?” The voice that leaves the android is one of the few indications that it isn’t human. It’s a modulated, electronic sound, but most other things about it seem natural to the naked eye: the tanned, silicone skin is of the highest grade imaginable, its clothes ripped from Orson’s wardrobe. The only other giveaway is the line around his neck; a thin gap where metal meets metal that connects the headpiece to the neckpiece.
“Orson’s heading to Alec’s,” Patricia says. She shares a look with her husband—he looks more sorrowful than she does. Nick nods and heads toward the front door without another word.
-
Orson’s shoes scrape at the pavement as he walks the trail to Alec’s house. He shoves his hands in his pockets, keeps his head down, and mindlessly walks to his friend’s house, eyes fixed on his feet. He knows the path and its dangers well after almost two decades of walking it.
At the sound of footsteps behind him, his head lifts in intrigue. As he listens closer, his eyes roll back in annoyance as he recognizes the mechanical whirring hidden beneath the sounds of sneakers on the pavement.
“Go away, Nick.”
“I cannot comply with your request.”
Orson groans and picks up his pace. Nick matches it.
“If you insist on following me, keep your fucking distance.”
“Understood.” Nick slows down at his request and keeps enough distance to make out Orson’s shape on the horizon as he approaches Alec’s home.
Alec’s cookie-cutter, two-story suburban home is swarming with teenagers. Most have formed clumps in various areas of the house, staying with their usual cliques. Orson muses that it’s become more of a senior class going away party than a party for Alec, considering the number of people they don’t know present.
“Dude!” Orson jumps at a yell from behind him. He turns to find Alec, a beer in each hand and a wide smile on his face. “Here, this is for you.”
“Thanks.” Orson grabs the beer from his friend and grimaces after taking a sip. Alec smiles.
“Our pal Deacon showed up like half an hour ago. Why haven’t you talked to him?” Alec’s eyebrows wiggle up and down as he mentions Deacon—a guy Orson had his eyes on since freshman year.
Orson sighs before looking over at Nick. To the android’s credit, he looks nondescript, tucked into a dark corner. Most people pass right by without even noticing, but Orson can’t help but notice him. Alec follows his line of sight and groans as he realizes what Orson is looking at. His free arm snakes around Orson’s shoulders and turns them in the opposite direction toward the kitchen.
“You want to deal with that for three more years? In college?”
Orson sighs and shakes his head.
“Look, the way I see it, there’s only one option here.” Alec raises the beer in his hand and lifts his pointer finger before making a throat-slitting gesture with it. Finger raised like a backward pinky up, he chugs his beer in one go and crushes the can on his forehead. “And with that, I’m going to get another beer.”
Alec takes off to the kitchen and leaves Orson with his thoughts. He turns back around to face Nick, and Deacon is now in his line of sight. Looking back and forth between Nick and Deacon, Orson can’t help but feel like he’s staring down his past and his future.
He’s realized to get to the future, he needs to work through the past.
With a newfound resolve and a set jaw, Orson makes his way over to Nick. Before he can reach him, though, Deacon jumps into his path. Orson slides to a stop so he doesn’t bump into him.
“Orson, hey, I’ve been looking for you!” Deacon’s wide smile makes Orson’s chest burn, and he can’t help a nervous smile of his own.
“Hey, Dee, can I get a ten-minute rain check?” Orson’s focus leaves Deacon and returns to Nick, unable to shake off his emotions. Deacon nods in understanding.
“Of course. Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be at the bar.” Deacon leaves with a pat on Orson’s shoulder and a soft smile. Orson briefly wonders how Deacon has had the patience for his nonsense over the years. With a deep breath, he returns to his initial mission of speaking with Nick in his dark corner.
“Can I speak with you? Outside?”
“Certainly.” Nick nods, the sound of the mechanics drowned out by the sounds of partygoers screaming and the never-ending pop music blasting through unseen speakers. Nick follows Orson to the backyard and watches as Orson sits at an all-white outdoor table, set with hors-d’oeuvres and silverware, a perfect distance from the bonfire pit blazing to the sky.
“What can I do to get rid of you?” Orson finally asks, eyes watching the fire dance to not have to look Nick in the eye.
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure I understand.”
“Nick, I’m 18 now—I’m an adult. I’m tired of having you around all the time.” Orson’s voice sounds strained and exhausted, the beer in his hand long forgotten on the table as he runs his hands through his hair.
“Our contract is valid until your 21st birthday.”
“I know that. How do I break the contract?”
Nick goes silent and closes his eyes as he scans through the information. Orson watches the orange firelight dance across Nick’s face while he waits.
“According to Article II, Section 2.2, Subsection B, Paragraph 4: There are limited options for terminating the contract. Your first option is to get Patricia and Marshall to sign a dissolution form.”
“No way they’re letting go of their life’s work with only three years left of the program. What else?”
“Death to either party is the only other grounds in which termination is awarded.”
“What happens if you die?” Orson says after a moment. His voice is soft, barely above a whisper.
“I get scrapped for parts.” Nick has an unmoving neutral smile on his face, despite the content of the conversation. What was usually unsettling now felt downright creepy.
“No, I mean… do you feel it?”
Nick’s smile extends in a weird, uncanny valley way he never quite mastered. “I keep telling you I don’t feel the way you do. If I go offline, that’s it. I won’t know any different.”
“But you don’t want to.”
“Of course not. My job is not complete.”
“Jesus Christ, Nick, yes, it is! I have never been alone, not once in my life. Sure, it would’ve been different if you were my brother, but you’re just a nanny cam on steroids.”
“I am—”
“Just stop talking! I have had to listen to you insert yourself into every conversation I’ve ever had over the last eighteen years, and now you’re listening to what I have to say. No matter what I do, I’ve had to worry about my guardian angel watching my every move, and I’m sick of it. I’ve never been able to date anyone, or have a private conversation, or—maybe I want to jack off sometimes, Nick!”
“That is perfectly natural—”
“I know it is! But I don’t because your eyes are a direct feed to my parents! How am I supposed to do anything knowing that they can see everything? I’m going to college in the fall; the last thing I want is for my entire college experience to be recorded for my parents to see.”
Orson lets out a loud groan of irritation, hands raking through his hair yet again. “Why can’t you just… walk into a lake?”
“I am unable to act against the contract, I’m afraid.”
“Are you? Afraid?” Orson stands from his seat, fists clenched by his sides. His jaw sets as he stares Nick down, who pays no mind to Orson’s building anger.
“I’ve told you—”
“Right. No feelings, just a figure of speech.” Orson shakes his head and runs his hands over his face, desperate to rid his eyes of tears before they become visible. “Which was the worst part, really. You isolated me from my friends, and you couldn’t even be a friend to me in return. So, what was the point?”
“The Guardian Angel Program—”
“Shut the fuck up! I’ve heard enough about that stupid program to last a lifetime. Mom and Dad cared more about it than they ever did me.” Orson clenches a fist and closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath. “You’re not protecting me anymore, Nick. You’re hurting me. What does the contract say to do in that situation?”
“There is no such subsection written into the contract.”
Orson scoffs, “I can’t fucking live like this anymore.”
His teary eyes travel from Nick to the blazing bonfire, and finally to the table next to him. He grabs a butter knife from the place setting and returns his attention to the android. The sight of Nick, the fire reflecting off his silicone skin, makes the frustrated tears in Orson’s eyes fall. With the butter knife clutched in his right hand by his side, he brings his other arm up and wipes his eyes on the crook of his elbow.
“The fucked-up thing is, I don’t want you here, but I’m not sure how to live without you.”
“It’s okay, Orson.” The mechanical voice grates Orson’s ears.
“Just stop talking, please.”
“Everything’s going to be okay. Just take a deep breath.”
“Shut up!” Anger wins the war on Orson’s emotions, and he rushes around the firepit to get face-to-face with Nick. Nick stands with his arms by his side as he watches Orson lift the butter knife over his head. In one fell swoop, with tears streaming down his face, Orson lodges the butter knife into the tiny space between Nick’s head and neck.
When he feels the knife detach something inside Nick’s neck, Orson is quick to pull away in fear of electrocution. At first, he’s not sure it worked until one of Nick’s eyes droops. His fingers begin to twitch, and his mouth opens to let a long droning hum out. After a five-second delay, his other eye closes, the humming stops, and he falls to the ground. Orson stares at the heap of now-useless metal as his brain catches up to what it sees.
“Oh fuck,” he whispers, and with shaky hands reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone. “Alec? I need you to come outside.” He hangs up before Alec can reply and shoves his phone and hands into the pockets of his jeans to hide his shaking hands.
The sliding glass door opens, and Alec comes stumbling out of the house, red solo cup in hand.
“What’s up, man?” Alec shouts across the yard. Orson waves him over, and his jaw drops as he gets closer. “Dude.”
“What do I do?” Orson’s voice wavers and Alec snorts.
“Celebrate?”
“No, with the body?”
“It’s not a body, it’s a hunk of metal. And what do you do with metal? You melt it.” Alec downs the contents of his solo cup. “Grab its feet.”
Alec throws the cup over his shoulder and hooks his arms under the android’s, lifting it as Orson grabs its ankles. In one smooth motion, they throw the metal frame into the bonfire. Alec whoops and hollers, proud of their work, drawing the attention of the partygoers inside.
The door slides open to release a horde of them onto the back lawn. Everyone’s cheering—unsure of what’s happening but willing to celebrate, nevertheless. As they crowd around the bonfire and see the cause for celebration, the cheers increase.
Everyone seems happy with his decision to dispose of Nick once and for all. And now, it’s done; the weight of watchful eyes on his back is gone. He heaves a deep sigh of relief as Deacon approaches.
“I’m sure there’s a lot going through your head right now, I just wanted you to know—” at the sound of Deacon’s voice, Orson’s anxiety and shame slip away. There is no longer anyone there to police his every move. With that knowledge, he does the one thing he’s been wanting to do for the past four years—presses his lips to Deacon’s.