One of Us is a Robot

Have you ever fallen asleep and completely blacked out? No dreams, just a blank space, complete disorientation, for hours and hours - or days even - because time disappears too. You could be anywhere, nowhere. You can't rule out the possibility you died and simply came back to life. But waking up this time was different because I couldn't remember my name.

Beeping got louder and faster. My arms entwined with tubes and metal strings, all connected to a brooding machine, sucking life out of me. I clawed out the wires. Was this a laboratory?

A large man in white loomed over me, forcing the wires back into my arms. “I know it’s a lot to wake up in a hospital, but you’re recovering nicely.” He said hospital, but it didn’t look like one or feel like one and he didn’t seem like a doctor. The structure of his face was twisted and sunken with years of anger.

I challenged him. “Who are you?”

"I’m Dr. Devitchen. Do you know who you are?”

I glared at him more like a beast than a human. But his voice broke me. He spoke calmly but with authority. The kind of voice that was impossible to rebel against.

“You've just woken up from a coma.”

So, this is my life. My muscles felt weak.

"Can you remember what country you’re in?" Nothing. "Season?" Nothing. " With therapy, we’ll do our best to get your memories back.” He wrote a few notes in his black notebook and slid it into his jacket.

"What if they don't?"

"Don't worry Avonlea -- that's your name. Avonlea."

I whispered it to myself with every breath. Avonlea. Avonlea. Avonlea.

"Your family is here to see you." He paused at the door.

"You're placed in a unique situation due to your coma and subsequent memory loss to participate in a research study. You will be compensated–"

"I just want to see my family."

But they didn't feel like family. Three unknown faces. A mother, a father, and a brother. The mother wrapped me in her arms. Streams flowed down her cheeks. My eyes blurred. Tears. Was I sad? Emotions are never that simple. They’re pulled in so many directions at once. Maybe I was scared, maybe I felt hope that someone knew me -- no I was disappointed that nothing changed. Except for the awareness that I was alone. The people closest to me now felt like nothing to me. It was as if I was stepping into someone else's life. I will never be what I was before. I lost myself, and now I'm blank.

"Mom?" What happened to me? A silent question I was too afraid to ask.

It was the father who answered my thoughts.

"You haven’t changed. You just can’t remember, but the doctor told us about a program to help..."

The mother interrupted him. "She's not going to do that. They didn't say it would help her; they said it would study her."

"But it might help her."

"Dad wants you to do it for the $20,000." He said with his head down, looking through the hole in his shoe; his toes squirmed.

"She's not going to-"

“We can’t even cover her hospital bills.” Dad got up and left the room.

Mother shrunk in her chair revealing how battered she was, not on the outside, but from years of stress biting into her soul. She knew we needed the money too. The thought of money was on her face. So, this was my family. There was much to say but the air felt heavy.

Knock. Knock. Like a summoning, my family left as quietly as they came. The doctor returned with a contract.

“Your dad said you’ve agreed to help us. It’s a simple study really. We will put you with some other girls. One of which will be a robot. All you need to do is determine which one is the robot.”

“And the $20,000? What if I guess wrong?”

“It’s not a game show.”

They moved me to a room with two beds, a couch, TV, and fridge. It felt like an apartment. While I wasn’t competitive, I liked the thought of using deductive skills like a detective in a mystery novel. How could I get a confession from the robot? Or get it to reveal its true nature? How obvious would the robot be compared to the other girls? Would it stall and spark or walk awkwardly? I was caught mid-laugh when the door opened. Another girl walked in. Just one.

“Hey, I’m Cassie. Sooo you must be the robot?” She gave a mischievous grin, clearly catching me off-guard. “Don’t short-circuit on me now. You got a name?”

“Avonlea.” It sounded normal, but I carefully pronounced every syllable of my name. I wasn’t used to it. It was a strange taste in my mouth. “I guess they’ll bring in the robot later?”

“I thought it was just the two of us?”

“Then you would have to be the robot... I just got out of a coma.”

“Same here.”

“Did you...”

“Lose my memories. Yeah. Complete amnesia. Poof.”

“Well, I just saw my family. I’m guessing most robots don’t have one of those.”

"They could be robots too," she laughed. " Or actors or they could program you to remember events that never happened. Besides, my family visited me yesterday." She loosened her grip on her sweater to reveal the corner of a black notebook; she had it tucked away, but it looked just like the one that the doctor had. She saw me notice and pulled her sweater in again, shivering but not because she was cold.

“Don’t look so suspicious. Jeez. My dad gave me a notebook, but I had to hide it since we're not allowed to bring in outside objects cuz it would mess with the study or something, so please don't tell them. My dad thought it might help with my memories.”

But the study hadn’t technically started yet. Maybe more girls would come after all.

The doctor came in. He looked amused - as amused as his gloomy nature allowed. Could he hear us? Were they watching us? This was a study, so they would want to see how the robot interacts. They would need to monitor us closely. How many clauses can they hide in a legal document? And us mortals sign ourselves away for a promise of $20,000.

“So I see you two have met.”

“You said there was going to be a group of us.”

“I never said that.” He smirked.

“So, then what’s the point of this? She’s obviously the robot and you can give me the 20 grand right now.”

“One of you is a robot and one isn’t. The robot has been programmed with core details of the other’s past, incomplete pictures, like a Picasso painting. These details will help one of you trigger your memory.”

“What a stupid idea.”

“Our preliminary studies have proven effective using this method. If you want to withdraw from the study you can.”

The only thing I know about myself is my name and the family I had just met. I was trapped. No memories. No money to pay for the hospital. And somehow this promised to give me both, but it was poisoned. The cost of recovering my identity might not be an identity I want. Or worse still were his words: only one of us is real.

“I’ll do it.” I decided.

I looked into Cassie's eyes. What did she think of me? Could she think? Or was she just programmed how to behave, how to move her face? It looked like she was struggling to come to terms with it too. She was less confident in her skin than she was before.

“Same here.. So I guess this means we're friends right? Or at least for 2 weeks." Her uncertainty broke into a warm smile.

Friends? Was friendship even possible? Maybe the appearance of it – with the absence of trust. Our goal was to spy on each other. Her 'notebook' might not be innocent as she wanted me to believe. It could be used to take notes on me; her analysis of me; her evidence that I'm the robot. Very clever.

She held the journal tight to her body, safely hidden inside a teen magazine. She was perched on the couch like a bird, with a serious focus. But now and then, she would break her gaze from the pages and look around, lost. And then at me. And then back to her thoughts. There must be a way to find out she's the fake.

We couldn’t avoid each other. She knew it too. If we wanted to recover our memories and get the money, we had to play their game. Follow the doctor's orders.

“You look human.” I sat cross-legged on the far end of the couch.

“What a compliment. You do too.”

“Writing a novel?”

She pulled her notebook to her chest but said nothing.

“I’m confused about something. Are they supposed to tell us the goal of the study? I always thought they had to keep it a secret to not skew the results... but I guess it’s a robot they’re testing, not our brains, so maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“I guess.” She smiled though she looked unhappy.

“But they’re still watching us.” They hid cameras in the corners of the room. No blind spots. We were in their toy house.

“I know. I was thinking about how robots can see. They don’t have eyes, not really... so wouldn’t they be cameras?”

I hadn’t thought about that - even the eyes were a tool. To observe. To penetrate.

A knock at the door. The doctor came in every day at 3:30, exactly, with a notebook, a blue one this time. "No need to be jittery." And with effort, I obeyed. I fought against my instincts and I slowed my breath and laid my hands flat on the armrests. And then he asked his questions - for however long it took to destabilize us. “Do you trust Cassie? Are you scared of finding out who you were before the accident? Do you not want to remember your past?" And once satisfied, he would tuck away his blue book and leave. Then I could move again.

I had to end this study.

I tore the magazine from Cassie’s hands, to reveal her notebook. "What are you writing?”

"You crazy?"

"And you aren't? This is what they want. They want us to fight." My hands curled tight.

"Does it matter which one of us is real? We're both here, aren't we? What we feel is real. We could go on like this and live."

I whispered, "We're not friends. Don't you get it?"

"Why can't we be?"

"What do you think they're testing? This isn't a real study. It doesn't feel real, does it? You're going crazy too aren't you?" My voice trailed off. I released the tension in my fists, finger by finger, and let the blood flow back into my hands. Blood. I could feel it. But was it just in my mind or was it real? I bit hard into my palm. It wasn't enough to pierce the skin. Again my teeth sunk into my skin, even harder, more like an animal, and the livening feeling of pain surged through me. The skin sliced open. Nothing. There was no blood.

Breathless, shaking, the world turned. I was crying, but there were no tears.

"What am I?" And even worse still, "What will these people do with me?"

Cassie put me gently down on the couch and opened the notebook. It was engraved with the name Dr. Devitchen. His personal journal.

"We're the same - you and I. You’re right, they’re not studying amnesia. They created us to be weapons, spies, and this is a test."

We weren't safe here. We had to escape.