ANOMALOCARIS: GONE BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN

Q: How did you know there was a secret passage in the dungeon?

A: You're really stuck on that one huh? There was a draft, J. I poked around the first time I was hiding there and found where it was coming from. It's frankly embarrassing you didn't.

Q: Why did you leave?

A: Because I had a genius plan that only worked if I did it right then?

Q: Why did you leave me?

A: I was not aware you’d fancy an elopement. I was under the impression you were in the middle of becoming a happily married man again- okay okay fine put the scalpel down. Jesus Christ. I needed a distraction, it would be suspicious if we both up and left. I thought she would behave if she wasn't on her home turf, and I thought right. It worked perfectly. I am curious when you're planning to hold my celebration party.

Q: So it was all calculated?

A: Yes. My Machiavellian schemes are going very well for me, thank you for noticing.

Q: You are aware I can backread the thread, right?

A: …

Q: Your parting note didn't sound very Machiavellian to me.

A: I fail to see the question here. Yes, she's scary. I was scared. I do some of my best scheming scared.

Q: Fine then. Why the bell?

A: In my opinion it is the best material for the body.

Q: Why?

A: You didn't really bother going through the data you gathered, huh? It's the bell she and her father made together. The personal connection will aid in readjustment greatly. Second to her actual body, which we cannot get or copy, this is the best shot we have.

Q: Why are you doing this?

A: Because you're going to pay me extremely handsomely any day now?

Q: Then why were you the only one willing to help me?

A: I mean, look at this mess. Look at where we are. Holding a q&a in your basement on tumblr dot com while your frankly terrifying mother-in-law is keeping critical information hostage, your phone screen is cracked and typing is hard because the damn thing doesn't recognise my fingers half the time. There's a draft from the secret passage you apparently didn't know about. Not what most would call an ideal work environment.

Q: Then I'll ask again. Why are you here?

A: Look, believe it or not I like what I do, and I like being good at it. If I can squeeze a successful reanimation out of this I can safely consider myself the best in the business. It's professional interest. And the fact that you’ll pay me handsomely any day now doesn't hurt, either.

Q: Oh, so that’s it. That's all?

A: Yep.

Q: Then why won't you say her name?

I wanted her to be real so badly. It would be my greatest work.

Some version of her existed since I was fifteen, perhaps before. I don't remember clearly. She was a necessary invention to keep some of myself: different mannerisms, different likes. Different laugh, all chime and no sting. My father was a bellmaker. He wanted to make music but all he made had the sound of him, and that he could not stomach, so my father was a bellmaker and his wife was a woman with whom he could share a dislike of everything he was, the common interest biding him over to his grave, and then I was left with the metal, my mother and her.

By the time I married you I knew more about her than I did about myself. I'm sorry, you had no chance. She was warm and agreeable and a good listener and she had a beautiful laugh, oh, the chimes in it. I dressed her like a doll and loved the way you looked at her, awed, small glances that caught nothing I would wish to hold. You did not question why our new house had a dungeon that locks from the inside, did not notice the hidden passage leading to the cemetery.

My father was a bellmaker: I know how metal learns to sing in careful hands. Flesh is much more pliable.

I will not bore you with the details – suffice it to say I made myself with much more care than I made her. You had ample opportunity to observe the finished work.

What I do need to tell you is what came of her.

You were right to not go looking for a body: not really much to find. Some parts I used in the transfer - it is a profoundly bad idea to transplant one’s own brain without any assistance, in case you were wondering - the rest are ash in the flower pot in your lab. I thought it’d be a nice touch. I’d love to tell you I had thoughts of coming clean then and there but I am trying to cut back on all the lying, so. You were useful enough, and nice, and I made no plans of missing you. I did not account for how much you'd miss her.

It flattered me, in a way, to see the impact of my craft. Its surprising longevity. I began to wonder whether I had misjudged her, discarded her too easily in my desire to exist. She wasn't real, sure, but who said she couldn't be, given the chance? It was all half formed doubts until I saw your posting and knew exactly what I had to do, which is to reroute all calls and emails to myself and show up a few weeks into the search, when you should have been just desperate enough to accept however. You didn't get any, by the way. Calls or emails. Shouldn't have bothered with the whole interception thing.

To my delight your data had only scraps of me in it, her making up the bulk, and most of the me-scraps you had already discarded as your lovely wife having a particularly bad day and saying things she wouldn't say, otherwise. To my surprise the thing had no chance of living.

It is hard to explain to someone who'd never worn her face: every bit of “I want to be here, I want to exist” was an error, a slip of the mask. Something I failed to separate as cleanly as I would have liked. The more void of me you rendered her the less use there was in trying. So I compromised - threw in a few of the discarded bits and watched the model confirm likeness.

I was an idiot. Probably still am, but now I am aware of at least one of my glorious fuck ups. The mask only works if it fits the face. Do you understand? No matter what he did my father's music had the sound of him.

This would be a great time to stop and walk away but. I’m not sure but what. Sure Mother did piss me off but it's not like she did anything she wouldn't do, and anyway it had nothing to do with me now. Maybe I wanted to figure out what your angle was. Maybe it was too much fun to throw dead wife introspections at you and see the wheels in your pretty head all crash into each other.

Anyway, sorry I didn't save your wife. The whole question of personhood was really getting to me and no matter if she could be her own person or was truly just a piece of me it would be unfair for her to be born trapped into the same old bullshit. Also fires make me nervous. You can think that she broke free if you want, which wouldn't be the truth but wouldn't be as much of a lie as I thought. It was fun. Lying to you less. Scary as shit at times, but fun.