Ghost in the machine, p.1
Ghost in the Machine, page 1
Ghost in the Machine
Bruce Lockhart 2nd
Published by Bruce Lockhart 2nd, 2022.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
GHOST IN THE MACHINE
First edition. September 21, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 Bruce Lockhart 2nd.
ISBN: 979-8201137915
Written by Bruce Lockhart 2nd.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Ghost in the Machine | Bruce Lockhart 2nd
Six Weeks Later
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About the Author
Ghost in the Machine
Bruce Lockhart 2nd
The snap of sneakers slapping the pavement rang through the air as Dr. Moorland Ohms pushed his body to the limit, desperate to escape the self-serving pain he continually brought on himself. His lungs burned, muscular legs cramped, heart pounded like a caged animal in his chest and for a moment the pain was replaced, so he pushed further.
He ran as though a pack of hellhounds were nipping at his heels ready to drag him to the depths of Dante’s Inferno.
For wasn’t that the fate of all who extinguished such pure and perfect light from the world?
Part of him felt it would be just, because Macy was no longer here and it was partly his fault. Beautiful, sweet and innocent Macy, his little light in the ocean of darkness that was the world and she was gone.
He appreciated the simplified mechanics that came with physical exertion, his work was not always so responsive, there were some things he simply could not bend to his will, but his body was in his realm of control. Even in Highschool he’d become addicted to chasing that plateau of adrenaline that came with peaking, now it was something he continually sought.
Numbing these mental afflictions for even a moment was a foreign grace to him at this point in his life, it was always just out of reach, the elation of thoughtlessness. In comparison Macy was always there too, swimming at the fringes of his mind, along with all the others he’d never be able to save.
Forgetting Macy was not an option, in truth he wouldn’t even if he could and so running from her only led him down a falsified path. He’d ran so far from his condo that he ended up on the outskirts of his old neighborhood, familiar buildings loomed over him as if mourning his very presence.
He hadn’t come around in quite some time, once he’d made it out and paved his own way coming back to the city was a sinister sort of pain because hadn’t, he failed this place too?
When he did socialize it would often be at parties, with other intellectuals or even regular people from all walks of life. Their stories were important to him at one time, but that care had faded along with most things, now he spent most of his time in his lab, still trying to find the answer that could have saved her.
It’s not as if he thought he was better than anyone else, he felt simply that a place shouldn’t define a person, even though there was a lot of history here that had shaped the course of his life. Moorland wanted out as soon as he was old enough to understand what out meant.
Growing up in what many considered the ghetto left him few options, he saw clearly the way things were designed to subjugate people in his social class and for a time all that he could feel was the burning coals of injustice. It fueled his need to become something more than just a statistic and only after meeting Macy did that resentful seed bloom into something far more useful.
There was a peculiar sense of guilt that came with his success, but it’s not like he hadn’t poured serious amounts of time and money into rebuilding his community, so slowly yet surely progress came.
Flourishing gardens occupied previously abandoned lots, renovated buildings transformed into things like bakeries, daycares, and small businesses. His own coffee shop named the ‘Freedom Fix’ gave people access to internet and offered virtual learning tools paired with his own technology that gave people in that area much needed assistance, which included a gifting day to residents once every month where they responded to submitted requests.
There was pride here, in how far it had come, an emotion he had not felt in quite some time and even though there was still a long way to go, they’d done good work here.
It was a lengthy process and Moorland hated having to go through political red tape, but his old community was indeed blossoming. Escaping the dark grip of poverty was like recovering from a wound, it took time to recapture everything that had been stolen... some wounds however he knew were far too deep to heal.
Perhaps his conscious mind believed he came here to try and regain a sense of self, but his subconscious felt it, some inexplicable pull had brought him back here he just didn’t know why.
He slowed to a trot finding himself in front of the eatery he’d definitely sank the most money into—Tito’s Hawaiian Pies. It had been his favorite pizza joint since he’d been a teenager, and he’d even worked there during a couple summers. People came from all over to try Tito’s unusual toppings and specialty pineapple infused crust.
Tito’s was just far enough away from the inner city that people felt safe there, it was a haven of sorts one that even criminals seemed to respect. Once Moorland had started accumulating significant wealth, he quickly purchased the connecting lot and converted it into a two-story parking lot, along with renovating the kitchen, installing a coal-fire stove along with other modern appliances. The surrounding gardens supplied fresh vegetables that grew with new gardening techniques, even growing plants on the walls.
It was a slice of paradise, a place that brought the community together.
He found himself opening the door without even thinking, a smile spread across his face as he was hit with the aroma of sauce, fruit and crispy ham. No matter how many fancy dinners he had, nobody hit the spot like Tito’s and when he saw Moorland, he quickstepped over to him and despite him dripping sweat he scooped Moorland into a bear hug.
At 33, Moorland was probably in his physical prime and was an impressive specimen of a man, but Tito lifted him off the ground with ease. He was a burly man to say the least, covered in head to toe with tattoos and could probably give some sumo wrestlers a run for their money.
His beard was graying now, but he hadn’t lost a beat.
“My best customer returns! You hungry, my brother?” he asked with that familiar sliver of a Hawaiian accent, and heavy scented breath that matched the intense aromas of the shop.
“Ah, of course you are! Look at you!” he said before Moorland had a chance to respond.
Unable to resist Tito’s hospitality, Moorland gratefully accepted. “Give me my usual.” And for a flash of a moment, joy returned, fleeting but there under all the grime of heartache.
“I’ll get you a fresh pie, and we’ll talk,” he said, patting Moorland on the back before walking over to the cooler to toss him a water bottle.
He watched as Moorland drank about half in one gulp, relishing the cool water and told him.
“There’s been a girl in here, asking about you the last few days. Didn’t actually expect to see you anytime soon though. She seemed, well a bit...kooky.” Tito whistled and went behind the counter shooing his cook aside, in order to make Moorland’s food himself.
“A girl?” Moorland called to the back of the kitchen, making himself comfortable at his favorite booth.
“Yea, she was definitely an odd one, kids these days, but I’ll tell you—what perfect company for you, MO!” Tito bellowed and laughed heartily when Moorland retorted.
“Gee, just when I thought we were becoming friends.”. Moorland called back.
Moorland’s attention was diverted as he caught a glimpse of wild orange hair in his peripheral.
“Did she say what she wanted?” he asked, peering across the street at a stranger who seemed to be glancing back at him every few seconds.
Before he could fully analyze what was going on, something entirely eerie happened and a thunderous rain came out of nowhere.
Tito looked up surprised and said, “Didn’t know it was gonna rain today, hmm. Just what the plants needed.”
“What did the girl want, Tito?” the doctor asked as a growing sense of unease quelling up inside him.
“It’s hard to say Mo. If you come across her, she dresses kind of like a boy, almost thought she was one at first, till she started to talk. Not to mention, I’ve seen her picking at things in the garden so I try to leave a slice nearby when I head up to tend to them. I don’t say anything about that to anyone, because I don’t think she has a place to call home, definitely a strange kid.”
“That’s odd.” Moorland agreed. “She wanted to talk to me specifically though?” he asked perplexed.
“Yup, she comes in every other day to see if you’ve been in, I wasn’t sure what to do about it, but I wanted to give you a heads up.”
“I appreciate that.” Moorland said.
His oldest friend made his way over to the booth, electing to pull up a chair rather than test his luck trying to squeeze into the tight fit and sat with a sigh, the chair squeaking under his girth.
“You know I worry about you, my little brother, what happened to that sweet girl was a tragedy...I know Mace was your world.” Tito said mournful.
Moorland flinched at her name and could feel the familiar wall cocooning protectively around his mind. “I’m fine Tito,” he said unintentionally defensive. “She’s gone, I’ve got no choi
Tito shook his head and crossing his large arms knowing that was far from the truth of things.
“You forget I’ve known you since you were a little squirt, before you had a fancy job, before you ever felt comfortable. I can tell you have the same look as when that punk, what was his name, TwoTap Tommy was harassing you, wanting you to fight.” He stared into Moorland’s eyes, challenging him to disagree.
Moorland scoffed with growing aggravation. “What does Tommy have to do with anything? I haven’t seen that fool in ages.”
“You were trying to ignore something that refused to be ignored, and you remember how you got him to stop bothering you, MO?”
“How could I forget?” Moorland said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You faced him.” Tito agreed and pointed to his head. “That mind of yours has always been your greatest gift, but could easily become your curse. Right now, you’re like a turtle trapped in its own shell, helpless.” Tito told him.
Moorland closed his eyes, and Tito could see his entire body tense. “Look, if this is because I haven’t visited in a while, I’ve just been caught up with my work, T.”
“No, MO.” Tito said forcefully, “this isn’t because you haven’t visited this old man. You’ve done more for me, this place, and my family then I can ever repay.” Tito added, reminiscing about all he’d done for not only his dream, but the security company that his brother was able to start, and the salon his sister was able to open up. All because, this young man he helped long ago decided to pay it forward.
“So, allow me this kindness.” Tito said, his eyes were soft, filled with genuine emotion.
“Take it from another man who to has lost his wife...I know you did everything you could to save her from that disease. If you would’ve had more time, maybe you even could have.” Tito told him, having prayed for his friend to find peace the moment Macy had been laid to rest.
Moorland shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his first mentor’s teary-eyed gaze, and was thankful when the timer dinged, indicating his pie was done.
However, before he got up, Tito added one more thing that broke him, “My grandfather gave me this advice long ago and now I pass it onto you, since I have no children of my own to share it with. “You need to know we cannot run from death, hers or your own; we must live, for those we’ve lost.”
“Enough!” Moorland snapped, he simply couldn’t bear the look on Tito’s face, the heart ripping pain of Macy’s death. “I can’t T, I can’t do this... enough.” he said quieter.
His whole body was practically vibrating, his hands were balled into tight fists and Tito could see he had to force himself to focus on each ragged breath.
“I know that it hurts Brah. I know this.” Tito said and patted his shoulder cautiously.
“Then you know I just can’t, so I’ll take it to go T.” Moorland told him and shrugged off his arm.
Tito nodded solemnly, wrapping it in some foil to keep it warm. “You’re welcome to wait out the rain, I think I still have that chess set in the back we don’t have to talk, we could just play?” Tito suggested hopeful.
Moorland waited by the door, somewhat intrigued by the abrupt downpour, dwelling deep in his own thoughts. Wondering about the rain, it was getting more difficult to tell what was real and what wasn’t.
“Sorry T, I’ve gotta get back to work, but thanks for the food.” he said, giving him a small smile and slapped his shoulder back.
“Don’t wait so long to visit next time eh?” Tito said. “Besides you still owe me a rematch.” he added.
“I won’t man.” Moorland said dwelling in his own thoughts. It’s just Mace always loved the rain, he pondered and held out his palm to the sky.
He knew what Tito meant about ‘waiting so long to visit’. He tried to shrug off the guilt as he jogged in the cool refreshing rain, and made his way to the cemetery.
Today’s journey had pulled him here, whether subconsciously or because of all the time he’d been spending ‘under’. Perhaps part of him knew he needed reminded of the harsh reality that she was no longer here.
The rain slowed to a drizzle by the time Moorland reached the special plot of land he bought for her gravestone. He trekked up the hill slipping and sliding on the muddy slope and panting from exhaustion.
He decided Macy would be laid to rest in one of her very favorite places to visit, before he’d had it commemorated as part of a nearby cemetery. The top had a the most beautiful cherry blossoms, her white memorial rested stoically underneath. Seeing all the wilted petals surrounding her headstone felt like a stone sinking in his heart.
Then he noticed something keenly out of place, he was greeted with a tuff of bright orange hair that waved like the flames from a fire underneath a dark hood. It was then he remembered what Tito had told him about the strange girl.
He guessed her to be about thirteen and even as he approached the girl didn’t look his way... Instead, she seemed preoccupied cupping the withering petals.
His mind spun as he eyed her warily, had she known he would be here? He hadn’t planned on going this far out, could it have something to do with the security breach this morning?
Or was he just being paranoid.
A lot of people were excited to get their hands on his technological marvel; some were fans, some were far more dangerous individuals. The last thing he needed was a stalker to make his security detail even more jumpy.
After he’d been hailed in the Times as a revolutionary and one of the top 100 most influential people in the world he had to step up his protection, still he’d left his phone purposefully, so they couldn’t have tracked him here of all places.
He wondered now if that’d been a mistake, but forced himself to take a deep breath before his mind jumped to any more unnecessary conclusions.
Surely whoever had the gall to hack him this morning wouldn’t send a child to do their bidding?
All at once she looked up, and the rain ceased completely as her distinctly different colored eyes assessed him warily. One was an icy blue, the other an emerald green. Heterochromia—it was a rare mutation in eye color, and something he’d only seen it one other time, in his two-year term as an ER doctor.
He was sent into something akin to his Dive, the traumatic memory forced itself upon him.
The ambulance had brought in a little girl who looked as if she could have been he and Macy’s daughter and those big, pleading eyes had haunted him for a long time.
Such an innocent and beautiful child, caught in the middle of two warring gangs, the senseless violence had left her tiny body riddled with bullet holes, and the bleeding seemed to pour out of her in torrents even as she’d fought to stay alive. Moorland fought right alongside her... for three straight hours, but it had seemed like an eternity as he did everything in his power to try and keep her alive.
It hadn’t been enough, and at ten till midnight she finally succumbed to Death’s icy claim.
Moorland wasn’t the same after that, he had lost some piece of himself to that emergency room table, and it was something he didn’t think he’d ever be able to get back, because it had caused a fundamental change in his core.
An absolute realization that he needed to become proactive instead of reactive.
The ER became a place he associated with nothing but anguish, his mind seemed constantly tormented by the death of that little girl. Moorland knew he needed to change things in the community, so that it never again got to the point of another innocent child getting shot to death.
It was soon after that he’d met Macy; the piece he’d lost was replaced with something stronger than grief, hope...
She had been working as a community organizer, actively abhorring the gang violence, putting herself front and center. He didn’t think it was possible to love someone with such intensity, but in a flicker of a moment he felt something he never had before.
He’d hadn’t been one to believe in love at first sight, but the want, no the need to love her was there.
They’d begun working together soon after that in order to ensure underprivileged city kids' free basic education, both keenly aware that knowledge was the only way out of the darkness.
