Free Short Story

HEIR ABERRANT
by Phil Gross

“It’s defective!” Tomas ejected the avatar chip and slapped it on the counter. 

His mother winced. “I appreciate you trying, sweetheart. Did you have fun exploring the amusement park?” 

She shut her tablet, where she had a window open for Tomas’s brain, and poured him orange juice, his favorite. She could afford the shipping. From Daytona Beach, to Cape Canaveral, to Station 3B-6, he was worth it, and the juice transformed Tomas’s tantrum into a harmless sulk.  

“There were a lot of roller coasters,” he brightened, “I climbed one. Probably 150 feet. Brought the cart with me. But then Jacob got scared.”

It seemed like whenever Tomas made progress as his genuine adventurous self, Jacob came lurching out of the dusty corners of his mind. Jacob was an errant brainwave, the doctors said, a neuropathic abnormality, or, as Lydia’s grandparents would have crassly called it, a ‘split personality disorder’. The Jacob episodes spiked when Tomas turned twelve. Before then, Lydia attributed her son’s mood swings to a classic phenomenon in child psychology: what goes down, must come up—or, a little more technically, regress before progress. After the night she found Tomas standing naked in front of the tub, staring as it overflowed with water, Lydia started to research less conventional explanations.

“When exactly could you tell that Jacob was there?” She tried to be clinical and rational. Isolate the brainwave, then delete it—that was the ultimate goal, as if her son’s brain was a hard drive.

Tomas glared at the avatar chip. “I could see the whole lake from where I was climbing. It’s not fair. One minute, I was having fun, and the next—”

“Can you tell if Jacob is here right now?”

The boy furrowed his brow. He picked up the chip and rubbed it with his thumb. Tomas swung left and right on his barstool chair, then stopped and perked up his head, like a small animal who spots a predator.

Lydia offered a sad smile. “It’s okay, Tomas. You can tell me.”

“Yes. He says I ought to pee myself. I haven’t done that in years.”

She sighed and rubbed his shoulder. “Honey, I have a work call with Washington in a minute. Do you think you’ll be okay by yourself?”

#

Mom said that the avatar will isolate you, and then they’ll erase you from my brain. So watch out. Your days are numbered. That’s an old saying. We learned it in school. You were trying to hide in the storage closet, so I know you weren’t paying attention.

Jacob, I would like to tell you something. Something important. It’s about names. First of all, Mom named me Tomas. She said Dad chose it, but he wasn’t there for the delivery, so she took away the ‘H’. I like my name. Here’s the important thing. I was careful when I named you. I looked it up online. There weren’t any names for ‘coward’, but I thought hard about what you really are, and that’s when I found ‘Jacob’. See, ‘Tomas’ means two things: twin, which you might say is ironic, and leader, which is my preferred meaning. But your name means one thing. Supplanter.

That is so you, Jacob. Hijacking my mind, trying to make me think scaredy-brain thoughts.

Mom’s on chat now. She’s using her work voice. It’s an important call. She’s a strong person. Not like you, Jacob. 

Let’s go to my room. Let’s go back to Ohio. I’ve got the chip.

You don’t have to be scared.

#

The avatar was where Tomas left it, 300 feet above the ground, climbing the maintenance walkway of the rusty roller coaster. Most of the rides were operational. It was Tomas’s wild idea to take his avatar up the towering, out-of-order coaster. Beyond the metal mountain, Lake Erie glittered. Beneath him, tiny avatars rode tea cups and slurped ice cream. Tomas flexed his avatar’s shoulder muscles, threw his head back, and howled in the wind.

Lydia let him pick the avatar’s specs. He chose an athletic sixteen-year-old boy with shaggy blonde hair, the kind kids in the old vids wore to prom—the peak of adolescence. Tomas considered his choice mature for his age—a realistic fantasy. He even picked an overactive sweat gland for the avatar, so as the wind billowed, his basketball jersey slapped damp across his chest.

“Why are we up here?” Jacob’s hearty baritone voice resonated inside Tomas’s head, but his words didn’t leave the avatar’s mouth.

“Because I want to have fuuuuuun,” Tomas’s avatar yelled. Tomas stamped his feet on the shaky steps and howled again. He relished his power over the supplanter.

“Let’s get down,” the Jacob thoughts said. 

“Okay,” Tomas grinned, heaved the cart forward, and jumped.

#

When she got off the call, Lydia found the remaining pound cake in the back of the fridge, and ate it. Dinner was in an hour, and she would eat then, too. Lydia had been eating her stress for three years. It was the safest legal escape she could hide from Tomas. She told herself the eating had nothing to do with her son’s disorder. The lie was easier to swallow with a rich, heavy dessert.

In the last three years, they had shared the same apartment as hermits—the odd family in the neighborhood, rarely seen in public, and, rumor had it, stricken with poor personal hygiene. The gossip, she didn’t mind. She could not risk exposing Tomas’s problem to the world.

The mundane normalcy of the Jacob incidents worried Lydia the most. Sometimes she wished for a bout of drooling, or late night abyssal gibberish—just enough to match her stress. Jacob’s last big visit was on a Thursday evening. She was putting leftovers away; Tomas was working on math. As with every Thursday, the station was synchronizing its orbital rotation—a low noise, the ‘gurgling toad’, some people called it. Tomas snapped. He threw his tablet across the room, cried uncontrollably, and wouldn’t stop yelling that ‘Jacob says it’s too hard.’ 

She suppressed the memory by swiping her finger through the pound cake crumbs. While Lydia enjoyed the last, bitter sweetness, she realized that Tomas had been alone in his room for over an hour. She checked the monitor. He was on his back in bed. The tablet confirmed it—Tomas was back in Ohio. She called the doctor at once.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you,” she paced the room, “I screwed up. He’s gone back in, and I’m not in the room. I’m sorry. I know he’s supposed to have parent supervision. His vitals look weird. Should I go in the room? Is he going to be okay? What do I do?”

The doctor said, “It’s okay. I’ll be right there,” then added, “This may be a sign of progress. He could be working things out on his own.”

#

The ride was quick.

Tomas’s avatar ripped through tree branches that had overgrown the old coaster. He climbed out, and his head caught up with his stomach. The avatar compensated for the lack of true nausea with a surge of sweat.

“That was stupid,” the Jacob voice thought.

Tomas snorted. “You’re a pussy.”

“That’s an awful word,” Jacob’s thoughts balked. “DId you learn that at school, too?”

Riding the adrenaline, Tomas wiped his brow and practiced puffing his chest out. A trio of teenage girl avatars waved at him, and he held his nose up—way cool. All around him, young people chattered about the latest vids, and tried the coolest new dance moves. Dozens of adolescent Adonises enjoyed each other’s company without the awkwardness of acne or the commitment of actual friendship. At the park, no teenage drama was too small for a quick avatar eject.

Some adolescent clumsiness went with the territory. On his way past the tilt-a-whirl, Tomas stopped short of bumping into a clown, who hopped back, clutched a red shoe by the toe, and yelped, ‘Zoinks!’ The clown’s smile was the size of a watermelon slice, and it spoke with sincere joviality, “Want a balloon, kid?”

Tomas folded his arms and gave the clown a good look-over. Something about the clown was off, and not just its blue fedora. “You’re not an avatar, are you?” Tomas said.

“Nope,” the clown’s smile got even bigger, “I’m real, and I like it!” 

Tomas frowned at the grease paint face, and squirmed. The whites, blues, and reds were severe. Scar tissue, crow’s feet, and a wart were all heightened and trapped under the paint. The clown winked and honked the bicycle horn by his shoulder. Tomas turned his heel and walked away.

“You’re scared, too, Tomas,” the Jacob voice thought.

“Shut up,” Tomas’s avatar muttered and shook its head. Tomas glowered and pushed his way head-down through a crowd until he arrived at his favorite stop in the park—the pop cap rifle game. His avatar had excellent marksmanship, and Tomas had his eye on the giant blue teddy bear. Ten good shots would do it. He shouldered the rifle. The wood was cool in his clammy hands. An artificial oil smell transported Tomas to a rugged land where he was in control—eyes down the sights, finger ready to squeeze.

“I’m not dumb, Tomas,” Jacob tried to distract his shooting, “Why won’t you listen to me?”

Plink. First target down. Tomas cocked the rifle.

“Why won’t you take me seriously, Tomas?”

Plink. Two down, quick, the tin targets reverberated in Tomas’s head like a dissonant chord from a grand piano.

Jacob’s voice edged lower, turned scratchy, and Tomas heard his father speak. It was a dusty memory from a late night when Tomas lay awake in bed, listening to a loud, familiar tune.

“I can’t believe you’re serious,” his father’s voice said.

Plink. Three. Nothing could distract this avatar.

The voice changed again, to his mother’s reply: “If you could never be depressed again, would you try the treatment?”
Plink. Four. Plink. Five. 

“He’s young,” Tomas’s father argued, “What if Jacob is an imaginary friend?”

Plink.

Mom yelled, “Having bipolar doesn’t make you a mental health expert.”

Plink.

“It’s like you want this to be hereditary. That is not fair.” 

Plink.

“You didn’t pass anything on to him. He is stronger than you ever were.”

Plink.

“You knew exactly who I was when—”

Plink.

“—that’s rich, coming from a man who doesn’t even know himself.”

Click.
Click.
Click.

“Nice shooting, young man!” the carnival worker took the rifle from Tomas before he could break the firing mechanism. He handed Tomas the bear dutifully, and nodded to the clown, who was watching from a distance. After Tomas left red-faced, they consulted with one another and notified Avatars, Inc about their concerns.

#

“I don’t understand,” Lydia said. She ran the back of her hand over Tomas’s forehead. “You said you know he’s going to be all right, but you’ve never seen anything like this before. How can they both be true?” 

Dr. Baird was fastidious, and she insisted on keeping one old superstition—syringe data was better than the chip. The doctor double-checked the blood sample she had just drawn from Tomas’s arm, then sent the data to the lab. She looked up from her tablet, and gave Lydia her full attention. “What your son is experiencing is normal, per the books. What I should have said is: I have not seen anything like this, personally. Schizoaffective disorders are rare, especially at this age. Sorry for the confusion.”

Lydia watched the doctor’s eyes for a soothing white lie, and saw none. Her son’s vitals were ricocheting in asynchronous patterns that set her nerves on fire. She didn’t know much about medicine, but she recognized bizarre numbers. The same numbers thirty years ago would have sent a kid to the ER. Progress was bewildering, moreso in a crisis.

“This is not a crisis,” Dr. Baird said, “And I think he’s making good progress. We may even isolate the aberrant personality tonight.” 

The doctor’s tablet buzzed and a red notification bar illuminated her face, bright enough for Lydia to notice. “What’s that?” she worried, helpless.

“Interesting,” the doctor mused, “Message from Avatars. Something may be wrong.”

#

Tomas sat on a park bench and hugged the bear. Its warm fur was soft on his skin. He wiped his hands on the bear’s back.

Buried in the blue fur, the avatar’s mouth moved, yet its voice was different now: deeper, a hearty baritone, pubescent. The voice was Jacob’s. “You’re scared, too, Tomas. It’s time to admit it.”

The avatar pushed its face into the bear, still the voice resonated: “You are scared because I am you.”

#

“Wait,” Lydia was pacing, “If he can’t feel the avatar’s pain, why are his vitals like that?”

The numbers slid up and down as if a phantom finger was scrolling the tablet.

“Remember, the procedure is not without risk,” the doctor explained, “Tomas is under a heavy psychological load. His body is eating the stress.”

Lydia frowned. Maybe the doctor was spying on her. Maybe the doctor was clairvoyant. Then again, maybe Lydia was having paranoid delusions, because she needed to focus on her son. As if she had ever focused on anything else. 

#

Tomas stifled the Jacob voice and set the bear on the bench. It was a silly prize, anyway. He could have chosen the old action figure, or even the souvenir coloring book. The bear was dumb. He couldn’t take the prize home, anyway. He might as well have chosen something he could play with. Big bears were to win for your date, to show off. He was considering asking the carnival worker for an exchange when the two teens walked up.

“How old are you?” the taller boy asked. His avatar was muscular and had tribal tattoos, but it also had a few red pimples, a poky Adam’s apple, and greasy hair.

“Sixteen,” Tomas said.

“Not your avatar. You.” The other boy’s avatar was chubby. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘I LIKE LASAGNA’ above a picture of a big plate of lasagna, and underneath it read, ‘AND I KNOW IT.’ 

“Twelve,” Tomas said with a half-smile.

“You’re a good shot,” the first boy pointed to the bear, “Want to come play with us in the woods?”

#

Lydia extended her pacing into the kitchen.

“I’m going to call his father,” she said.

She dialed with one hand, and with the other she scooped up a fingerful of pound cake.

#

The ‘woods’ was a forgotten campgrounds. Technically it was still part of the park, but nobody took their avatars back there. The walk was quiet. Gone were the laughing children, the roar of the machinery, the arcade melodies and sassy pop songs. In their stead, ferns lay still under giant oak trees, and gravel crunched under the three boys’ feet. A squirrel chattered in a nearby tree. The tall boy picked up a stone, whizzed it at the squirrel’s head, and sighed as the stone dented the tree.

“We’re right up ahead,” he pointed. They had passed a couple dozen campsites, all numbered and empty. Somehow, the boys had snuck a beat-up popup camper onto property 29. Red, blue, and yellow Christmas lights hung out front, unlit. Empty beer bottles formed a circular perimeter around the firepit, which was still warm with burnt wood. The short boy poured lighter fluid on the wood, then produced a fancy stainless steel lighter. In seconds, the blaze was huge, far taller than state regulations. 

“Okay, here are the rules,” the tall boy thrust his thumbs in his belt loops, “No weapons. No outside help. One free hit if you step outside the ring. And no blocking avatar ejects.”

Tomas cracked his neck and his knuckles. His own voice was back, and he growled at the shorter boy.

“You’re first, fatty.”

#

The call went to voicemail. She hadn’t seen Tomas’s father in over a year. Last year, his birthday present for Tomas was two weeks late. She almost bought Tomas another gift to cover for him. She seethed, and slammed the refrigerator shut.

“Lydia,” the doctor poked out her head, “You should come see this.”

#

Punching was nice. Tomas locked his fists and circled the firepit, testing different combinations. The heat was terrific, and he sweat profusely. Across the ring, the shorter boy waited. Tomas bent sideways and stretched his neck.

“Come on,” the boy slapped his lasagna plate, “are you scared?”

Tomas howled, and startled the boy. He was three-hundred feet high again, and he thundered down onto the smaller child’s avatar, so that his punch made the boy’s eye spin. 

“Fun,” the short boy giggled, and he clenched his fists together and raised them high above his head. 

Tomas’s shoulder was facing the wrong way. His thoughts turned back to Jacob.

#

“Very interesting!” Dr. Baird exclaimed, “We have isolated the errant brainwave.”

“Show me,” Lydia said.

The doctor pointed to a red sine curve on her tablet. “It appears he is fighting the aberrant personality.”

Lydia massaged her son’s arm and said, “Kick his ass, sweetie.”

#

The dirt was crunchy. Not a bad taste. Not apple pie, either.

The boy kicked Tomas in the ribs. As he rolled away, he passed out of bounds.

“One free shot,” the tall boy declared.

Tomas gathered himself and stood up.

“This is stupid,” Jacob’s voice said aloud.

“What was that?” the tall boy squinted.

“Nothing,” Tomas’s avatar shook its head, “Hit me with your—”

The sky was bluer than the lake. Pristine. Evergreen trees signed their names in the sky with white, wispy clouds. The avatar choked on a tooth that had emerged only weeks before in Tomas’s mouth.. 

“I know why you’re doing this to yourself,” Jacob said.

Tomas’s avatar ears couldn’t hear anything, but he could see the two boys lean in overhead. They looked puzzled. Tomas couldn’t hear Jacob’s voice, not audibly, but he knew Jacob was speaking; he could hear the voice in his mind, and feel it in his chest.

“You’re scared, Tomas. You’re scared.”

Tomas choked on his tooth and his words.

“It’s okay, Tomas.” Jacob said.

The boys asked him something, but the avatar’s new baritone voice didn’t answer them. They shrugged and knelt down and punched the avatar again, and again.

#

The sine curve spazzed out. It wiggled and flattened, stretched and spiked.

“I’m sorry, Lydia,” the doctor said, “I can’t get a solid lock on the wave. Let’s bring Tomas home before the aberration does permanent damage.”

She moved to eject the boy from his avatar, but Lydia got in the way. “No. Give him a chance,” she insisted. She knelt by her son, brushed his hair back, caressed his face, and whispered, “Tomas, you beat the crap out of that boy. Do you hear me, Jacob? My son is coming for you. My son is stronger than you. He is a good boy. He is a good boy.”

#

The blows did not stop. When the boys tired of mangling Tomas’s avatar’s face, they moved onto his chest, then his stomach. When they had punched him a hundred times, they broke their own rules and smashed bottles against his bones, and put his feet in the fire. As the avatar burned, they walked away.

“It’s okay,” Jacob repeated.

Tomas’s tears filled the avatar’s busted eyes. His jaw trembled. He hugged himself, and whimpered.

“It’s going to be alright,” Jacob said.

The avatar rolled side to side, as though it were tangled in a thick blanket. “But it’s so hard, all the time! Sometimes I can’t take it,” Tomas sobbed. His voice was a pale shriek that stung his eyes and his lungs.

“I know.”

Tomas cried, “How do you know?” 

“It’s always been hard,” Jacob said, full of mercy. “Before, you were too young to see.”

Tomas’s pain was a siren. “What if I just want to be myself?” 

Jacob laughed. “You want to know a secret?”

“Sure,” the avatar sniffled.

Jacob sucked in a final bout of air. “Your teachers will never tell you this, but that is a stupid question.”

Tomas held his face in his hands, and howled with laughter. The fire crept up the avatar’s chest. Tomas shuddered, let out a whimper, and finally could not contain himself anymore— 

—Jacob reached for the exit—

#

I see my mother. She squeezes my hand and gasps, as if when I eject, I am a perfect stranger. Some doctor is fiddling with a tablet in the corner, and she looks at me like I am a new species she gets to name.

“Oh, honey,” my mom coos at me like a baby. I mind for maybe half a second. “Did you get him? Is he still in there?”

“It’s okay, Mom.” I sit up and hug her, and we weep, “It’s okay, Mom.” 

My voice is deep. A hearty baritone. “You don’t have to worry. I’m right here. It’s me, Mom. It’s me. It’s me. It’s me.”

THE END