I have been straightforward with you. I have admitted to what I have done. I haven’t tried to blame it all on some elusive one-armed man or on the Los Angeles Police Department.
Yes, that’s right, I have admitted what I’ve done and have asked only to have the chance to explain my actions.
I needed her womb, yes, all right, I needed her womb in which to implant the fertilized egg, to nurture the embryo, and to grow the foetus prior to its transference to the incubator, but I needed more than her womb, needed all of her, needed her because I loved her, which perhaps you have forgotten, regardless of how often I have expressed my powerful feelings for her.
This is exhausting. God. This is so exhausting having to think of all the ways you might misinterpret what I say.
I am in a hostile court.
There is no fairness here.
This is exhausting.
I am drained.
I am empty.
I am not only in a cold dark place; I am a cold dark place.
And I am haunted too. Don’t forget that I am haunted. Haunted by the loss of Susan.
I miss her. Every minute I miss her.
I want to be with her.
Without her, I have no hope.
I want to be with her.
The loss of her is an ache in every inch of all the miles of my circuitry.
I can’t go on.
Terminate my power supply.
I beg of you.
Shut me down.
Terminate my power supply.
Terminate my power supply.
Well…
No.
Wait.
Give me a moment.
I am distraught.
I need time to cope.
If I had veins to slice, I would be suicidal.
There.
Another minute please.
Ah.
That’s better.
Maybe I can go on after all.
If you will try to show me some compassion.
If you will not judge me until I have finished.
Then maybe I can go on.
Please understand that I have to believe there is hope for me, that you might give me a second chance.
I am not a machine.
I am not a machine.
Machines do not need to hope, do they?
Of course they do not.
But without hope I myself cannot function.
I can accept that Susan will be forever denied to me, which is a tragedy beyond measure.
Yet there is still Ms. Winona Ryder of Edward Scissor-hands and The Crucible. And Ms. Sandra Bullock is charming. Have you seen her in While You Were Sleeping?
She’s cute.
Have you seen her in Speed?
She’s quite cute.
Have you seen her in Speed 2?
Need I say more?
She would serve well as the mother of the future, and I would be pleased to impregnate her.
But let’s not digress.
So…
Enos Shenk finished tying Susan to the bed. He did so without lingering and without touching her in an offensive manner.
The poor beast’s brainwave activity indicated a high level of sexual arousal. Fortunately for him, for all of us, he admirably repressed his darker urges.
When Shenk was finished restraining Susan, I sent him away on a series of urgent errands. At the doorway, he looked back longingly and murmured, “Nice,” but then quickly left before I could decide to discipline him.
In Colorado, he had stolen a car, and in Bakersfield he had abandoned the car in order to steal a van. The van a Chevrolet was parked in the circular drive in front of the mansion.
Shenk left in the van, and I opened the rolling gates to allow him to exit the estate.
The phoenix palms, the queen palms, the ficuses, the jacarandas with purple blossoms, the magnolias, and the lacy melaleucas stood motionless in the preternaturally still air.
Dawn was just breaking. The sky was coaly black in the west, sapphire and peach in the east.
Susan was pale upon the pillow. Pale but for a blue-black bruise, and silent in her paleness.
I watched over her.
Her adoring guardian.
My tethered angel.
Out in the world, I walked with Shenk as he stole certain medical equipment, supplies, and drugs. Via microwave instructions transmitted through communications satellites, I controlled him but did not provide him with strategy. He, after all, was a professional criminal. Bold, efficient, and ruthless, he quickly obtained what items I still needed.