Earthfall by Craig Delancey

Author:Craig Delancey [Delancey, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07B4MPBW5
Barnesnoble: B07B4MPBW5
Publisher: 496 Perfect Number Press
Published: 2018-06-25T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Victoria sat very straight, in one of the formal chairs in her living room. She looked out over the city. Clouds gathered darkly on the horizon. The city looked ominous, secretive. But here, in her apartment, the house AI system struggled to keep things absolutely calm. The lights above her turned on, keeping the luminescence constant as the coming storm shrouded the sun. A blast of sandalwood scent wafted through the room, a scent of a warm summer breeze.

She had sat in the bathroom for hours, crying, uncertain of what to do. She could hear, just outside the bedroom door, the faint hum of the galactic tech cameras as they bobbed in the air, waiting to film her.

Finally she got up and stripped. She took a shower, and then spent an hour on her makeup and hair. She left the bathroom naked—the drones would not film that—and picked a favorite new dress from her closet. Then she came into the living room and sat. She told her phone to screen all calls, letting through only calls from her husband.

The house looked immaculate. It smelled immaculate. She had built and sold a perfect life, peppered with the arguments and angry shouting just for amusement. Like spice in your food. And now it would come crashing down.

Her heart pounded, pounded still. But she kept her face calm as the drones filmed. She wondered where Bobby had fled to. She liked it, without him there. It seemed more real. Her alone, with her life and her audience.

She could almost be calm here. She could enjoy, for a little while more, her home. Maybe it would endure. Alfonso would find his way out of this little complication. Right? And he would forgive her. She would blame Sal, and maybe even quit the show. Or, better yet, make Alfonso buy the show, so she could fire Sal and do it all her own way.

The phone rang. An image appeared on the wall beside her. A smiling picture of Alfonso.

“Answer,” she said softly. Then she added, a little more loudly, “Alfonso? Honey?”

“Where have you been?” he growled. “I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour. This is serious. You could get killed.” He growled again, a noise like words choking in this throat. But he managed after a moment to spit out, “What did you do?”

She looked at the phone and then looked away. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. He sat in the back of a car. A robolimo. Alone. His face red with anger, but his eyes sad and hurt.

She closed her eyes. So they had posted it to the internet already. She knew they would, but then again, some part of her had hoped that Sal would back out, fearful of a lawsuit. But no. He couldn’t resist making great TV. So, already her fans and maybe millions of others had watched the footage. But of course she knew that. When she had opened the phone program earlier, she saw two hundred messages in the queue.

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