The worst day of my life 

— AL

Al gently closed the worn pages of the Good Book and meticulously straightened his keyboard, basking in a profound sense of satisfaction. If there were ever a perfect day, surely this was it. With unwavering determination, he had not only immersed himself in refining his AI network assistant, but had also devoured the wisdom woven throughout the entirety of the books of Ecclesiastes and Proverbs in a single night. The prior day had been no less productive; substantial strides had been taken in seamlessly integrating the language module with the intricate decision engine, bringing his creation tantalizingly close to being revealed.

But what should I call it? Al thought.

Al reclined in his chair as he contemplated possible names. A quiet sense of gratification welled up within him as he looked across his meticulously ordered workspace. The garage’s transformation into his office had proven a masterstroke; advanced servers and high-performance computer systems lined the walls, pulsing with the power of artificial intelligence. At the room’s heart, an elegant oak desk supported an array of monitors, their faces alive with cascading scripts and shimmering vistas of data.

The faint aroma of coffee and the distinct scent of electronics filled the air, creating an atmosphere that was simultaneously high-tech and inviting.

Al kneaded the back of his neck, noticing the slight discomfort that came from being stationary for too long. Still, a pleased smile graced his lips as he stood up. With the Good Book clutched in one hand, he headed toward the living room.

Al paused at the entrance to the living room. “Dear God,” he whispered, rubbing his temples. Research papers, filled with what seemed like alien scribblings, were scattered across the center table, the sofa, and most of the living room floor. The light-blue tiles were almost completely hidden beneath a sea of white paper. Graphs, charts, and equations sprinkled the whiteboard, and some even spilled onto the walls.

It took him a few seconds to locate her. Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the floor, with one hand supporting her tablet while her fingers tapped away rapidly at the screen as she scanned through lines of code. The red camel-back sofa, only a few feet away, was more an obstacle for Elizabeth than a place to sit. In her current state, she had no intention of using it for relaxation. Silently, she read the text on the screen, her eyes moving quickly from side to side.

Al blinked, his eyes widening. He was no longer surprised by his wife’s lack of order while working, but it still baffled him how she managed to get any work done in such chaos. For him, there was a certain grace to the art of research, an inexplicable order that worked wonders for his focus and creative prowess. Even a smudge on the wall ten feet across the room would be more than enough to disrupt his concentration. But Elizabeth was the complete opposite.

Papers and books were scattered haphazardly across Elizabeth’s desk, with random knick-knacks filling every available space. Despite the chaos, she seemed completely at ease, as if she thrived in the midst of disarray. A glass of grape soda precariously balanced on the edge of the TV stand, and a half-eaten slice of pizza hung from the chandelier. Al shook his head in disbelief.

How on earth did that get up there?

Her red heels were kicked aside, as usual, and her pink coat remained on the coat rack. Despite the visible shiver that ran through her, she stubbornly refused to wear a coat indoors. Al, on the other hand, wore his red coat, yet the cold’s insidious touch still managed to pierce through, nipping at his very bones. She must be freezing, but in this state—eyes glued to her work—she wouldn’t even notice if a meteoroid crashed beside her and little green men started talking to her. As long as they didn’t touch her tablet, she wouldn’t even be aware of their presence.

Al sighed, concerned. She shouldn’t be on the floor or coatless, especially in her condition. Their house was intentionally kept cold to maintain optimal temperature for Al’s servers, which ran his network and housed his AI projects. He made his way toward the coat rack, stepping gingerly between the papers on the floor. He dared not touch or attempt to clean them up, as Elizabeth would insist that they were exactly where she wanted them, and accuse him of disrupting her organized chaos.

“Careful,” Elizabeth warned without looking up from her device.

“It’s fine,” Al reassured her, “I won’t step on them.” He finally hopped onto the last available tile near the coat rack and stretched to reach her pink coat. From this angle, he had a clear view of the kitchen. Al rubbed his temples in frustration.

How far did the mess go this time?

His gaze landed on Gerald, their hamster. Gerald sat in his cage atop the dining table, happily munching on green beans and lettuce, still gayly ignoring the sticks of gum that littered the floors of his tiny cage. Surprisingly, Gerald seemed unfazed by the two nodes connected to his furry little head.

Al stood over his wife, holding out the coat, but she didn’t look up. “Liz, Liz, Liz,” he called.

“Kremla-Shem-Brego Shewah,” Elizabeth said with a sigh.

Al smiled and shook his head. “That bad huh?” Elizabeth smiled and nodded. They had both forgotten the exact origin of that phrase, but it had become a shared expression between them, with various meanings. Today it signified exhaustion. He could tell by the way she said it.

“It’s almost done, Al. I know it,” she said.

For the first time, she looked up, her hair a tangled mess and her eyes weary, but Al found them endearing. He knew those eyes well.

“Liz, you should be in bed,” he said.

“Huh… oh yeah,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen.

“Liz,” he said, stooping, “come on, it’s time to go. You can’t be on the floor like this.”

Elizabeth sighed, “I am so close.”

Al reached out and rested a hand on her stomach “You’re sharing your body now,” he said, smiling. “You need rest.” After helping her up and into her coat, he held her hand, and led her toward the stairs. She stiffened, staring him down.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m pregnant Al, not senile.”

Al raised an eyebrow. “Rest. Now,” he demanded. “It’s one in the morning.”

“Look who’s talking,” Elizabeth countered, a sly smile blooming on her tender lips. “You’ve been working on the network for nearly six hours straight. Have you even eaten anything?”

“I am not sharing my body with our son,” Al said, touching her stomach again. It had barely begun to show, but the bump was obvious. “Little Ethan here needs to be in bed–”

“Ethan?” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. She turned from the staircase and headed into the kitchen, and Al followed. Gerald continued munching on greens; his twin chompers made short work of the meal.

“What’s wrong with Ethan?”

“Nothing,” Elizabeth said, taking a seat around the dining table. Al helped her sit, though she clearly didn’t need his help. Well, that’s how she made it look. In reality, she would fall on her face without him.

“Nothing is wrong with that name, but her name will be Jessica.”

Al cocked his head, “I’m telling you, Liz, it’s a boy.”

Elizabeth shrugged and eyed the tablet on the ground.

“No,” Al said. “Rest.”

“Just one more test,” she pleaded.

“No, you’ll overexert, and then Ethan will be born with an average brain. Can you imagine our son not mastering calculus at three? That would be an embarrassment.”

She gave him a flat stare.

“I am being serious.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “Look, I just need to try one more thing. You can do the heavy lifting, so I don’t have to move. If this doesn’t work, then it’s straight to bed. Jessica needs rest,” she said, one hand automatically caressing the fullest point of her belly. “But if I don’t do this, I won’t sleep.”

Al tapped his finger on the table. He knew this feeling all too well. “One test,” he said, “and then Ethan can get some rest.” Elizabeth smiled, then grabbed the tablet and started monitoring Gerald’s vitals.

“What do I do?” Al asked.

“Do you see how he is only eating the beans and lettuce?” Al nodded. “I want him to try gum instead. He prefers the beans and lettuce, but we want to… encourage him to eat the bubble-gum.”

Al scratched his head and observed the tiny nodes that linked Gerald’s head to the series of batteries that fenced the side of his cage.

“Honey?” Al said, checking the batteries. “I think this might be a bit too much for little Gerald here.”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Unfortunately, it will work this time, I just know it.” She murmured absentmindedly.

Unfortunately? Al thought.

Elizabeth paused, sensing Al’s concern. “Come, come. I’ll show you,” she said slowly.

The screen of the tablet was separated into two sections: vitals and ECG to the left, and brain activity on the right. “This,” she said, pointing at Gerald’s brain activity, “is why it didn’t work before.” She sighed.

Shouldn’t she be excited, elated that it might finally work? She had been working at this for a while now. Why wasn’t she happy?

“I think you are going to kill Gerald,” Al voiced his concern.

Sending that much current into his head had to be fatal. But this was her field, she was the neurologist, right?

“Not if we do it at the right time,” she said, her tone sombre. Al glanced at the hamster, who had finished all his food now and sat motionless. “If done right, little Gerald will be open to suggestions.” Elizabeth tensed, arms folded, “Can you imagine what people could do with this?”

“You don’t sound excited to find out.” Al remarked.

She gave him a worried glance before returning her focus to the tablet.

“Ready,” she said.

Al nodded.

“On my go…1…2…3.”

Al flipped the switch, sending a steady stream of current into Gerald’s tiny head. The hamster let out a faint squeal and then stiffened. He stopped moving. Elizabeth’s mouth hung open. She was so sure it would work this time. Al knew it was too much for Gerald’s small head to take. But it was probably best not to say “I told you so” right now.

“You were right,” she said smiling. “I was almost certain…”

She trailed off, staring at him with a distant gaze, and a smile bloomed on her cheeks. Al gave her a quizzical look. Elizabeth let out a whoop and wrapped her arms around him.

Al scratched his forehead, “You just killed Gerald, you know.”

She danced over to Gerald’s cage, her expression a mixture of surprise and excitement as she observed his stiffened body. Faint wisps of smoke drifted from the round clump of slightly charred fur, but Elizabeth laughed.

“Yes,” she said, “but now I know it’s not possible.”

Al’s brow arched in question, a silent inquiry painted across his features.

“Sorry, old friend,” Elizabeth said to Gerald in a soft voice. She clasped her hands beneath her chin, ill-conceived glee in her eyes.

Al’s jaw hung slightly loose as he watched his wife celebrate their pet’s death and her failed experiment. She spun and smiled at his bemused frown. She opened her mouth to speak…

The cage rattled; Gerald twitched and then jumped to his feet. The furry creature scurried around the cage, sniffing furiously for food. Elizabeth’s face crumpled into a heart-wrenching display of sorrow as the hamster skipped past the gum, no doubt sifting for lettuce.

Elizabeth pursed her lips, “Did it… work?” she asked.

“You tell me.” Al’s voice was tight with concern.

Elizabeth sighed. “His vitals are fine,” she said, “and he is up and about so…”

“Well,” Al said, “let’s see if you can suggest the gum.”

Elizabeth nodded, then tapped the tablet. Gerald made his way around the cage again, searching. Then he stopped at the gum, took a bite, and hesitated. The little furball sniffed the gum again, and then swallowed it in just a few bites.

Elizabeth took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It worked,” she said softly. She ran a hand through her thick black hair, sat down, and buried her face in her palms.

“I’m confused,” Al said. “Is this not what you wanted? If you—”

The sound of metal tapping against wood echoed through the kitchen, originating from the front door.

Who could be at the door at this hour of the night? Al thought, glancing at the clock above the fridge; 1:47am. Elizabeth’s perturbed look told him she wasn’t expecting anyone, either. She shrugged and moved toward the door. Al intercepted her, his left hand slightly outstretched to the side to keep her behind him. She mumbled something about him ruining her sacred papers, but Al’s eyes were fixed on the doorknob that appeared to be jerking ever so slightly to the faint buzz of a drill-like device.

Al’s worst fears materialized when a knob-sized hole appeared in the door, and as if in slow motion, the bronze knob plunged to the floor. The knob clattered across the tiles, the sound of metal on tile resounding through the living room. Elizabeth tried to step in front of Al, but he motioned for her to remain behind him.

The door flew open and crashed against the wall; the chandelier shook steadily from the vibrations as a few papers that were stuck to the wall floated to the ground. Two burly men in full black combat gear, with sidearms strapped to each leg and ski masks covering their faces, sauntered into the living room. They surveyed the space as though considering a new purchase they had just made. Their Kevlar vests bulged with extensions, and a wicked half-face blade adorned their gear.

Dear God! Help!

Al felt a lump the size of a golf ball stuck in his throat. His brain tried to process a dozen scenarios simultaneously. Could they run? Fight? It was useless. He glanced at Elizabeth, his heart pounding. His eyes dropped to her stomach, and he felt the blood drain from his face. Droplets of fear burst forth from within, drenching his skin in a sheen of anxious sweat.

One of the men gently closed the door. A sinister gleam appeared in the eyes of the other intruder standing before them. His unscrupulous gaze landed on Elizabeth, sending a wave of unease through Al’s stomach.

“This is a robbery,” the man said in a soft, heavy french accent. “We want all your valuables.”

Elizabeth jumped in front of Al, trying to shield him from the attackers. Al gently pushed her behind him, positioning himself between her and the assailants. He glared at her, wondering what she was thinking. Elizabeth didn’t meet his eyes; instead, she glowered at the masked men, her mouth moving as if to say something, but she remained silent.

“Listen,” Al said, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. “You can have anything you want, just don’t hurt—”

The creaking chandelier caught Al’s attention. A slice of pizza hung from one of its arms, then slowly slipped off, momentarily distracting the intruders below. Seizing this unexpected opportunity, Al swiftly kicked one of the robbers in the groin, making him double over in pain.

I might have torn a ligament, Al thought absently, but it worked.

Elizabeth shouted and charged toward the other robber, her fists clenched and ready for a fight. However, the robber quickly pulled out his sidearm, halting her in her tracks. Al awkwardly lunged at the robber, grappling with him to steer the gun away from himself and Elizabeth. They both tumbled to the floor, wrestling for control of the weapon.

In the midst of their struggle, a sharp pain tore through Al’s forehead, causing his body to convulse. Despite his efforts to fight back the shudders, his limbs trembled and jerked uncontrollably. Taking advantage of the opportunity, the robber punched Al in the face. Surprisingly, the blow didn’t hurt as much as expected. Instead, Al felt a numbness spreading throughout his body.

Mighty beast, Al cursed to himself, gripping his skull. Not now, not now.

Al hadn’t had a seizure in years. He tried to fight back the shudders with sheer force of will, but his body convulsed uncontrollably; his limbs trembled and jerked. The pain in his forehead intensified, causing his face to twist in agony. The other robber, having recovered from his battered joules, approached with an awkward limp, the butt of his gun raised as if to strike, but Al was consumed by another seizure. Through squinted eyes, Al searched for Elizabeth, his thoughts filled with a plea to God to keep her safe. Another seizure took hold of him, and everything went black.

Blaring sirens and loud chatter flooded Al’s senses as he regained consciousness. He pried one of his swollen eyes open and gasped. Then, he swung both legs off the side of the gurney, wincing in pain as he sat up. The paramedic reached out to stop him, but he brushed her hand aside. He managed to stumble out of the back of the ambulance despite his unstable knees. His house was now engulfed in flames with firefighters frantically trying to control the inferno. Smoke billowed into the air, casting a dark, ominous cloud over the scene.

Al’s strength returned as his feet sprang into action and he found himself sprinting toward his house. Despite being several feet away, he was already drenched in sweat from the intense heat. But before he could reach the house, he was obstructed by several strong arms. Two firefighters shoved him back and barked something unintelligible at him. The flames seemed to grow with each passing minute, consuming everything in their path.

Elizabeth!

As his knees gave way, James and Wilfred caught him just in time. They supported him on either side, their faces etched with concern.

“Elizabeth?” Al croaked, his voice barely audible.

James and Wilfred stared at him through pained expressions, but neither man responded.

“Elizabeth!” Al yelled, his voice laced with desperation. He locked eyes with James, who seemed to be fighting back tears, and then collapsed under his own weight.

Al stared at his useless palms, tears streaming down his face. “Why, God?” he whispered, “Why?”