All That Remains of Me

By H. S. Stone

During a routine drive to dinner with her parents, sixteen-year-old Annie Walker's car is struck by a pickup truck. The resulting accident kills her parents and leaves Annie unconscious. When she wakes up, she thinks she's in a hospital, but the truth is far stranger. Annie has been downloaded into a computer program called PATTIE.

With the help of PATTIE's brilliant programmer, Eric, Annie struggles to come to terms with her new existence. She also finds that being inside a computer has both advantages and disadvantages. Unfortunately, the disadvantages can kill her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. S. Stone
• Release date: Feb 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310557699

H. S. Stone

Even before he could read, H.S. Stone wanted to write a book. Fascinated by the stories that seemed to leap from his kindergarten teacher's books, he went home and wrote his own book, with illustrations and bound by staples. Of course, since he didn't know how to read or write yet, the book was full of gibberish. Undaunted, H.S. eventually mastered the ABC's and continued to write throughout his grade school years, adolescence, and into adulthood. His publications include novels aimed at Young Adult and Middle Grade readers as well as several short stories. He currently lives with his family in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Book preview

ONE

The last thing I remembered was the car crash.

It was Saturday night, and we were on our way to dinner because we ate out every Saturday night. It was our family tradition. My father, who picked the restaurant, drove while my mother navigated. I sat in the back with my phone to keep me company. Alternating between surfing the Internet and texting my friends, I didn’t see the pickup truck until it struck us.

Maybe I was lucky not to see it coming.

The entire ordeal couldn’t have lasted for more than a handful of seconds, but the replay in my head cycled over and over for an interminably long time.

First, I heard my mother scream. My father let loose with half of a curse before the squeal of tires drowned out his voice. As my head snapped up to look out of the window, the crunch of metal against metal filled my ears. My body, strapped behind the passenger seat, jerked to the side.

Glass cracked, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the driver side door crumple. Such a sturdy frame shouldn’t have collapsed the way the inside of our car folded inward. My father’s hands flew off the steering wheel, his neck and head whipping to the left while his seat belt held his torso in place. The force of the collision pushed the door a foot into the space where my father sat, shoving him to the edge of his seat.

My mother screamed again a split second later. I turned toward her just in time to see her head thud against the window, instantly quieting her.

My mind still tried to process what was happening. A short moment ago, my phone held my full attention. I was reading an article about celebrity workout routines. Now, how a famous actress acquired her well-toned arms or how the lead singer of the new hot boy band built his six-pack abs were the least of my worries.

My phone was no longer in my hands. I didn’t know where it went. It had flown out of my grasp during the initial impact.

The impact of a car crash, I told myself. My brain finally registered that another car had struck ours.

Before I took stock of my surroundings, the fluid in my ears told me something had changed. Gravity—the force that was supposed to anchor my feet to the ground—shifted from below me to a point to my right. Then it migrated above my head. My phone flew upward inches in front of my face. No, not upward but downward. I was too stunned to make sense of what had happened, but my subconscious knew enough to declare that we were upside down.

The tug of the earth pulled my body to the side, and I realized that our car was rolling. My seat belt dug into my skin but held firm. I pressed my hands against the ceiling, watching everything in the car that was unsecured bounce around. In addition to my phone, I spotted a pair of sunglasses, a box of tissues, some loose change, and a folded piece of paper jump from one random location to another, seemingly defying logic and the rules of physics.

Our car kept rolling. I usually got motion sickness, but the speed at which we tumbled didn’t give my brain enough time to work up a sense of nausea.

Along with the rolling sensation, I felt my cramped metal prison falling downward. We were rolling down a hill. That made sense given the highway we took to the restaurant. The collision must have pushed our car off the road and down the sloping embankment to our right. I didn’t remember how steep it was or how far down it stretched, but after two revolutions, we were still falling.

What lay at the bottom of the hill? Was there a river? I suddenly feared drowning more than anything else. I didn’t want to be trapped in this car if it filled with water. What if I was upside down when we plunged into the river? What if I was unconscious?

I looked to my parents for help. They flopped like rag dolls in the front seats. Their arms flew about uncontrollably, as did their heads on unstable necks. Drops of blood flew from my father’s forehead and smacked the dashboard, forming a line of red dots on the otherwise pristine gray plastic.

I couldn’t tell if they were awake or unconscious. If they were alive or dead. When the thought finally entered my head to call out to them, it was too late.

My skull struck something hard, and my memory of the car crash ended.

TWO

I must still be alive, I thought. For one, I could think. I could also remember who I was. I could remember the accident. If anything, I couldn’t stop myself from remembering those final seconds of the car crash. I wished I could erase the images of my parents’ limp bodies from my mind.

What had happened to me after I blacked out?

Was I awake now? I felt lucid and aware of my own consciousness, but everything was still dark. For an instant, I feared that I was blind, that the accident had stolen my eyesight from me.

No, I didn’t believe that was the case. It didn’t feel like my eyes were open. However, my eyelids didn’t feel like they were shut either. I couldn’t tell either way. I felt nothing. If I was indeed awake, I’d never felt so numb before. So disconnected from my body.

Was this what it felt like to be under anesthesia? I’d heard stories of patients who were supposed to be under anesthesia, but they were still aware of their surroundings. Was that what was happening to me? Were doctors operating on me right now, repairing the damage I suffered in the crash?

What if I was in a coma? What if that was the reason why I couldn’t open my eyes but was still able to think? Did my reality exist only in my head? Was my waking state just an illusion?

Panic rose up in me, and my heart pounded. Except that I couldn’t feel the rush of blood or the constriction in my chest that usually accompanied a panic attack.

Was I actually dead? Maybe this was what the afterlife resembled.

Oddly, the thought calmed me down. After death, what was the worst that could happen to me?

I waited for my fears to subside, letting the more analytical side of my mind take control.

Fact: I could think.

Fact: I couldn’t see anything.

Fact: I was unaware of any external sensations.

I couldn’t even tell if I was lying down. I didn’t feel a bed pressing against my back, nor did I detect any sensations along my limbs or extremities.

There was, however, a vague feeling of coldness. It wasn’t the same chill as when I kicked my blankets off in the middle of the night. Instead, what registered in my brain was a vague numbness that I associated with the cold, more of an absence of warmth than anything else. My body should’ve been shivering, but it wasn’t.

Again, I tried to open my eyes and rouse myself awake, but the blackness remained. If I was still asleep, then this was one of my most lucid dreaming experiences. I conducted an experiment by concentrating on my hands, searching for signs of feeling. Even in a dream, I should’ve been able to feel my hands, even if those sensations were false. I tried digging my fingernails into my palms.

There was nothing. No pressure from my fingers touching my palms. No pain. Just the vague coldness.

I tried moving my arms, but the lack of feedback alarmed me. The contraction of my arm muscles should have sent signals to my brain, or if my arms were bound, I should’ve noticed the restraint. Instead, it was as if I had no arms, as if the connection from my brain to my limbs was severed.

I didn’t want to think about the implications. The car accident was horrible. Who knew what my condition was when the rescuers finally arrived? Did I lose my limbs? Did the doctors have to amputate my arms and legs to save my life, leaving me a quadriplegic?

What about my parents? How did they fare? Did they survive? The vision of their lifeless bodies bouncing in their seats as our car tumbled downhill was freshly imprinted on my mind. I hoped they were all right. I didn’t know what I’d do without them. I was only sixteen years old. I still needed my parents. It sounded corny, but I loved my parents.

A new sensation tickled my brain. I deciphered it as a sound. It was faint, more like a dull tone, but I could definitely hear it. Sudden joy engulfed me. My ears still worked!

Now that I knew I could hear, I strained to pick up any other noises. At first, the return of silence disappointed me. Then a string of tones cut through the quiet. There was no musical quality to the pitch, more like someone moaning underwater.

The tones made way for another stretch of silence.

Then, suddenly, a word I recognized. Patty.

Patty? Who was Patty? My name was Annie. Unless the accident had scrambled my memories, I was certain that my name was Annie, not Patty.

Was Patty another patient sharing the same room as me at the hospital? Did the voice belong to one of her visitors?

Patty, can you hear me?

I didn’t recognize the voice. It had the uncertain tenor of a young man or a teenaged boy. Perhaps he was Patty’s brother or boyfriend? Or her son?

The fact that I heard the voice proved that I was awake. Ironically, the realization brought me no solace because I still couldn’t see or feel anything. I feared the worst. The accident had left me sightless and limbless.

Just as a wave of despair threatened to drown me, my world opened up.

Bright lights replaced the darkness. Surprisingly, the sudden shift in brightness didn’t hurt my eyes, and I didn’t feel the need to squint.

Someone must have propped me up in a sitting position because, instead of staring at the ceiling, I faced three men I’d never seen before. Two of them wore gray suits, but the third was clad in a T-shirt and jeans. He was also the youngest of the trio by far, appearing to be no older than twenty whereas the other two men were in their forties or fifties. The younger man’s eyes revealed his Asian ancestry, and his dark, spiky hair wasn’t combed neatly like the men accompanying him.

Who were they? Another question quickly followed. Why weren’t they dressed like doctors?

The young man leaned forward and said, Patty, are you able to hear me?

I didn’t understand why he kept calling me Patty. I tried to turn my neck so that I could see if another girl was in the room, but my vision stayed fixed on the three men.

Why couldn’t I turn my head? Was I paralyzed?

Eric, what’s that flashing? One of the men in suits pointed to a location to my left. His frown worried me.

Eric, the young Asian man, stared in the same direction. He shifted his seat slightly to the side, just out of range of my vision, and I heard the clatter of fingers hitting a keyboard. Then he returned to his prior position in front of me. I think she can hear us.

The old man interjected, Then why isn’t she answering?

Eric ignored him, facing me instead and asking, Patty, can you see me? Can you hear me?

I attempted to nod, but the lack of sensation reminded me that something was wrong with my neck. I went with a verbal Yes instead, but the word wouldn’t come out of my mouth.

How could my mouth be paralyzed too? How could I see and hear but not have the ability to speak?

I concentrated on saying the word again. Breaking down each individual letter, I force the Y-E-S out.

A noise that sounded like es hit my ears. I made another attempt, and this time, the entire word left my mouth. The voice didn’t sound like mine, although it must have come from me. The speech was female but unemotional, lacking my usual teenage-girl modulations.

Broad grins stretched across the three men’s faces. They looked like children whose parents had just told them that they could eat dessert before their vegetables.

Eric asked again, You can really hear me, Patty?

Yes, I replied, this time more easily than before. Straining to utter each syllable, I asked, Why do you keep calling me Patty?

The men exchanged puzzled looks. One of them raised a questioning eyebrow at Eric, and the young man shrugged in response.

He turned back to me and answered, You’re PATTIE: Prototype Artificial Transcendent Thinking Intelligence Engine. Don’t you remember? That knowledge should be part of your programming.

Thinking Intelligence Engine? Programming? What was he talking about?

My name is Annie, not Patty, I replied.

Eric’s eyes widened in surprise, while the two men next to him glanced at each other with mouths agape. You’re Annie?

Yes, that’s my name.

What ... I mean, where ... where do you think you are, Annie?

A hospital? I offered. From the slow shake of Eric’s head, I gathered that I was wrong. I’m not in a hospital?

Eric rubbed his eyes and sighed. No, I’m sorry, Annie. You’re not in a hospital. You’re inside a computer.

THREE

His statement made no sense. How could I be inside a computer? I was in a car accident, and now I was recovering in a hospital. If this wasn’t a hospital, it had to be a special facility for treating my injuries.

I must have misheard him because I couldn’t be inside a computer. What did that even mean? What did that make me? A robot? A computer program? That was ludicrous, but wasn’t that what Eric implied by his comment? He and the two other men referred to me as PATTIE, some type of artificial intelligence program.

Why would they think that? I was still Annie. I was still human. Surely they could see that just by looking at me.

The notion was absurd. Eric had to be wrong. I was a girl recovering in a hospital, not inside a computer.

I don’t understand, I said. What happened to me? Did the car crash paralyze me? I can’t feel my body. The men didn’t answer. Are you my doctors? Please help me!

I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. My eyes didn’t blur with the mist of tears. My throat didn’t tighten, nor did I sense the constriction in my chest that would normally take over when I felt this way.

Eric bit his lower lip and rubbed his eyes again, his face cast to the side so that he avoided looking directly at me. His eyes turned to the ceiling as he thought of a good answer to my questions.

Instead, the man to his right stepped forward. He stood erect, and his suit was impeccably free of wrinkles. His gray hair was cut short and parted carefully. I pegged him for a government