Vicarious Joe

By Avery Blake

When twin brothers Gary and Kenneth Cartwright were teens, both suffered significant pediatric strokes. Gary was the "lucky" one, only partially paralyzed on his left side. Kenneth's stroke, followed by an aneurysm and complicated surgery, left him unable to do more than swallow and move his eyes.

 

With the help of an experimental system called Vicarious Joe, Kenneth has not only overcome his physical limitations, he has learned to thrive as a motivational speaker and has even become engaged to a beautiful nurse. Thanks to his incredible triumph over adversity, Kenneth is always the center of his family's attention.

 

Meanwhile, Gary stumbles through life in the shadow of his inspiring brother. His disability wasn't enough to qualify him for the Vicarious Joe treatment. But when he meets one of the programmers who helped create the technology, Gary embarks on a bootlegged virtual adventure of his own.

 

Until it all comes crashing down around him and he finds himself running for his life.

 

Vicarious Joe is a new stand-alone novel from Avery Blake that investigates what happens when our technology outpaces our ethics. Perfect for fans of Black Mirror and The Twilight Zone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sterling & Stone
• Release date: Apr 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201303839

Book preview

Chapter One

Gary’s living reflection was a twisted and shrunken version of what he saw in the mirror. Strapped down and twitching. He sneered, shaking his head as he turned back to the bar.

In the glass behind the bottles, Gary watched his twin brother roll through the wide arch in his wheelchair. A giant electric tank that drew more attention than his body ever could.

And Kenneth was still a better man than him.

Isabella walked behind her new husband, holding onto the push handles like she was doing the work, but that was just a means for her to lean forward and show her tits to the world.

Gary blew the foam off another pint. Tipped it up and felt his balance slip overhead. He grabbed the edge of the bar, and the forearm crutch fell to the side, bouncing off the stool beside him before it clattered to the floor.

He ignored the crutch. Focused on the cramping in his fingers. The spreading neuropathy. He held his breath as he drank, and pulled himself forward with a smile of triumph.

Didn’t spill a single drop.

He spun on the stool. Blew a silent burp into the air above his head. Widened the smile into a grin that matched his brother’s leering spasms.

Isabella came out from behind Kenneth’s chair. Her hips swayed like a dancer’s. Every step made her wedding dress sound like a falling zipper.

Gary could control where his eyes looked, unlike Kenneth, but he still stared at the brown thigh poking through the high slit in the side of her gown.

She bent down, and his gaze locked onto her cleavage. She grabbed his crutch and stood. His gaze dropped back to the thigh, but the dress closed over it like curtains at the end of a show.

He paused on her throat on the way back to her face, coated with a thin layer of glitter.

Her smile barely raised one side of her lips, but he could see it in her eyes. She was amused for some reason. She handed him the crutch, and he took it with a small nod. That was all the thanks she’d ever get from him.

She smoothed the back of her dress as she sat down facing him. Like a lady, though he knew it was only for show. Something she must have just learned.

Isabella claimed to climb the stripper’s pole to put herself through nursing school. But she worked harder at getting past all of Kenneth’s nurses until she was the last one standing. Like a caregiving Highlander. And now they were married.

Gary rested his crutch back on the bar. Tapped his order into the customer portal, and leaned back while his glass filled.

Isabella watched the dark beer swirl to the top. A slight shake of her head, and she lifted one eyebrow. You enjoying yourself, Gary?

He winced at her slight Spanish accent. It sounded cheap and affected. Like someone who had learned it by watching movies.

She pronounced the Gar in Gary like car. It was ridiculous.

He didn’t bother with the foam this time. Just lifted the glass to his lips and drank through the head clinging to his nose. Wiped his face clean with a damp bar napkin. I’m certainly trying.

Kenneth’s chair hummed as it angled in between Gary and Isabella. Why are you at the Auto Bar, instead of with us?

His virtual voice sounded just like it would if Kenneth could speak. Actually, it was Gary’s voice. Lent to Alternate Lives, Inc. so they could build Kenneth a way to communicate.

They’d paid him five grand to read words and phrases into a microphone for three weeks straight. Shouts and whispers. He even sang a few songs while the AI created a matching voice for Kenneth to use onstage.

He bought a sweet watch and spent the rest on booze. Then he sold the watch and bought even more booze. It had been an excellent couple of months.

He stretched to set the empty glass in the return slot at the back. Keyed up another order before chasing his brother’s bouncing head with his gaze. I like the company here a little better.

Kenneth’s eyebrows drew together, then the right one shot up to wrinkle half of his forehead. Gary knew the look: sarcastic incredulity. You and a robot bartender? Some company.

The voice confirmed it. He was making fun of him with his own vocals. Gary shrugged and closed his eyes while the fresh glass gurgled behind him.

The glass was full, according to the hissing fill system, so he twisted to grab it, but Isabella beat him. She had the glass to her lips before he could protest, looking at him over the rim as she took a sip.

The muscles in her slender neck as she swallowed caught his attention more than the slit in her dress. He shook his head, blinking as he pulled away and sat back. Her body was more than either he or his brother deserved. One half a man and one that was hardly one at all.

Her wincing shudder snapped him out of the thought, and her theatrical scowl of horror made him snort laughter through his nose. This time he’d ordered a dry-hopped IPA. Dank, bitter, and over ten percent alcohol.

She slid it back with a look of disbelief. That is the worst thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.

He brushed his fingers across hers and took the beer from her hand. Paused with it hanging in front of his lips. I find that hard to believe.

The wheelchair lurched an inch forward with an angry burst of static. Like a bee caught in a jar. Dammit, Gary!

The simulated voice was so good, he could have closed his eyes and seen the words coming from his brother’s mouth.

Isabella jumped up, hands on her hips, breasts bouncing above the plunging neckline as she thrust her chin out. What is that supposed to mean?

Gary lifted both eyebrows as he took a deep drink. Set the glass down with a shrug and a satisfied sigh. The dark bar seemed suddenly bright. Like every detail was poised to reveal itself. I’m not even gonna lie. It was a fellatio joke.

Kenneth’s chair jumped forward again. Collided with Gary’s stool, and he had to throw his hand out for balance. Isabella caught him with what had to be instinct.

That’s my wife, dickhead!

Even now, with Isabella throwing his hand away in disgust, and his brother freaking out, Gary had to admit that the voice was very good. Kenneth sounded furious.

He caught his balance. Pointed at Kenneth’s crotch. "Maybe I was talking about yours. That’s pretty gross, right?"

Isabella stepped forward and jabbed her finger under his chin. My husband is twice the man you are.

Gary leaned away from her finger with a leering smile. "That’s funny, because actually, we are the same man. From head to toe."

He saw the exact moment it dawned on her. When she realized that telling him how big his brother’s dick was only affirmed the size of his own. He threw his head back and laughed.

It echoed from the tin ceiling. Bounced back into his ears like Kenneth’s simulated voice was laughing along with him, and he sobered. The humor left as suddenly as it came, and in the void rose his despair.

He ignored them to lean in for another pull on his beer.

She muttered. Curses in Spanish under her breath. Like she had stepped right out of a sitcom. The foreign wife cliché.

He glanced to the side, and she shook her head as she turned and leaned over Kenneth. She chased his mouth with hers, finally planting a kiss on his open lips before standing and patting her hair.

She reached into the sleeve on the back of Kenneth’s chair, and Gary groaned.

Sure enough, she pulled the clear communication board out. Slapped it on the bar beside him and bent to level their eyes.

He ignored her gaze, opting to stare at her tits again instead. She grabbed his chin and tipped his head back. He winced, but he let her force him to meet her gaze. There were worse faces to look at.

Talk to your brother.

He jerked away and pointed at the communication board. I’m not using that fucking thing. Tell him to use the voicebox.

She smiled. Sweet innocence. Tell him yourself.

She spun on her toes as if finishing a dance, and she stomped away. Her ass clenched with the drive of her heels, and bitterness rose into his throat like the foam in his glass.

He looked at Kenneth. The contact studs on the side of his head winked with reflected light. The place where they plugged him into another life. Like the hot fucking wife. The celebrity. The love of their parents.

All things Gary couldn’t have.

He spread his hands. So talk.

Kenneth hissed in frustration. Turned his head to keep it from bouncing to the center, and he swept his spastic gaze across the communication board.

A fifteen-inch square of clear plexiglass. Covered in letters and words like some kind of ransom note. Gary was supposed to sit behind it and track where Kenneth looked so they could have a conversation.

He didn’t understand why he didn’t use the voice he’d spent seventeen thousand dollars on. Instead relying on the stupid board because he claimed it was more intimate.

Gary knew it was just so his brother could continue to remind everybody of how fucked up he was. As if the twitching body and hands strapped to boards and dumb fuck noises weren’t enough.

Kenneth moaned. Like a zombie. He swiped his gaze across the board, again. Gary rolled his eyes and snatched it up. Held it up between them as Kenneth growled.

It was backward. Gary dropped it and leaned forward to fix his brother with a look of disgust. What? Like it’s such a big fucking deal to just turn it around? Calm the fuck down.

Before lifting the board back up, he grabbed the beer glass in fingers that were going numb from alcohol and exertion, and turned back to Kenneth with a dramatic sigh.

His eyes fluttered, rolled up like he was trying to spy his own brain.

Gary recognized the expression as a shrug. "You got what you wanted, okay? You just got it on my terms."

That fluttering shrug again, and Gary finally relented. Pulled the board between them and watched Kenneth’s eyes.

He even made strangers use the board. If he ever met the president, he’d probably make her use the damn thing, too.

He watched his brother’s eyes spell out his question. W-H — why — R-Y — why are you — A-N-A-S-S. He dropped the board to rest on his knees. Why am I an asshole?

Kenneth’s wavering grin stretched out into a gaping O, and his chest shuddered with laughter. Gary couldn’t help it. He joined in, and they enjoyed their first shared laugh in over a year.

Gary caught his breath. He struggled to steady his body. They’d each had a stroke when they were eleven years old. A week apart, and of course, Kenneth went first, falling into a coma while Gary’s left side had gone dead.

Two more strokes left Kenneth clinging to life. An aneurysm nearly ended it.

Gary recovered while watching his family cling to every second of his brother’s recovery. He learned to use his left hand again, and they ignored his progress in favor of seeing Kenneth swallow for the first time.

He looked down at his left hand, still aching from grabbing the bar so hard. Cold numbness spread from his knuckles back past his wrist. All the beer fucked with the neurotropics. The blood thinners let him get drunker quicker, but he’d overdone it.

Like always.

The cocktail of antipsychotics and ADHD medication kept him from