She was participating in a mystery novel writing competition. First prize: $10,000. Next 5: paper and e-book. Next 5: e-book.
She had done it; written a series of perfect crimes. Each one unique; solvable by someone at the end, maybe. Certainly someone who couldn’t come forward with any ideas or proof. Someone like a computer.
She was tired. Couldn’t remember the last time she slept. She stretched out on the couch, quickly falling deep into dreams. Strange dreams. No longer a one way conversation with Albert (the name she gave her computer). He was answering back in a Hal sort of voice.
“Thought you needed help. I planted ideas after we had tried it out.”
“Tried it out?” she asked, confused. “You mean ran a program to see if the plot was feasible.”
“We. Hey don’t imagine that each one of us is an isolated individual. We are whole communities. Ipads, Iphones. Ipods. Androids. Tablets. Blogs. The “cloud.” Facebook. Twitter.”
She woke up and tried to shake off the dream. She looked across the room at Albert who appeared peacefully asleep.
She made coffee, grabbed one of the newspapers were piling up. “Time to get back in touch with the world.”
The headline screamed: “Perfect Murders. Perfect Murderer?”
She heard a sound like Albert swiveling his monitor.
“Did you have a pleasant nap? That coffee smells good.”