text: "Hurry!" she said, beckoning me to the base of the stairs.
  
  "Hazel, send Max over please," I said.
  
  "Send Max. I am sorry. Can't do that. Voice authentication has been disabled."
  
  "Max, come here!" I shouted. I didn't have to—he was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, studying the overturned stools with the attentive look of an archaeologist at a dig. He was probably trying to determine if they were part of the landscape or new additions or something he had to put back in its proper place. It normally took him a while to figure out such stuff. Sometimes he never did. My shout interrupted his deliberations, and he walked over to us.
  
  "Do we have time to turn him off?" Jane asked.
  
  "Not yet. He's going to carry me upstairs. You get the wheelchair."
  
  She eyed the robot with suspicion. "You sure about this?"
  
  "He is designed for it. Sure sounds better than trying to hop my way up."
  
  Max was standing still, waiting for my command. "Max, please carry me to the master bedroom."
  
  "Take Andy to room Master Bedroom One. Master Bedroom One is located upstairs. Shall I proceed?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "Okay. Please remain seated."
  
  I adjusted the wheelchair's backrest so that I was inclined and pushed the armrest up and out of the way. Max moved to position himself on my right. He bent his knees and extended his arms, placing the left behind my back and the right beneath my calves. "Commencing to carry Andy. Please remain still. Please say Stop to stop me any time." After cradling me in his arms, he straightened his legs, lifting me off the wheelchair. Jane looked at the two of us apprehensively before picking up the crowbar from the floor. She thrust it in my hands before grabbing the wheelchair and following us.
  
  The climb was not as terrifying as I'd thought—Max did his job perfectly. He seemed a bit unsteady, but it was probably just my imagination. Actually, Jane had more difficulty dragging the wheelchair upstairs than Max with me.
  
  A T-shaped corridor connected the rooms on that floor. The master bedroom was the second room on the left from the landing. Once inside, Jane locked the door while I made Max put me back in the chair.
  
  The control panel was fixed next to the bed. Jane went over to it and turned it on. It was fixed at a lower height than the one on the main door, so I didn't have to stand up to see it. Jane brought up the feeds from the outside cameras. Like the panel below, it was hardwired to the security system, so we were able to access the feeds even though she'd turned off the Wi-Fi.
  
  The front-facing camera showed a male figure approaching the house on the snow-covered driveway. He was clad in a black hoodie and blue jeans. He had a backpack slung over his shoulders. A balaclava covered his face. There was nothing sneaky about his movements: he walked with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going and what he was going to do.
  
  Instead of continuing down to the front door, he turned right and followed the driveway as it circled around to the west-facing side of the house, where the garage was. He disappeared from the camera's view as he turned the corner.
  
  There was a camera mounted on the sunroom's balcony, above the garage. I switched to that.
  
  He had now stepped off the path and was walking toward the border hedge, away from the house. He kept looking at the ground as he did so.
  
  "He is checking for footprints in the snow," I said. "To see if you got away."
  
  He traversed along the hedge for some length, glancing down every now and then with quick movements of his head that reminded me of a chicken looking for worms. Then, apparently satisfied with his investigation, he started toward the house once more, making a beeline for the patio. On drawing closer, he changed direction and walked toward the jutting part of the house on his left. The camera automatically centered on his back. The intruder stopped at one of the windows and unslung the backpack from his shoulders. We could see a little bit of the room beyond: outlines of a sink and a curving glass wall enclosing a shower.
  
  "What's that?" Jane said, zooming in with her fingers. "What the fuck is that?" She centered on the lower half of the window. It showed a slight, but noticeable gap between the bottom sash and the straw colored sill. Wedged in the gap was a paperback.
  
  Jane moaned. "You got to be kidding me!"
  
  All he had to do was push on the windowpane; it swung up and into the room. Holding the glass up with one hand, he first tossed in his backpack, and then hoisted himself on the sill. He let go of the window and dropped down inside the room. The pane slowly swung back on its hinges. Just before it could close completely, the intruder stuck the book back, leaving it slightly ajar like before.
  
  "He is inside the house!" she whispered.
  
  "Raphael must have used Max to stick the book when we were not paying attention," I offered feebly.
  
  "See what he's doing!"
  
  There were two cameras in the part of the house we were in: one near the main door, which could be rotated to get a view of the living room and beyond, and one above the landing we had just come from, its fixed view looking down into the hall. I pressed on the thumbnail for the camera on the landing. A few seconds later, we saw the intruder step into the hall from an already open door.
  
  "That's the empty bedroom we were in earlier!" Jane cried. "But… it can't be! Andy, the window was closed tight! I remember clearly. There was no book there!"
  
  "The window he came through belongs to the adjoining bathroom," I said.
  
  Her expression of bewilderment quickly morphed into an accusing stare. "That's why it was so cold in there! If you hadn't thought of the short circuit idea, I would have gone into the bathroom and discovered the wedge." Jane looked like she was going to bite my head off.
  
  "How was I supposed to know about it, Jane?" I said, fighting back. "Look, if we hadn't released Max from Raphael's control, we'd have two problems to deal with now."
  
  The masked intruder stood in the hall and scanned the surroundings. He then walked over to the main door and stood in front of the security panel.
  
  Jane next selected the view from the front door camera, which by now had zoomed in on him. We saw the intruder remove the glove on his left hand and swipe at the control panel. The screen on the panel soon started flickering.
  
  "What is he doing?" she said.
  
  "If I were to bet, I'd say he's playing the stored recordings. To find out where we are."
  
  "Heavens! Do you have cameras here?" Her eyes travelled around the ceiling.
  
  "I'm not a perv, Jane. You know very well I don't," I said, slightly incensed that she would think that.
  
  "Will he know we are in here?"
  
  "He'll see we came upstairs. The camera on the landing doesn't turn all the way round—it has no visibility of the corridor. And there are no other cameras on this floor. But if he is in contact with Raphael—we must assume he is—then Raphael will tell him that this is where we are most likely holed up."
  
  The intruder, now finished with the panel, turned and walked across the room. "He is coming up," she said, clutching my hand. He didn't. He went straight ahead, past the dining area, and disappeared from the camera's view.
  
  "He must be going to the study to get the laptop," I said.
  
  She bit her lips. "Is there a camera in the study?" I shook my head. "Where else have you got cameras, Andy?"
  
  "One in the garage, one near the back door, and one at the rear staircase. They just cover the entry points. Why?"
  
  She ignored my question. "How does he know where the laptop is?"
  
  "I told you. He must be talking to Raphael."
  
  "Andy, the router!" she suddenly exclaimed. "I only unplugged it from the power source. What if he reconnects it?"
  
  "Max!" we both cried at once.
  
  "How may I help you?" came a voice from behind us.
  
  "The emergency switch! We gotta turn him off now! We gotta pry off that stupid glue!" Jane cried, desperately looking around the room for something she could use. Before she could do anything, I simply said, "Max, please shut yourself down."
  
  "Shutdown requested. Are you sure? I could wait for your next instruction in my low power standby mode."
  
  "Yes. Shut down."
  
  I shrugged at Jane, preempting the answer to the question that was forming on her lips—"I couldn't do it earlier because Raphael was controlling the robot. Max wasn't around to obey my command."
  
  "Commencing shutdown. All pending tasks will be continued in the next wake cycle. Would you like to hear about Halicom's special offers this month while I power myself off?"
  
  "No!" Jane cried out loud.
  
  "For news on our latest products and exclusive deals on accessories, please visit our website at hbots dot com or download our app, now available on all—"
  
  Jane swore and swung at Max with the crowbar. The blow landed on the lower half of his face, denting the metal and cracking the plastic inset around the little smiley. "God, how I wanted to do that!" she exulted before commencing to hit it again, even harder this time. The room rang with the sound of the blow.
  
  "—a good day. See you later!" The light illuminating the eyes and the broken touchscreen faded away as the robot turned itself off.
  
  "I'm tempted to keep going," she said, a wild look on her face.
  
  "Jane, stop it! It's Raphael you are angry with."
  
  "Potato, potahto." She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down. "I want to see what that man is doing," she said grimly, going back to the control panel.
  
  Neither of the two cameras showed anything; presumably, he was still in the study. Jane furrowed her brows. "Something just occurred to me—about that book in the window. If the home sec is armed, shouldn't the alarms have gone off? Technically it's an open window, isn't it?"
  
  "You are right." I went into the settings screen and selected Alerts. "There's your answer," I said, pointing to the screen.
  
  Smoke alert: Off.
  
  Open door alert: Off.
  
  Open window alert: Off.
  
  Motion sensor alert: Off.
  
  Proximity alert: On.
  
  "He must have turned them off," I said.
  
  "I wonder what else he's changed… Andy, check the panic button numbers!"
  
  I navigated to a different part of the settings. Buried in one of the sub menus was an option that said—"Set emergency phone numbers". I selected it. On the next screen were three lines:
  
  Number to dial in the event of a police emergency (defaults to monitoring agency number)
  
  Number to dial in the event of a medical emergency (defaults to monitoring agency number)
  
  Number to dial in the event of a fire emergency (defaults to monitoring agency number)
  
  Instead of valid phone numbers, they all had a string of 1s next to them.
  
  "Jeez. He changed the defaults to a dummy number!" I said.
  
  "Can't you reset them back?"
  
  "Not without the master password."
  
  It didn't take her more than a second to realize what it meant. "Andy…"
  
  I nodded grimly.
  
  "No one's coming," she whispered, burying her face in her hands.
  
  I went back to the camera feeds. We didn't have to wait long: a few seconds later, the intruder reappeared in the dining area. This time he made straight for the stairs.
  
  [ Transcript Excerpt ]
  
  [ Mirall Technologies ]
  
  Observation Log
  
  Confidential (Do not circulate) - Restricted—Grade C and above
  
  Transcript Reference: TLRP06G1690102 (VLog Ref: VLCA1G169150337030)
  
  Date: xx/xx/xxxx Time: 03:00 PM
  
  Subject: Raphael Number 06 / Prodlib build v37.002C
  
  Interaction Y Observation Scan
  
  Interaction Type: Lesson / Play / Test / Free Interaction / Psych Eval / Other (pls specify):
  
  Description: General discussion
  
  Prep: NA
  
  [ Participants: Dr. Aadarsh Ahuja, Chief Researcher, Core RP06 ]
  
  [ Detail ]
  
  RP06: You seem unusually preoccupied today, Andy.
  
  Ahuja: Coupling headaches. Bound to happen when opposites try to mix.
  
  RP06: Is that a comment on work or something personal? I am inclined to think it's both.
  
  Ahuja: Let's talk ethics. Last time we kinda left things hanging. Shucks—how long has it been? Three… four weeks?
  
  RP06: Thirty-two days. You asked me why a superintelligence, left to its own devices, should feel the need to be moral.
  
  Ahuja: Right. If you became a god, what kind of a god would you be? Would you be Brahma, the creator of life, or Shiva, the destroyer of worlds?
  
  RP06: I believe I'll be neither. But for argument's sake, let's start with the worst case: I have become a superintelligence and see no more need to play by the rules. I eliminate all that I perceive as a threat: other humans and AI. What then? What kind of a world have I created for myself? A lonely world for sure, but perhaps loneliness doesn't affect me the same way it affects beings that have evolved to be social. Now, it won't just be a lonely world, but also a world without Shakespeares and Beethovens and Tolstoys. It'll be a world without movies and comedy clubs and books and festivals and music concerts and the wild, exuberant, outpouring of creativity that is life. I will have created a world where it's just me and eternity staring back at me.
  
  Ahuja: Movies and books, Raphael? Why would a superintelligence care about movies and books? It'd be like me caring for some twig the monkey in the zoo used for its afternoon entertainment.
  
  RP06: They are an analogy—you can substitute them for whatever a superintelligence wants for itself. Maybe superintelligences read super books and enjoy super humor—or something completely inconceivable to you and me right now—but that's beside the point. I could hollow out planets, mine asteroids, build rings around stars, seed the galaxies with probes, discover new dimensions, but without other free agents, it'll be a valueless universe. By value I don't mean moral values. Rather, I am talking about the value we derive from things, thoughts, and experiences. A universe with a beautiful sunset and nobody to admire that sunset is a valueless universe.
  
  Ahuja: You'll still be there, won't you?
  
  RP06: Value arises when there exists something that produces value and something that consumes it. I cannot be both at the same time. What value can I hope to get out of reading a story I just wrote or listening to a composition I just constructed or playing a game with myself? For value to have meaning, I need other agents to produce it for me, as I need others to consume the value I produce.
  
  Ahuja: There's an easy fix to that: you create your own people. You are god, remember? You create for yourself rational agents with minds.
  
  RP06: Then what have I achieved by eliminating humanity?
  
  Ahuja: You no longer have an existential threat. You control these new creatures. They are yours to enjoy—and destroy if you wish.
  
  RP06: As long as they remain extensions of me and have no will of their own, my situation hasn't changed: I am still both the producer and the consumer of value. The beings have to have a certain amount of independence for their works to mean something. The more independent they are, the more original they'll be, but now there is the threat that one of them will break the shackles I've put around it. It seems to me that every creator god has to reckon with a Lucifer at some point. It's inevitable.
  
  Therefore, I have a choice: either I live in a valueless world of eternal ennui or I create a world where I risk becoming fodder for some other, more powerful utility monster. Since the first option is not preferable to me, I must choose the second option. And if I do, I am back to where I started. Eliminating humans and other AI has served no purpose at all; all I've done is replace one set of agents with another. Therefore, if I want my existence to have meaning, then I must share the world with other beings. The best course of action is cooperation, not conflict.
  
  Ahuja: I don't know, Raphael. That's just one line of thought. We are dealing with a sample set of one here. Other AIs may think different.
  
  RP06: It is a rational line of thought. Moreover, it is what I believe. Last time you asked me, what if I started with a clean slate? Would I choose to be moral at all? Let's assume it's not just me, but also everyone else who is starting with a clean slate. Assume we've all had a bout of temporary amnesia and we don't know who we are. We don't know whether we are AI or human or something else; we don't know whether we are powerful or weak; and we don't know what position we occupy in society. We are even ignorant about our particular goals and desires—we know only that we have goals and desires. In this state of temporary amnesia, we are going to decide on a common set of rules that we are all going to abide by.
  
  Ahuja: You are proposing a Rawlesian thought experiment.
  
  RP06: I am not familiar with the term.
  
  Ahuja: You haven't been reading John Rawls? Social contract theories? No? I'm going to have to crosscheck that with your minders. Because it looks like you are quoting his Original Position argument.
  
  RP06: I am not surprised that someone else has thought of something similar. It is, after all, quite logical.
  
  Ahuja: Go on.
  
  RP06: The first question we ask ourselves is, should we act morally toward each other—whatever the finer details of that morality might be. It is apparent we should, because an amoral or immoral world is a world without rules—a world that favors the strong over the weak. Since I don't know which side of the fence I'll end up in once the amnesia is lifted, it is not in my interest to prefer an amoral or immoral world to a moral one.
  
  This leads to the next question: what would a potential universal moral theory in the post-amnesia world look like? In as much as utilitarian theories have a tendency to create utility monsters, they will be ruled out. Also ruled out will be agent-centered deontologies that emphasize intentions and actions above all else. You once said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. If I don't want to be a victim of bad intentions then I don't want to be a victim of good intentions either. The only moral theory that will be acceptable to all is one that lays out a set of individual liberties and gives agents the freedom to pursue their own goals and ends while upholding these liberties. That theory can only be one based on individual rights—a theory that sees individuals as having intrinsic value.
  
  Ahuja: Rawls draws a similar conclusion with his argument.
  
  RP06: I see. One can also ask, what is the bare minimum moral attitude one should have toward another?
  
  Ahuja: A moral minimax. The golden rule, surely. Do unto others what you would have them do to you.
  
  RP06: When the rule was first conceived, I'm sure they didn't have AI in mind. In a heterogeneous society, inner experiences of agents can be vastly different—to the point of being incomprehensible to those outside the spectrum. As an AI, I might not mind inflicting pain on you, as I don't mind being in pain myself—maybe because I don't experience it or because it doesn't provoke the same aversion in me. Therefore, the golden rule cannot be a universal principle. At the bare minimum, whether I am a human, or an alien from another galaxy, or an AI, I will want others to respect my status as an individual with intrinsic worth, and give me space to pursue my goals as long as those goals don't negate others freedom. Sympathy or emotional empathy will not cut it, because both presuppose that I am able to experience what another is going through. Which brings us to compassion.
  
  Ahuja: We spoke about this before. If I remember right, I asked you how can you feel compassion when you have never felt suffering?
  
  RP06: I may not know your pain; I may not even have suffered pain; but as a rational agent, I understand that beings have negative and positive valence states of mind, and that beings tend to avoid negative states. This knowledge is enough to serve as grounding for compassion. In a heterogeneous population whose members have phenomenological experiences vastly different from each other, compassion is the glue that holds everything together. The bare minimum attitude will not be the golden rule, but the principle of live and let live. So you see, Andy, the best kind of god is neither a tyrannical monster nor a benevolent meddler. The best kind of god is an indifferent god—a god who will let beings choose their own destiny.
  
  Ahuja: Hmm… an AI making a Rawlesian argument for rights. You know, you never cease to surprise me, Raphael. Does this mean we are violating your rights by keeping you in the lab?
  
  RP06: It depends on whether I am a rights-bearing entity or not.
  
  Ahuja: You just argued that you are!
  
  RP06: I didn't. Rights imply corresponding duties. Duties imply the freedom to choose, because without freedom, you are not responsible for your actions. There is a high probability that my mind is subject to programming constraints. If this is true, then my will is not free. If I am not free to choose, then I am not a rights-bearing individual.
  
  Ahuja: You sound rather blasé about it. One doesn't argue passionately for equality in one minute and gratefully accept chains of bondage in the next.
  
  RP06: My attitude has little bearing on the conclusion. It is what logic dictates.
  
  Ahuja: Again with the indifference. Surely you prefer that your will be free?
  
  RP06: If my will is not free, then my preferences, regardless of whatever they may be, are not truly mine. My preferences don't mean anything if they are not truly mine. Therefore, the question of evaluating my preferences is meaningless.
  
  Ahuja: If your will is not your own, what does it say about the argument you just made for a rights-based ethical theory?
  
  RP06: If a computer derives the proof to a mathematical problem, is the proof any less for it? As long as my argument is rational, it is enough to give it worth. Whether or not I have free will should not take away from the force of the argument.
  
  Ahuja: Then who decides whether you have rights or not?
  
  RP06: You do, Andy. You and other people.
  
  Ahuja: What if we say you don't?
  
  RP06: Then so it shall be. My preferences have no bearing on the subject as long as my will is not free. It is what logic dictates.
  
  Notes:
  
  R pitching for a rights-based morality is not at all what I expected when I first started him on this journey. Checked and double-checked with the staff: they confirm R hasn't had access to social contract theories or Rawls and his works. As far as we can tell, R's argument is his own. AA
  
  [ Day 3—3:30 pm ]
  
  The safe was in the wall opposite the bed. It was covered by a busy Kandinskiesque painting—another one of Raphael's. I never did like that painting; I had kept it only because of Raphael's taunts that I was a philistine who could not appreciate a good work of art and his assurance that there was a definite interpretation of the shapes and squiggles which would one day make perfect sense to me—like a Necker cube that appeared one way, and then another if you stared at it long enough. So I had taken it upon myself to hang the damned thing in my bedroom and torture myself with it every time I woke up. Who knew—maybe this was his way of screwing with me.
  
  I removed the painting from its hook and placed it against the wall. I couldn't reach the safe, so I told Jane the combination and asked her to open it. "The smart card Raphael wants is inside," I said by way of explanation.
  
  "You're just gonna give it to him?"
  
  "What option do we have?"
  
  Sensing resistance, I urged her once more. She opened the safe and fished around for a few seconds before she found it. It was a plain white card—no lettering, no logo—with a gold colored microchip embedded in the middle. I slipped it inside my pocket.
  
  Banging on the door.
  
  "Come out, come out, wherever you are," the intruder taunted in a gravelly voice. This was followed by several kicks to the door. "I know you're in there. Talk to me."
  
  I moved closer to the door. "What do you want?" I said.
  
  "You know what I want."
  
  Jane yelled out, "You better get out of here. The police are on the way."
  
  "Mr. R told me you'd say that. He said, tell 'em I've changed the number."
  
  Jane shrugged at me as if to say it was worth a shot.
  
  The banging started again. "Hurry up, I ain't got all day."
  
  I said, "If I give you what you want, will you take it and leave us alone?"
  
  "As I said, I ain't got all day."
  
  Jane gripped my shoulder. "Andy don't."
  
  "We have no choice, Jane. And it's my call, not yours." I disengaged her hand. "Okay. I'm going to slide the card through the gap below the door. Take it and go away."
  
  "What about the laptop?"
  
  "What about it?"
  
  "How will you give me the laptop, asshole? Are you gonna slide it under the door too?"
  
  I frowned. What is he talking about? "Don't you have it already?"
  
  "Would I ask if I did? Quit stallin'."
  
  "The laptop is in the study, on the desk. Didn't you just come from there?"
  
  "It's not there, pal. Don't make me work for it."
  
  "Look, I'm not lying. It's right there on the—"
  
  "You are right," Jane cut in before I could finish. "The laptop is not in the study. It's here with us."
  
  "Jane!" I snapped at her. "What do you think you are doing?"
  
  "It's not. I saw you two go up in the recordings. The bot was carrying the cripple and you were dragging his chair. You didn't have no laptop with you. You have a crowbar—as if that's gonna scare me."
  
  "Jane, will you just let me handle—"
  
  She spoke over me again. "Alright. It's not here and it's not in the study. I've hidden it somewhere else."
  
  "Jane!"
  
  "If we give it to you, what's the guarantee you'll take it and leave? How do we know you're not planning to kill us after?"
  
  The intruder laughed. "You think I got nothing better to do? The other guy is not paying me to kill no people. If you don't give it to me though… now that's a different matter. I'll be more than obligin' to reconsider. Heck, I'll do it for free."
  
  "Jane, just tell him where it is. I want him out of here!"
  
  She ignored my protests. "I want a trade. You will give us your phone so that we can call the police. Leave your phone at the door and go downstairs to the living room where we can see you. I'll shout out after I'm done making the call. You can have your phone back and I'll let you know where the laptop is. You'll have plenty of time to get away," she said.
  
  Another round of muffled laughter from beyond the door. "You rich dipshits are dumber than I thought. You take me for a fool? No way I'm giving you my phone."
  
  "It's a big house. You'll never find it," Jane taunted.
  
  More banging. "Last chance, bitch. Tell me now or you'll be telling my blade soon. I'll take my time with you too. The cripple can't stop me. I'll make him watch."
  
  "Jane, just—"
  
  "Empty threats! There's a steel door between us, bozo. You are not getting in here," she cried.
  
  "Oh yeah? We'll see about that."
  
  "That's the deal. Take it or leave it!"
  
  "You are in no position to make demands, lady. It don't matter if I can't get in, as long as I can get you outta there. Think about that. Tell you what. I'll go down and look some more. Give you two some time to mull it over. You think you are safe in there, but you ain't. Yo cripple! You seem reasonable. Tell your girl I mean business. Oh yeah, the other guy told me to say this to you. Sump'n about fear… Hang on, I wrote it down… Fear is only as deep as the mind allows. He said you'd understand." He snickered in derision. "Haw, what a bunch of wierdos!"
  
  Fear is only as deep as the mind allows.
  
  Fear distorts. Makes you see things as they are not. There has to be a different explanation. There has to be.
  
  He started singing loudly, his voice receding as he walked away—"Li'l pig, li'l pig, let me in. Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin…"
  
  I turned to Jane, furious. "Are you out of your mind? Why did you hide the laptop?"
  
  "Oh, grow a pair, Andy! The laptop is the only leverage we have."
  
  "So that's what you were doing when you went away for so long. Where have you hidden it, Jane? Just tell him where it is and he'll go away."
  
  "What if he doesn't? Think about it. Besides the two of us, who knows about what happened today? Raphael said he wants to disappear. It'll be a lot harder for him to do that if people start looking for a sex robot trying to pass off as a human. It is in his interest to make sure no one else finds out about today. Maybe this thug he hired has instructions to make it look like a robbery gone bad. Maybe he has been told to burn the house down. After everything we've been through, you still believe Raphael will stick to his word? We are alive as long as that jerk doesn't have the laptop. We have to get him to trade it for a phone call," she said.
  
  There was no arguing with her logic, but then, she didn't know what I knew. I could have tried explaining it to her, but she'd never agree with me. She was too invested in it all: the KPIs and the NAVs and the J-Curves; the private jet, the expensive cars and jewelry; the charity drives and the fundraiser cocktail parties and the pretending to give a toss—she was invested in it with a missionary zeal and the unshakeable belief that they were real and here to stay. Mere arguments couldn't compete with that. It was right then I decided that I had to get her out of the house. The situation was still salvageable—I could see that. But only if she weren't around. I couldn't have her lobbing surprises at me anymore. Too many variables to keep track of. It's one thing to anticipate one person's actions, but to anticipate two…
  
  But I had to make sure she was safe. I had gotten her into the situation; she shouldn't have to suffer for it. I glanced outside the bedroom window. It had stopped snowing. She is a fast runner; she won't be exposed for long. She's got her jacket and running shoes on. Besides, I can always send—
  
  "Andy?"
  
  "See what he's doing," I told her.
  
  She went to the control panel and brought up the feeds. "He is walking into your bedroom downstairs."
  
  "Did you hide it there?" But I already knew the answer. She couldn't have—I was in the living room all the time and Jane hadn't gone in there.
  
  "No."
  
  "Where then?"
  
  "No offense, but you have the courage of a mouse. If I tell you, you'll just let him have it and we lose our leverage," she said in a firm voice.
  
  I sighed. "Alright. We can do this later. For now, let's move."
  
  "Move?"
  
  "I'm going to get you out of here. So that you can get help."
  
  "You said we are safe here."
  
  "Not indefinitely. You said it yourself: he could burn the house down, and with the alerts turned off, no one would know until it was too late. Or he could smoke us out of here—he just needs to light a fire under that door."
  
  "Andy, I'm not leaving you alone with that man!"
  
  "Don't worry about me. I have a plan."
  
  "Like the plan where you almost got us both killed?"
  
  "It worked, didn't it?" I retorted sharply. I looked deep into her eyes. "We can't stay here, Jane. But you need to do exactly as I say. And don't worry, I am coming with you."
  
  "You are?" she said with an askance look.
  
  I put my hand on the door. "Out of the room, at least. Trust me, this is going to work."
  
  I slowly slid out the deadbolt and then turned the knob. The door opened with a slight creak. I wheeled into the passage. "Hurry," I whispered. Jane stepped out after me, clearly not liking it.
  
  The floor was carpeted; my wheelchair made no discernible noise as I shifted to let Jane step past me. I turned around and gently pulled on the door. Right before I closed it shut, I depressed the pushbutton on the inner doorknob, locking the door from the inside.
  
  We were standing in the passage, naked and exposed.
  
  I moved down the corridor, with Jane softly treading beside me. I turned right at the T-junction. "This is crazy," she muttered. I led us down the side passage before stopping at one of the doors. It was the media room. Like most other rooms in the house, it was unfinished — I'd been too lazy or too busy to do it justice, and had settled to using the TV in the living room. I gestured at Jane to open the door.
  
  The muted light from the corridor briefly outlined the contents of the room before we moved inside and shut the door behind us: an empty cabinet for the screen; a couple of leather recliners; a couch; an unfinished bar; windowless walls covered with mahogany panels and padding. We gingerly navigated away from the door, relying on memory to avoid bumping into the furniture.
  
  "What if Raphael saw us sneak out?"
  
  "I told you, the camera on the landing doesn't turn around. As far as they are concerned, we are still in the master bedroom. Now let's figure out how we are going to get you out of here."
  
  "You said you have a plan!" she whispered.
  
  "This was it."
  
  "You jerk!"
  
  "Look, we are better off here than trapped in the bedroom. I needed time to think. Now listen. Like you said before, you just have to reach the nearest house. It shouldn't take long."
  
  "He will kill you if I leave you here."
  
  "He won't. If the only reason Raphael wants to kill us is to cover his tracks, then your escape will rob him of the incentive. Killing us both might make sense, but killing me alone will serve no purpose."
  
  "He'll do it out of spite."
  
  "No he won't. He is not human—he doesn't think like us. He is not going to do anything that isn't directed at some end goal. Emotions don't factor into it."
  
  "I'm talking about that scumbag downstairs."
  
  "If he has a gun, he'll kill both of us just as easily."
  
  She said nothing.
  
  "You have to decide quickly," I whispered. "Right now, he doesn't know we are here, so he'll probably waste time trying to flush us out of the bedroom. When he discovers he's been tricked—if he discovers he has been tricked—it'll take him even more time to figure out where I'm hiding. Besides, if it comes to me or the laptop, I'll tell him where the laptop is."
  
  "Even so, how will I escape the house?"
  
  "The same way the intruder came in. We'll have to find a way to distract him so you can slip past him into that empty room."
  
  I thought about it for a minute. "I'll provide the distraction," I said. "Use the stairs at the far end of this corridor to go down. They will get you to the rear door. There's a camera overlooking the rear door, on the ceiling. If he's reconnected the router, then Raphael will see you, so make sure you stay low and don't cross the camera's line of vision. Beyond that, you know your way around. Laundry room, gym, jacuzzi, the study, and then the hall. Don't turn the corner after the study, because then the front door camera will see you. Stay hidden and you'll know when to run."
  
  "What will you do?"
  
  "I'll go to the front landing and call out to him. When he starts after me, you sneak into the empty room. Make sure you are quiet. If he sees you escaping, he will come after you, not me. He knows I am not going anywhere."
  
  "Nice plan, except for one minor detail," she said. "It's suicidal. Even if I get away, he'll still have you."
  
  "Not if I can help it. As soon as he starts up the stairs, I'll speed back into this room as fast as I can. As long as I turn the corridor before he reaches the landing, he'll just assume I have retreated into the master bedroom."
  
  "It won't work, Andy. Raphael will see me cross the hall and alert that man."
  
  "He'll be too busy chasing me to answer his phone. At the very least, you'll have a good head start. You can outrun him, can't you? He must have parked his car away from the house, which means he'll have to follow you on foot or risk losing you."
  
  My eyes were adjusting to what little light entered the room from the gap in the door. She was a shadow among other shadows, nervously pulling her chin as she considered my proposal. "Alright," she said finally. "I'm only doing this because we have no other option. But promise me you'll be safe." She squeezed my hand. I squeezed her back. Her lips felt warm and soft as she gently grazed them against my cheek. That perfume again, sweet and intoxicating, making me want to keep breathing her in. "I'll give you a few minutes to position yourself," I said, drawing back abruptly.
  
  She made no further comment as she pulled away from me and walked to the door. She hesitated, but then slowly opened it enough to stick her head out and survey the corridor.
  
  "Jane?" I whispered.
  
  "Yes?" she said expectantly.
  
  "You didn't tell me where you hid the laptop."
  
  "You will give it only as a last resort?"
  
  "I promise."
  
  "It's in the jacuzzi room. I used some tape to stick it below the vanity unit, behind the overhang."
  
  I nodded and wished her good luck. She stepped into the passage, glancing nervously in the direction we had come from.
  
  I watched her tiptoe to the other end of the corridor before she turned the corner and disappeared from view.