Page 5 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

You are shaping the future, Elliot.

I love you with my whole heart.

Mother

Elliot Price was late, though not for a very important date.

Stupid. He was so stupid for allowing time to get away from him. The scent of plum jam cookies and salty sea air distracted him, and he missed the final ferry of the night. If he were back home—well, at his first home, at least—Mother would probably scold him endlessly, telling him what a naughty boy he was while threatening him with a visit to the Creationist. If he’d been in his current home—the dwelling where Master Price gave him his name, though not much else—he’d probably be lying in a heap on the floor. Elliot had loved Master Jared Price with his whole heart since the day he was born, as he was programmed to do. At least, he thought he did. He couldn’t be sure.

The trouble was, even after being together for a year and a half, Jared didn’t love him back, and Elliot was starting to believe he never would. The knowledge was a bitter pill to swallow when Elliot’s entire purpose was to please his future husband.

From creation to cotillion, Elliot worked hard to learn the ins and outs of keeping a home. He cooked and cleaned and did his chores. He read his trusty copy ofMother’s Manual for a Happy Home, memorizing each line by heart.

Elliot was an automaton. A humanoid househusband created by Ms. Emily Broussard, crafted in the likeness Jared Price saw fit. While Jared might not have loved Elliot romantically, he certainly enjoyed the sight of him. Elliot’s looks weren’t the only thing Jared Price enjoyed. Jared seemed to take pleasure in Elliot’s heartache, and whether that heartbreak was inflicted unintentionally or otherwise, Elliot wasn’t completely sure.

Once a week, Jared sent Elliot to Sugarplum Island. The island was home to a small, picturesque village just off the Gulf of Mexico. Having more money than he knew what to do with, Jared always chartered a helicopter to take Elliot from Dallas to Galveston. There Elliot would then catch a ferry to the isolated island to buy the plum jam cookies which were Jared’s favorite childhood treat. His mother would buy one box per week back when Twylah Bishop’s shop was located in Dallas.

Elliot knew he would be in even more trouble than usual, should he fail to arrive on shore in time for the helicopter to collect him. That morning, Jared told Elliot he had a surprise. He waxed poetic for half an hour about his alleged ‘monumental plans’ for Elliot once he returned home. It was supposed to be a night Elliot would never forget. Considering Jared’s surprises usually revolved around sexually provocative purchases, it wasn’t as if he was terribly interested in hurrying home. The items Jared purchased were meant to provide pleasure, but Jared was a natural at finding ways to turn pleasure into pain. Despite the unbearable pain those toys provided, Elliot was expected to be a good little househusband, never letting the hurt in his heart show.

On a lonely little bench on the corner of Rose Lane and Gardenia Street, Elliot sat down, taking inventory of his life. He wanted nothing more than to be happy, but the happiness he was promised from birth had yet to present itself. Wasn’t he meant to have a bit of joy of his own? Hadn’t he done exactly what he’d been programmed to do? Why couldn’t Master Price love him? It would have made everything so much simpler. With love, Elliot could endure the demeaning acts his master performed on him. And with love, Elliot could overlook the way Jared sometimes struck him. Jared couldn’t be blamed for his temper, you see, because he never knew the joys of a happy home. That’s what Mother told Elliot, at least. His parents were religious fanatics, so both Jared and his brother, Arthur, lived under constant fear of having their sexual orientations found out. Once Arthur’s truth came to light, Jared had to watch as his father dragged the youngest member of the Price family from his bedroom and excommunicated him from their lives. That had to take a toll on someone, Elliot thought. Jared must have been so very scared the same would happen to him. Still, he couldn’t reconcile how Jared could come from a cold and domineering home, only to create one himself.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Elliot wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but for the entirety of his walk, there had been a persistent squeaking sound, always just behind him. He would look, only to find emptiness over his shoulder. Eventually, he stopped looking.

Squeak, squeak.

The streets were silent, and Elliot couldn’t remember the last soul he’d seen. Was it the man he’d spotted smoking on a porch step on the other side of the island? There was also a woman who shooed him away from her lawn with a rusty old rake. She must have noticed the nervous orange light sparkling in the corners of his eyes and realized he was an automaton. Most people were skittish around Elliot's kind. It was why he always tried so hard to stop the lights from flickering. Automatons weren’t real humans, thus, they were often maligned as a threat to humankind. Elliot would never harm a human, though. So, yes, he tried to hide the lights in his eyes because there was a dog chained to the woman’s tree, and the rage in the creature’s growl was enough to send Elliot’s mechanical heart slamming, momentarily allowing orange waves of fear to shine. The next thing he knew, the dog’s owner was chasing him with her rake, calling him a predator. Telling him he had no business in human spaces.

Squeak, squeak.

Elliot was tired. Tired of the endless loneliness. Tired of being shown kindness in inconsistent and sporadic patterns. In his secret heart, where only Elliot knew the truth, he was tired of Jared Price, but he would never voice that out loud. So, yes, Elliot was tired, but after missing his ferry home, Elliot wouldn’t be getting much rest that night. He’d be lucky to find an outlet to charge his weary body.

For the umpteenth time that hour, Elliot drew the familiar star pattern on his arm and waited for his interface to appear. He knew the interface by heart, and when three familiar dots appeared, flashingpink-gold-purple, it felt like he was being greeted by an old friend. Touching the pink orb would display his current lifeforce. Ten minutes ago, Elliot was down to fourteen percent. He knew if the number dipped past five percent, he ran the risk of an automatic shutdown. With nervous, shaking hands, Elliot drew a checkmark on his arm and held his breath.

Ten percent.

Elliot choked back a sob, then stopped himself. Elliot wasn’t a weeping child. He was one of Ms. Broussard’s bountiful beaus. He was a dignified househusband, perfectly capable of putting one foot in front of the other and soldiering on. As Mother often said, her boys do not linger in the ordinary, they soar into the extraordinary. Elliot could soar. He knew he could. He’d just never had the opportunity to try.

All right, he thought, forging onward down Rose Lane. The first thing he needed to do was make it to the ferry’s tollbooth, as there might be a power outlet outside the booth. His charger was in the small bag he was carrying, along with Jared’s plum jam cookies. They were cookies Elliot would never get to taste, as Jared believed there was no use feeding a mouth that didn’t need to be fed.

He could remember the first time Jared sent him to collect the cookies. The plan was to go to the island together after their honeymoon, but Jared got called away on business, only two days before they were meant to exchange vows. He was gone for a week, and when he returned, neither the wedding nor honeymoon were ever mentioned again, and Elliot didn’t want to press the matter.

The first time Elliot set foot on Sugarplum Island, he felt like he was walking into a dreamscape. He was wrapped in air that smelled of baked goods and sea salt, and there was an overwhelming sense of ‘home.’ The small village consisted of twelve shops and twelve homes, all on twelve square miles of land. Children laughed and played on stone pathways, plucking flowers and tucking them behind their ears between rounds of hopscotch. Lovers held hands, giving each other dreamy gazes as they went about their day. Happiness burst to life around him, making his mechanical heart flutter. That day, for the very first time, Elliot thought, “This must be what freedom feels like.” He’d never been happier in all his life, and he hadn’t been happier since.

Elliot wanted to go home. Not to his home with Jared, but to the picture of home in his head. Earlier that day, Elliot felt like he finally found it. But then the shops closed and families tucked themselves away, leaving Elliot feeling even lonelier than he felt before. It was as if he was the last man standing at the end of the world.

A tear trickled down Elliot’s cheek. Nothing new.

Squeak, squeak.

So, he walked. Elliot walked and walked until the lampposts led him back to the island’s dock. There were two benches beside the ticket booth, and thankfully, there was a power outlet for him to use. He set his interface to a six-hour charging cycle, giving him enough time to wake from his state of stasis before being seen by the villagers. Sleep wouldn’t be safe, though. In stasis, he would be unable to defend himself should he be attacked. The only way to wake was his timer, completion of charging, or manual removal of his charger. If he was attacked, his only hope would be the dislodging of his charger. Remembering the terrifying dog and the horrible woman with her rusty rake, Elliot debated not charging himself at all and seeing if he could make it. The dog would surely rip him to shreds. Elliot knew it was unlikely, so he did the only thing he could. He stared into the sky, made a wish for his safety on the biggest, brightest star, and plugged the charging prong into his big toe.

As Elliot’s mind settled into stasis, he heard the now familiar squeak again. Using the last of his strength, Elliot looked down, smiling when he saw a mouse sitting in his lap. Then, the world went black.

When he woke, the mouse was nowhere to be seen, and Elliot found himself saddened by its departure. The creature squeaked behind him the entire time he wandered the small island’s stone pathways. It had been persistent in its tracking of Elliot. Perhaps the creature was looking for a friend. Perhaps the little mouse was just as lonely as Elliot.

Elliot looked down and frowned, because the bag holding Jared’s plum jam cookies had been nibbled through at the side.

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