Prologue

May 17, 2027

It has been three days since any food passed through his stomach, and two full weeks, give and take a few days after he came out of his dim, ominous room haphazardly converted into a makeshift laboratory.

“Luke, are you there?”

I made three knocks on the maple wood door, which’s appearance suggests that it has barely been opened over the past few months, certainly since the love of his life and my best friend, Mary Belkacem passed.

Luke seemed to have not noticed my call as I received no response from the other side of the door. Well, not that I expect any to begin with, so, instead, I opened the door which was already unlocked just like how it was the last time I was here.

The light peeking from outside the room revealed the thin back of Luke working on a metallic machine which the purpose I am not aware of, but I can at least say with certainty that it has something to do with him trying to bring back his wife.

Yes, as stupid as it sounds, a proper genius such as him decides to play God.

I put the food that I brought on the table beside his bed and enraged, grabbed his right shoulder and turned him violently, so much that his stick-like arm was almost torn off.

Nope, he still has not moved on. The lines on his forehead, as deep as valleys and his sullen, dead blue eyes visibly deprived of a week's worth of sleep, tell me that this man's heart has yet to move even an inch from the death of his wife half a year ago.

For half a year, he barely ate, slept, nor stepped outside of his house. His neighbors have started to accumulate fear that he has hanged himself, if not for the occasional mechanical whirring that can be heard coming from the house in the middle of some nights, hence the assumption that he has grown insane, and even I am starting to be a believer.

“When will you be fine, Luke? Your daughter needs you!”

“T-Tell Laura that daddy is working.” Luke stammered.

“Working on what? It has been months since you last showed up to work! All you’ve been working on is this stupid – whatever it is, machine that God knows what for!”

“I—t-this machine will let me and Laura be with her again …” he reasoned, with full belief that he is actually making sense.

No, he’s not. I buried my face into both of my palms in disbelief.

“Oh, God! Just when will you wake up? When will you realize that Mary is not coming b—”

I was halted by the thought that what I was about to say may be the nail on the coffin of the man in front of me.

Luke looked onto the floor as silence filled the room.

I looked at him and pitied his horrifying state. His hair, unkempt, nails untrimmed. The silk white coat he is wearing seemed clean on the surface, but looking at how filthy the clothes underneath are made me realize that the neatness of the laboratory dress is only because he has dozens of them on his disposal. He has not done his laundry even once.

"Mary would not like to see you like that," I uttered dejectedly, trying to stop a drop of tear from escaping my eyes. As for his dead eyes, it further died.

I am not the type to show much emotion, but this is beyond my capacity.

"Mary would never want to not see Laura grow up," Luke responded without a stammer, highlighting the soft, mild voice that he has.

It has always been that way. If it is about Mary, he straightens up. Not because he is doing it on purpose, but unconsciously, because the thought of her calms his mind down, I believe.

If there is a place further and darker than the depths of the ocean, that is how Luke may be described as he responded. I ran out of words as even my heart broke at the sight of the man who once loved my best friend with all of his life, whom he spent the happiest days of his life with, suffering as she was abruptly taken away from him. I am a witness to their story, and I, too, am in pain.

I let out a deep sigh.

“I know you’re hurting. We all are …”

Even as I successfully concealed how I felt, Luke ultimately failed.

Perhaps he never tried to hide it. Perhaps he never averted his gaze nor ran away from it. Perhaps he just accepted it as a problem and a fact and later sought its solution, just like the mad scientist that he is, that they are. And that might have been the reason why, ever since Mary died, not a teardrop fell from his eyes.

Not until today.

I could not almost bear the sight of him falling on his two knees along with his pair of glasses which’s lenses cracked as it hits the floor. Barefaced, you could see the shower of tears which has probably been kept in for months, just raining on his cheeks. Like a child separated from his parents in the middle of a park, he wailed.

“We are all hurting, Luke. We all want her back but there’s nothing we can do about it. She’s not coming back. Not even your stupid machine is bringing her back. You are not God, Luke. You are not …”

It’s true. No matter how much we want her to spoil us again, it’s just not possible. Nothing we can do can bend reality as it is now. All we can afford is to live in the present and little by little, feel better each day. Feel better without her. But I suppose this is a fact that not even a scientist like him cannot accept.

“I can assure you that wherever Mary may be right now, what she wants is for you to fix yourself and be a proper father to Laura.” I uttered as I walked away, heading towards the door to escape this room which should be flooding with lacrimal fluid any moment now.

Luke stood up along with the creaking sound of the door as I was closing it.

With a faint, yet straightly calm voice, he said:

“She does not need to come back if she never left.”