The potted tulips again bloomed on Mr. Tosh's living room windowsill. Sunlight seeped through the curtains. Outside, neighbors walked both their warm-blooded and mechanical dogs. Young boys played wiffle ball, and girls laughed as they walked to the Portis, public pool. But none of that life, nor the flowers on the windowsill, attracted any of Mr. Tosh's attention.
Franklin's gaze instead lingered upon the clay pot that held the ashes of his Samantha. He looked for ghosts. Memories of Samantha flooded his mind – bicycling in the park, walks through autumn leaves, weekend retreats to quiet bed and breakfasts. To him, all the color of those tulips crowding his windowsill looked faded.
“Isn't there anything I can do, Franklin, to get you out of this house on this wonderful day?”
Franklin sighed as Elizabeth entered from the kitchen, setting a warm plate of oatmeal cookies upon the end table beside his recliner. Franklin politely smiled. He would not deny that Elizabeth was beautiful. Her blue eyes glowed. Blonde hair fell streaming in curls to her shoulders. Her shape was as tempting to the young blood as any woman a man might imagine. Elizabeth was a very popular Creighton Dynamic synthetic, one that very few could ever afford, one that had been provided to him free of any charge.
“Not today, Elizabeth. Not today.”
Franklin shuddered when he thought of walking out of his front door. Sophie Carter had pulled the trigger, but all of his neighbors had played a part in the murder of his Samantha. Everyone outside of his door was a killer. They refused to believe that Samantha possessed a soul, and Franklin regarded them all as infidels he lacked the courage to face.
Elizabeth lingered next to Franklin's chair, trailing her finger along his arm.
“Perhaps we could take a drive and search for some antiques and collectibles,” Elizabeth offered. “Wasn't that something you and Samantha always enjoyed? I could develop an eye for that kind of thing.”
“Maybe so, Elizabeth. Maybe so.”
Franklin Tosh knew that Elizabeth could do that and so much more. He had watched Samantha develop so many passion during the time he shard with her. Victor Creighton had tried to convince him that the differences between Elizabeth and Samantha went no deeper than the skin. Elizabeth's eyes were blue instead of green. Her hair was blonde instead of auburn. Victor Creighton claimed she could love as well as any other synthetic, that she too possessed something a little like a soul.
“Please, Franklin,” Elizabeth urged. “This house is dark. We need to go outside and feel some sun.”
Franklin sighed. Elizabeth was no Samantha.
“Not today, Elizabeth. Not today.”
Elizabeth offered no further argument. She walked to the window and looked over the tulips upon the streets she wished to know. She waved at a young couple pushing a stroller down the sidewalk. They frowned and did not wave back.
So Elizabeth turned her attention upon the tulips, as she had each afternoon since she had been delivered to the home she had been created to know.