My Mother Logged Into Me

After my brother ended up in the ER because I accidentally fed him mangoesdespite his allergymy mothers fury solidified into a terrifying new reality. She forced me to link my phone and a wearable bio-patch to an app called The Virtuous Child.

From that moment on, she held the remote to my life. Every time my behavior deviated from her expectations, she would trigger a remote electric pulse. If I resisted, the voltage climbed until my world went black.

Today was the first day of the spring semester, and Mom was taking my brother to the Oceanside Pier for a celebratory outing. I wasnt invited, but I followed them anyway, a ghost trailing in their wake.

At the amusement park, my brother, Leo, was face-deep in a bowl of mango sorbet. Mom was leaning against a railing, laughing with her best friend.

"The new immunotherapy cleared up his allergy months ago," Mom said, her voice breezy and light. "I just told Madison he was still allergic because I wanted to test her. I needed to see if I could break that stubborn streak of hers once and for all."

"Isn't that a bit extreme?" her friend asked.

Mom shrugged, adjusting her sunglasses. "Its for her own good. One day, when shes a functional, disciplined adult, shell thank me for it."

I stood frozen in the crowd, the sea breeze chilling the sweat on my neck. It had all been a lie. The guilt that had been eating me alive for weeks was a weapon she had forged herself.

Suddenly, the alarm on Moms phone shrieked. A notification from the app: User has left the designated home perimeter.

Her face contorted. In a fit of rage, she swiped the slider to the maximum setting and tapped the "Emergency Recall" command. The app issued the highest-priority directive: Return Home at Maximum Speed.

I felt the surge before I saw it. My body wasnt mine anymore. My legs moved with a mechanical, violent force, propelled by the high-frequency pulses hitting my nervous system. I didn't walk; I lunged. I vaulted over the piers safety railing, my body a puppet jerked by invisible wires.

I hit the freezing Atlantic water with a bone-shattering slap.

I tried to scream for help, but the apps "Correction Mode" had been triggered by my "disobedience." As I struggled to stay afloat, my own handsdefying my brain's desperate pleasbegan to strike my own face. Hard. Rhythmic. Over and over. My mouth opened, but instead of "Help," I was forced to scream "Im sorry!" until my lungs filled with salt water.

When Mom returned from the pier three hours later, she found me sitting perfectly upright at my desk, a textbook open in front of me. She looked at me, her expression shifting from anger to a smug, icy satisfaction.

"See?" she whispered, patting my shoulder. "I knew you could be a good girl if you tried."

But Mom, you don't understand.

I drowned three hours ago.

Im finally the perfect daughter you always wanted. Ill never disobey you again.

...

I am sitting at my desk, wearing my damp school hoodie, staring at a page of Hemingway.

Mom and Leo burst through the front door, the smell of salt and sugar trailing behind them. Leo is clutching a giant blue-and-pink cotton candy cloud, his face smeared with sticky joy.

The tension in Moms forehead vanishes the moment she sees me.

"Look at you, Maddie. So studious. I knew that 'Recall' command would remind you where you belong."

She reaches out and brushes a stray hair from my forehead. Her fingers linger for a second, but she doesn't seem to notice the unnatural, marble-like chill of my skin. To her, Im just finally acting "cool" and collected.

Leo skips into my room, waving his prize like a trophy.

"Look what Mom got me, Mads! Its the Mega-Cloud. You didn't get one because you were bad."

I used to love those.

A year ago, I begged Mom for one for three months. She finally gave in, but the second I took a bite, Leo started wailing. He wanted mine.

Without a word, Mom snatched the cone from my hand and handed it to him.

"You're the big sister, Maddie," she had said, her voice tight with that familiar, exhausted edge. "You need to learn to share."

"But it's mine," Id whispered. "I haven't even had two bites."

She sighed, kneeling down so she was eye-level with me. Her eyes weren't kind; they were heavy with the weight of her own disappointment. "Its just sugar, Madison. If it makes your brother happy, why cant you just let him have it? Why do you have to be so difficult?"

"He wants everything," I muttered.

"What did you say?"

Id looked at the floor and gone silent. I learned early that silence was the only shield I had left.

Now, Mom pulls out her phone and snaps a photo of me at my desk. I feel my spiritthe real me, the one hovering a few inches above the chairdrift over her shoulder. I watch as she types a caption for her Instagram:

While other kids are out getting into trouble, my Maddie is at home, ahead of her studies. So proud of the young woman shes becoming. #ParentingWin #TheVirtuousChild

Almost instantly, the pings start.

Wow, Maddie is so disciplined!

Youve done such an amazing job with her, Kate. Whats your secret?

I wish my daughter was half as obedient as yours!

Moms lips curl into a thin, triumphant smile. She immediately starts replying with links to the apps landing page.

The phone rings. She walks out to the balcony to take it, and I follow, a silent shadow.

"Yeah, we got the tickets you sent. Thanks, Sarah," Mom says.

"Oh, Maddie had a blast. She and Leo spent the whole day on the rides. You know how much she loves the boardwalk."

The lies come so easily to her. The caller is my godmother, Sarah, who lives in London. Shes the only one who ever really saw me.

"Really? Im so glad," Sarahs voice crackles through the speaker. "I remembered her saying she wanted to ride the old wooden coaster in that video call last month. Did she like it?"

"She loved it. She couldn't stop smiling. She told me to tell you 'thank you' the second we got home."

"Thats my girl. I was worried shed be cooped up. Kids need a little rebellion, Kate, its healthy."

Moms voice hardens. "Shes just... stubborn, Sarah. You don't live with her. You don't see the tantrums. I'm doing the hard work here."

"Maddie, stubborn? Shes the most sensitive kid I know. Maybe you're just pushing too hard."

"You see her twice a year. I see her every day. I think I know my own daughter."

I feel a pang of ghostly grief. Those ticketsthey were meant for me.

On Moms screen, a red warning box pops up. Its an alert from the apps log.

WARNING: User terminal experienced severe overload during High-Priority Command. System rebooted automatically.

When she had issued that "Return Home" command at the pier, the app had flashed a disclaimer. It was still in its beta phase. It warned against using the maximum voltage for extended periods.

But she had been too blinded by the "disobedience" of me leaving the house. She hadn't cared about the system limits. She just wanted me to hurt enough to come back.

She scrolls down to the developers manual in the app's settings. I lean in, reading the bold, red text that she quickly brushes past:

DANGER: During the beta phase, overload commands may cause unknown biological risks, including but not limited to sudden cardiac arrest or respiratory failure...

Mom hangs up the phone and glances back at me through the glass. For a split second, a flicker of unease crosses her face. Im too still. I havent turned a page in ten minutes.

But then Leo screams because he dropped his cotton candy on the rug, and she turns away, her motherly duties calling her back to the "good" child.

I look down at my body.

I remember the moment the command hit. I remember my legs stepping over the railing. I remember my mind screaming Stop! while my muscles obeyed the phone in her hand.

I remember hitting the water. I was the captain of the varsity swim team. I knew how to survive. I knew how to tread water.

But the app wouldn't let me tread. Every time I tried to stroke, it forced my arms to fly up and slap my own face. It forced me to gasp "Im sorry" into the waves until the water became my only breath.

I stayed at the bottom of the lake for a long time. Then, the app forced me to walk. I walked along the lake bed, then up the shore, and three miles home, dripping and hollow.

It wasn't a hallucination.

I really am dead.

Davidmy dadfinally gets home from his week-long business trip around noon. Hes a middle manager at a logistics firm, always smelling of stale coffee and the faint scent of the cigarettes he smokes in secret to cope with the stress.

He sees me sitting at the desk.

"Maddie? Youre awfully quiet today. Everything okay?"

Mom rushes to the foyer to greet him, eager to show off her progress.

"I told you, David. She just needed a firmer hand. Since I started using the new tech, look at her. Not a single word of backtalk."

Dad looks at me, a shadow of doubt crossing his face, but he says nothing. He places a long, professional-looking tube on the entryway table.

"Thats the vintage architectural rendering for the Miller project," he says, his voice weary. "Its a thirty-thousand-dollar original. If the presentation goes well on Monday, the partner bonus is easily six figures."

Moms eyes light up. She looks at him with a sudden, rare surge of affection.

Dad starts laying out the snacks he bought at the airportbeef jerky, artisanal chips. Leo dives in, tearing open bags like a wild animal.

My body, tethered to the app's "Focus Mode," remains perfectly still.

Dad tears open a bag of jerky and holds it out toward me.

"Want a piece, Mads?"

Hovering in the air, I scream: Yes! Please! Im so hungry.

But my body has no command to eat. It stays frozen.

Mom intercepts. "Shes fine, Dave. Shes learned that we don't snack between meals anymore. Its about discipline."

Dad frowns, pulling the bag back. "I don't like this, Kate."

He drops the bag on the table. "Using an app to remote-control a teenager? It costs us three grand a month, and for what? She looks like a mannequin. She doesn't have any... life in her."

Moms face turns pale with indignation.

"I am parenting her. You have no idea how difficult she was while you were gone."

"Parenting is one thing, this is another." Dad points at me. "Shes like a piece of wood. You don't think thats weird?"

Feeling her pride wounded, Moms thumb flies to the app.

"You think its a problem? Ill show you how much of a 'problem' it is. Its efficiency."

She types a command. Serve tea to Father. Immediately.

My body stands up. It doesn't transition; it just is standing. It walks to the kitchen with the precision of a surgical robot.

I drift behind it, watching as my hands grip the kettle. If I were alive, I might be nervous. I might spill a drop. But the app doesn't allow for human error.

The tea is poured perfectly. The tray is balanced with mathematical certainty. My gait is measured, every step exactly twelve inches.

As I approach the table, Leobored and looking for a reactionsticks his foot out.

Its his favorite game. Usually, Id stumble, Mom would scream that I was clumsy, and Id spend the night grounded.

But today, under the apps control, my body doesn't have a human "trip" reflex. When my foot hits Leos, my body doesn't lurch or regain its balance. It remains rigid as it falls forward.

The scalding tea flies through the air, dousing the entryway table.

The hot liquid soaks through the cardboard tube. The thirty-thousand-dollar vintage rendering inside is instantly saturated, the rare ink bleeding into a hideous, yellowed smear.

Dads face goes from shock to a terrifying, bruised purple in three seconds.

He lunges for the tube, pulling out the half-ruined parchment, his hands shaking with a violent tremor.

Mom starts shrieking.

"You stupid, clumsy girl! Look what you did! You ruin everything!"

She screams, lunging forward to shove my shoulder. My body doesn't react. It just stands there, staring blankly, because it has no new instructions.

Dad is blinded by rage. He points a finger inches from my nose.

"Do you have any idea what you just did to this family? Do you have any idea how much work went into this?"

I know, Dad. I know.

I hover in the air, watching him roar and Mom scream.

To save the project, Dad skips lunch and rushes the drawing to a professional restoration expert across town. Moms resentment curdles into something truly ugly.

She decides I don't get to eat for the rest of the day. More than that, she slides the "Punishment Level" to the maximum setting.

Fortunately, it doesn't hurt anymore.

I watch with a strange, detached curiosity as my body twitches and spasms on the floor from the massive surges of electricity. Then, it goes still again. I look like a doll that a child has broken and tossed aside.

That evening, Mrs. Gable, the neighbor from down the street, stops by. Shes a notorious gossip with a voice like a foghorn.

"I saw your post on Facebook, Kate! You said Madison had a complete change of heart? I had to see it for myself."

Moms vanity is easily stoked. She calls me out of my room to display her handiwork.

"Madison, honey, why don't you get Mrs. Gable a glass of ice water?"

My body executes the command with robotic stiffness.

Mrs. Gable watches my movements, her eyes wide. "My god! Its incredible! Shes better behaved than your Golden Retriever!"

At the mention of the dog, Mom smiles. We don't have a dog, but we do have my grandmothers prized possession: a Congo African Grey parrot named Winston.

The bird is brilliant, a legacy left to Grandma by a wealthy friend. Grandma holds the power in this familyshe owns the house, has a massive pension, and millions in savings. Mom, who hasn't worked in fifteen years, lives in constant fear of being cut off.

To impress Mrs. Gable even further, Mom issues a new command.

"Go on, Madison. Give Winston some sunflower seeds."

My body turns toward the sunroom where the cage sits.

Winston seems to sense something is wrong. He flutters his wings nervously, letting out a sharp, piercing squawk.

Mrs. Gable laughs. "Hes a feisty one, isn't he?"

Leo wanders over, looking up with wide, innocent eyes.

"Mom, can I help Maddie feed him?"

Mom is in a good mood now. "Sure, sweetie. Just be careful."

Leo runs to the cage. Just as "I" reach in to place the seeds in the tray, Leo yanks the cage door wide open.

"Fly, Winston! Go play!"

The parrot shoots out like an arrow. Terrified, it streaks across the living room, crashing into a vase on the coffee table.

Mrs. Gable screams.

Moms face goes ghost-white.

"Madison! Catch him! Now!" she screams into the app, her voice shrill with panic.

"Catch him" is interpreted by the app as a maximum-priority physical task.

My body enters a state of hyper-acceleration. It moves with a terrifying, unnatural speed, lunging toward the bird. There is no grace in the movement, only momentum.

Target: the flying object.

The parrot flies toward the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room.

My body is right behind it. A split second before the bird hits the glass, my hand closes around it.

There is a sickening crunch. A single, strangled chirp.

My body turns around slowly, its hand opening.

Winston, once vibrant and full of life, lies limp in my palm. His neck is bent at a grotesque, impossible angle.

Mom rushes over, sobbing as she snatches the birds body. Her other hand swings around, slapping my face with everything she has.

"I told you to catch him, not kill him! You monster! You cursed, miserable girl!"

My head snaps to the side. It stays there, tilted at a weird, lifeless angle that no living person could maintain.

A new command arrives: No dinner. Go to your room and stay there.

At the table, Leo chews on a piece of pot roast, his cheeks bulging.

"Mom, this meat is really good today."

I drift in the air, looking down at the "domestic bliss" of my family.

Missing dinner doesn't bother me.

My stomach is still full of the murky, cold lake water I swallowed this morning. It tastes like silt and iron.

The next day, Grandma returns from her weekend trip.

The moment she walks in, she sees me standing in the center of the living room, my palm still held out as if Im holding something. Ive been standing like this for fourteen hours.

When she realizes whats missing, the color drains from her face.

"Wheres Winston?"

Mom starts crying instantly.

"Oh, Mom! Thank God you're back. Its Madison... she... she snapped his neck. She just killed him for no reason!"

Grandma snatches the small, cold body of her bird, her lips trembling.

Dad walks in at that exact moment. He hasn't slept; his eyes are bloodshot and sunken.

"Your daughter! She killed Winston!" Grandma wails, nearly collapsing.

Mom starts listing my "crimes" from the day beforethe ruined drawing, the bird. Leo sits in the corner, head down.

Dad, usually the peacemaker, slams his hand onto the dining table so hard the plates rattle.

He stares at methe silent, unblinking shell of a girl.

"What is wrong with you?" he roars. "Since yesterday, you haven't said a single word! You ruined my career, you killed your grandmothers bird! Say something! Anything!"

Finally. Someone noticed the silence.

Floating in the air, I feel a flicker of warmth. Someone is finally looking at me.

But my body doesn't react. It remains in its "Idle Mode," staring at a spot on the wall.

Grandma speaks up, her voice low and dangerous.

"Madison wouldn't just do this. Not to Winston."

"Winston is gone, and my heart is broken. But I want to know what happened to my granddaughter."

She looks at Mom. "That software. The one youve been using. You installed it, didn't you?"

Moms voice goes small. "Mom, it was for her own good..."

"For her own good?"

Grandma stands up straight, her voice carrying a weight Ive never heard before.

"You turned a child into... this? You call this 'good'?"

I look at Grandma. I always thought she preferred Leo. I thought she looked at me with coldness. But seeing her defend me now feels like a knife in my ghostly chest. Its a kindness I wasn't prepared for.

Dads fury boils over. He lunges at me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently.

"Give me a reaction! Cry! Scream! Do something, you brat!"

Under the force of the shaking, my head lolls uselessly. My body is a ragdoll, offering no resistance.

The eerie, limp silence finally makes Dad stop.

Behind him, Leoscared by the violencebegins to sob.

Between gasps, he lets out a sentence that stops time.

"Yesterday... at the pier... Maddie jumped in the water. She kept hitting herself... and saying sorry... over and over..."

Moms face turns the color of ash.

She remembers the "Severe Overload" warning.

Dads eyes go wide. He lets go of my shoulders. His hand trembles as he reaches out to touch my wrist.

No pulse.

He moves his hand to my nose.

No breath.

The anger on his face is replaced by a primal, soul-deep terror.