Re: Jack/eddie
I had a pretty dreadful marriage by the end. I was in love, or I thought I was but I was bloody miserable. Given up the travelling journalism to work a desk in a corporation, which is to say, I was regularly getting blind drug and off my face on whatever was passed around at parties. I think it was a mix of ketamine and Molly by the end, or something equally noxious but I managed to find some sort of ritual in an old book, summoned a demon who could make deals and thought I'd made a bargain to give up what I loved most in exchange for the best bloody story, one that would make a career. A Pulitzer winning fucker of a story. Passed out, woke up with my wife very, viscerally dead in the bed next to me. What I loved most. Ironic, isn't it? I spent years here trying not to write anything, in case I could trade it back.
The actuality of it? There was no deal. She's just dead. A demon that didn't bargain so much as destroy whatever it felt like. Let no one let you forget, Eddie, I am not a good man.
She was extremely wealthy. So there's also that. Life insurance, and her family were rolling in it, and we made a considerable amount from her architecture and my journalism, in the hey-day. So I could cheerfully run the paper for nothing, but it's not the sodding point.
How do you run an artificial intelligence in a human?