Mystery is what makes women, woman. A woman without mystery is no woman. She is a girl who has not yet discovered the depths of her heart. — Imania Margria
Lily
I tried unsuccessfully to contact Lily with the good news that I decoded Maxwell Goodspeed’s notes that described his mind-reading machine, but she was unavailable. I was impatient to get on with the work, so I left a message on her phone but didn’t offer any other details.
I went ahead on my own and set up the mind-reading apparatus in my garage according to Goodspeed’s instructions and planned to test it to see if it could render rudimentary emotions—I had my doubts that it could interpret complex thoughts.
I was so fully absorbed in the work that by mid-week, I was totally exhausted. I’d manage to assemble all the components, and all that remained was to find a willing subject so I could begin testing the machine’s capabilities.
That afternoon, I collapsed again on my couch, totally drained of energy and fell immediately into a deep sleep. The sound of banging on my door awakened me sometime later.
I dragged myself from the couch, stumbled to the door only to meet the hostile gaze of Lily.
“Oh, so sorry, Aaron—did I wake you? So nice to see you don’t have a care in the world—not like me who was wondering if you died or fell off the earth.”
“Uh, jeez—I’m sorry, Lily—I’ve just been so caught up in this thing, I’ve lost all sense of time. I did leave you a message.”
I realized my obsession with building the thought reading machine caused me to ignore Lily. I could hardly believe I could be so preoccupied that I ghosted her
Lily was justly angry and I felt like a fool.
“Well, it’s not as if you owe me an explanation or anything,” she smirked sarcastically. “I mean you dragged me out into the country with you and I gave up a whole weekend trying to decipher those bloody notebooks.”
“I was going to phone you later with more details, Lily.”
“No need to do that—I should have been able to ‘read your mind’—speaking of which, what colour of emotion do you see in me?”
Her eyes were flashing—emitting sparks—and she looked incredibly beautiful angry.
She threw up her hands and began to walk away.
“No, wait Lily—I’m sorry—I really am. You deserve better than this. I’m an idiot.”
“When did you figure that out—did you get your machine working and did it tell you you’re a selfish creep?”
I reached out a hand to touch her arm, and felt an immediate current of electricity pass between us. I think she felt it too because her huge brown eyes widened and she just stared at me.
“Look, I have been a selfish creep, and I do appreciate everything you did. Actually, without you, I’d never have figured out the machine.”
She looked shocked. “Figured it out—you mean you’ve deciphered the notebooks?”
“Yeah, thanks to you. I saw the text reflected in that mirror you bought and realized the script was Latin. It was a breeze from there.”
She began to soften. “So what did you learn?”
“Goodspeed was working on building this mind-reading machine, and was convinced it would work, but he died before he could test it. I’ve reassembled the prototype—it’s in the garage.”
“So, does it work?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve got it all assembled, but haven’t tested it yet.”
“So why didn’t you—what was stopping you?”
“I needed a willing subject.”
She smirked again, “A willing subject, huh? You sure this isn’t the Victorian version of mind-bending?”
“Look,” I flared, “this isn’t some cheap date rape type device that will mesmerize you against your will. It doesn’t put ideas into your head—it’s supposed to read thoughts that are already there.”
“So, what are we waiting for? Let’s test it.”
“Well, it’s all set up and ready to go.”
We go back to the garage and I take a few minutes to explain the workings of the device to her. Then have her place her hands on the copper plates and stare into the light.
“Now, I want you to think of something—anything.”
“Okay,” she smiles, “ does it have to be complex or simple?”
“I have no idea. Maybe we should start with something simple.”
“Okay, throw the switch Dr. Frankenstein.”
I start the machine and the light begins flashing into the rotating mirror and behind me the antique stock ticker whirrs for a fraction of a second before dying.
“Oh, damn!”
She smirks, “too bad—so sad. All that work for nothing.”
I’m simmering like a pot on a stove.
Her smirk dissolves into a wistful smile.
“Well, it was a nice theory.”
“I was really hoping Goodspeed was onto something.”
“I guess he was just a crackpot like everybody said.”
My shoulders sag. I feel all the air has gone out of me.
“I have to go Aaron—I’m emotionally exhausted from the week. But don’t take it so hard. You know those Victorian scientists didn’t see elephants on the Moon either.”
“Ain’t that true,” I laugh bitterly.
“Will I see you at work tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there, I sigh.
“I’m always there,” she whispers sadly and walks away in the direction of her car.
I stare morosely at the psychometer. It’s stupid, I suppose. What else did I expect?
I reach up to pull the string on the naked light bulb dangling above the machine, but as I do, notice some marks on the stock ticker tape.
I pull it out, snap it off and hold it up to the light.
I love you, the script says.
© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved