“And then he hung up on me!” Amy exploded.

Venting her frustration through wild gesticulations, she accidentally flung her spoon across the room. Oh great. With her monstrous strength? That spoon was practically a bullet … strange. No impact. Amy looked to see Pseudo Mom’s arm extended, the spoon between her fingers. Apparently, she’d pinched it out of the air before it got anywhere. Pseudo Mom handed it back to her, bearing a warm smile nuanced with amusement.

“That thing would have gone straight through the wall,” Pseudo Mom commented.

“Um, thanks …” Amy mumbled sheepishly, taking the spoon and fishing a bite of maple pecan ice cream from the tub before launching back into her tirade. “Anyway, it’s not like I blame the guy! I’d be pretty upset too if someone like me survived instead of my presumably wonderful son. Even so, people don’t generally seem to see the line between me and the monster whose body I occupy. The worst part is I totally get that! A.M.E.s mimic their victims, after all. I don’t even have a sample of your mind, and even you feel like a pretty close approximation of my mom … in a cartoonishly exaggerated way … no offense?”

“You’re not exactly wrong,” Pseudo Mom replied mechanically, braiding Amy’s hair. Amy hadn’t noticed when she’d started doing that. For a girl who could morph new hairstyles on a whim, it wasn’t like there was a point to getting her hair done. However, it always felt nice. Now that Amy’s hair had something akin to nerve endings, this little mother-daughter ritual was simply heavenly. It was almost enough to make her forget about … wait … what were they talking about again? Oh, yeah.

“What’s to say I’m not an A.M.E. mimicry that thinks it’s a person but isn’t?” Amy finished, before allowing herself to zone out for a moment of bliss. Eyes closed, she was melting again, just a little. If she wasn’t careful, there would be another pancake soon.

“I’m surprised you’re worried about that part,” Pseudo Mom mused. “I mean, you still have your memories, your personality. If the data’s all there, doesn’t that make you you?”

Amy opened her eyes and frowned into space, wherein dwelt thoughts to which only she was privy. She huffed a laugh without humour, cracked a grin void of mirth. The atmosphere throbbed with her chuckles as its temperature actually dropped. Pseudo Mom briefly paused her pampering and stared inquisitively.

“‘Data’ … hm,” hummed Amy. “You know, sometimes that’s just what people say to wiggle out of accountability. Imagine wanting something so bad that you’d rather assume you don’t have a soul.”

Pseudo Mom blinked. “Whoa … okay. What brought you to that?”

“Human reasoning is goal-oriented,” Amy explained. “We don’t figure things out just for the sake of figuring things out. Sure, if the goal is the pursuit of truth? Good for you, but sometimes, oftentimes, the goal is to just figure out how get whatever you want, good or bad. That makes the truth an inconvenient obstacle to tear down. If we’re just programming, then nothing is anyone’s fault, ever. Kindness? Cruelty? It’s just the way you’re wired. See? No accountability. It’s fun at first. You feel like you’ve got a free pass to do anything, if you’re clever about it. Of course, it works both ways. Someone can kick you down and spit on you, and it’s not really their fault. That’s just their programming. Ironically, this ‘enlightenment’ leads to unenlightened behaviour. The only way to live like this is to live like it’s not true, or at least not totally true. You end up having to cherry pick, act like you do have a choice. Otherwise? You stop trying. You just … let go, and I don’t have to tell you how bad that’s bound to ends u- Ow! Hey!”

“So that’s what you were doing!” Pseudo Mom raged as she pinched Amy’s cheek. “All those years ago … that ‘enlightened’ spiel was your way of telling me what you were up to without telling me what you were up to!”

“Then pinch harder! Both hands, ‘cmon!” Amy coached.

True to the nature of reverse psychology, that demand got Pseudo Mom to stop, which also got her thinking.

“Reverse psychology. I stopped because you told me not to stop,” Pseudo Mom noted. “Doesn’t that throw a wrench in your whole ‘power of choice’ thing?”

“I’m not saying psychology doesn’t exist,” Amy clarified. “However, you can do something stupid that you really don’t feel like doing, while your instincts are screaming to stop. You can also do something good, when you don’t want to, and you’re not even sure if it will help you or anyone else. That strongly suggests to me that there’s a choice. The same circumstances that create a wonderful soul can spawn a monster: ‘He did this to me, so I just want to watch the world burn,’ or ‘she did that to me. I won’t let it happen to anyone else’.”

“Souls, huh?” Pseudo Mom smirked. “As in literally?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“It makes the most sense, considering well-documented NDEs among other things,” Amy reasoned. “Personally, I think the supernatural is hyperdimensional. Science already accepts the hyperdimensional, but we can’t properly study it because it’s beyond nature as we know it. Perhaps you could call it ‘super nature’, or ‘supernatural’. There’s nothing wishy washy, hocus pocus about that way of putting it. Hyperdimensionality would explain that weird timelessness and impossible geometry some people have claimed about the afterlife, during near-death experiences or alleged visions. A sufficiently hyperdimensional being can transcend time, be everywhere and touch everything at once, inside and out. A hyperdimensioal human spirit might explain the power of choice, as the 4th dimension pertains to time and the 5th pertains to possibility. Making a choice might be a matter of steering yourself through 5D possibilities, but I’m no scientist, mathematician or … I dunno, priest? I could be way off. Then again, experts have made big boo boos in recent history and there’s nothing to say they’ve miraculously stopped just ‘cause, whoopee! We’re so modern and sMoRt! Being well-versed on the subject wouldn’t necessarily make me immune to nonsense.”

“I assumed it was Norman who gave you those ideas,” Pseudo Mom noted.

“I have thoughts too, you know!” Amy protested, pointing at her head. “The gears don’t turn as fast as they used to, but they’re still there!”

Pseudo Mom’s brow wrinkled. That sounded a bit concerning. She considered pressing Amy on what she meant. Maybe later. First, some closure for this leg of the conversation.

“Alright, seeing as you’ve done so much intellectual legwork, I’ve got a big brain idea that might help you out,” Pseudo Mom offered, before lightly rapping Amy’s forehead with her knuckles. “Is anyone home?”

“… Yes?” slowly answered a confused Amy.

“Good. Then you’re probably you,” Pseudo Mom declared. “Cameras can mimic human vision, but there’s nothing behind their lenses. They don’t really ‘see’ a pretty picture, because there is no them. The lights are on, but nobody’s home. You’re not like that, right? There’s still someone behind your eyes, looking out at the world?”

“Well, I don’t feel the same as I used to, but yes, actually,” Amy agreed, perking up.

“Then that could settle it,” Pseudo Mom concluded. “If you were just a mimicry, there’d be no need for that. Behind your eyes, there should be nothing, no real sense of sense of ‘you’. All the A.M.E. would need is an empty shell meant to convince people there’s someone home when there isn’t. Maybe no one else can be sure that there’s someone behind your eyes, but you are sure, and that’s what matters.”

Amy beamed. “That’s a good argument.”

Pseudo Mom beamed back, admiration gleaming in her eyes. She scooped up Amy in a momma bear hug.

“I like you. You know that, right?” asked Pseudo Mom.

Amy knitted her brow. “Um … sure? You’ve said that before. I love you too.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Pseudo Mom explained. “I like you because you’re adorably amusing, even when you aren’t trying to be. Sometimes, it’s hard not to smirk when you’re being naughty and I have to get strict with you.”

“… I’m a grown woman,” Amy quietly protested.

“Hush, Mommy’s still talking,” Pseudo Mom shushed, stroking Amy’s hair. “More than that, I like that you keep trying so hard, even when you don’t feel like it. You keep trying to be good, and you’re doing a great job. You’re sweet, sensitive and thoughtful. Maybe a little too meek sometimes, but you summon incredible strength when you really need it. I like you because you’re a likeable person. A parent’s love is often unconditional, but liking your kid? That’s optional. Think about that for a moment. You got me to like you.”

Amy searched Pseudo Mom’s eyes. “You didn’t always like me, did you? You started saying that a while after I met Norman.”

“That’s right,” Pseudo Mom confirmed. “I know you don’t think you deserve to survive, but consider this: if you weren’t trying, you would be a monster. A real one. You choose not to be, every day. You’re under constant pressure to give in, but you don’t. Trust me. You are worthy. I mean, weren’t you and Norman mortal enemies a while back?”

“You’re not canonically supposed to know much about that,” Amy mumbled.

“And now he loves you!” Pseudo Mom pressed on, ignoring her. “Furthermore, he likes you! What does that say about present day Amy?”

Amy was silent for a moment. She was having trouble accepting this. Finally, she sniffled, wiping the wetness from her eyes.

“Th-thanks …” Amy stammered. “I … like you too.”

Pseudo Mom sighed. “You don’t have to force it. I’m here for you, not the other way around.”

“That’s not fair,” Amy argued.

“I punched you out when you were six. Trust me. It’s fair,” Pseudo Mom declared. “What kind of mother even does that?”

“Well, I flicked you in the eye ball first, so it balances out,” Amy shrugged. “Maybe it was objectively wrong, but you were right: if I kept acting like that, I was going to kill someone, sooner or later. Finding out there were actual consequences? That was perfect! It kept me out of a whole heap of stupid!”

“So that’s when you decided to move in a better direction?” asked Pseudo Mom.

“No,” Amy replied. “That’s when I decided to get even sneakier and ease up on the crazy, until I met Norman. He launched the killing blow.”

“Oh … well, I guess it worked out after all!” Pseudo Mom grinned standing up and dropping Amy. “I knew that boy was a good influence, but I had no idea! Also, you should thank me.”

“What? No!” Amy protested. “Squirm more! Feel bad! I’m still mad at you! It was super embarrassing! I got nightmares and matrophobic panic attacks because of you! … Also, more cuddles, pls.”

“‘Grown woman,’ she says,” Pseudo Mom teased.

Amy glanced at the window. ~̸I̶ ̷w̵o̴n̵d̶e̶r̷ ̸i̷f̶ ̸d̴e̸f̴e̶n̶e̵s̸t̵r̸a̶t̴i̴o̶n̵-̶ I should probably close that window. Twilight angels try to fly in at this hour.~

Pseudo Mom narrowed her eyes. “What was that?”

“What was what?” blinked Amy.

“That thought, the thing that flashed through your head just now,” Pseudo Mom clarified.

Amy stared blankly. “Oh … um …”

She rubbed her noggin as though it were possible to caress the answers out of it. Finally, she gave up with a shrug.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Oh, we are definitely getting to the bottom of that,” Pseudo Mom declared.