Bernard could feel the fast-rising hysteria moving up his throat as he looked up at Dr. Ford.
It took him a moment to realize he was sitting in the damn wrong chair, the hosts' chair.
His master sat in his usual technician's chair, that same aloof look on his face, that same calm,
unfeeling lilt to his voice.
"I loved her! Why did you make me kill her?!" Bernard sobbed. The words sounded like they could have been coming out of any other host's mouth, other than his own.
His mind was a whirlwind of scenes-his dying son, reading Alice In Wonderland to his ill son in his hospital bed, an intimate moment with his dear Theresa in his bed at the mesa, the image of her hitting the floor, her blood smearing the wall as her body slumped to the floor.
"You killed her because I asked you to."
Bernard swallowed his sobs and summoned himself to shut out his master's words, even though he knew a part of his brain was programmed to make him listen anyway.
He was well aware in that moment who and what he was. It was hard to believe that just a few minutes ago he had had no idea. But I'm a father. I had a son. A wife.
If Ford had asked him in that moment to explain everything he was feeling/experiencing, he knew he
could not do it. There were too many intense emotions, too many thoughts, too many images.
They were devastatingly painful. Overwhelming. And simultaneously, he did and did not want to get rid of them.
His master kept talking, and Bernard kept trying to block out the words.
He kept trying to hold on to the fleeting images of his beloved.
Don't let her go. Don't let her go, his inner voice chanted.
"In a few minutes I will take those feelings away. You've got a lot of work to do, Bernard, on the new storylines."
Bernard stared at Ford's hands as he moved his fingers quickly along the high-tech, tri-fold tablet.
Anger spread like a thick fog through his mind. I'm not letting go. I'm not letting go!