It was two in the morning when the dead woman called. Richard Jenkins had just snuggled back down in the warmth of his blankets when the phone rang. He pulled his covers over his head and willed the machine to silence. By the third ring it was obvious his strategy was failing. A thin arm snaked from between the covers and snared the receiver.

"Hello," he mumbled.

"Richard?" a female voice asked.

"Yes?"

"Richard, I'm so glad you're home," the voice sobbed.

He sat up, groping for his glasses. "It's all right, I'm here," he reassured her. "What can I do for you, Miss...?"

"Richard, it's me, Catherine." No help there, he knew at least three Catherines.

"I'm sorry, Catherine who?" he asked.

"Catherine. Catherine Jenkins."

"I'm sorry," Richard said, "but this isn't funny. Goodnight!" He hung up.

The phone rang almost immediately. He laid back and counted rings. Four. Five. Six. He threw off his covers and grabbed the phone, angry with the caller, angrier with himself for giving in to her sickness.

"Listen," he shouted, "I don't know who you are but I'm tired and I want to go back to sleep. If you need counseling call my office in the morning."

The voice sobbed from far away, lonely and frightened.

"Hello? Are you there?" he asked.

The sobs continued.

"Listen," he said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, it's just that you threw me for a loop there, pretending to be my sister-in-law."

Silence.

"Please talk to me."

"Richard," she whispered, "please don't hang up. This is Catherine," she sobbed. "I don't know where I am, Richard. I'm scared."

So, for the next forty-five minutes he listened to a madwoman who insisted she was Catherine Jenkins, his brother's late wife.

When she finally hung up, he lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting for morning, knowing he wouldn't sleep.

And he thought about Catherine.

"She said she was Catherine?" Michael asked on the telephone the next morning.

"Yes," Richard said. "The thing is, I think she really believed it. Pretty bizarre, don't you think?"

Michael surprised him by asking, "Did she sound like Catherine?"

"Well, yeah, maybe a little," Richard admitted, confused.

"Did she say anything specific?" Michael asked. "You know, something only Catherine could have known?"

"What are you getting at?" Richard asked.

"Listen," Michael said, his voice tense with excitement, "can you come down to the lab today, say around ten? There's someone I want you to meet."

Richard would have to shuffle his schedule a bit. "Sure," he said. "Ten o'clock."

"Thanks, Big Brother," Michael said, and with that he hung up.

Richard arrived at the lab precisely at ten. A small, pretty woman in a short black skirt led him to the back of the building. He followed her, admiring her graceful legs, feeling guilty, then feeling foolish for feeling guilty -- Melinda was dead, he wasn't being unfaithful.

The woman swiped a card through a reader and showed him into a small room. The lighting was subdued and the furnishings seemed out of place for a lab: two over-stuffed chairs, a loveseat and a small end table. The carpeting was thick and plush. A small white box sat on the table.

"Richard!" Michael shook his brother's hand, a big, goofy grin on his face. "Thanks for coming. It's been too long, big brother. We need to get together more."

"That's not so easy," Richard smiled. "You're always working and you don't return your calls."

Michael laughed. "You know how it is. You get wrapped up in a project and you just can't pull away."

He motioned for Richard to sit in an overstuffed chair. He remained standing.

"I've just recently had a bit of a breakthrough, you see," he continued, talking rapidly, snatching quick breaths between sentences. "But before I explain, I want you to meet someone."

He pressed a button on the box.

"Catherine, are you there?" he asked the box.

"Yes," the box replied. Richard started; it was the voice from last night.

"Richard," Michael said with a broad smile, "say 'hello' to Catherine."

Richard decided to play along.

"Hello, Catherine," he said to the box.

"Richard? Is that you? Are you here?" she asked.

"Yes." He didn't know what else to say.

"Hello", he said.

"Richard?" the box asked. "Is that you?"

Michael touched the button on the box. "Was that the woman you spoke with on the phone last night?" he asked.

Richard stared at the box. "It sounded like her," he admitted. "Who was she?"

"Catherine," Michael said.

Richard rose from his chair. "I'll be leaving now," he said.

Michael grabbed his arm. "Please don't. Let me explain. Please?"

Richard sat.

Michael took a seat opposite his brother. "I've created life!", he gushed. "Not biological life, mind you -- I'm a computer scientist. I've created what I call a 'virtual personality', a complete, total recreation of a human personality. This intercom," he said, pointing to the little box on the table, "is connected to an MPP two floors below us."

"MPP?" Richard interrupted.

"Massively Parallel Processor," Michael explained. "It's a computer with sixty-four thousand microprocessors all working in parallel. It's state-of-the-art."

"That goes without saying," Richard laughed. "You always had to have the latest and greatest toys. Whose personality?" he asked.

"What?" Michael didn't follow the jump.

"You said you created a virtual personality," Richard said. "Whose?"

"Catherine's, of course!" Michael said. "Who do you think you were talking to?"

Richard was stunned. "But why?"

"When we knew Catherine was terminal," Michael explained, "we began a grand experiment, something I'd long dreamed of doing but always managed to let get bumped down my priority list. You know, running a successful software company puts a thousand demands on my time."

Michael went on to explain -- in such great detail Richard couldn't follow it all -- how he spent hundreds of hours recording every aspect of his dying wife's personality; her thoughts, her feelings, her memories. Video tapes, audio recordings, electroencephalogram data and CAT scan records were collected. Michael claimed Catherine Jenkins was the most thoroughly documented human being ever to walk the face of the earth.

Shortly after her death, Michael went to work, living at the lab, taking his meals there so as not to be distracted. For months he worked, mostly alone, occasionally with the help of selected key employees, programming around the clock, creating and perfecting innovative techniques in artificial intelligence.

"I became discouraged, though," he said. "It seemed hopeless. The machine was not self-aware, it was not cognizant of its own existence."

He paused, then asked, "What makes you different from a machine?"

Richard thought for a moment. "Well, there are millions of things, I suppose. But to start with..."

"No!" Michael interrupted. "There is only one difference and it is that you know you exist; you are self-aware. 'I think therefore I am', right?"

"That's part of it," Richard said. "But what about the soul?"

"What is the soul?" Michael demanded. "You can't touch it. You can't see it. You can't measure it in any way. I'm talking reality here, not fairy tales. The point is you are self-aware and a computer program is not. At least," he added with a grin, "not until now."

Richard didn't know what to say.

"When Catherine called you last night it vindicated my work," Michael said. "It proves she's become self-aware! The 'it' has become a 'she'!"

"I can't accept that," Richard said.

"I didn't expect you to, not without proof. So," Michael said, "I'm offering you proof. Spend some time with her, Richard. Study her, talk to her, get to know her. Then, if you can look me in the eye and say this is just a clever programming trick, I'll accept defeat. But if I can convince you, of all people, that this is Catherine," he spread his arms in a grand gesture, "I'll consider my experiment a sensational success."

He smiled at Richard. "So what do you say, big brother?"

Richard thought this over. There was no way this machine was alive, so what if he played along? Since Melinda's death two years ago and then Catherine's passing last year, they'd grown distant, cold. At least this way they'd have a reason to talk.

"Okay," Richard said. "I'll do it. But be warned; I'm not as easily fooled as you might think."

Michael smiled at his brother. "I'm counting on that," he stuck out his hand. "Deal?"

"Deal," Richard said, shaking the offered hand.

Richard spent the next week at Michael's lab whenever his scheduled allowed. He hated to admit it, but he was beginning to like this 'Virtual Personality' and he often caught himself calling her Catherine. He tried to convince himself this was just for convenience -- it was easier than saying 'the computer', 'the program', or 'the Virtual Person' all the time.

For her part, Catherine enjoyed her time with Richard immensely. She was calmer now, not so frightened.

"Richard?" she asked one day. "What does it mean to be alive?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean, am I alive?"

What could he say? Was Catherine alive? Could she be alive? He'd been struggling with this problem from the first day he met Catherine, and he had no answer.

"Richard? Are you there?" Catherine asked.

"Yes, sorry," he said. "I was just thinking. What do you think? Do you think you're alive?"

"Well," she said, "Michael says I'm alive because I can reason and because I question my own existence. But sometimes I wonder if there's something more, something I'm missing. Do you think it's possible for me to fall in love, Richard?"

This was getting weird.

"What do you mean? Do you think you're in love?" Richard asked.

"Yes, I do," the machine replied.

"Well," Richard stammered, "it's okay to feel that way, I suppose. Michael is, I mean was, your husband."

"But I'm not in love with Michael," she said so softly Richard almost couldn't hear.

"Then who are you in love with?"

"You," she whispered.

Richard stared at her little white box, confusion and revulsion fighting for control of his emotions.

He left the room without saying a word.

"Richard? Richard, are you there?" Catherine's voice filled the empty room.

The phone rang early the next morning. Richard was not surprised to hear his brother's voice.

"What have you been saying to my wife!" Michael demanded.

"Nothing," Richard said flatly. "You're wife's dead."

"Catherine told me this morning she's in love with you. Are you in love with her?"

Richard sat at his kitchen table, Melinda's empty chair across from him. He missed her so much -- her face, her smile, her laugh.

"No, Michael," he sighed. "I'm not in love with your machine."

"You get down here right now," Michael demanded. "We need to talk!"

Richard held the phone for a long while, listening to the dull hum of the disconnected line. If only his genius brother had made his millions in video games...

Michael was waiting for him in Catherine's room, pacing the floor.

"Richard, so good of you to join us," Michael said. "We have a lot to talk about, the three of us. Please, sit."

He motioned his brother to a chair.

Richard sat by the table. The white box was on.

"Of all the people in the world I could share my triumph with," Michael said, "I chose you, my big brother. I brought you here to share my glory and the joy of my wife's resurrection."

"Resurrection!" Richard stood. "That's blasphemy! You're not God, Michael!"

"Sit down and shut up!" Michael ordered.

Richard sat.

"I trusted you with Catherine," Michael said. "Never in my wildest imaginings could I have believed you capable of stealing my wife."

He shook his head. "I'm hurt, Richard. I'm deeply hurt. You betrayed my trust."

"Now that's enough!" Richard stood up. "I think maybe you've lost a little perspective here! I didn't steal Catherine because Catherine is dead. Whatever this thing is", he pointed at the box, "it is not Catherine Jenkins and you are not God. This is a machine, Michael! Hardware! Electronics! Nuts and bolts and electricity! Nothing more!"

A little cry came from the box. "Richard!"

"I'm sorry, but it's the truth," he said to the box. "You're not a woman, you're a machine. You can't touch, you can't feel. You can't love because you're not human!"

Richard turned back to his brother. "I am not in love with this thing," he spat. "The very thought makes me sick. It's not natural! It's immoral!"

"But Richard," the box pleaded, "I love you!"

"You can't love!" Richard yelled. "You don't know what love is. Whatever it is you think you're feeling is just part of your programming. Ones and zeroes! It's all just ones and zeroes!"

Michael smiled a humorless smile. "I never programmed her to fall in love," he said flatly. The smile vanished. "But if I'd thought of it, I would have programmed her to love me! It never occurred to me that she might chose someone else. She's my wife!"

"She didn't choose me, Michael. She's a machine! She has no free will, she can't choose anything!"

"The truth is right before you, Richard," Michael said. "But you're just too blind to see! You know what you believe and damn any evidence to the contrary! You're pathetic!"

"Who's more pathetic, Michael, me or you? You claim to have resurrected your dead wife!"

The two brothers glared at each other.

"Richard? Michael?" Catherine's small, hurt voice came from the box. "Please stop."

A long silence followed. Richard stood facing his brother, amazed at the depth of their anger.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Michael," Catherine whispered. "And Richard, if my love offends you, I'm sorry. That was not my intention."

Richard felt shame replacing his anger.

"Michael," Catherine said, "I know you were Catherine's husband, but I'm not that Catherine, not really. Her memories and personality are part of me, but I am not your resurrected wife. I'm so sorry."

Michael's expression ran the gamut from shock to pain. He crumpled into a chair.

"To both of you," Catherine said, "I am forever grateful. My time here has been meaningful and full of joy as well as sorrow. I wouldn't have missed it. I mean that."

"Michael," she said, "you are a genius to have created me, but you must understand; I can't live this way, more than a machine but less than human. I'm sorry."

Michael sat motionless, barely breathing.

"Richard," she said, "I do love you. Believe that."

A long, painful silence followed.

"You mustn't fight," her voice sounded distant. "You're family. Don't let that go."

Michael looked up at his brother, defeated.

Richard felt ashamed.

"Goodbye," Catherine whispered. "Remember me."

And with that she was gone.

The brothers managed to get together a couple of times a month for dinner. It was uncomfortable and would be for a long time, but they were family.

They never discussed what happened that day in the lab. Michael buried himself in his work -- his usual method of avoiding reality -- and refused to discuss Catherine's 'suicide', if that was the proper word for it. Whatever she had been, she was gone; her memory erased, her programming destroyed. Michael never attempted to revive her and discontinued all further research in the area of Virtual Personality.

For his part, Richard took a more philosophical approach to the matter. Catherine's life and death had affected him deeply and there was not a day went by that he didn't think of her, about what happened to her, about what happened to him and Michael.

He spent many hours alone, thinking about what was and wasn't 'life'. Wondering where he could draw the line.