The wake

The many descendants of Winston Jacobs III filed through the doorway of a farmhouse that had hosted soldiers during the American Civil War. They wore black and, apart from Winston ‘Jake’ Jacobs V, who led the procession, they looked vacantly ahead. Their thoughts lay elsewhere.
The antique wooden chairs occupied the corners of the room, leaving space around the dining-room table. Jake stood at the table with his back to the doorway, facing an oil portrait of the original Winston Jacobs in a uniform from the Great War. For more than a century, the family had gathered around this table for holiday dinners. In the reverent silence, a soft hum filled the air.
It’s about his legacy, thought Jake. The family should stay together.
The family nodded and took their seats.
It would be merciful if he never woke up.
That’s horrible. You read the will. You know damn well what he wanted.
The pronouns stung. For generations, there had been no room for I and you in the Jacobs family.
Jake stepped back from the table. He glared at Amelia, who had married into the family two years ago. She had found the codicil and pressured Harold into pursuing it.
Why did Harold have to marry? She wasn’t right for him, not for this family.
“Shut up!” said Amelia, aloud. She glanced at Harold, who shifted his feet and watched the floor. Her fist clenched around a sheet of paper.

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“I think I speak for all of us,” said Jake, “when I say that my grandfather’s wishes are what matters. We all knew that we might never find a cure. We came to terms with that.”
It isn’t right. Even hardened criminals and murderers deserve —
Shut up, for heaven’s sake!
“We all know what it says,” said Amelia. She read from the paper. “If, in 50 years’ time there is no cure for my neurological anomaly, I am to be revived from suspended animation to live out the remainder of my natural life.”
The teenage and lanky Winston Jacobs VII stood without a word.
“Look,” said Jake. “You’re upsetting Seven. Besides, it’s time.” He looked pointedly at Seven, who nodded and left the room with him.
Jake and Seven returned a moment later from the master bedroom, wheeling a gurney into the dining room. Winston Jacobs III, wearing the same suit as when they first put him on the slab, lay atop it with his arms folded on his chest. The family worked together to carry his gaunt body from the gurney to the table.
Jake placed a biomonitor on his wrist. Heart rate: none. Breaths per minute: zero. He placed a patch on his grandfather’s forearm, just above the monitor. The monitor beeped a steady cadence. Slowly, the old man’s cheeks regained their colour.
“Grandpa,” said Jake, after what seemed like ages. “Can you hear me?”
Seven’s eyes widened, as if he’d seen a ghost.
It’s all right. You can’t feel his thoughts, but he’s in there.
Winston Jacobs III coughed.
“Junior?” he said. “No … Jakey, but you’re all grown up. Has it been 50 years already?”
Jake knelt beside him.
“We’re sorry, Grandpa. We tried to find a cure, but we failed. The neural synchronization field won’t work on you.”
Alone forever …
Seven shuddered visibly.
It’s all right, Seven.
Seven placed his fingertips on the old man’s forehead as if the physical contact might transmit thoughts.
“He doesn’t speak,” said Jake. “A lot of kids his age don’t, not if they’re raised in synced families. He’s worried you’ll be alone.”
“Alone?” The old man chuckled. “I’m here with all of you, ain’t I?”
“He means when you … pass away. If your thoughts aren’t synchronized with someone else’s, your consciousness will go away forever.”
Even condemned criminals sync with a chaplain at the end. Their souls have refuge.
Shut up!
“Oh, that,” said the old man. “It doesn’t bother me much. Junior tried to talk me into that years ago.” Sadness flickered on the old man’s features. “I don’t suppose Junior and Eloise are …? No. They wouldn’t be after 50 years, would they, unless they went into stasis like I did.”
A lifetime of memories echoed through the room.
“Mom and Dad are still here,” said Jake. “In every one of us.”
“I’ll be damned,” said the old man. “Junior gave me the same look you’re giving me now, 50 years ago. No need to pity me. Just help me sit up, will you? I feel like some sort of science experiment, lying here with everybody hovering over me.”
Jake and Seven helped him sit up with his legs hanging off the side of the table, face-to-face with the original Winston Jacobs.
“That’s better. What I want to tell you all is that I appreciate the chance to see everybody and I’m glad you kept the house up all these years, but I’m happy being alone with my thoughts. I always have been.”
Amelia gloated wordlessly until Harold elbowed her in the ribs.
Seven eyed Jake expectantly.
“What about your memories?” asked Jake. “Wouldn’t your grandfather have wanted us to preserve all your memories of him?”
“Grandpa? When I was a kid, he wouldn’t even let us turn on the radio when he was in the room. The spooky voices unnerved him. He saw more than his fair share during the war, and I think he was ready to let his memories rest.”
The old man saw disappointment in Seven’s eyes. He motioned for Seven to come closer.
“You don’t see much point in talking do you, son?”
Seven and a few nearby family members shook their heads in unison.
“Fair enough. Maybe you won’t mind listening for a while.” He looked up at the portrait as his family gathered around him. “I was sitting right where you are now, on the day that men first walked on the Moon …