"Locke?"
Exceptional. I'm four inches taller now than I was before. More muscular. No cowlicks. My teeth several shades whiter--and straighter. Green flecks in my eyes. Were they ever really there? I had assumed the differences were by accident, but Dr. Gatsbro leaves nothing to chance.
Miesha walks over to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. "I don't know what she said to you, but I want to warn you right now, Locke, she's trouble."
I try to focus on what she's saying. Does Miesha know? But that doesn't mean I always like what I see.
"Locke, listen to me. I've tried to treat you both the same, but something isn't right with her. She didn't come through this like you did. Are you listening to me? Something's not right with her."
I stare at Miesha, her words reaching me, it seems, seconds after her mouth has stopped moving. I grab both of her arms. "Of course something isn't right! She's been trapped in a box for over two hundred years, Miesha!" My hands thrash, Miesha's head bobs. "Our families are gone! Every person on the planet we ever knew is gone! And now we learn that the only reason we're even here is to help sell Gatsbro Technology! We're not people--we're floor models! You're right, Miesha! Something is very not right!"
"Locke, you're hurting me."
I look at my hands squeezing her arms. I am stronger than I ever remember being before. I pull my hands away and see the red marks I've left. I turn and run back to the house.
I hear Miesha calling after me, but I don't stop.
Chapter 11
I lie on my bed looking at the ceiling. I don't know how much time has passed. Did I lapse? I don't even remember running to my room, but my breaths are still coming short and fast.
Is Kara really leaving? She can't. Dr. Gatsbro won't allow it. My fingers dig into my scalp. I try to push my thoughts into some kind of order that makes sense. Was that his plan all along? To keep us hidden here while he invited wealthy customers out to view his exceptional creations?
I sit up. Is that all we are? Creations? It's the question that's been simmering under the surface ever since I woke, the one I push away again and again. But my mind is my own. Dr. Gatsbro may have provided us with bodies--maybe he even owns them--but he didn't create my mind. He can never own that. My mind is my own, even if nothing else is.
What did he plan to do? Charge to store minds in the event his wealthy clients met with a sudden accident? And then they'd drop in for periodic mind updates like they were going to a freaking spa? Was this their insurance against mortality? And then the ultimate payoff--new and improved bodies?
That's why we have no end date. He plans to keep us for a long time.
I race through the last several months, trying to look for more clues. How did I miss them? But he was good to us. He gave us anything we wanted. The best of everything. He delivered us from our hellhole. Maybe Kara is wrong. Maybe she's leading me down a dangerous path of reasoning. Maybe it's not how she thinks it is at all. Maybe we're both wrong. Think, Locke. Don't overreact. Don't be impulsive.
We need to talk this out. I have to find Kara before it's too late. I spring off my bed and hurry down the hall.
"Kara?" I whisper through her door, knocking softly. I don't want to attract Hari or Miesha or, worse, Dr. Gatsbro. There is no answer. I try the door, and it opens. "Kara," I call, this time louder. I do a quick search of her room. She's gone.
I leave her door open and step softly down the hallway, looking in empty rooms. Antiques. Odd collections. No Kara. The house is quiet, not even the distant clatter of dishes or footsteps. Where is everyone?
I check behind me again and then walk a little farther. I am only steps from Dr. Gatsbro's study when I hear the faint ticking of his antique clock. Maybe he's still in the solarium with Mr. Jafari. I plan only to pass by the open doorway to proceed down the hall, but when I glance in, something catches my eye. The heavy glass cube that's usually on his desk is on the floor. And then I spot something else, something far more disturbing.
A hand.
I look around me--behind, in front, in all directions--to be sure no one is watching and quickly slip into the study. The hand is on the floor, sticking out from behind the desk, fingers curled upward like no life is left in them. I already know who they belong to, but I walk around the desk and look down at the rest of the body to be sure. Dr. Gatsbro lies motionless, blood pooling beneath his head, papers that look like contracts strewn on the floor around him.
My God, what has she done?
"Locke."
I spin around, and Kara is in the doorway. She has changed her clothes. Traveling clothes. Her face is chiseled calm. "What have you done, Locke?"
"Me? My God, Kara--"
"It doesn't matter." She walks in, heading for the desk. "This is our chance to leave." She begins pulling out drawers, quickly rummaging through them.
I pull her hands away and slam the drawer shut. "We can't just leave him like this! He might not be dead yet."
"What? You want me to finish him off for you?"
"Kara, I didn't do this. We both know--"
"Take a good look, Locke! He's dead. Trust me. Now move your hand! We're getting out of here. We don't have much time."
I don't move.
"Have you ever seen prisons on Vgrams, Locke?"
I shake my head.
"I didn't think so. There's a reason we never saw them. Cole told me. It's a hundred times worse than where we were. And we wouldn't be together." Her face softens. "Isn't that all we need? After all we've been through? To always be together? How long would it be before Gatsbro replaced one of us with an updated model?"
She pulls the drawer past my hand and resumes throwing out cards and everything else she deems useless.
"There are no card keys or codes, Kara. Cars are different now. They're all voice or body-scan activated."
She stops her pillaging, turning over this new development. "Body scan." She closes the drawer and absently runs her finger across her upper lip, thinking. Her eyes shift from the floor to me. "Does the body have to be alive?"
"I have no idea if--" I step back, understanding her meaning. "No. No! We are not going to haul his body out to the car."
"You're right. That would create too much noise. But"--she turns and looks down at Dr. Gatsbro--"a finger wouldn't be hard to carry. Would that work? Just a finger?"