“Stop,” Cameron says.
“Why?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. He of all people should understand after helping me escape. I will not be slow and malleable and content. I will not wait for someone to come. This time, I will be ready by myself. I’m used to people watching me. What’s he going to say? Alina was looking under the couch? So what. It would be stupid if I didn’t. It would be a waste of time for us to stand here staring at each other, pretending like I am not still being held against my will.
There are four lantern-shaped lamps that I’m assuming are battery powered. Inside each is a tiny lightbulb. I wonder if they will break. When they’re on, I wonder if they will burn. I try to pry the top off one, but it’s glued on pretty tightly. I look for anything that will shatter into shards that I can store in the pockets of my pants until someone opens the front door.
They are not careful enough.
Everything is a weapon.
I will not stay here long.
“Stop,” he says again, but lower. “Before he comes out.”
My eyes lock with his, and I wonder, not for the first time, what he’s doing here. I place the lantern back on the counter, wondering just how far I can push him, trust him. “Just …,” I say, “one more thing.”
I take the rope off the counter, and Cameron comes closer, his hands held out like he must stop me from something, but he’s not sure what. Like I might use it on him. I’m not stronger than he is, I know I’m not. But still, he comes closer as I walk toward the couch with it.
“Don’t,” he whispers, but I have no idea what he wants me to stop doing, or why. He has my elbow in a grip just as I’m lifting a couch cushion, and he looks completely confused but doesn’t let go. I shove the rope under the cushion with my free hand and drop it back down just as Dominic enters the room again.
“Wow,” he says, eyeing Cameron with his hand on me, standing perfectly still, so close I can feel his breath on the side of my face. “What the hell happened in that trunk? No, don’t tell me, I bet I know.”
My entire face is burning. I know what he’s going to say from the way he’s leering at me. I shouldn’t be ashamed of kissing him. I did it to distract him, so I’d have a moment to think, to act.
I kissed him, and then I ruined him, and I cannot look him in the eye. I can’t look at Cameron either.
“She got carsick,” Cameron says, a second before Dominic speaks. “And then she hiked four miles across the state border.” My pulse races, because he’s giving me information. I know he knows it, too. And he hasn’t said anything about the rope or my search of the room. “She needs something to eat.”
I pull my arm away, let my eyes wander the room like I’m mindlessly assessing it. I know better than to hope blindly, but I relish the information.
I will use it.
Casey pokes her head out of the back room, swinging the door open. “All set,” she says. But she doesn’t smile, and so neither do I.
There’s something humming in a back room. It sounds like ten refrigerators, and I really hope that’s the case, because I really am starving. On the island, someone would’ve brought me food by now. Someone would’ve made sure I had enough.
My stomach growls and my legs are shaky from the hike, but all thought of food leaves my mind as I enter the room behind Cameron. There’s a generator, I think. Something to power this place, so far off the grid. It’s humming, and the computer it’s hooked up to is humming, too. There’s another machine with a computer screen attached, but it’s long and rectangular and has a pin dropping out of an alcove in the middle, currently resting in a beaker of something. Maybe water. Maybe not. But the most uncomfortable part of this room is not the things that are unfamiliar. It’s the thing I know: a narrow cot, a metal tray covered in Saran Wrap, a box of gauze, a bottle of disinfectant.
Dominic comes up behind me and places a hand on my tense shoulder. “Relax, Alina, it won’t hurt much.”
But my shoulders go tense because I don’t understand. “What the hell is this?” I ask. Nobody looks me in the eye. “Casey?” I say, but she keeps herself busy at the screen. Dominic wanted a sample from me in my room as well. He didn’t tell me why then either. “Cameron?” I say.
Cameron cuts his eyes to Dominic. “I thought you said she wanted this,” he says.
“Wanted what?” I ask, panic rising, rage rising. “Wanted what? You think I’m not her?”
Dom looks at me with something close to compassion. “No, I know you’re her. Calm down, Alina,” he says, but that only succeeds in making me even less calm, because he’s also blocking the door.
We all know June’s soul is mine; what more do they intend to see? There is nothing else to see. That’s the problem with soul fingerprinting. We still don’t know what it can do, what it can tell us. All we can do is find a match.
There have been several studies on the nature of the soul, but it’s not information that comes from the soul fingerprint itself—there’s no secret revealed in the readout; it’s like seeing a DNA strand but having no idea what it codes for. The only way science has learned anything so far is by linking the soul with a person, monitoring each generation, and seeing what traits correlate from life to life. Science explains the correlations the same way it explains DNA markers. In the same way that some sequences in a DNA chain indicate an increased likelihood of developing certain multifactor diseases like Alzheimer’s, there’s no certainty. And here, they’re not even using hard facts—no markers in the soul fingerprint they extract in the spinal fluid itself. The “markers” they use as evidence are personality tests, self-surveys, or in the case of the famous study, specific types of criminal records tied to each soul. But there are only a few generations in the database, and it’s no secret that even these so-called markers are flawed. People could be committing crimes and not getting caught. People could be caught and not convicted. People could be framed. But it’s the best they can do. A human being isn’t quantifiable. So they study those markers from generation to generation to assess the correlation. Seems a lot less like science to me. Most of the results were reported during June’s lifetime.
They already know the nature of my soul.
The only thing they can get from that needle is knowledge they already have.
Dominic flips a switch on the side of the rectangular box, and the liquid in the beaker begins to disappear, sucked inside the machine as it stutters to life. “It’s time to see exactly what you’re worth, Alina Chase.”
Chapter 9
“No.” I back up toward the door, but Dominic is blocking my way.
Cameron turns around but doesn’t look at me. “She doesn’t want this.”
Dominic comes closer and says, “Of course she wants this. She’s June. This isn’t to hurt you, Alina. It’s to access your money.”
“What money?” I ask, even as the pieces are falling into place. I know what he’s trying to do, to see if June has left herself an inheritance. But to check funds, to transfer funds, you need to have this procedure done at a bank to prevent fraud.
It’s rare, truth be told. Most everyone leaves their assets to their children, their spouses, their loved ones. It’s only the lonely people who do this. The people who have no one else. Something cold settles through my bones, and I hope that the account is empty.
“Won’t it be frozen anyway?” I ask.