Rachel shuddered. “Just keep her away from Michigan Avenue. I don’t want her spoiling anything for us. Cassi’s always filling out those stupid giveaway cards. It’s about time she actually won something nonpathetic. They’re sending a car for us on Friday.” She paused with a frown. “I hope the driver knows to bring spring water—the carbonated kind, not that cheap regular stuff.”
Then she turned and stalked off toward the elevator. I felt Dr. Jacobs’s attention return to me.
I chucked the toilet paper into the tiny plastic trash can (white, just like everything else in here) and resumed my place on the floor, forgetting until I was in position that I’d already done sit-ups and my stomach was not in a forgiving mood.
“That was more emotive than you’ve been in a while,” Jacobs said conversationally as I forced myself through another set of five.
I didn’t know whether he meant my shouting at Rachel earlier or the vomiting on the floor, but I wasn’t going to ask.
What he said sounded like a statement, but I knew better. It was bait with a bright, shiny hook buried inside. He’d been trying to get me to talk for weeks now, to open up, as he said.
A horrible idea that brought to mind the image of my skull being cracked open with everything spilling out for further examination, speculation, and admiration of his handiwork.
I gave a shake of my head, more to myself than him. No, damn it. My feelings and thoughts were mine, at least. The only things that were, in this place. And I was going to keep them.
Instead, I lay on the floor, giving my abused muscles a break, and retrained my efforts on the other side of my new exercise regime. With barely any exertion, I had my cot suspended above me again, along with my initial stack of books, gathered and reassembled in midair. Once, something like this would have been difficult for me and the results unpredictable. The lightbulbs overhead would have blown and anything not bolted down would have been shaking and shifting.
Not anymore. Amazing what grim, uncompromising determination would do for you.
“Your improvement is quite impressive, particularly for such a short amount of time,” Jacobs said, after a moment. “Then again, I suppose that might be due to your newly acquired motivation.”
I went still, and the books wobbled slightly. Was that an oblique reference to Zane’s death? If Jacobs had guessed my intention to raze Project Paper Doll to the ground, personnel included, I wasn’t sure what he would do. He needed me to compete in the trials but certainly not at the risk of loss, humiliation, and death.
I let out my breath slowly, straining to maintain an impassive expression. Steady, stay steady. I wasn’t sure if I was talking to my cot and the books or myself.
“Your desire to seek vengeance against Ford is understandable,” he continued. “And I certainly can’t argue with the results.”
I relaxed. That was a logical assumption on his part. Of course I would blame the person who pulled the trigger on the bullet that had killed Zane. In Dr. Jacobs’s arrogant mind, that was the only reasonable response. No way would I hold him responsible. He hadn’t hurt anyone.
Except me. Over and over again, in almost every way possible. He had vastly underestimated the depths of my anger and desire for retaliation.
A grim smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. His loss. Or, it would soon be.
Yes, Ford had shot Zane, but it had been unintentional, a by-product of her attempt at self-defense against Laughlin’s guards. Zane’s death was her fault only because she, like me, was a pawn in this game Jacobs and Laughlin were playing with us.
“But we,” Dr. Jacobs said with a wink at me, as if we were somehow collaborating, “need you to be you. Everything that makes you special, not some flesh-and-blood robot.” He made a disgusted noise at the idea and then smiled at me as if I understood what he was talking about.
Which I didn’t. Not at first. Robot? What?
Then, suddenly, his meaning clicked. Oh. If I were too much like Ford, too obviously different, inhuman and nonemotional, his methodology wouldn’t shine through, demonstrating the obvious advantages of his technique (i.e., she walks, talks, even smiles just like a real human, but she’s not!) over that of his competitor, Dr. Laughlin.
And that, in turn, explained Rachel’s persistent presence. Rachel had the ability to crawl beneath my skin and set up camp, like a rash that would not go away. She irritated me, to the extreme. He’d been counting on her for that, to force me to react and dissolve the walls I’d put up around my feelings.
He wanted to make sure that if he pricked me, I’d still bleed. Especially in front of the audience we would have waiting for us at the trials.
And I’d fallen right in line with his plan.
A fresh cascade of self-hatred washed over me, and I let my cot and books fall to the floor.
I stood on shaking legs to turn my back on Dr. Jacobs’s gloating face. He’d won, yet again.
“You’ll be pleased to hear that Private Zadowski is being released from the hospital today,” he said smugly.