Chapter Eighteen
Sharp drafts of wind cut through my hair and sneak into my helmet, caressing my cheeks like whispering fingertips. The sun is shining, sending a swath of light between the skyscrapers that cast shadows along either side of the street. Despite the bite in the air, I’m warm inside my jacket. Between my thighs, the motorcycle thrums as we accelerate out of traffic. Any other day, the experience of riding with Linc would be thrilling. Today, it is impossible to enjoy.
The anxious thumping against my chest threatens to drown out the hum of the motorcycle’s engine. Not for what I’ve left behind—Titus was distracted enough by his newest prisoner to let me go without much explanation this morning—but for what we’re headed toward. I have no idea what we’ll find at the address Melanie has given, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m heading into something that will be impossible to walk away from.
Red brake lights dot the road ahead, but Linc barely slows as he darts around bumpers and weaves between commuters. I am anonymous behind my helmet but I stare back at the curious drivers who scowl as we speed past. In no time, we navigate through the congestion and break free onto the roads that lead to the outskirts. These streets are far less traveled. I’m not sure if it’s because so few people here own cars or that anyone who does can afford to work uptown.
We slow for a right turn. The street sign is chipped and weathered, barely hanging on to its steel frame. I can just make out letters that spell “Waverly” before it’s lost behind me. These buildings are long and squat, three stories at most. None of them display numbers so we do a lap and circle back.
Linc slows and raises his visor. “You see it?”
“No.”
He angles toward the shoulder and pulls to a stop. I slide off and remove my helmet, shaking my hair free. Beside me, Linc removes his own helmet and stares up and down the street, frowning.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s … empty.”
He’s right. Not a single vehicle—not even foot traffic penetrates from the main road we left a block away. The quiet is eerie. The stillness suggests … purpose.
“Do you think—?” My words are cut off by a scraping noise. I whip around but there is nothing there. I stare at a corner of the building I can’t see around.
The scraping comes again, like feet dragging. A face appears at the very edge of the wall, two eyes peering at us from around the corner. I go still. Slowly, the face emerges far enough that I can make it out. “Anna.”
Linc and I share a look. We are here.
“Anna,” I call again, louder.
She steps clear of the corner and waits there. The minute I move toward her, Linc’s hand is on my wrist pulling me back. “Wait.”
“Linc, it’s her. Melanie was telling the truth.”
“We don’t know what we’re walking into.”
I don’t want to admit I shared his sentiment only moments ago. Instead, I stick out my chin, determined that he is wrong. This is safe. I am supposed to be here. “I know Anna. She won’t hurt me.”
He scowls and slides his hand down until it joins mine. I hold fast. Together, we walk forward. Anna watches us from the shadows, her eyes darting in every direction as we approach. I can feel the tension in Linc as he squeezes my hand. I force mine to remain relaxed—a sign of my own certainty, though I’m not certain at all. Not with Anna biting her lip and looking for trouble behind my left shoulder.
“I’m glad to see you again,” I tell her with forced cheeriness.
At my words, the lines in her forehead smooth over and her shoulders relax. “Same,” she says. “I wasn’t sure Melanie would come through. Well, we can’t stay out here. Come on.”
We follow her into the alley. Shadows grow and then cross, throwing everything into what feels like murky twilight though it’s not yet noon. We pass a set of Dumpsters that leave a stench in their wake. My nose wrinkles.
Empty crates and debris litter the walkway. I step over several until I’m forced to go around a larger set. The scraping sound from earlier comes again. I jerk my head toward it so fast, I almost trip. With Linc’s help, I steady myself and catch up to Anna who waits in an open doorway. The metal frame has a thick coating of rust. It flakes off in tiny slivers, golden dust motes in the rotten air.
“Ven,” Linc murmurs, the single word packed full of wariness.
“I know,” I say as we walk forward.
Warm, stuffy air hits me the moment I cross the threshold. The scraping comes again as the door slides closed. Anna leans on it, shoving with her entire body. She grunts and heaves until the latch clicks shut. Then she slides a giant deadbolt into place.
We’re sealed in.
I try not to think of it that way. I know Linc could open it if need be. But there’s no way we could exit in a hurry. I don’t allow myself to imagine possible reasons for a quick exit.
“This way,” Anna says.
Linc blocks her path before she can move. “No way. We’re not going any farther until you give us some answers.”
“Melanie should’ve—” Anna begins, but Linc cuts her off.
“Melanie’s a liar. We want the truth.”
Anna’s expression tightens but she nods. “I understand your concern. Melanie can be … self-involved. I’ll explain everything. Answer all of your questions. But first, I want you to meet someone.”
Linc’s voice is a few inches lighter when he asks, “Who?”
“His name’s Morton. He’s been out of the City longer than anyone. Whatever questions you’ve got, he’s the one with the answers.” She shrugs. “I’m just a guest.”
“How many of you are here?” Linc asks.
“A lot.” Linc opens his mouth, probably to argue for specifics, but Anna shakes her head. “I’m not giving you that kind of information without assurances. Talk to Morton first. Alone. Then I’ll tell you what you want to know about the others.” Her voice is firm, her gaze unwavering as it holds Linc’s. No one breathes. The silence echoes around us. I squeeze Linc’s hand.
Finally, Linc exhales and his shoulders relax. “All right, Anna. Take us to Morton.”
A darkened hallway winds to the right. Anna leads the way, our steps muffled by a thick coating of dirt on the floor. The air becomes heavier the farther we walk. Even the silence seems muffled. We pass several open doorways leading into small, boxy rooms. They must’ve been offices at one time. Now they’re empty, save for the second-hand sunlight filtering in through high windows. Anna stops at the last door. It’s open halfway and she pushes it wide with her knuckles as she knocks.
“Morton,” she says, though I can’t see over her shoulders to who she’s addressing.
Furniture creaks and feet shuffle as someone rises. More shuffling and then Anna moves aside and I see him.
I blink and force myself not to step back. The man before me is dark-skinned and tall. He is easily the largest man I’ve ever seen. Not large like Marla—large like someone has taken boulders and placed them underneath his skin. There are defined mounds where his shoulders and biceps should be and sinewy veins running the length of his forearms. Through the fabric of his shirt, his chest is broad and hard like the rest of him. Despite his formidable size, he is smiling.
“Ven,” he says in a deep baritone. “It is an honor to meet you.” His voice is accented with something I don’t recognize. It makes him sound only slightly less scary than he looks.
He holds out a hand three times the size of my own. I take it gingerly, expecting to be crushed under his grip, but he is surprising delicate with me. Rough calluses line his palm and scrape against my skin. He drops my hand, the smile still in place though somewhat smaller, like a secret, when he turns to Linc. “And you must be the bodyguard I’ve heard so much about.”
“I am with Ven,” Linc says in a clipped voice. The words are meant to be a simple agreement to Morton’s statement but a ripple of pleasure goes through me at what else he’s inferred.
Morton nods. “Please, come in and sit.” He gestures to a faded loveseat underneath a high window. “I’m afraid our accommodations aren’t the nicest in town. But they’re the least threatening, I assure you.”
He doesn’t wait for Linc or me to comply before he turns to Anna. “How’s the arm, mon ami?”
“It’s fine,” Anna insists.
“Let me see.” His tone is a gentle rebuke. Anna, head hanging, lifts her arm to Morton. He peels away the bandage that covers the place where her GPS should be. His face scrunches as he inspects the raised wound. “When was the last time you changed the dressing?”
“Yesterday,” Anna says, her voice high-pitched and not at all believable. Morton sighs.
“I’ve told you about taking care of this. My equipment, this facility, isn’t sterile. The procedure is risky enough without adding to it the fact that you aren’t cleaning it properly. It’s on the verge of infection.”
Anna sighs. I suspect she’s heard all this before. Morton presses the bandage back into place. “Go see Rudy. He’ll help you clean it and apply a fresh dressing.”
“But Ven—”
“Will be all right,” he finishes. “Come find us when you’re done and you can show them around.”
Anna promises she will and then slips out. I scoot closer to Linc so our legs press against each other and take his hand again. Morton’s done nothing threatening but it’s difficult not to take notice of how much he fills empty space.
Morton lowers himself into the creaky desk chair and links his fingers, resting his hands over his abdomen. “I am not sure what Melanie told you about us but I am very glad you’ve come.”
“She said she’s been helping to hide you from Titus and the rest of the Authentics,” I say slowly.
“True enough. She’s helped us a great deal.” It’s obvious from the tone of his voice there is more he isn’t saying.
“But?” Linc prompts.
“Melanie’s what I call … an aggressive thinker. She would like to see more action, I think, than the rest of us are looking for just yet.”
“What are you looking for?” I ask. It is a bottom-line question. One that, depending on the answer, will decide whether I can matter here.
“The same thing we’re all looking for. Freedom.”
I don’t answer. I can’t think of what should come next now that he’s said it.
“But you don’t want to fight?” Linc asks. Morton shifts to look at Linc and I can breathe again.
“Fighting offers the sad consequence of dying all too often. I want to live. To enjoy my freedom.”
“So you hide here? In a vacant warehouse? Doesn’t seem much like living to me.”
“Linc,” I say.
“No, he’s right,” Morton says. “It isn’t. But it’s better than Twig City. And it’s better than playing a role for the Authentics.”
I nod. Even though this place is dank and dirty and makes me itch, he’s right. I’d rather live here than with Titus any day. I ask the second-most important question. “How did you get away?”
Morton rubs a hand over his cheek and chin. I hear the scratch of stubble against his rough palms. “From my earliest days in Twig City, I remember feeling … conflicted. I would act all of the right ways in front of the overseers. Give my best effort during physical activity. Eat right. Say all the right things to my examiner. ‘I was created to serve.’ I had the whole spiel perfected. But something inside me was drifting another way. I doubted. I didn’t like my purpose. I didn’t like being told what to feel—or that I couldn’t feel. I wanted to be more. Do more. I wanted a choice.”
He pauses long enough to catch my eye. His expression is deadly serious. “Do you have any idea what I mean, Ven?”
“I think so,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He continues. “They call it a deviation. I was the first. Or the first to deviate and live, anyway. I was four years made when I received my note from Marla. It was the scariest piece of paper I’d ever held. I think even my bones shook on that walk to her office that day.”
Linc squeezes my hand. Maybe he suspects how hard this is.
“My Authentic is a professional athlete. Apparently he’s also prone to a bad temper and overindulging in his drink. One night, he argued with the wrong person and was subsequently stabbed. My mission was to take his place in the hospital so he could recover safely, without the threat of someone coming back to finish the job. I must’ve done a hell of a job playing my part in the City because when I got here, I was shown to my hospital room and left alone except for medical staff. Four days later, in the middle of the night, I got up and walked out.”
“What about your GPS?” I ask. “And the kill switch?”
He shows me the underside of his forearm. A small white line mars his chocolate skin. “They are both built into one device. I used the hospital’s tools to remove it.”
My jaw opens. I am a little disgusted but mostly impressed. “You cut it out yourself?”
“They injected me with pain medication for a stab wound I didn’t have. I didn’t feel a thing. At least not right away. I managed to keep infection out and eventually it healed.”
“Then what?” I can’t help being enthralled with his story. With the courage it took to walk away—to deviate, as he calls it.
“I found my way down here to the outskirts. The people here are poor but they have heart. Not like the people in uptown. Still, I was repeatedly recognized, mistaken for my recovering Authentic. I sought out vacant apartment buildings and warehouses, and I stayed there until something—or someone—made me move on.”
“How long ago did you leave?” I ask.
“Five years.”
“You’ve been hiding down here for five years? Alone?” I am awed and saddened by such long-term loneliness. In my case, it is a lifetime.
“I haven’t been alone for some time. Although we are always looking for new friends.” He smiles and it is an encouraging sort of smile, though I can’t help but feel he’s searching for something.
“You want to be friends with me,” I say, my words somewhere between a statement and a question. “Why?”
“You can help us obtain our freedom.”
“I don’t see how there’s anything I can do. Titus watches me—”
“The creator is evil. He wants to use us and if he cannot, he wants to crush us. Don’t you want to be free of him?”
“Yes. I want that more than anything.” I stare at the white scar on Morton’s arm.
“Good, because I don’t think we can do it without you.”
His words are off. They don’t sound like what I am hoping for. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Melanie was the last Authentic among us. Now that Titus has her, it’s only a matter of time until he finds out about this place. I know we must move, but I am out of locations large enough to accommodate.”
“I don’t see how I can help. I’m not Authentic.”
“True. But they think you are. And we need someone on the outside. Someone who can move freely. Someone with access to the creator himself.”
I’m not surprised. Only disappointed. I know what he’s asking of me. He wants me to go back. To play my role. My chest sinks into my stomach. It is not what I’d hoped for in coming here. I realize that now. I’d hoped for instant freedom. I’d even braced myself for the idea of allowing someone to take a blade to my arm. I would happily never go back. But this … this is asking so much more.
Linc twists his body so he’s facing me. His free hand cups my cheek and he leans in. “I know you want to run, Ven. That you thought this was your chance. I know you don’t want to go back, but …”
I give myself three more seconds of disappointment before I blink the wetness away and stick my chin out. I look at Morton first, then Linc. “But I want to matter,” I whisper.
Linc’s jaw tightens and I know it’s determination for what we’re both agreeing to. “I know.”
I face Morton again. “I’ll do it until I can’t anymore. That’s all I can promise.”
His tone is a mixture of pleasure and regret. “That’s all I can ask.”
“How many are there?” Linc asks. I appreciate that he gets right down to logistics. It leaves me less time for hating the fact that I am leaving here with a GPS in my arm and a destination of the one place I hate most in the entire world.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Morton tells him. “Our numbers have grown so much in the past few weeks. At the end, Daniel brought home a new Imitation every couple of days.”
“I still can’t believe that asshole is one of the good guys,” Linc mutters, shaking his head.
“I know what he tried to do to you,” Morton says quietly. “Both of you. And while I don’t condone his actions, I don’t think good and evil are that black and white. The methods always look muddy to bystanders. I would do anything to protect my people. To some, that might paint me as evil. To me, it means standing up for the ones I love.”
I decide Morton must not know the entire story of Daniel’s actions or he wouldn’t be so quick to defend him. Or if he does, maybe Morton isn’t entirely good, either. It’s something to consider but it doesn’t change my decision. Because he is right about one thing. These are my people. And I will do what I must to protect them.
“Everyone here has had their GPS removed?” I ask.
“Yes. Before they are allowed to enter. But yours …”
“Will have to stay,” I finish, hating the way the words taste on my tongue.
“For now,” Linc adds. I send him a grateful half smile.
“Will Titus know you were here?” Morton asks.
Linc and I both shake our heads. “No, I’ve already redirected the tracker. It will look like she was shopping downtown all morning,” Linc says.
“Excellent.”
Someone raps on the door and pushes it open. Anna walks in, a fresh bandage on her arm. “Oh, good, you’re still here,” she says when she sees Linc and me on the loveseat. “So, are you going to help?”
“I’ll do my best,” I tell her.
She smiles and I am reminded of our morning interactions back in Twig City. Something in my chest yanks sideways. “Morton,” I begin slowly. I select my words carefully because the question matters just as much as the answer. “Do you think … I mean, when you say freedom, are we speaking only of the Imitations on the outside, or the ones still in the City as well?”
He regards me very seriously and gives his cheek stubble another long rub before answering. “I am certain that we cannot free one without the other.”
His words wind through me, a vine leaving seeds of hope planted along the way. I think of Ida and Lonnie and for the first time since leaving, the ache in my chest doesn’t feel terminal. Morton and I share a smile.
“Can I show them around now?” Anna asks.
“Please do,” Morton says. “I’ll catch up in a moment.”
I walk close beside Linc as we follow Anna down a wide hallway with concrete walls. The air here is stale and I try to imagine living cooped inside these damp walls every single day.
“I’m really glad you stayed,” Anna says as we walk. “I was so afraid you’d leave after Morton told you everything. Especially after what an ass Daniel was to you. And Melanie trying to kill you. That must’ve sucked.”
Sucked. Yes. “It was difficult,” I say.
I wonder what she thought would be so scary about Morton’s story. None of it seemed particularly daunting or game-changing. If anything, I feel justified in my own desire to be free. I don’t have time to ask. Up ahead, someone coughs and my nerves jangle.
We pass through an archway and the space opens around us. The walls on either side extend far enough I can’t make out the graffitied words on either end from where I stand in the center. Weak light filters in through grimy windows two stories above my head. It is enough for me to see that we are no longer alone—and far outnumbered.
My feet lurch to a stop even as Anna continues into the room. Beside me, I hear Linc’s intake of breath. It matches my own. Whatever number of Imitations I’d expected to see, this is far greater.
The warehouse is full.
Many of them are in the process of rolling up blankets that have been laid out on the floor. One by one, they rise and stare, their faces a sea of curiosity and wariness. I don’t have to see their markings to know what they are. The soft expression on their faces, the void in their eyes—absent of exposure to the world—tells me every single one is an Imitation. In this moment, I cannot remember why I ever doubted my purpose. Freedom is the next best thing to being human.
I become aware of how hard I’m squeezing Linc’s hand.
“It’s all right. Don’t be afraid,” Linc murmurs.
“I’m not afraid,” I tell him honestly. “I’m home.”
*
Acknowledgements
The concept of Imitation was born from wandering my local library, so, first, I must say thank you to Princess Anne Library. I love the wandering and the smell of ideas in the form of shelved books.
Massive thanks go to my very special group of beta readers who gave me the feedback needed to plug holes and bring these characters to life: Angeline, Adriane, Desiree, and Christina, you guys rock!
To my editor, Jennifer Sommersby, you make me frustrated in the best kind of way because you challenge me to polish what I thought was already shiny. I’m a better writer for it. Thank you—and don’t listen when I whine.
Thanks to Stephanie Mooney for putting together such a stunning cover. It’s Ven, exactly.
I am forever impressed and awed by the efforts of my street team, Heather’s Hotshots. You ladies go above and beyond in your support of me, and I thank you. I’m pretty sure some of you were pimps in another life. Just sayin’.
And lastly, to the real-life Crawford, words cannot express my thanks for introducing me to motorcycles. It is a piece of me I didn’t know I was missing. So are you.