I had to laugh at how sweaty she wasn’t. Here I was, after a long, slow climb, drenched and chilled by my own perspiration, but characters like her, in movies, never pitted with sweat.
I looked for a way to turn off the screen, worried the sound might wake the neighbors. On the off chance the next unit was occupied, I had no idea who I might be dealing with.
I was a foot away from the screen when Carol Amanda Harving’s giant face filled it, her cold eyes the size of softballs, her irises wide and inviting. I tapped at the screen and let out a breath in relief when it shut off. It went black, with no hint of the view outside. Why have no view? Wasn’t that the point of being up so high? I felt a pang of disappointment that I wouldn’t get to see the ocean. I had always wanted to see it. They say the water touches the eastern edge of the dome.
I scanned the empty room and realized there was absolutely nothing to find. There was no Carol Amanda Harving to demand answers from. There was no evidence of any kind. She was probably in Hollywood. Maybe she just kept this apartment for fun, in case she wanted to visit or have a party. More likely still, this was just a tax thing that I didn’t understand. All I had to examine were the few garish mementos left outside, like territory she had marked.
My nerves calmed, replaced with gloom. This was a dead end. I couldn’t help Saretha. I couldn’t help myself. All the risk was for nothing.
At least I didn’t have to think about hurting the actress to convince her to help us. I returned to the door and had to pick the lock again to get out. It unsealed and slid open. Outside, like sentinels, were the two enormous framed photos, larger than life, in thick, welded metal frames built right into the wall. Her smile was so wide, I imagined it hurt to be that joyful.
Slowly my anger rose again. I wanted to destroy her. If she had been there, what would I have done? I bit my lip. I couldn’t hurt her, but I could ruin these pictures—these stupid, egotistical photographs. It was foolish, exactly the sort of thing Kel would insist I not waste time with. I could have smashed the frames and ripped them from the walls, but I wanted her to know she was hated.
I took out my knife, half-ready to carve a mustache under her nose, devil horns on her head, to scrape away her eyes. It was pointless and reckless—the glass was too thick. Plus I’d be charged twenty different ways. The best I could actually do was stab the glass, and what would be the point? Sam would have appreciated the thought, but he would never know.
I glared at her visage, contemplating my pitiful revenge, when something caught my eye. Her skin showed some small imperfections, a mottling of color like any other person. I don’t know what else I was expecting. It was a photograph, not a polished movie still. I saw moles and freckles. I saw skin with warmth, and it surprised me, because she never seemed quite real.
But it was the sight of her upper arm that stopped me cold. An inch or two above her right elbow was a faint, crescent-moon-shaped scar, exactly like the one Mrs. Nince had given Saretha.
My brain couldn’t process it at first. I stared. What did this mean?
I studied the photo carefully. The moles and freckles looked familiar. How could they look familiar? Were they the same as Saretha’s? That was impossible.
My skin began to crawl with a dawning realization.
I was never going to meet Carol Amanda Harving face-to-face. I could never confront her. She could never apologize. She could never help us, for one simple reason.
She didn’t exist.
Carol Amanda Harving was a computer-generated fiction, constructed of pixels and polygons from who-knows-how-many corporate scans of my sister. She was less substantial than the air in my lungs. It was the only explanation for that crescent-shaped scar above her elbow.
My God, this was the perfect Lawsuit, one even Arkansas Holt couldn’t lose. A frantic hope rose in me—a furious glee. If I could prove she didn’t exist, not only would Saretha be free, but we would be rich. Our parents could come home. Our family would be whole again.
My parents.
We hadn’t heard from them since our chat just after my Last Day. We hadn’t told them about Carol Amanda Harving. There was no point. What could they do? It would only cost the family more money to talk about it.
My heart pounded. Who had done this? Who had created Carol Amanda Harving from images of my sister and then sued us for what they had stolen? The gall of it was almost admirable.
Silas Rog came to mind. If it wasn’t him, then whoever had done it had Silas Rog for a Lawyer. Silas Rog, who had never been defeated.
There is a first time for everything, the voice inside my head said. The phantom sound of it soothed me. Silas Rog’s resources were near bottomless, but how could he possibly win this? He would lose his first case, and I would be the cause. Nothing would bring me more joy.
ESCAPE: $33.99
Sam and Saretha were asleep when I got in. I slipped into bed and lay awake, thinking about how to share my news. In the darkness, I buzzed with excitement and a secret I wished I couldn’t keep. This was a problem. My silence may have been inspirational, but it was painfully impractical. I could not speak what I knew. I needed to show them.
Was Saretha’s crescent scar visible in any of Carol Amanda Harving’s movies? Almost certainly not. They would dodge away anything that wasn’t absolutely flawless, even on an actual person. I might be able to find a candid picture, like the one in her hall, but I had no way to search. How could I find one with the exact texture, from the right angle and light, and with enough resolution to show the stolen skin?
The only place I could be sure to prove my point was eighty-nine floors up in a posh, high-security building. I could break in again and take my chances with not getting caught. I could make it, but I couldn’t imagine a way to get Sam and Saretha up there. Not alone.
Beside me, Saretha snored softly. Her face looked sad even as she slept. I wanted to shake her awake and tell her there was hope. We had a chance that could save us.
Who rented that apartment in Malvika Place on the eighty-ninth floor? Was it ever occupied? I wondered what the doormen thought, knowing this famous actress lived in their posh building but was never seen. Did the staff think she was a recluse? Did they imagine she was too busy filming to enjoy the luxury of their amenities?
Then it hit me. For all intents and purposes, Saretha was Carol Amanda Harving. Why couldn’t she just walk right into Malvika Place? They might even hold open the door! I could picture them falling all over themselves, delighted at a rare sighting of the starlet. It was her apartment. It was her home. What could they possibly say?