Jay smiled gently at her. “Thank you, Caro. But it’s not that I’m scared of doctors, it’s that I truly don’t need the attentions of one.”
“Bullshit.” The slight tremble in Caro’s voice betrayed her.
Jay gave her wound one final squeeze with her fingers. She performed an internal diagnostic. Given the depth of the wound, it’d take a couple of hours to heal completely but it was hardly a serious injury. Turning aside so Caro couldn’t see what she was doing, she licked her fingers to coat them with saliva and brushed them down the already knitting slash. Her saliva would further speed up the healing process and ensure that her dermis healed without scarring. She swiped the blood from her skin with her fingers and then licked them clean.
She heard a muffled imprecation and looked up to see Tyler’s horrified face. He’d seen her administering to her wound. He’d noted how quickly it was healing.
Wordlessly he handed Jay the soda and then joined his sister, sitting on the floor by the settee and leaning up against Caro’s knees. He appeared to draw comfort from the physical contact.
Jay considered the situation, running various scenarios and options. Logically, she knew she could—and should—provide some feasible explanation for what Tyler and Caro had witnessed. But her programming stuttered when factoring in the human equation of friendship. And trust.
She ignored her programming. Again. “You should make yourselves comfortable,” she said, popping the tab on her soda. “Both of you. I have something to tell you.”
In eerie unison, Tyler and Caro levered themselves up onto the settee. They sat very close together, knees touching, united in the face of something strange and disturbing.
She envied them their closeness. She’d shared some of that today—enough to know she’d give all she possessed to have more. But once she told them her secret, their freely offered friendship would die, to be replaced by fear and loathing…. Loathing of her. And everything that she was.
Jay wouldn’t taint their friendship by lying about what they’d seen. She would tell the truth. And then she would do what she always did: Cover her tracks and run. A pall mantled her at the thought of leaving this town—of leaving Tyler, giving him up. Even Caro now held a place in what Jay had come to think of as her heart. She liked having a female friend to “hang with”.
She gazed about her apartment, the place she’d tried to make a home. And wondered whether she had injured something more than merely her arm, for everything about her abruptly seemed drab, colorless, lifeless. She felt….
What did she feel?
She analyzed the waves of unfamiliar emotion. And was forced to conclude what she felt right now was similar to what she’d felt when Father had sacrificed the remaining few months of his life to protect her. She felt immeasurably sad, as though she’d lost something precious.
But why did she feel sad? Why did she feel anything at all?
That, she could not answer. So she drank off her soda and crumpled the empty can in her fist, shaping it into a sphere with her fingertips. Without looking, she lobbed it over her shoulder toward the kitchen. The missile arced towards the stainless steel bin she’d placed next to the counter for recycling purposes. It hit the domed lid at precisely the correct angle to set it swinging open. The can popped through the opening, landing with a tinny thud before the lid swung back. “Slam dunk,” she said.
“Impressive.” Tyler’s calm, even tone belied his too-pale complexion.
She saw it in his face—the little tic in the muscle by his left eye, the wide gaze fixed on hers like she was dangerous and he didn’t dare take his eyes off her. She detected it in the wild pounding of his heart, smelled it on his suddenly sweat-dampened body.
Fear. Of her.
His gaze dropped to the wound on her arm, which now appeared to be merely a surface scratch.
He’d guessed.
Caro dragged her gaze from the recycling bin and cocked her head, staring at Jay. Tyler’s sister was now more curious than worried for her safety. Caro was not afraid, not yet at least.
Jay walked over to the bin. Picking it up, she turned to face her audience. She held the bin lightly between her palms. And then she crushed it, and its contents, as easily as a human would crush a flimsy aluminum can.
~~~
Caro leaned forward, and to Tyler she now seemed more curious than afraid. “So what are you, Jay?”
He wanted to laugh at his sister’s casual phrasing of that oh-so-crucial question. But he knew that if he started, he might not be able to stop.
“Have either of you seen The Terminator?” Jay asked.
Omigod. No. She couldn’t be. He’d been thinking more along the lines of genetically enhanced human but—
Oh. My. God. Jay wasn’t human at all.
His sister nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Great movie. I love that scene where the cyborg gets munched and—” Her eyes rounded still more when she made the connection. “That’s you?”
“Correct. Titanium skeleton, artificial organs and implants, all overlaid with living human tissue.”
“You’re a robot?” Caro squeaked.
“Cyborg is a more accurate definition for what I am. Aside from the now obvious quick healing of most injuries, I can think and reason. I can mimic human feelings. I even have the capacity to grow and appear to age if I so desire.”
“Outstanding!” Caro’s eyes shone. She didn’t sound fazed at all. In fact, she seemed fascinated—tickled pink by the revelation.
Tyler’s limbs twitched and jerked with the powerful desire to leap from his chair and hurtle from the apartment. He wanted the hell outta there. His heart was thumping fit to burst from his chest and his body felt hot and cold, as though he was burning with a fever and kinda numb all at the same time. A roaring sound like a thundering waterfall filled his head. His brain forced his body to suck in oxygen but still his head spun and silvery splotches danced before his eyes. He stared at the black blobs that his sneakers had become, and fought to keep it together.
Jay was a cyborg. She was dangerous, inhuman, “other”, some fictional creation straight from the script of some Sci-Fi movie suddenly come to life. No wonder people were after her.
“Hey, so who made you?” Caro asked, her tone just as light and airy as if she’d asked for a bowl of Jay’s chocolate pudding.
“My father gave me life,” Jay said.
“Not your real father, though, right? Because you were, like, created, not born.”
“My creator was my father. He was as real to me, as your father is to you.”
Tyler’s head jerked up at that. When she spoke about her father there was real emotion and hurt throbbing in her voice. She sounded all too human. But that had to be another lie. She must have been around someone who’d lost a parent, someone whose reactions and emotions she could mimic.
Or she wasn’t pretending at all and the hurt was real.
Yeah, right. Impossible. Or perhaps a miracle?
His gaze abruptly snapped into focus but he couldn’t immediately make sense of what he was seeing. When his brain and body were again in sync he found he was staring fixedly at the trash can Jay had molded into a round shiny ball. Beneath his bewildered gaze, it sprang into fluid motion again. She was tossing it from one hand to the other, like any normal kid might do with a baseball.
He managed to work enough saliva into his mouth to form actual words. “Our father gave up the right to be called ‘Dad’ when he upped and left us.”
“Regardless, he’s still your father,” Jay said. “Just as in here,” she tapped her temple, “and here,” she tapped her chest, “the man who created me will always be mine, even though he’s dead.”
Tyler blocked off the words—the lies—and focused on it. The… the… thing who called herself Jay.
It stood there, perfectly relaxed, in the kitchen area of its apartment. It sounded like a normal girl, what with all this talk about absentee fathers. It even looked like your average teenage
girl—
All right, not exactly average-looking. Jay could never be average. But it looked just like the girl who’d been kind to him, the girl he’d trusted. The girl he really liked. And hoped might become something more than a friend.
It looked human. Sounded human. Acted human….
But it wasn’t human.
His gaze slid to the bloodied shard of crockery. She—it—saw the direction of his gaze. She walked over to grind it beneath the heel of her sneaker.
Tyler shuddered. It could probably have ground the shard to powder just as effectively with its bare foot. He might have been able to reason away the abnormally fast healing of what he knew had been a deep gash, but he couldn’t ignore the “ball” it still toyed with. It had crushed the metal trash can like some flimsy aluminum soda can. Just like it could crush him and Caro if they got in the way. Or did anything to jeopardize its secret.
He moaned, sick to his stomach at the mere thought of what this cyborg could have done to Caro and their mom. They had invited it into their home. It could have killed them all—destroyed their bodies and vanished, leaving only that incriminating video clip as evidence this inhuman thing was capable of so much more than your average Snapperton teenager.
But it hadn’t harmed them. It had even gone so far as to reveal its secret to him and Caro. It trusted them. And now it was waiting to see what they did with that trust.
He watched it observing him closely, waiting for him to say something, make a move, react.
He tore his gaze away from the cyborg and fixed it instead on his sister’s open, trusting face. Surely Caro could see how dangerous it was? Surely she had some doubts?
But no. From her wide grin and shining eyes, his sister thought Jay’s revelation was too freaking awesome for words. Typical. No help there.
“Tyler.”
Its quiet, controlled voice rolled over him, commanded his attention. “I would never hurt you,” it said.
“Too late. You already have.” Before he ducked his head to hide his anguish, he glimpsed confusion marring the smooth perfection of its face.
“How have I hurt you?” it asked.
“He’s hurt because he, uh, likes you,” Caro explained when Tyler refused to answer.
“I like him, too,” Jay said.
Tyler’s chin lifted. He couldn’t stop himself. He had to see the expression that went with those words, had to see if the lie was reflected in its expression. Had to see whether there even was an expression.
Caro rubbed her hands over her face. “Let’s be clear about this, okay, Jay? Tyler likes you. You know, I-wanna-be-your-boyfriend type like.”
“I would have liked that very much,” Jay said, sounding so wistful it tore at Tyler’s determination to distance himself by thinking of the cyborg as an unfeeling thing, incapable of emotion.
“Would have?” Caro pounced on Jay’s phrasing.
Tyler couldn’t find it in him to appreciate his sister’s support. If only he could wipe the last ten minutes from his mind. Pity whoever created Jay wasn’t around. Anyone who could build a cyborg that was so very humanlike, probably had the skills to mind-wipe this nightmare from Tyler’s head, too.
“It’s hardly likely now he knows what I am,” Jay said.
Was it his imagination or was that desolation he heard in its voice?
It smacked of the same desolation he felt. But it couldn’t be, could it? Jay wasn’t human, didn’t have feelings. Not real ones.
Caro made a gurgling noise that was somewhere between a snicker and a chortle. If Tyler had been able to make his legs work properly, he’d have leaped at her and stuffed a cushion in her mouth. Instead, he just sat there, overcome with self-pity like the pathetic loser he was.
“It seems like a perfect match to me,” his sister said when she quit with the gurgles. “Two freaks together. You’re practically made for each other.”
That was going too damn far. “Oh har-de-har-har!” He jerked up his chin to fix his sister with a blazing glare that he dearly wished could melt the rubber soles of her trendy boots.
“That’s better.” Her voice had that insufferably smug edge to it he knew so well. “Now you’ve stopped wallowing in self-pity we might actually get some answers.”
“Answers?” He hit her with his most dire frown, willing her to shut the hell up.
“I don’t know about you, bro, but I’ve never had a super-strong, cybernetic, computer genius of a friend before. This is, like, the most majorly awesome thing ever!” She gasped, and slapped her forehead. “OMG, Jay! No freaking wonder you could toss Shawn about like that—and pitch like that. And no freaking wonder you walked away from the team. I completely understand where you were coming from now. You’ve got morals, girlfriend. This is why those people are after you, right? Because they know what you are?”
“Yes.” Something that smacked of uncertainty twisted Jay’s face and shadowed those incredibly beautiful, inhumanly blue eyes. “Do you still want to be my friend, Caro?”
“Duh!” Caro’s answering grin almost split her face, like she’d practically invented the whole ear-to-ear thing.
And seeing that uncensored grin, Tyler knew absolutely that whatever Jay was, human or otherwise, Caro truly considered her a friend. And that was the end of it so far as his sister was concerned. Black and white. Cut and dried.
“I’m guessing you don’t really have an uncle, huh?” Caro probed.
“No, I don’t.”
“Excellent. I predict some awesome parties in your future. Give me five, girlfriend!”
Jay blinked, hesitated, and then smacked her palm against Caro’s.
Huh. Why was he even surprised his sister had accepted Jay so readily, and was willing to remain friends despite the lies. But he wasn’t so gullible as Caro. He didn’t stay friends with kids who lied. And Jay pretending to be human had been the biggest lie of all.
“I’m dying here!” Caro bounced in her seat like some hyper little kid. “You’re super strong, super quick, and you can even eat and drink, too. What else can you do? C’mon, Jay, spill!”
“Well, I’m an excellent mimic. That’s how I pass as human, I mimic you to fit in.” She reeled off a list of her abilities.
Tyler tuned out. He didn’t need to hear anything more. The only ability that really mattered to him—the one that really had him tripping—had already been revealed.
Jay was a mimic. A damn good one.
This thing chatting away to his sister didn’t feel. It just pretended to feel. And everything it had made him feel about it was pretense, too.
On a purely intellectual level, he realized he was being irrational. Jay could hardly have walked up to him on her first day at school and said, “Hi, I’m Jay and I’m a cyborg. I think you’re hot. Wanna be my boyfriend?” But emotionally, he didn’t give a crap. He felt like being unreasonable, figured he deserved to indulge.
He was also angry. Even more than that, try betrayed. Try gutted.
Ridiculous, he knew. But he couldn’t help it. This inhuman creature had made itself important to him, made him feel something for it, something strong and pure and so much more than he’d ever felt before. And now it wasn’t even bothering to lie. It was clearly stating, no BS or trying to hide the truth, that it was all pretense.
The sunlight winked out, extinguished by clouds scudding overhead. He shivered. He felt cold, so very cold. But there was always his anger to warm him. He let it coil through his belly and worm its way up his spine. He embraced its poisonous heat. And when it reached his heart, he let it jerk him from his chair. On legs that felt too weak to be his own, he let it force him toward Jay.
As if sensing his mood, Jay stilled. And even Caro, her mouth open to ask another question, subsided.
Tyler halted directly before Jay. He raised his hand.
“Tyler, no!” Caro’s horror-filled face and her outstretched hand blurred. They had no power to affect him. Only Jay’s face—the thing’s face—mattered.
The pain hit him in a stinging, throbbing rush that made him gasp. Jay’s cheek had felt like a rock.
He cradled his hand. “You bitch,” he hissed, ignoring Caro’s shocked squeak of protest. “Pretending to like me, pretending to give a crap—it’s all bullshit! Just like all your talk about feelings is bullshit. You said it yourself: You’re a clever mimic. How can you possibly understand, how can you possibly care what you’ve done to me?” His voice had risen to an anguished shout but he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t care if anybody else in the building heard. He didn’t care about anything anymore.
Freaks of Greenfield High Page 18
