by Cassie James
She turns to make eye contact with the man across the room. He’s standing by a desk with a picture hanging limply in his hands. I push myself up, cursing my shaky body the entire time. I fix my gaze on the way the man’s shoulders tense when Mom reaches his side and jerks the photo from his hands. She whispers to him, arms flailing in my direction.
“What’s going on?” I ask, but no one makes a move to answer me. “Mom?” I try again, but she’s too caught up in whatever she’s say to Dad to—Dad? It feels right, but then why won’t he look at me?
“Dad, what’s wrong?” His shoulders stiffen at the sound of my voice. I wonder why? It sounds exactly the way it did in my head, even if there’s still something unfamiliar about the quality of it as it pushes past my lips. I wonder if it’s the words I said? Mom and Dad. No, I’m certain these are my parents. They turn their eyes toward the stranger in the room. Why the hell aren’t they looking at me like parents should?
I have memories of these two, but there’s something off about the quality of them. Images flash through my mind faster than I can process them. Video and sound clips play in my mind, but they’re wrong somehow. Disjointed and raw. One moment there’s a video of me blowing out candles on a cake while Mom smiles next to me. And the next there’s a video of me throwing some sort of tantrum over the same birthday cake. There’s a video of the man—no, Dad, I correct myself—teaching me how to ride my first bike. Followed by me ignoring him when I finally catch on and he tries to call me back to him but I keep riding further away. There’s a stream of photos from our family vacation to Greece the summer before, but there’s an equal amount of me off doing things on my own as there are of me with either one of them.
I press a palm against the side of my aching head. I’m too frustrated to immediately realize my body has finally responded to one of my commands. But when I do, it’s with a gleeful sort of noise. My hands drop to my lap, and my fingertips graze my palm. Mom makes an indignant noise from across the room, but I’m too distracted by the cheap, mint green fabric covering my lap to pay any attention to her hissy fit.
She’ll get over it. She’s so overdramatic anyway.
For the first time, I realize the cool air in the room is brushing the exposed skin on my back. What the hell? I shiver, but something doesn’t feel right about the reaction. It’s involuntary, but it feels forced. Like I only did it because I was supposed to. My fingers shake as I stretch to reach behind my neck and pull the ties together, closing the back the best as I can. Why would my parents have me half naked in front of a strange man? My mind spins in a hundred different directions, but I keep coming back to one question over and over again. What the hell is going on here?
“Am I okay?” I finally ask.
I don’t understand why I’m in a hospital gown. The last thing I remember wearing was my prom dress. The kick-ass navy number that made everyone green with envy. It took several trips to what felt like a hundred different boutiques, and god, Mom was so pissed when she realized how much I spent. Flashes of strobing lights and loud music pound through my head, and I can see myself surrounded by The Thorns and The Roses. We’re dancing, laughing, and smiling into each other’s cameras. Prom.
What happened after Prom?
“You’re fine,” Mom says, and suddenly she’s by my side. She reaches out like she wants to touch me, but jerks her hand back like she thought better of it at the last minute. “Just a little accident. Everything’s fine now. You’re fine.”
“Jackie,” the stranger starts, his voice low and cold. I lean away from him as he approaches the side of the bed and shoots Mom a worried glance. If I’m okay, why am I in a hospital gown, and why is this man staring at me like everything definitely isn’t fine? “Maybe you and Roman should step out for a few minutes so I can do the last check and brief Piper.”
Piper. I roll the name around in my head for a minute. A steady stream of photos and videos assault my senses as the name echoes through my head. I reach up to run a shaking hand through my hair, and it tumbles down over my shoulder in dark waves. My eyes dart to the photo of the girl on the bedside table. Piper. I’m Piper?
I’m Piper.
“Absolutely not,” Mom’s shrill tone pulls me from the mini existential crisis. She’s glaring at the older man, and Dad’s suddenly by her side, his hand on her shoulder as she shakes her head no frantically. I try to make eye contact, but he avoids my gaze studiously. What is his freaking problem? “We’re not risking anything, Stanley! We’re staying here to help guide her. We want to make sure everything’s done correctly.”
“Guide me to what? What the hell—”
“How do you feel, Piper?” the stranger—no, Mom called him Stanley, think, Piper!—cuts me off, a no-nonsense quality to his voice. My eyes dart back and forth between this cold, harsh stranger and my crazy eyed mother. I know she’s borderline insane but this is a whole other level of unhinged. What. Is. Going. On?!
“I’d be better if someone would actually tell me what’s happening here. Who are you? Why are all of you in my room? What the hell happened to me?”
The man works his jaw back and forth as he turns his eyes on Mom and Dad. Mom quirks a challenging eyebrow, and he sighs before running his hand down his face. “What do you remember, Piper?” he finally asks, deflecting every single one of my questions in favor of asking his own. I want to be pissed, but I’m too busy being surprised when something about his tone sends a spark of recognition through me.
Mom looks like she’s going to say something, but Stanley holds his hand up at her as I consider his question. What do I remember? I shrug. Everything. But then again, maybe nothing. Perhaps something in the middle of those two extremes?
“Piper, think!” Mom snaps, and I turn a glare in her direction. What does she think I’m doing here? Sitting around twiddling my freaking thumbs? When the hell did she get so demanding, anyway? Something’s off. Mom’s being weird, acting like we’ve ever had the kind of relationship where I answer to her. Dad won’t look at me at all. And on top of that, my memories are disjointed and choppy. It’s like I can only remember bits and pieces.
Photos and scenes. Short snaps of video. Shaky memories like I’m watching them through an old camcorder. I can feel who I’m supposed to be—Piper Hawthorne, 18 years old, a senior at Rosewood Academy—it’s all right there, scratching at the surface. But that version of me, she feels wrong, and the more I try to study it, the more it feels like I’m reading the answers to a questionnaire that was answered by a hundred different people that never actually knew me.
What makes Piper the most angry?
Minor inconveniences.
Tori Pruitt.
People getting in the way of what she wants.
Her mom butting into her business.
Not being the center of attention.
I close my eyes, pressing my fingertips against my eyelids. The influx of information is too much, but it just keeps coming. “Take your time,” Stanley says, and there’s Mom’s indignant huff again. I can hear feet shuffling before a door opens and closes, and I don’t have to open my eyes to know Dad left the room. Why can’t I get this right?
“It’s okay to feel like this Piper,” Stanley says, and Mom hisses a breath in between her teeth. Apparently she doesn’t agree with Stanley, but even as tense as he is, I find myself trusting him more than her in the moment. Everything feels off, like someone pushed all the furniture in a house two inches to the left, and at least he’s giving me the time to try to figure out what’s going on.
Mom, on the other hand, is whispering, “Think, Piper. Think. You have memories—time spent with me and Dad. Your friends. School. All the things you love. Shopping. Trips.”
Funny how she loops herself in there. Mom may have wanted me to be the perfect daughter, but she never really spent time with me. No, that was delegated to the nannies. She’s a damn workaholic and has been my entire life. Any trips we took as a family were at Dad’s prompting, I have the family
group texts bouncing around my brain ready to prove it.
My eyes fall to my lap to focus on my curling fingers. Anything to take my mind off how wrong everything feels. My hands start to clench into fists, knuckles going white from the force.
“Waking is never easy, Piper.” Stanley’s voice is slightly softer, but still not friendly. And his words are strange. An uneasiness churns through me.
“I wake up every day. I think I’ve got it down by now,” I smart off. My head lifts in time to see Mom drop hers into her hands with a groan. An uncomfortable silence stretches between all of us.
“Stan,” Mom hisses when she finally lifts her head. There’s fire in her eyes, and I automatically lean away from her. She fixes him with a long, hard stare. “What is the point of this?”
“We have to acclimate her,” he replies, an undertone of irritation lacing his words. “We can’t just throw her in without any sort of introduction, Jackie. It will overload her, and we don’t know what could happen as a result.”
“Overload her?” she asks with a scoff, and my eyes volley between the pair of them as she starts to pace around the foot of my bed. “Overload her!” she screeches, and I flinch. Seriously, I’m about to kick her ass out of my room. I don’t have time for this crap. Not if she’s not going to give me what I want. Answers. “We’re her parents, Stan! Let us acclimate her how we see fit!”
“She has to understand the intricacies of her position! You lost your daughter in April. I’m here to make sure this one is a suitable replacement. Let me do my job!” His face is flush with the irritation he can’t seem to get control of. I totally get it. Mom makes me feel that way sometimes, too.
Wait, what?
My head shakes from one side to the other as his words sink in. What the fuck? That’s not right. A replacement? Lost daughter? I’m an only child, aren’t I? He can’t be talking about me, because clearly I’m sitting right freaking here. Stewing in a pool of confusion and irritation, but alive nonetheless.
What three words remind you most of Piper?
Perfect. Beautiful. Strong.
Passionate. Driven. Brave.
Callous. Cold. Cruel.
Hot. Shrewd. Intelligent.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
I shake the onslaught of information away, staring at Mom and Stan with wide eyes as the word dead replays over and over again in my head. “Replacement?” I whisper, a vague sense of understanding washing over me in a harsh wave.
“You’re a companion, Piper. An artificially intelligent one,” Stan fills in the blanks.
What is Piper’s biggest pet peeve?
Disloyalty.
The other Roses.
Poor people.
Anyone standing in the way of what she wants.
Being ignored.
“You’re our daughter,” Mom pipes up from the end of the bed, clearly still desperate to control how this is going. “You’re here to be a comfort to me and your father, to be a companion. You’re here to replace what we lost. Do you understand?”
Stan’s frown deepens. “What’s important for you to know, Piper, is that you’re a learning AI. Which means you’ll adapt to new experiences and hopefully grow with each of them.”
“So that you can learn to be more and more like the daughter we lost. Because that’s your purpose,” Mom cuts in again. Stan purses his lips but doesn’t correct her. I see it what he’s trying not to show, though—he doesn’t agree with what she’s saying.
“How do I have her memories?”
“Your memories,” Mom corrects me harshly, and I bristle. “A lot of the information came from us. We had a hand in making sure your personality traits were right this time—” She cuts herself off as my head tilts to the side. This time? She shakes herself, not just her head but her whole body, before continuing, “Some of it comes from social media and questionnaires we had your friends fill out. Everyone just wants to help you be just like the Piper we know and love.”
What do you think Piper values most in life?
Her family.
Her friends.
Her platinum card.
Tyler Hamilton.
Herself.
Information assaults my senses from all sides. Memories are flickering through my mind again, and I can’t quite figure out how to shove them away. I want to go through them more slowly, access what exactly they mean, and do it without Mom hovering over me. I’m not sure why she’s acting like such a helicopter. I might be replacing her dead daughter, but she doesn’t own me.
“Do you think you can stand, Piper?” Stan asks, and Mom huffs.
She doesn’t give me the chance to answer. “Of course, she can, Stan. We already know that. There’s no need for redundant questions.” They might know, but I sure as hell don’t. I flex my toes and roll my ankles experimentally as they stare one another down. My legs tense, and I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My arms push me into a standing position. My legs tremble for a nanosecond before steadying.
Mom sweeps an arm in my direction. “See?” Mom steps closer so she can run her hands over my shoulders. Annoyed, I shrug her off, and her eyes flash for a second before returning to somewhat normal. “I can take it from here, Stan. Why don’t you go see if there’s anything Roman needs before you leave?”
There’s nothing but resignation in the slump of Stan’s shoulders as he turns away from us long enough to gather his things from the top of my vanity. His eyes are critical as they sweep over my body one last time. “Just...” he pauses near the door with a sigh. “Just let me know if there’s anything that you need.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or Mom, so I nod to him even as she’s dismissing him. My heart thuds in my chest as he closes the door, leaving me alone with Mom, who’s looking at me with shrewd determination shining in her eyes. An uneasy feeling builds in my gut, but it’s soon replaced by more irritation as she leads me through my room pointing out things that she thinks she needs to explain to me. Things that I already know about.
My teeth grit when she pulls me to a stop in my walk-in closet. Her fingers trace over the skirt to my school uniform, and I don’t hide my groan or the fact that I’m rolling my eyes when she tells me that it’s what I wear to school.
“God, yeah, I know that, Mom,” I snap at her. Her shoulders stiffen, but the idea that I should treat her gently, that she’s a grieving mother, is only fleeting in the face of my utter annoyance with her. “I know all of this stuff, so unless you have anything valuable to add, I’d like you to leave me alone now.”
She bristles, her mouth dropping open like she’s going to argue. She surprises me instead when something akin to pride flashes across her face for a quick second. She nods once before turning to head back out of the closet. She pauses in the doorway, though, glancing over her shoulder at me as I rifle through my clothes for something to wear other than a fucking hospital gown. Her smile is surprisingly soft as she tells me, “I’m glad you’re back, Piper.”
3
Tyler
The yellow front door mocks me as I leave the comfort of my car and point myself towards it. I’ve walked through it hundreds of times before, but something feels wrong about it now. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t walked through it since prom night, or maybe it’s the fact that there’s an uncomfortable weight churning through my gut as I sit here thinking about the girl that’s waiting on the other side of the falsely cheerful door.
I read every word of what Brennen sent out, combing through Piper’s thoughts as if I could somehow pinpoint what it is that makes her so different from my old Piper. It was obvious that he sent out the most humiliating things he could find in her log, and now I keep looking for some way I can ask him for the rest of it. To read a little deeper to figure out where I went wrong. To figure out if these feelings I can’t seem to shake are real—or just a manipulation.
I think back to Halloween. All those memories… it made it too easy to seek comfort in the girl that looks j
ust like my Piper. But the longer it went on, the less I was seeing old Piper. Until eventually I wasn’t seeing Old Piper at all.
How can these three guys make me feel so empty and so full, all at the same time?
Of all the things to read, it was one of the ones that hit the hardest. For all of the posturing, all of the alpha bullshit we pull daily at Rosewood, I never actually believed we were shitty people. Not until I read those words. For months we treated her like shit, yet she was still drawn to us, and we took full advantage. My jaw clenches as I glance up at the yellow door again, an ugly thought coming to mind. Except Brennan—that fuck actually had feelings for her.
Stoking the feelings of resentment in my gut isn’t going to do me any good right now. Not when I need to walk into this house and make Piper see reason. Not when I need to apologize for letting Alton, of all fucking people, be the one to come to her rescue Tuesday. Not when I need her to understand that as weird as things have been between us, I really do want to be—friends? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Casual hookups?
Jesus, what am I thinking?
I stare at the yellow door, now just in front of me, but I don’t knock or ring the doorbell. I need to get my thoughts straight before I go in there. What am I expecting to get out of this? An upper hand over Jude, for one. The thought makes me wince. Dissuading whatever interest Jude and Piper have for one another would be an added bonus, but I need to stay focused on the task at hand, and that’s just making sure she’s okay.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I turn it over to see a text from Jude. Of course he can’t just trust me to handle this. I’m sure it’s driving him crazy that he isn’t the one here right now.
You there yet?
I don’t bother answering. Let him sweat it out a little. Instead, I open up my notes app and take a shaky breath as I tap the one I can’t seem to stop looking at.
