Miesha walks over to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. "I don't know what she said to you, but I want to warn you right now, Locke, she's trouble."
I try to focus on what she's saying. Does Miesha know? But that doesn't mean I always like what I see.
"Locke, listen to me. I've tried to treat you both the same, but something isn't right with her. She didn't come through this like you did. Are you listening to me? Something's not right with her."
I stare at Miesha, her words reaching me, it seems, seconds after her mouth has stopped moving. I grab both of her arms. "Of course something isn't right! She's been trapped in a box for over two hundred years, Miesha!" My hands thrash, Miesha's head bobs. "Our families are gone! Every person on the planet we ever knew is gone! And now we learn that the only reason we're even here is to help sell Gatsbro Technology! We're not people--we're floor models! You're right, Miesha! Something is very not right!"
"Locke, you're hurting me."
I look at my hands squeezing her arms. I am stronger than I ever remember being before. I pull my hands away and see the red marks I've left. I turn and run back to the house.
I hear Miesha calling after me, but I don't stop.
Chapter 11
I lie on my bed looking at the ceiling. I don't know how much time has passed. Did I lapse? I don't even remember running to my room, but my breaths are still coming short and fast.
Is Kara really leaving? She can't. Dr. Gatsbro won't allow it. My fingers dig into my scalp. I try to push my thoughts into some kind of order that makes sense. Was that his plan all along? To keep us hidden here while he invited wealthy customers out to view his exceptional creations?
I sit up. Is that all we are? Creations? It's the question that's been simmering under the surface ever since I woke, the one I push away again and again. But my mind is my own. Dr. Gatsbro may have provided us with bodies--maybe he even owns them--but he didn't create my mind. He can never own that. My mind is my own, even if nothing else is.
What did he plan to do? Charge to store minds in the event his wealthy clients met with a sudden accident? And then they'd drop in for periodic mind updates like they were going to a freaking spa? Was this their insurance against mortality? And then the ultimate payoff--new and improved bodies?
That's why we have no end date. He plans to keep us for a long time.
I race through the last several months, trying to look for more clues. How did I miss them? But he was good to us. He gave us anything we wanted. The best of everything. He delivered us from our hellhole. Maybe Kara is wrong. Maybe she's leading me down a dangerous path of reasoning. Maybe it's not how she thinks it is at all. Maybe we're both wrong. Think, Locke. Don't overreact. Don't be impulsive.
We need to talk this out. I have to find Kara before it's too late. I spring off my bed and hurry down the hall.
"Kara?" I whisper through her door, knocking softly. I don't want to attract Hari or Miesha or, worse, Dr. Gatsbro. There is no answer. I try the door, and it opens. "Kara," I call, this time louder. I do a quick search of her room. She's gone.
I leave her door open and step softly down the hallway, looking in empty rooms. Antiques. Odd collections. No Kara. The house is quiet, not even the distant clatter of dishes or footsteps. Where is everyone?
I check behind me again and then walk a little farther. I am only steps from Dr. Gatsbro's study when I hear the faint ticking of his antique clock. Maybe he's still in the solarium with Mr. Jafari. I plan only to pass by the open doorway to proceed down the hall, but when I glance in, something catches my eye. The heavy glass cube that's usually on his desk is on the floor. And then I spot something else, something far more disturbing.
A hand.
I look around me--behind, in front, in all directions--to be sure no one is watching and quickly slip into the study. The hand is on the floor, sticking out from behind the desk, fingers curled upward like no life is left in them. I already know who they belong to, but I walk around the desk and look down at the rest of the body to be sure. Dr. Gatsbro lies motionless, blood pooling beneath his head, papers that look like contracts strewn on the floor around him.
My God, what has she done?
"Locke."
I spin around, and Kara is in the doorway. She has changed her clothes. Traveling clothes. Her face is chiseled calm. "What have you done, Locke?"
"Me? My God, Kara--"
"It doesn't matter." She walks in, heading for the desk. "This is our chance to leave." She begins pulling out drawers, quickly rummaging through them.
I pull her hands away and slam the drawer shut. "We can't just leave him like this! He might not be dead yet."
"What? You want me to finish him off for you?"
"Kara, I didn't do this. We both know--"
"Take a good look, Locke! He's dead. Trust me. Now move your hand! We're getting out of here. We don't have much time."
I don't move.
"Have you ever seen prisons on Vgrams, Locke?"
I shake my head.
"I didn't think so. There's a reason we never saw them. Cole told me. It's a hundred times worse than where we were. And we wouldn't be together." Her face softens. "Isn't that all we need? After all we've been through? To always be together? How long would it be before Gatsbro replaced one of us with an updated model?"
She pulls the drawer past my hand and resumes throwing out cards and everything else she deems useless.
"There are no card keys or codes, Kara. Cars are different now. They're all voice or body-scan activated."
She stops her pillaging, turning over this new development. "Body scan." She closes the drawer and absently runs her finger across her upper lip, thinking. Her eyes shift from the floor to me. "Does the body have to be alive?"
"I have no idea if--" I step back, understanding her meaning. "No. No! We are not going to haul his body out to the car."
"You're right. That would create too much noise. But"--she turns and looks down at Dr. Gatsbro--"a finger wouldn't be hard to carry. Would that work? Just a finger?"
"His finger?"
She grabs me by my shirt. "It's only a finger, Locke. And he doesn't need it anymore. I have a knife in--"
I jerk away from her grasp. "I can't believe we're even talking about this!"
"And I'll tell you what I can't believe, Locke! I can't believe someone was able to buy my mind and then put me on display like I'm a trained monkey! I can't believe he's allowed to keep me here against my will! I can't believe Jenna has been living the high life while we've been crammed into a box and forgotten for over two hundred years! I can't believe I'm never going to see my mother or--"
Her voice catches, and she reaches down to the desk to steady herself. Her chest rises and falls in careful breaths.
"There has to be another way, Kara." I reach out and pull her into my arms. I hold her, feeling her body melt into mine, feeling like I would do anything to protect her. I rub her head, feeling the silk, the sheer miracle of being able to touch her and smell her after so many years of wanting, and I don't even care that there's a bleeding body at my feet.
"Jafari," I whisper into her ear. "He's here in a rental. Or a car service. It had a driver. I saw it through my window earlier when it arrived. If it's--"
She pushes away and runs to the window. "It's still here! Jafari's probably waiting in the solarium for Gatsbro to return. We need to hurry!" She grabs my hand and pulls me with her as we run out the door and down the stairs.
All I can think of as we run down the hall, down the stairs, out the door, as we run across the lawn, down slate walkways with our footsteps echoing behind us, her hand so tightly grasping mine that not even Gatsbro could separate us, running, afraid to look back, running to the other side of the house and cobbled drive where the car is parked, all I can think is Where can we go? Where can we possibly go when everything that we've ever known is gone?
PART II
THE OUTSIDE
Chapter 12
We enter the open
area near the circular cobbled drive and slow to a walk just in case someone is watching from a window. I casually look around. Kara does the same.
"I don't see anyone," I whisper.
"Me either."
We approach the car.
"The driver's eyes are closed."
"Is she asleep?"
"What are we going to tell her?"
"Just don't startle her," I say. "Slide in. Natural like."
Kara opens the door and slides in. I am right behind her. The driver opens her eyes and turns to look at us. She smiles. "Hello. I'm Dot. This Star Cab is reserved," she says. "Would you like me to call another for you? It can arrive in approximately"--she pauses briefly and bobs her head twice--"forty-four minutes."
"Mr. Jafari told us he wouldn't be needing this one anymore and we should take it."
"We're in a hurry," Kara adds. We both look around to see if anyone is coming for us.
"I'm afraid I cannot release the car without confirmation from Customer Jafari. I'd be happy to call another--"
"You heard us. Move it," Kara says between gritted teeth. "Now."
Dot's smile disappears, and she turns back to the console. She looks back at us through a transparent screen that spans the whole top of the windshield. It acts like a mirror so she can see everything behind her, but more important right now, so we can see her. "Your tone is hostile. Please exit the vehicle. Star Transportation policy does not allow for unruly passengers."
"We're not going anywhere. I have a gun in my pocket and if you--"
"Correction. You do not have a weapon. Star Security would have detected it within five meters of the vehicle. Please exit immedi--"
"Please," I say. I lean forward and put my hands on the back of her seat. "This is an emergency. We really could use your help. Can't you make an exception?"
Dot looks sideways at me. "I like your tone. And I would like to help you out, but if I don't follow company policy, I'm afraid I will be released, and this is all I have."
Seeing Dot respond to me, Kara leans forward too. "We'll make it worth it to you. Somehow," she says. She glances at me and adds a contrite "please." Her voice wobbles. I don't know if it is for effect or real desperation, but we are desperate.
"And your tone is improving," Dot says. "I will send another car for Customer Jafari. It will probably arrive before he even knows I am gone." Without any movement of her hands, the car makes a series of tones like a musical instrument, a message display reads ENGAGED, and we begin to ease forward. Dot raises her hands to what must be a steering bar. I look behind us and see Miesha coming out the front door. Hari is behind her.
"Hurry!" I say. And she does. Kara and I are thrown back in our seats. The gate is a half mile away, but we're there almost instantly. Dot slides her finger over a spot on the driving panel and the gate begins to move, but when it is only about halfway open, it begins to shut again.
"It's them. They're closing it," I say. "Go, Dot! Hurry before it shuts all the way!"
"The vehicle may incur damage if--"
"Screw the vehicle!" Kara says. "They want to kill us! Go!"
Dot makes the car move forward at incredible speed. The antique gate is what incurs the damage, iron bars flying off as we speed through it. Dot maintains her high speed for about two miles and then slows. "We will draw less attention if we proceed within the Norms. So, you're Escapees! What's it like?"
Escapees? Kara and I look at each other. "What do you mean?" I ask.
"Are you afraid?" Dot smiles like the thought exhilarates her.
"Yes, Dot, we're very afraid," I tell her.
She jumps on my answer. "But are you glad? Is it worth it?"
Her urgency makes me pause. Something doesn't seem right. "I don't know yet if--"
"Yes," Kara says firmly. "It's worth it. Every second. Every mile. Every risk. Being trapped is the same as no life at all. We were prisoners." Kara turns to look at me. "We've been prisoners for too long."
Dot nods and accelerates the car, seemingly pleased with this information. "Where to, Escapees?"
I look out at the countryside and then at Kara. This was not a well-thought-out plan. Where can we go?
"Boston," Kara says flatly. She stares straight ahead, ignoring me.
Her family, my family--they're not in Boston anymore. We both know that. What is there to go back to? It's the first time I have thought about descendants. Did my brother or sister have children? Neither was the type to settle down and have a family, but children may have happened anyway. Could I possibly have someone I am related to? A distant niece or nephew? Even a distant cousin? Someone who might help us?
And then I remember. There is someone in Boston. Someone we both know.
Jenna.
I look at the elegant line of Kara's jaw. She finally has what she wants--freedom from Gatsbro--but I think she still wants so much more, and the more is what frightens me. Her eyes are fixed on the road, and for once I wish I could see into her mind again, that I could control my wanderings there. What would I see now?
I want to go to Boston too, but I'm certain it's for different reasons. I want to see something familiar. Something from then. My street. My house. Even the market at the corner where my mother worked. And Jenna too. Even if she didn't help us before, maybe she would now. I think about her every day. The idea of seeing her again--
Jenna. Jenna. Jenna.
It's an unexpected angry beat in my head, and I'm not sure if it's coming from my own thoughts or somewhere else. Kara turns to look at me. Her eyebrows rise and her hand slides across the seat to lace with mine. She squeezes my fingers, a simple act, but it releases an explosion of feeling. When you have spent so many years without fingers, the smallest touch is something you can get lost in. I am easily lost in Kara again, returning her squeeze.
"Yes, Dot. Boston," I say.
Francis Street in Boston.
Chapter 13
Our house on Francis Street was a big move up for us. Before that we had lived in a cramped apartment in a bad neighborhood. I had shared a bedroom with my brother. Every memory of him is filled with slamming doors and yelling. He was wild and ran with a wild crowd. In that neighborhood that was all there was to run with. But when my sister was spotted running with a gang and the police showed up on our doorstep, that was when we moved. My brother moved in with friends and refused to come, and since he was almost eighteen, my parents didn't force him. For nearly two years we lived with my grandparents while my parents saved every penny for the house on Francis Street. It was a dump, but in a good area, and my uncles helped my dad gut it and make it livable. They made my sister help too, and she hated every minute of it. She wanted to be back with her friends in the old neighborhood.
I was spared from the scraping and hauling because I was "their student." They always said it just that way, their student, like I was the genius of their loins. I was the only one who excelled in school, and my parents held me up as proof that they had done right by at least one of their children. I was going to be a doctor, a senator, a scientist who found the cure for cancer--maybe all three. It didn't matter what, just something big. I could do anything, they said, I just needed to stay focused. I knew what that meant--not wild like my brother or sister. So I did stay focused, for them. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life anyway. It seemed wrong not to have a goal, so I let their goal be mine. And for a time, I even thrived on it.
But then one day, something changed. Something inside me. I needed more. Something of my own that was for me and no one else, but I had no idea what that something was. I just knew I needed something more than being redemption for my parents. The grades and praise weren't enough anymore, but I couldn't tell them. I couldn't tell anyone.
Then I met Kara and Jenna. We may have gone to the same school, but our neighborhoods were barely in the same universe. Kara and Jenna both came from wealthy families. Like me, they excelled in school, and they had the pressure to perform but for entirely differe
nt reasons. Jenna was an only child and apparently a miracle child as well. The sun rose and set with her as far as her parents were concerned. Kara's parents were both brilliant high achievers: her dad a CEO of an investment banking firm, and her mother, a managing partner in a law firm. Her brother was at Harvard studying law. For Kara's parents, greatness was an assumption, and anything less than the stars was shamefully unacceptable.
We had all been on the fast track to mind-numbing, soul-smothering academic brilliance--feeding on it even--but somewhere else inside we were starving. That's when we put the brakes on, but we couldn't do it by ourselves. We needed one another.
I spent a lot of time at their houses. They never came to mine. I didn't invite them. It's not that I was ashamed of our shabby furniture or the cramped rooms or even the cheap plastic chairs on the porch and half-dead poinsettias left over from Christmas. I wasn't. I just didn't want to share Kara and Jenna. I didn't want my parents to say a single word about them, good, bad, or otherwise. I wanted everything about them to be mine. I think I was secretly afraid that someone else might break the spell, because I was sure that's what it had to be for these two girls to spend time with me, call me, and most important, voice my thoughts. Girls, I had always assumed, were better at articulating feelings, but Kara and Jenna articulated my feelings, and they taught me to voice them too. I became a different person. They both loved poetry, so I memorized lines of poems to impress them, but soon I found I liked it too. We took turns spouting lines of poetry that spoke to us and the moment.
I all alone beweep my outcast state.
I tramp a perpetual journey.
I saw and heard and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past ...
Everything we talked about seemed deep and real, and the truest words that had ever been spoken on the planet. Words that would heal the world. Words that would heal us. We finished one another's sentences. I was in love with both of them. And there was a time I thought Jenna--
The Fox Inheritance Page 4
