by Strauss, Lee
He responded like I knew he would, kissing me in return, my forehead, my cheeks my lips, deep and urgent. I pulled up on his T-shirt exposing his bare skin, and ran my fingertips across his abs. He tensed and my fingers moved slowly, over each ab muscle, one, two, three… A soft moan escaped his lips. I reached farther down. He clasped my hand with his, stopping me.
“What?” I said, staring at his chiseled face. His brow was pulled down in a frown, and his eyes were closed tight like he was in pain. “What’s wrong?”
“We can’t do this.”
“Why?” I leaned up on my elbow. “I don’t understand. Don’t you want to?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to. I do want to.”
Frustration twisted in my chest and my face reddened with embarrassment. “Then what’s the problem!”
He looked at me, his eyes kind and pleading. “Zoe, you’re wearing a pink wig.”
Oh.
I’d forgotten.
I reached for my head, fingered the nylon strands and slowly pulled it off. I released the hair tie and my blond tresses fell across my bare back. “Is that better?”
Noah tugged on his T-shirt and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up.
“I don’t want it to be this way.”
“What way?”
He turned and steadied his eyes on mine. “I want you to love me.”
“I…”
I wanted to say I did love him, but the truth was I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t remember. Once upon a time I might’ve loved Noah Brody. A time before all of…this.
The steam of my passionate explosion fizzled as he waited for me to say it.
“That’s what I thought,” he said softly. He walked the two steps to the bathroom and closed the door. I heard him turn the lock.
I fell back onto the bed, my head suddenly pounding with pain.
Noah exited the bathroom and sat in one of the two chairs without even glancing at me. He turned the TV volume up.
The awkward factor in the small room was at ten, the pressure threatening to pop the rivets in the walls. I lay still as a mannequin in my underwear, feeling more naked than if I’d stripped down to nothing. I focused on the bathroom door and forced myself to move toward it, grabbing my clothes along the way. I slipped them on and only noticed that I was crying when my bare arm rubbed against my damp cheek.
I washed my face vigorously, hoping to find some dignity under the skin. I shook the Tylenol bottle and swore. Empty.
I thrust my shoulders back and left the bathroom. I waved the bottle in front of Noah and flashed him a calloused look.
“My head is killing me.” My chronic headaches were a parting gift from my ex-boyfriend, who apparently didn’t have any ethical objections to feeding me drugs that erased my memories and poisoned me with nanobots to track my position. I was off those now, but the headaches remained.
Noah opened a canvas bag, obviously a recent purchase, and removed a new bottle tossing it to me. I popped two and washed them back with water.
“I bought some food, if you’re hungry,” Noah said, placing chicken salad sandwiches and juice boxes on the platter-sized table.
We ate in uncomfortable silence. Mostly I watched as he ate. I hadn’t been truly hungry in days, my stomach constantly coiled up like an anxious snake.
When Noah finished eating, he retrieved more objects from the bag. “I also bought these.” He had a pair of scissors in one hand and a box of hair dye in the other.
I moved my chair to the center of the room, sat, and let my hair fall over the back. “Go for it.” I closed my eyes and waited.
Eventually, I heard Noah sigh and push his chair back. He ran his hands through my hair and I couldn’t stop the shudder that shot through my whole being.
“How short?” His voice was low and husky. I could hear the pain laced through it, and my heart stuttered.
“You choose,” I said.
The snipping of the scissors drowned out the TV noise. Clumps of blond fell to the floor, like pieces of me, and I bit my lip to keep from sobbing.
My world was a spinning top and I hung to the knob with dear life, helplessly slipping, fearing I would fly off into a zero-gravity black hole. I crossed my arms and dug my nails into my flesh, needing the pain to ground me to this earth.
The snipping stopped and I felt Noah’s breath in my ear.
“I’m finished,” he whispered.
Somehow I managed to dye my hair without looking too closely in the mirror. I showered and dressed again then blow-dried my hair. I presented myself to Noah.
His eyes bugged when he saw me. “Chloe Morgan,” he said.
My alias. Another lifetime ago I’d disguised myself as a shoulder-length brunette and pretended to be someone I wasn’t.
I chuckled humorlessly. Back at square one, but more lost than ever.
I crawled into bed with my clothes on. Noah turned off the TV and the light and slipped in beside me. He pulled me toward him until my back rested against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my lips tight and quivering.
“Shh. You’ve been through a lot. Let’s just give it some time, okay?”
Chapter 3
It stormed overnight. Rain lashed against the window and lightning flashed intermittently in our dark room through the six-inch gap between the curtains.
Somehow Noah slept through it. I pressed in as close to him as I could without waking him, and pushed back at my growing irrational fear of storms. My head felt thick with fatigue, and I punched my pillow trying to get comfortable. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days and now, when I actually had a bed, I still wasn’t sleeping.
I threw back my covers in frustration and headed to the bathroom. My eyes revolted against the bright light when I switched it on. I reached for the Tylenol, took two and quickly switched the light out.
I stood in front of the window and gripped a curtain panel in each hand. The sky lit up like a neon sheet covering the earth. I whipped the curtains closed and made sure I didn’t leave a gap.
Noah’s steady breathing comforted me and I focused on matching my breaths with his until I slipped away. And for once I didn’t dream.
Noah was showered and dressed by the time I woke up.
When he saw that I was awake he opened the curtains. The rain continued to fall in sheets.
His eyes, dark with sadness and confusion, met mine. The adhesive that had held us so tightly together once upon a time now stretched thin, like gum pulling from the street to a shoe. I desperately wanted to stop the force of inertia tearing us apart, searching for some way to wind us back together.
I knew it was my move: I just didn’t know what to do.
Noah turned back to the scene playing outside and grimaced. He grabbed his jacket off the back of one of the chairs and put it on.
“I’ll get breakfast,” he said without looking at me.
We didn’t have rain gear or an umbrella. “You’ll get soaked.”
“Uh-huh. But I’m starving, and I’m sure you are, too. A little water won’t kill me.”
He left, and I flopped down on my back, and stared at the spotted ceiling. We were supposed to leave today, but I couldn’t see how Noah could get the battery recharged in this weather. Walking a few blocks to the convenience store was one thing. Hiking back to where we’d hidden the car would be much more difficult.
At one point Noah and I had talked about heading north to Canada, but then we realized we didn’t have any ID and even if we did we couldn’t use our real names, so we turned east instead. I had no idea where we were going to go from here, but Grandpa’s search for me and Noah was going strong. Our faces had sprung up everywhere since the night I’d shot Jackson, on billboards along city streets and highways, on electronic ad placements in stores, on the television and the internet.
I showered and dressed and had my hair dried by the time Noah returned with bagels in a plastic bag and two cups of coffee.
&
nbsp; He shook himself off like a wet dog and I couldn’t help but smile a little.
“Here’s your sweetened latte.” Noah sat the cups on the table and took off his coat. He pulled dry clothes from his backpack and disappeared into the bathroom.
I peeked inside the bag and removed a bagel. One whiff and my stomach responded. I wolfed half of it down before Noah joined me.
I stared at him from over the top of my coffee cup, averting my eyes when he looked back. The heat of my humiliation from the previous night’s rejection grew up my neck. I blew on the cooled coffee as a guise.
“I thought about what you said yesterday,” Noah said after finishing his bagel. “About your grandpa. I could get a cheap laptop. Go back to my blog, maybe stir up some dissention.”
“Wouldn’t he be able to track us through it?” Not that Grandpa would do the tracking himself. He had people employed to do his dirty work for him.
“I could secure the system. At least for a little while. Long enough to get something going.”
“But it’s a risk?”
He paused, then said, “Yes. It’s a risk.”
I sipped my coffee and thought about the obnoxious commercial I’d seen on TV the day before. “I think we should do it.”
Noah crumpled up the breakfast wrapping and tossed it into the trash. He pulled back on the curtain and gazed outside.
“The rain’s let up. I’ll go now, see what I can find.”
“I’ll go, too.”
“No, I think you need to stay out of sight.”
“But…” I pulled on my shortened hair. “I look different.”
“I don’t want to take any chances. I won’t be long.”
I was starting to get cabin fever, but I consented. Noah put on his damp jacket and left for the second time that morning.
I made the bed, brushed my teeth, and washed my clothes in the sink with hand soap. My pink wig lay on the floor where I’d tossed it, taunting me. I growled at it and threw it into the garbage can on top of our breakfast trash.
I turned on the TV and watched daytime soaps and advertisements about the latest rage in domestic help: the humanoid. The machine washed floors and windows, cleaned kitchens and baths. You could get female and male versions, each with creepy, plastic faces that had stiff, fake expressions.
The time on the bottom corner of the screen told me that Noah had been gone for almost two hours. I picked at my nails as worry swirled in my gut. I moved off the bed to stare out the window, willing Noah’s form into view.
“Where are you?” I spoke aloud.
What if something had happened to him? What if he didn’t return?
Anxiety paralyzed me. I stood statue still as my mind went to the worst possible places. Noah mugged, lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Or captured. Someone had recognized him and turned him in.
How long should I wait? What would I do if he didn’t come back?
I had no plan B. I had no plan at all.
Then I saw a man approach. I wiped the condensation off the window to make sure, and let out a long breath. It was Noah. He was hunched over against the wind and held a package tightly to his chest.
I opened the door just as he reached it. Cold air blew inside and a chill ran down my back.
“What took you so long?” I asked, hearing the scolding tone in my voice. “I was worried.”
“I wasn’t gone that long.” Noah removed his coat, and then unpacked his prize. “I had to scout down a used computer place and then convince the guy to take cash.”
I wrapped my arms around myself and pinched my eyes closed until I had my crazy emotions under control.
Noah opened the laptop on the table and booted it up. His brown eyes brightened with expectation.
“You look excited,” I said.
His hands were red from the cold and he rubbed them together. “It’s been awhile.”
I honestly felt a little spooked when the window went live. “You’re sure it’s secure?”
He nodded. “It’s what kept me from getting back earlier. I stayed at the shop until I was certain.”
His fingers flew over the keyboard, then he sat back and waited for his blog to load.
“Well, hello there,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”
I hovered over his shoulder and stared at the blog banner: DOWN WITH GAP POLICIES! A stark reminder of our baseline difference. I was GAP and he wasn’t. Even if I renounced the policies myself, it would never change who I was. I couldn’t undo my GAP status.
My genes had been altered before I was even born. It was why I looked the way I did—my hair and eye color, my height, my skin tone, even my IQ, were all chosen by my parents. This included gene manipulation for an extended life. When Noah was old and bent over at ninety with no hair and a face full of wrinkles, I’d still look like I was in my forties. This was Noah’s biggest resistance to us becoming a couple in the first place. That I remembered.
Noah glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. I took it to mean he didn’t want me staring over his shoulder as he worked. I went to the bed and lay down; listening to Noah’s frenetic typing.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“I’m responding to comments. People are wondering why I disappeared.”
“What are you telling them?”
“Not the truth, obviously. Just that I had to leave town but now I’m back.”
I got up to turn on the TV. The humanoid commercial I’d seen earlier was on again. Noah’s typing stopped.
“Those things creep me out,” I said.
Noah rubbed his forehead and sighed. “For good or for bad, they’re the future.”
“But don’t they freak you out a little?”
“Yes.”
I sat up straighter on the bed and leaned against the wall. “Pretty soon they’re going to be everywhere, doing everything. Then what?”
Noah scoffed. “Then it’s the end of the world.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The next commercial started and Grandpa’s face burst onto the screen.
I pointed. “There he is!”
I jumped off the bed to turn it up and we listened to his rhetoric: how he’d suffered personal loss and could relate to the common man, how he had great plans to rebuild a country suffering from the ravages of global warming and growing economic unrest.
I felt like puking. “I don’t trust him!”
“No kidding.” Noah’s fingers flew over the keyboard again. “I’m working on a blog post right now. I’m also sending out a newsletter to over five thousand people on my list, exposing Vanderveen for the criminal and fraud that he is.”
“He’s not going to like that,” I said.
Noah didn’t look up. “No, he’s not.”
I clasped my chest, surprised at how hard my heart beat after seeing my grandfather’s image again.
I hated him. And I feared him.
I almost told Noah to stop.
Chapter 4
Noah left again to get us food for lunch, and I paced the room like a caged animal. I ran my hands through my hair, pulling at the roots and let out a frustrated groan. I’d willingly ran away with Noah to be free from Grandpa V and everything he stood for, but I felt more trapped and disempowered than ever.
At least Noah didn’t lag this time, and returned in short order with a couple of greasy hamburgers.
“The weather’s improving,” he said when he finished eating. “I should go deal with the battery now.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said firmly. I held his gaze daring him to challenge me. “I’m not staying in this room alone again.”
“It’s a long way there and back, and it’s cold.”
“I’m okay with it being cold, and I’m in good shape. I can handle the distance.
Noah let out a defeated breath. “Fine. It’s getting dark a little earlier anyway. Just keep your head down.”
I brushed my teeth and put on a couple lay
ers of clothing. I had a jacket, but it was light, not really warm enough for this cool snap. I strapped my bag over my shoulder and tucked my handgun in the back of my jeans for good measure.
I didn’t feel safe going out, but I didn’t feel safe staying behind alone either. I just had to get used to being scared all the time.
We walked quickly, sticking to the shadows, and I kept my head down as promised. We passed the convenience store where Noah had bought my wig, but after that I didn’t recognized anything. I was glad Noah knew where we were going. Soon we left the streetlights of the suburbs into the darker stretch of the road leading to the abandoned fuel station.
The dampness of the long grass soaked my shoes and the bottom half of my jeans. I pulled my hands deeper into my sleeves to fight the chill, unable to hold back the shivering.
Noah sprung the hood of the car up, messed around for a minute and then shut the lid. The lunch-kit-sized battery hung from his hand.
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Yup.”
There was a charging station on the edge of town so thankfully the walk back wasn’t as far. I waited outside near the window while Noah talked to the attendant. He had his cap pulled low and a shadow of a beard covered his chin and half his cheeks. I hoped it was enough of a disguise.
We walked back to the car in silence. Would we ever have anything to talk about again besides what a freak my grandfather was?
Noah had the car up and running in no time. I helped him push it out of the bush and then I got in. It felt weird being back in the car again.
“Now what?” I asked.
Noah kept his eyes on the road. “Back to our room, get our things and check out.”
“It’s getting late,” I said. “Maybe we should stay the night and leave early in the morning. Unless you have a destination in mind?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know where to go. I just don’t like staying in one place for too long.”
“We’ve only been here one night.”
He hmm’d. “I suppose we could stay until morning.”
