by Eliza Tilton
FINDING
ZANE
Dreamscapes
Book 2
BY Eliza Tilton
One
I carried the broken monkey into the back storeroom where the rest of the abused toys lived. Uncle T hated throwing any toys away, regardless of how useless they became. Every toy deserves a home. Every toy deserves a chance. UGH. It was like he read the Velveteen Rabbit too much.
The sensor lights flick on. I drop the dead monkey in the “fix it” bin. I promised Uncle I would stay on for the summer before college. With Dad in the hospital, no one else was here to run the store.
In the far-right corner near the receiving door is a massive crate. It’s bigger than package I’ve seen here. When the freight carrier came in, I signed and told him to unload in the back. I’m supposed to check every package when it comes in, but it’s so busy. How can I do it all.
I really need to hire an assistant.
Uncle T rarely missed a delivery. Opening the new toys was our little Christmas. Sometimes, companies would send us demos—those were the best, mainly because if they were really cool, I took it home. With Dad’s condition getting worse, they were finalizing his half of the business. They built the store together. Exotic, interactive toys to keep up with technology and classis charm. He wanted to give me his share, but I wanted to travel and photograph the world. Toys are cool, but I’m too old for that stuff.
It’s better if Uncle T takes it. His heart is in this chaotic, lovable place.
Cracking my gum, I walk over to the crate. No way I’m waiting for Uncle T to open this one.
The box is at least seven feet long and six feet wide.
“That must be some massive stuffed bunny.”
I trail my fingers over the top. Weird. No return address.
I grab the boxcutter off my belt and slice through the cardboard and plastic until the sides drop.
The box is a black metal case with the letters BORAS written in red on the top. Thick metal brackets keep it closed. I touch the case. It’s cold!
My heart races and I flip open the brackets then carefully push the top off.
Whoa.
There’s a boy in the box.
Leaning closer, I realize no boy has black hair spiked that perfectly, or cream skin so smooth it remind me of vanilla ice cream.
I want to touch it.
I poke his cheek with my finger.
It’s soft! Like real skin.
Pinkish red lips, perfect for kissing, movie star lips.
I’ve seen the ads for androids, but they’re thousands of dollars. What parent would buy their kid an android this hot? The kid friendly droids were called dolls, and geared to being a playmate. I wasn’t getting the big brother playmate vibe from this one.
Maybe he’s the other type of android?
My cheeks flush and I giggle.
I can’t believe how lifelike he is.
Biting my lip, I lean closer, stepping on my tip toes to get a better look. If I could build the boy of my dreams—this would be better.
He’s wearing all black fitted clothes, grungy, with black boots with metal buckles. The only color is from a silver pendant.
“Nelly is going to die when she sees this.” I fumble for my cell in the pocket of my thin sleeveless cardigan.
Thanks to my annoying small frame, I can’t get a good shot with the camera. I climb onto the case and sit in the doll’s stomach. There’s barely any room. My legs hit the sides of the crate. Finally, I straddle him and get comfortable.
This would be super awkward if he were real.
Angling the camera, I line up the shot. One solo and one selfie.
Click.
The flash goes off and I check the photo. Perfect.
The doll opens his eyes.
“Ahh!” I scurry back, though I don’t get very far in this crate.
He blinks. If his blue eyes weren’t so unbelievable sexy, I’d be panicking. He sits up, and I scoot my butt back, putting more distance between us, though I’m still sitting on him.
“Where am I?”
His smooth voice is too human.
He narrows his brow and tilts his head at me.
My heart races. Sweat covers my palms. THIS. IS. NOT. HAPPENING.
“Who are you?”
Why is it speaking to me? Did I accidently turn it on? Did the flash do it?
Between his smoldering gaze and muscled arms, I’m a bit smitten. I play games based on guys like this!
“What am I doing here?” His shout startles me and I half leap, fall out of the crate.
My head knock into the receiving table next to us before I drop to the floor.
“Ow.”
Ringing fills my head. I blink the dizziness from my eyes.
The doll gracefully lands next to me in a crouch.
Oh, that’s not creepy at all.
“Don’t kill me,” I squeal as it leans forward.
“Kill you? I just want to know what’s happening to me?”
“Happening?” Slowly, I move to a sitting position, touching my throbbing head. Wetness paints my fingers. “I just opened the box,” I grunt. “I didn’t even turn you on.”
“Turn me on?” He stops and touches the cut on my head. “Do you have a bathroom?”
I nod, and he grabs my hand, lifting me to my feet in a swoosh. I waddle and he grabs my waist. His fingers graze the spot between my skirt and shirt, the really sensitive patch of skin. Instantly, I’m thinking of all the inappropriate things boys and girls do, and feel horrible because it’s a “thing” not a “he”.
But “it” is so damn hot.
I lead anime boy to the bathroom. He follows me into our one stall.
This can’t be real.
His gaze scrutinizes every inch of my face.
Why is he staring?
“Who are you?” he asks.
“Meredith,” I croak, and push my long hair back behind my hair. I wished I would’ve brushed it today.
He nods and turns off the faucet. “Meredith.”
He walks over, and I stumble back into the toilet, thankful the lid was down. He presses the cold paper towel to my head.
“Are you going to tell me why I was in a box? And why you were sitting on me? Little ladies shouldn’t straddle young boys they don’t know, especially in a skirt.”
Heat flushes my face and I open my mouth to argue my point, but I’m half shocked, half confused about his direction of questioning.
When his gaze drops to my lap and my clearly non-ladylike stance, I quickly crisscross my ankles.
“You’re not a real boy,” I grumble.
“Did you hit your head that hard?” He laughs and I’m a bit freaked out.
The AI must be highly advanced if it doesn’t know it’s an android. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to handle this. “Um, you came in a box with no holes. I’m pretty sure if you were real you’d be dead.”
At that, his dark brows narrow, and I look away from his extremely pissed expression and at his nicely toned arms. “I’m sure there’s something in the box about where you came from.” I stand, not giving him a chance to respond. “Let’s go see.”
We go back to the storeroom, my heart racing. What if the doll is defective? There are a bajllion movies about android going crazy and killing everyone.
I take off the mini flashlight on my belt and search the inside of the crate. Again, I’m too small to see. I climb into the crate and sit in it.
Doll boy watches me.
This is so weird.
Along the left side is a set of instructions written on the case.
“Congratulations on your new android.” I stop and glance
up. My new android is not smiling. Ignoring the piercing glare, I continue. “Your model Z0333 is designed as the perfect companion, equipped with endless knowledge on the arts, music, news, entertainment, and social skills. In order to activate your new android, enter the panel on the back between the shoulder blades—there’s a diagram of how to open it—switch from demo mode to live and the automatic setup will walk you through the rest of the settings. Congratulations, again. If you have any questions, please direct them to our customer service number listed on the inside panel.”
There’s an awkward silence. I almost feel bad for reading that out loud.
He’s an android, not a person, get a grip.
“Take off your shirt,” I order. When he doesn’t respond, I add a, “Please?”
With a sexy grimace, he slips off his black shirt and tosses it.
Dolls should not be that well defined!
Corded muscles cover all the right spots. They even added a slight happy trail for effect.
Unable to speak, I twirl my finger, motioning him to turn around. When he turns, I sit on my knees and pull his shoulders back so he’s closer. The diagram showed two pressure plates right between the blades. I glide my fingers over his back, searching for the two grooves.
Found it.
I press both in and the panel automatically slides open.
“What are you doing,” he asks, craning his neck.
“Turning you to live mode.”
A set of commands flashes on the screen.
Name. Meredith Haggon
Address. 41 Pine Road, Sea Port Maine
Age. 18
Gender. Female
User name. Rukia525
Password: Zangetsu15
Android name. I think about what I want to call him. Zane.
The screen blinks . . . and blinks . . . blinks
Registration complete. From this screen you may utilize the different settings and manuals.
Thank you.
Carefully, I press the two points again and the panel closes. The seams disappear, hiding the control panel.
Zane, turns around with a cheeky smile. “Hello, Meredith. I’m Zane. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The cocky, arrogant boy from before is gone, replaced with a very amicable person. “Hello?”
It’s odd and weird, and I have no idea what to do with this thing or why my Uncle ordered it—if he even did. It wasn’t unusual for companies to send us sample toys, but this is going a bit beyond a talking storybook.
“What would you like to do, Meredith?” He holds out his hand. “May I help you out?”
“Uh, sure.” I take his hand and he lifts me up, wrapping his other arm under my butt.
I can feel the thousand shades of red on my face.
He places me down and I readjust my skirt, wishing I picked something a little longer to wear. With summer in full blow melt mode, I die in pants. Skirts and dresses, it is until after Labor Day.
“What happened here?” He touches my forehead and I wince.
“I fell, remember?”
“I’m sorry, anything that took place while I was in demo mode has been erased.” He leans forward and kisses my cut.
“Hey!” I jerk back into the table by the crate. The metal his the back of my thighs.
“I’m sorry, I only wanted to make it feel better. There’s an antiseptic and topical pain cream I can release in my lips.”
“What?” I stammer, already feeling the cool effects.
He grabs under my armpits and lifts me onto the table.
“What are you doing?” I shove my hands on top of my skirt to hold it down, but he squeezes between my legs with a serious expression.
“Your pupils are slightly dilated. I can run a rental scan and check your vitals. You may have a concussion.”
“Um.” What am I supposed to say to that?
He presses into me, and I look away, my face flushed. Doesn’t he know this is inappropriate behavior?
His eyes flash green and I blink. “What was that?”
“You have sustained no serious injuries, though there is an increase in oxytocin in your system. Are you aroused?”
My mouth drops open at the questions. “I . . . no. Of course not.”
A sweet cologne that wasn’t present before whirls around me, smelling of fresh soap and a musk I can’t pinpoint. Zane places his hands on my hips and gently squeezes.
“Do not be embarrassed. I’m designed as a companion. It is my job to see my owner is satisfied, both mentally and physically.” The blue in his eyes sparkles.
Oh, no.
Now that Zane is in live mode, it’s very clear what type of doll he is.
“Do you require servicing?” He slides his hands over my hips.
“Nope!” I push him back and jump off the table. “I’m feeling much better.”
His brows narrow for a moment. “If you insist, Meredith.”
We stand in silence because I have NO IDEA what to say or do. In reality, I’ve dreamt of a moment like this, not with a robot, but a boy who sees me. There is nothing more self-defeating than having your high-school boyfriend dump you for the summer to have fun before college.
If only you were the real deal, Zane.
My phone beeps and I pick it up off the floor. It’s nine P.M. Mom is already texting to see when I’m coming home. She hates that I close the shop by myself.
“I have to go,” I say. “Do you have a rest mode?”
He nods. “Yes. You can set a specific time that I will go into rest mode. Do you wish that time to be now?”
“Yeah. I’ll be back in the morning. Stay here . . . and don’t touch anything.”
“Of course. You have a good night.” He smiles and it’s sweet and handsome, and too perfect for me to comprehend.
“Goodnight, Zane.” I leave the storeroom, excited to see what tomorrow holds with dollboy.
But mainly because I have a robot who likes me.
And will do whatever I say.
This is going to be fun, and very, very bad.
Two
Coffee splashes my white shirt leaving a nice giant stain. “Ugh.”
I balance the coffee in my left hand while I punch in the key code into the store. It buzzes and I push the door open with my shoulder. Sensory lights flicker on as I shuffle my way to the back room to put my bag away. If Uncle T knew I was opening the store at ten A.M instead of nine he would have a fit, but who buys toys at nine AM?
Before I switch on the open sign, I run to the bathroom to clean my shirt.
For once, I thought I looked cute in my white frilly sleeved shirt and navy plaid skirt, but all that cuteness is gone thank to the dripping poo colored stain. Turning on the faucet, I soak a paper towel.
Brown hair. Brown eyes. Brown stains.
Perfect.
No amount of scrubbing removes the stain. I throw the paper towel in the trash. “I give up. I don’t know why I even bother.” I give myself one last look, pursing my lips and re-glossing before I go check on dollboy.
My heart is doing that weird flip thing when you see a cute boy, but know he’s probably taken or is no way interested in you, and I’m a total loser for acting this way.
He’s just a sexy robot doll sent here for my physical and mental wellbeing.
I giggle, thinking of what Chrissy will say when I tell her about the doll. I never had a chance to send her the picture last night.
Standing before the double doors, I think about what I’ll say and do once I go in there.
After two minutes of nothingness, I go in.
Where is he?
The warehouse is quiet, except for the clicks and buzzes of the overhead lights turning on.
“Hello?” I walk inside toward the crate.
“Hello, Meredith.”
I jump at the voice in the back, dropping my coffee, again. “Crap!”
Zane creeps out of the dark corner he was standing in. “I’m sorry to have frightened
you.”
“You shouldn’t be standing behind people like that. It’s rude.”
Shaking my head and huffing, I go to the sink area and grab a cloth. “Great. Another stain.”
“I can take care of that.” Zane points a finger at my chest and shoots a white foam out of his finger.
“Hey!”
Then he proceeds to rub it in.
I smack his hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning. The foam contains agents that dissolve any form of food, pet, juice or alcohol stain.” He tilts his head at me. “Do you want the stain there?”
“No,” I say with a bit of sass. “I’m a grown woman, I can clean myself.”
“Actually, you are not,” he says flatly. “At eighteen you are considered a young adult and will still have roughly eleven more years before you mature into a woman.”
Do robots pick up on eye rolls? Because this guy doesn’t.
“Look, Zane, I have to open the store. Make yourself useful and clean up.”
My android is losing his hot appeal with his robotic attitude. If this thing was built for companionship, he clearly doesn’t understand what that means. With a huff, I go to the front.
The box near the counter turns the store on. Uncle T and my dad designed this place to be alive with sounds and moving toys. I flick on the three switches that turn on the rest of the lights on both floors and activate a few of the bigger toys.
The train in the center hoots on and starts chugging around its outlandish mountain track. Hologram birds and butterflies flutter around the store from the different projectors—those are my favorite. On the second floor by the black spiral stairs is the book nook, another of my favorite. Dad wanted to keep one area that held all the nostalgia of younger years with rea books and puzzles. There’s even a hologram librarian to help you find a book based on a series of questions.
Our cleaning robot, Max is sitting in the corner. I press him, and he starts rolling around the floor.
Lastly, I walk to the front door and flip the store sign to display open.
Normally, customers don’t start showing until elven or so, but we have a sale today, buy two get one of any item $40 and below. There’s a display near the train showcasing some of the more popular items in that price range: musical fairies, talking storybooks, army men that will fight on their own, and mini-stuffed bears whole say over five hundred unique phrases, you can even input your name, and a few of your favorite things.
