Project Paper Doll: The Trials

by Stacey Kade

  Lame. Very.

  But no one, including the staff behind the oversized registration desk, paid us much attention beyond a polite nod, acknowledging our existence.

  She headed to the elevators, moving excruciatingly casually when I wanted to run. “The only question is blue or green? I mean, I know that blue totally sets off my eyes better, but you know it can’t always be about that, right? Sometimes I’ve got to consider my hair, which, I think, means green?”

  I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. A car, a dress? Possibly jewelry. Or maybe she was just talking, prattling to fill the space with talk that would fit the part she was trying to play. “Uh-huh,” I said. “Of course.”

  She pushed the up button for the elevator and turned to face me with an excited squeak that was entirely phony. “Obvious solution! I’ll just get one of each!” She clapped her hands excitedly, and I almost laughed in spite of everything because it was just so not her.

  Inside the elevator, faster than I could blink, she pushed the buttons for the first seven floors. Roughly the same floors that, from the outside, appeared to be under construction. That much I had figured out. Beyond that, I had no idea.

  “Oops, more time alone with you!” She caught my hand and pulled herself closer to me, rising up on her tiptoes. “Just go with it,” she said in a whisper I could barely hear a second before she pulled my head down toward hers and she kissed me.

  Uh, okay.

  But she wasn’t entirely with me. When I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her up and helping to support her weight so she wasn’t wobbling on her toes, I could feel the tightness in her whole body. Usually she sort of went soft and boneless—not bragging, just reporting the details—but right now, it was like trying to cuddle with a metal support beam. She was still on high alert, no matter how convincing her performance of “relaxed and flirty,” and her body was giving her away.

  Not to mention that every time the doors opened, she was distracted enough that her tongue stopped, which was driving me crazy in an entirely different way.

  She was paying attention to the levels we were passing, perhaps counting off floors without turning around to check. I wasn’t sure what she was looking, or listening, for. But I was more than happy to help her in this way.

  “I think this is us,” she said brightly, and turned to peer out onto a floor that reeked of new carpet and paint. The light fixtures gleamed so brightly, they were almost blinding.

  “Nope, guess not.” She smiled up at me, her cheeks flushed and her mouth pink and slightly swollen.

  “Too bad,” I murmured, and pulled her back to me.

  Three floors later—or possibly four—Ariane paused again and glanced over her shoulder when the door opened.

  I followed her gaze. From what I could see, the left side of the hall looked normal, if a bit dusty. Footprints and wheel marks from a luggage cart were outlined in white in the dark-green patterned carpet, with larger crumbs of drywall sprinkled throughout.

  The right side, though, was sectioned off in plastic, and faint sounds of hammering and sawing came from that direction. This floor was definitely under construction.

  She tugged my hand and led me off the elevator to the left, just as the doors started to close.

  The hall split again and she took us right, down a dim corridor with glossy wooden doors and plaques bearing suite numbers above what appeared to be…Yep, those were doorbells.

  “Stay close to me, and keep your eyes down,” she said quietly.

  The first light overhead blew before I had a chance to ask what she meant.

  I ducked instinctively, my free hand flying up to protect the back of my neck.

  She moved swiftly, the bulbs popping and raining down on us as we passed, and then she let go of my hand to stretch her fingertips toward either wall. Door locks snapped open on both sides of the hall, even as the lights on the key card scanners remained a stubborn red.

  Glass from the lightbulbs crunched into the carpet beneath my feet as I followed her.

  Once she’d reached the end of the hall, she backtracked to the second-to-last room door and waved me inside, the motion tight as though it were painful.

  She shut the door with care behind us, even as I heard the first confused guests open their now-unlocked doors and call out into the darkened hall.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Hello? Is someone there?”

  “The goddamn power’s out again.”

  Ariane held her position at the door, while I hesitated just inside the largest hotel room I’d ever seen. It was, from what I could see, three rooms. A living room with a huge flat-screen and a big sectional couch. Beyond that, I caught a glimpse of a dining table and chairs, and then, through a set of black-framed French doors, a big white corner of a bed.

  “What—” I began.

  She shook her head, holding her finger up to her mouth. A second later, her shoulders sagged as if she’d been holding her breath and finally exhaled, and the lock snapped into place on our door with a loud clack.

  The same noise sounded in the hall, moving away from us, a series of muted thwacks that got quieter, like someone running past and hitting each door as he passed.

  She’d forced open the locks on all the doors in this section and then released them. And I had no idea why.

  I shifted my weight but kept quiet as the sound of heavy footsteps and the squawk of a walkie-talkie came through the door. “I’m on seven,” a man’s voice said just outside our door.

  Security, it had to be.

  I jerked back as if he could somehow see me through the door. Ariane caught my wrist, giving it a warning squeeze.

  “I don’t care what you were working on,” the man said, annoyed. “You had to hit something with the electrical. I’ve got twelve doors that misfired here and broken glass everywhere.”

  The doorknob rattled; someone checking to make sure it was locked. Even though I knew it was, my breath caught in my throat.

  The walkie-talkie chirped again, a softer female voice asking a question, but the words were indistinct.

  “Yeah, I don’t know,” the security guy answered. “Locks are back on line now, but you’ve got to get someone up here to clean up the mess.” His voice sounded farther away. He was moving on. The further rattle of doorknobs confirmed his location.

  “Hey, are the lights coming back on or what?” a loud and irritated voice, no doubt one of the guests, demanded.

  The security guy answered, his voice low and soothing, and Ariane edged away from the door, moving past me and deeper into the suite.

  She peered cautiously around the corner into the dining area, which, when I followed her, also turned out to have a freaking kitchen in the opposite corner.

  That didn’t seem to impress her, though. She paused only to grab several snack items from the honor bar basket sitting on the counter, then she kept moving toward the bedroom.

  Getting us away from the door, I realized.

  “What was that about?” I asked, tagging along after her. Just inside the bedroom, there was a doorway to a huge bathroom with a marble floor, a tub that would easily seat six, and a television in the mirror. Holy crap. On the bathroom counter, a silver tray next to the sink held any and every kind of personal item you might need—shampoo, toothpaste, mouthwash, cotton balls, a disposable razor, even condoms—in discreet packaging with the hotel’s logo.

  Behind me, Ariane closed the French doors, shutting us off in the bedroom. “I couldn’t have them checking the room individually for someone breaking in. You’re the one who taught me that they can tell when the room locks are triggered on an unregistered room.”

  I blinked. She was right. When we’d stayed in that crap motel on the way to my mom’s house. That felt like a lifetime ago.

  “So you picked a floor that was under construction, figuring they’d blame anything strange on a malfunction or short circuit or something.” It was freaking brilliant. I felt a burst of
warm pride in my chest. No, she was brilliant.

  “You need to eat,” she said, pushing a package of pretzels into my hands with a frown. “You’re too pale.”

  With my adrenaline pumping, I’d managed to push the shaky, unsteady feeling caused by the NuStasis battle in my body to the back of my mind. But now, when I felt relatively safe once more, it zoomed back to the forefront of my awareness.

  I sat on the corner of the bed and opened the pretzels, eating a few in the hopes of a blood sugar boost. “Ariane.”

  “I’m not sure what to do,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if there’s anything to do.”

  The warmth in me drained away, leaving behind a cold emptiness. It wasn’t her words so much as the defeat in her voice. That was not something I was used to hearing from her. Ever.

  “The Committee, I’m sure, is long gone,” she said. “Laughlin, Jacobs, and St. John have probably been sent to their respective companies to consult with lawyers and prepare some kind of defense or statement.”

  Emerson was gone? I felt a tiny spurt of panic. My condition hadn’t stabilized yet. How soon would I start to see symptoms of my body rejecting the virus and its changes?

  “We have virtually no money, no ID.” Ariane lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “We can’t run, and hiding will only work for so long. Whomever they’ve tasked with finding us will eventually succeed. It’s a matter of days, maybe only hours. The government has resources we can’t beat and access we can’t avoid.”

  She sank down on the opposite side of the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I don’t know where Ford is, even if she’s alive. I have no way of tracking her down.” She looked small and vulnerable and, even worse, uncertain for the first time since I’d met her.

  “We’ll go to the news,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “The same place my mom—”

  “The Committee will have thought of that.” She shook her head. “They’ll never let us get close. There’s too much risk. I…” She stopped, her gaze going distant.

  “What?” I glanced behind me reflexively, half-expecting to see a SWAT team bursting through the door behind me, but it was still just the quiet and empty suite.

  She looked at me, fierceness burning her gaze. “You can.”

  “I can what?” I asked.

  “With the focus your mom put on you, they might not want to take the risk of hurting you. You’re likely a secondary target. If one at all.” She stood again, warming to the idea. “It would only add credence to her claims if they kill you.”

  I winced, but she didn’t notice, her brain in full strategy mode, kicking up possibilities.

  “They’ll throw Jacobs to the wolves as long as it doesn’t come back on them, and right now this is a simple bioethics case, corporate misbehavior. Not a government conspiracy. If they hurt you, it might inspire someone to dig deeper,” she said, pacing again.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “But what’s to stop him from telling his side of the story, talking about the contract and the alien DNA and Project Paper Doll?”

  She stopped and gave me a bitter smile. “He won’t. As it is, he’ll be lucky if he escapes this with his company intact. If he tries to pin any of this on the government, they’ll bury him. If you go to the police and tell them who you are, they might be able to protect you. Particularly if I provide a distraction and lead away whomever the Committee sent after us,” Ariane said. “I’m a much higher priority.”

  “Always bragging,” I murmured.

  “No, it’s just that I would give it all away.” She gestured at herself, her body, the alien DNA hidden within. “Even a simple blood test would show there’s something wrong—”

  “—different,” I interjected.

  “—with me,” she finished. “Your tests will show an unknown virus, I’m guessing, but nothing as conclusive.”

  Until I collapsed bleeding from my eyes or something. But I wasn’t going to mention that. She didn’t need another thing to worry about.

  “So, I run for the police while you distract.” I didn’t love that plan, but at least it was a plan. Better than wandering the streets waiting for a bullet. “What are you going to do, pull more fire alarms? Break more lights?” I asked, teasing a little, feeling incrementally better just seeing determination flaring in her eyes again.

  “Whatever it takes. I’m something of an expert by now,” she said, teasing in a confident tone, but beneath that, I could hear something that sounded like sadness.

  ZANE NARROWED HIS EYES AT me, suspicious. “Ariane…”

  I ignored him, my heart pounding at pretending this was like every other strategy moment we’d shared. “So, listen, give me twenty minutes before you try to leave the hotel, okay? That should give me enough time to implement Phase 1.” Which sounded really good but meant nothing. I fully intended to be a distraction as long as possible to give him safe passage, but I had no illusions about my own fate. The second I stepped outside, I was dead. Actually, I was dead already, it was only a matter of time until the bullet—as yet unfired—caught up with me. The best I could do was make sure Zane stayed alive.

  But if he knew what I was up to, he’d be angry and upset, and I’d have to try to explain the inevitable, which was an endless debate that we didn’t really have time for. The fact was, I’d known all along that if I refused to become what Dr. Jacobs wanted me to be, if I resisted the Committee’s desire to make me a weapon, then death was the most likely outcome.

  I’d accepted it a long time ago. In fact, during my first six years in the lab, I’d thought more than once that I would die there, in the dark and alone, for not obeying Dr. Jacobs. Then, during the three weeks I’d been there after being recaptured, I’d wanted to.

  Instead, I’d gotten the gift of a life outside for ten years and then the discovery that the boy I loved was still alive. All in all, it was an acceptable deal, both times.

  “So you’re going to get to the police, tell them who you are, and back up your mom’s story. That will help shut Jacobs and maybe Laughlin down,” I continued, forcing myself to keep eye contact with Zane, as if nothing were wrong.

  “But you’re going to meet me,” he said, frowning, searching my face for reassurance.

  Pain arrowed through my chest. “Of course.” I smiled at him, even as my throat tightened. “I don’t know exactly how long they’re going to keep you in protective custody, so it may be a while before I can reach you. I’ll try to get to the same police station today. But if not, go back to Wingate. Stick with your mom. She’s your safety net.”

  His expression troubled, he nodded.

  It was only his confidence in my abilities and skills that let him believe I could pull this off. I appreciated the support, as misguided as it was, because it let me get away with a lie for the greater good.

  This plan wasn’t just about Zane surviving, even though that was the biggest, most obvious benefit. We couldn’t stop the government from starting up the project again at some point, but if Zane went along with his mother’s story, he might be able to keep Jacobs and Laughlin from participating in it.

  It wasn’t the same as destroying Project Paper Doll, but if I could keep them from doing to someone else what he and Laughlin had done to me, Ford, Carter, Nixon, and countless others, then my death would be worth something.

  Not that Zane would agree.

  He looked at me, skeptical, unsure, his shoulders stiff with tension. Even though I was blocking as hard as I could, trying to keep any stray feelings or thoughts from reaching him, he wasn’t an idiot. “I swear to God, Ariane, if I get home and you’re not there—”

  “I’ll be there. Promise,” I said over the lump in my throat. It was easy to make commitments that I had every intention of honoring if my heart was still beating.

  I inched closer, and when he didn’t move away, I slid my hands up his chest and stood on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck, clinging and breathing deeply in the familiar scent of hi
m. I couldn’t say good-bye, but I could take a moment, just this one, for me, for us.

  Zane would recognize it for what it was afterward, and that would have to be enough.

  After a second, Zane’s arms came up around me, lifting me off my feet and holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  I buried my face in his neck, and I could feel his breath warm at my collarbone and the lightest brush of his mouth against my skin. It sent a frisson of electricity through me, and the whole world stopped.

  I wasn’t sure who moved or touched or what changed, but the tenor of the moment shifted lightning fast, like someone had flicked a switch from loss to wanting.

  Zane’s breathing picked up, his chest moving against mine, and I could feel his heart pounding, hard.

  Acting on an instinct that I didn’t know I had, I pulled myself tighter against him, wrapping my trembling legs around his waist.

  He made a noise somewhere between a groan and exhalation of surprise before sliding one arm around my hips to help support my weight. With his free hand, he pulled the stupid cap from my head, which I’d almost forgotten I was wearing, and tangled his fingers in my hair, tilting my face to slant my mouth against his.

  His tongue delved into my mouth, tangling with mine. This was not the tentative, explorative kiss of before. No hesitation, no uncertainty. It was as if he were trying to convince me of something or stake a claim with his conviction.

  And still, it was not enough.

  I squirmed against him, and his hands tightened on my hip and in my hair, but it didn’t hurt.

  Feeling that odd frantic energy growing in me, I wedged my hands between us, fumbling for the zipper on the hoodie I’d insisted he wear.

  My questing fingers got caught in a loop of the stupid hoodie string, and I couldn’t free myself without the patience or willpower to slow down, so I yanked it out, sending the sealed plastic end up to hit us both in the face.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  Zane laughed against my mouth, a low vibration in his chest that I felt everywhere, but he didn’t stop. He shifted both of his hands to my hips and took an off-balance step and then another to the bed before turning and sitting, bringing me tighter against his lap.