by Alicia Ellis
“You’re insane. You know that?” he said, grinning full force now.
“You loved every minute of it.” Away from the wailing alarm, the pain in my head lessened to a dull ache. I laughed until my heart slowed to its normal pace and my side hurt. I had officially lost my mind—and it felt amazing.
“I spent half my life with a disability,” he said when I finally calmed again. “Now that all my body parts work the way I want, it feels good to rebel.” He nudged my arm. “Even if it was more your rebellion than mine.”
I swallowed the last of my hysterical giggles. “You’re not mad at me?”
“I think I might like you even more.” Hunter took his gaze from the road long enough to meet my eyes. “No, I take that back.” He turned back to the road. “I like you just as much.”
It shouldn’t have made me blush, but I ducked my head and stared down at my knees.
A few minutes later, he stopped the car outside my house, and I reached for the door handle. Hunter leaned over, wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me toward himself. My feet lost purchase on the car’s floor, and I stumbled against him. My forehead tapped against his, but he held me firmly enough to save us from bumping too hard.
“Sorry,” I said, more on reflex than anything else.
He went bright red, but his hand stayed at my waist. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Are you okay?”
“Sorry,” I said again, and reached out to brush his forehead where we’d bumped. I yanked my hand back when I realized I was touching his face. “Sorry,” I said again—because I wasn’t sorry for any of it.
“Stop apologizing.” The blush had cleared from Hunter’s face, and his voice was low and luscious, like a threatening storm in a drought. His breath tickled my nose, and as usual, it smelled of mint.
My mouth was inches from his. Less than inches? If I leaned forward, would they touch? Were his lips as soft as they looked?
They had to be.
“I have to go.” I shoved against his chest and scrambled away from him. I couldn’t do this. Not with Jackson lying in a hospital bed. Not with his body in pieces. Not like this. “I’ll . . . um . . . see you tomorrow.”
I slammed the car door behind me and ran around the side of the house to my bedroom window. Inside, I kicked off my shoes, reenabled the home alarms from my hand-screen, and climbed into bed without bothering to undress.
I just needed a good night’s sleep.
16
In the morning, Lionel pulled up in front of the school, and I dragged myself out of the vehicle.
I hadn’t sleepwalked to the middle of nowhere again—thank God—but I’d sleepwalked down to the kitchen. I’d woken around four-thirty in the morning standing in front of the open refrigerator, once again wearing my hoodie and sneakers. My nightshift bodyguard, Walt, stood nearby in case any of the food decided to attack me. I guessed my unconscious self had decided it was hungry.
After two nights of sleeping without actually being in bed, I could have fallen over from exhaustion at any minute. The dull ache in my head and left shoulder didn’t help either.
Not five seconds after Lionel drove away, my hand-screen buzzed with a message from Liv. She wanted me to meet her on the east side of the school.
When I arrived at the spot, she wasn’t there yet. I gave in to temptation and texted Hunter. I held my breath while I typed the message inviting him to meet Liv and me.
Hunter showed up first.
His limp could now pass for a swagger. Despite it being January, the air held barely a breeze, so Hunter wore a long-sleeved shirt with no jacket. Although it hung loose around the waist, it defined the lean form of his chest and upper arms. His too-long hair fell into his face, and he brushed it back. When it fell a second time, my fingers itched to tuck it out of the way.
We had been hanging out only a few days, but yesterday felt like a serious bonding experience. I’d bared my soul to him, and he had done the same. We could see each other’s wounds now.
When Hunter stood only ten yards from me, I started to raise my arms, and then dropped them. I wanted to hug him, but a week ago, I barely knew his name.
Hugging would be weird. Wouldn’t it? My arms hung at my sides like they were glued there.
When he finally reached me, he wrapped his arms around me, and when he squeezed, I squeezed back. His hands on my waist sent a burst of warmth up my spine. I wanted to nestle my face in the crook of his neck and inhale him. I didn’t—but the knots that lived in my chest loosened just a little.
“How are you?” he asked after we stepped apart. His voice had a thickness to it, like good-quality honey, deep and dark and delicious.
It took me a moment to collect myself. “If you’re wondering whether I’m still criminally insane, the answer is no.”
I wanted to say more, and from the way his lips parted, he probably did too. But Liv rounded the corner and jogged toward us.
Her text message hadn’t said anything was wrong, just that she wanted to see me. The look on her face, however, suggested things were far from okay.
“Have you heard?” She sucked in a deep breath.
I couldn’t help noticing that Hunter didn’t give Liv a hello hug. Only me.
“Breathe,” I said. “What’s happening?”
She let out her breath in one long stroke. “Kevin Rodriguez is dead. Strangled last night in his bed.”
Hunter’s eyes went as wide as Liv’s, and I felt mine doing the same.
“Just like Harmony?” Hunter asked.
She nodded.
“Rodriguez,” he said. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“It’s a common name,” Liv said.
My chest knots pulled themselves tight again.
I hadn’t made the connection right away, not until Hunter pointed it out. “Kevin’s dad is Paul Rodriguez. We met him when we toured CyberCorp. He leads the marketing team for the Model Ones.”
Emotions waged war inside me. On one hand, I’d sleepwalked only as far as the kitchen last night. On the other hand, another of my classmates had died. A boy I’d seen in the hallways just a few days ago, laughing with his friends, would no longer wander there between classes. His life had been snuffed out.
I should have been devastated, but instead, relief vibrated through every inch of me.
I hadn’t killed Kevin. And since Kevin was killed just like Harmony—the kid of a CyberCorp employee, strangled in bed—I hadn’t killed Harmony either. I didn’t know whether to dance or cry—or cry because someone was dead and I wanted to dance.
Hunter squeezed my shoulder. “Lena, you look like you’re going to be sick.”
“I’ll be okay.” But the knots were so tight now that they blocked my throat. My breath went thin.
He turned his attention on Liv. “You don’t look too hot either. Do you need to sit down after that run?”
“No, it’s not that,” she said. “I’m just a little tired. I got up super early to finish a paper. I actually heard the news report about Kevin at around five this morning, an hour after it happened. I—”
“What?” I held up a hand to stop her. “Kevin died at four in the morning?”
“According to the news report, yeah. The report hit the newswire so soon because a reporter lives right next door to the Rodriguez house.”
Numbness spread from my fingertips outward to my entire body. Even though I thought I’d sleepwalked only down to the kitchen, my subconscious wouldn’t have dressed me in shoes and a jacket unless I was going outside.
Kevin had died at four, and I woke up in front of the fridge at four-thirty. I could have come and gone by the window, like I had when I met Hunter last night, and I wouldn’t have had to deal with not having an ID chip to get through the front door. The bodyguard wouldn’t have known I was out of bed until I arrived back home and went down to the kitchen via my bedroom door, which he watched throughout the night.
Assuming I’d sleepwalked from Kevin’
s house back to mine, I could have killed him if he lived nearby. In thirty minutes, at a jog, I could have made it about three miles.
“Lena?” Liv asked. She and Hunter both stared at me, concern etched across their faces.
“Do you know where Kevin lives—lived, I mean?”
Liv shrugged. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I sleepwalked again last night.”
“What’s it got to do with where Kevin lives?”
Hunter caught on to my line of thinking faster. “Not this again.”
Liv understood a second later. “You didn’t kill them!” she said, louder than she must have intended because she took a quick glance around to check for anyone within earshot. The nearest group of students stood about ten yards away, and they didn’t react to Liv’s outburst. More quietly, she added, “That’s crazy.”
“Is it? I hate CyberCorp almost as much as anyone, and I don’t know where I was during either murder. What if I—”
“You didn’t,” Liv said. “No way. You’re not a killer.”
“I destroyed CyberCorp’s lobby last night when I was wide awake. Crushed a Model One’s skull in my hand like it was an aluminum soda can . . . and it felt amazing. I’m violent. Maybe my subconscious is even more.”
“Whoa.” Liv held up both hands to stop me. “You did what?”
“Yesterday afternoon, after you left, my mom’s goons showed up and dragged me back home. And then my photo was all over the internet—metal arm and all. And I was pissed about the whole thing, and I kind of lost it. I broke the windows and trashed the Model One in the lobby.”
Her mouth dropped open. “We need to talk about your anger issues, but first things first. You damaged a robot. So what? That doesn’t make you a murderer. Robots weren’t people last time I checked.”
Hunter held both hands palm up, as if he were placing the two on a scale, measuring their weight. “They’re not the same. Not by a long shot.”
“That’s not my point. I’m out of control. I didn’t plan to destroy that property, but I’m happy I did. And part of me hopes these murders will convince my parents to cancel the Model One rollout. Who can say I didn’t kill Harmony and Kevin to make that happen?”
“You didn’t,” Hunter said, “but you need to talk to someone about the sleepwalking.”
“You don’t know that. All we know is that this started when I got the damn arm.” I gripped the metal wrist with my right hand and yanked, as if I could remove the wretched machine from my shoulder just by pulling it. “I’m getting rid of it. As soon as I can make an appointment to remove it, it’s gone.”
“We’ve had this conversation already,” Liv said. “There are a hundred other people more likely to have committed these murders.” She began ticking names off on her fingers. “Philip Pollock. Any former CyberCorp employee. That guy who had to close down his little tech company last month because of the competition from CyberCorp. Or any other business owner who had to shut down—I’m sure there are a bunch of those.”
When she paused, I knew she wanted me to respond, to agree with her, but I could manage nothing more than a shrug.
“Hunter.” She waved toward him. “Do something with her.”
“Why is she my problem?” he asked. “You’ve known her longer.”
“And she’s been this stubborn for all that time.”
“You guys do see me standing here, right?” I waved my hand in their faces.
They stopped bickering and stared at me, both with arms crossed over their chests.
“I’m going to make an appointment to see Dr. Fisher. That, I can promise you.”
For the remaining minutes before class, we continued to argue. By the time the warning bell for class rang, I’d convinced them that I accepted their explanations. In truth, I still had my doubts.
There was too much I didn’t know.
The city’s metro area was a big one, so it was more likely Kevin lived outside a three-mile range of me rather than inside it. I needed his address. If he lived far away, I could relax. That would prove my innocence.
I spent my morning classes distracted, itching for the chance to call CyberCorp and convince someone there to help me stop sleepwalking. As soon as the lunch bell rang, I ducked into an empty restroom and made the call.
“Hello, Miss Hayes,” the receptionist said when she answered. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling for Dr. Fisher,” I said.
“Hold please.”
A few seconds later, Dr. Fisher came on the line, sounding only mildly annoyed. “Lena. What can I do for you? Everything okay with the arm?”
“Not exactly. I’m still sleepwalking . . .” My voice trailed off. I felt like I needed to say more, but I couldn’t come out and tell her I suspected myself of murder. Those words didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “I think something with the arm and the chip in my brain is making it happen. I woke up on the side of the road the night before last.” It was far from a perfect explanation of why I needed her help, but it was the best I could manage. “I want the arm and the chip removed. I want a traditional prosthetic without artificial intelligence.”
“This again?” She breathed an exaggerated sigh. “We’ve been testing versions of that chip for the past six years. Your sleepwalking is the result of good old-fashioned trauma.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but then snapped it shut. She was right. Based on the information I’d given her, her explanation seemed a lot more likely than a malfunction in high-tech CyberCorp equipment.
Only her theory didn’t explain why I’d sleepwalked to exactly the route that would take me to Harmony’s house. That kind of activity was too specific, too premeditated to be explained by trauma.
But I couldn’t say that to Dr. Fisher—not without offering myself up as a murder suspect.
“You’re right,” I said. “Sorry to bother you.”
As soon as we disconnected the call, I made a new one to the same place. For a second time, I’d failed to convince Dr. Fisher, but maybe one of her assistants would take pity on me.
“Hello, Miss Hayes,” came the receptionist’s voice again.
“Sorry for calling again. Can you get me Ron Franklin or Simon McQueen this time, please?”
“Yes, Miss Hayes. Please hold.”
A few seconds later, Ron picked up the line. “Lena?”
“Hey. Sorry to bother you. I was hoping to talk to you about my arm.”
There was a pause on his end, and then, “Did you talk to Dr. Fisher? I pretty much just do what she tells me to do. If you have concerns, they should go to her.”
“She’s not interested in helping me. And I know for a fact that competition for CyberCorp’s college intern spots is insane, and you got one. That means you’re a computer prodigy or something. You probably know as much about this arm as she does—more, since you’re the one doing all the work while she supervises.”
“I find it hard to believe Dr. Fisher blew off her bosses’ daughter.”
“Not exactly. I didn’t give her the whole story, and the half story I told her was lame. She had every reason not to help me.”
“What whole story?”
“Can we meet in person?” I had to assume CyberCorp recorded all phone conversations made to the main line. If I told Ron everything right now, I would have a lot to answer for later.
“Sure, but it’ll have to wait a few days. Fisher was pissed that I spent an hour touring the building yesterday. She’s on my ass today.” He lowered his voice. “She’s staring at me right now. Tonight, she’s got her whole team going out of town until Friday for some kind of public-relations thing. Maybe we can talk Friday night at your folks’ party, or you can come into the office on Monday.”
Monday felt like a lifetime away, but Hunter and Liv were probably right. I was overreacting. “Monday’s fine.”
“I’ll still see you on Friday at the party. Okay?”
“Sure. See you then.�
��
Just to be on the safe side, I’d have to keep myself from murdering anyone until then—even if that meant staying awake.
17
By Friday night, I’d forgotten all about my parents’ party to celebrate the Model One release. But the hubbub at home reminded me even before I walked through the door after school.
Three men and a woman, dressed in the kind of sleek black suits that could only designate security, stood on either side of the front door. They tipped their heads in recognition as I stepped through.
The foyer was clear of its usual decor and outfitted for the celebration. The glass entryway table had disappeared, showing off the wide-open space of our two-story foyer. The chandelier overhead must have been newly polished. Sunlight sought out the large crystals and cast multi-colored rays across the metallic accent wall. To one side, the coat closet stood open and empty, where hired staff would stand to check coats.
The rest of the first floor displayed more of the same. Tall metal tables replaced the furniture usually in the sitting and family rooms. Guests would stand around them while they ate fancy hors d’oeuvres.
Our king-sized dining room had been repurposed into a small ballroom. A temporary dance floor lay across the hardwood to avoid scuffing my mother’s floors. Smaller versions of the tall tables lined the walls.
They could just have easily rented a nearby venue for this purpose, but my mom prided herself on throwing lavish bashes—never mind the fact that her office and home staff together did all the work. She managed the tasks, and that counted for something in her book.
My bodyguard Owen had followed me into the house. Marcy caught up with us as we reached the stairs leading to my bedroom. “Will you join us for the party, Lena? Or should I bring your dinner upstairs?”
I gave her a quick hug, which basically meant I allowed her to hold me up for a few seconds. I hadn’t slept well in days—by choice. Better safe than sorry. “Upstairs. Definitely. And would you mind bringing some coffee too?”
