Girl of Flesh and Metal

by Alicia Ellis

  The words sounded practiced. I might have thought them insincere, if the man didn’t look so completely sorry. His lip even trembled a bit.

  “Did you kill Harmony Miller and Kevin Rodriguez?” another reporter shouted.

  Before Pollock could answer, the lawyer guy strode toward the stage and gestured for Pollock to step aside, which he did, his head obediently dipped.

  Up close, the lawyer’s facial features became clear, and I recognized him as my idol Philip Pollock. I leaned closer to the screen.

  “Adam Pollock did not kill anyone, which is why he was released,” Philip said. “During both murders, Mr. Pollock was at his home, sleeping. His house’s extensive security records, as well as the house staff, confirm his presence there. The police have verified this alibi. No more questions.” He led Adam from the stage.

  Marcy stared down at me, brow crinkled.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “If the murderer is still out there, perhaps your parents should consider putting your bodyguard back on duty.”

  “Shh,” I hissed. My parents had long since left for the office, but still, I didn’t want that thought out there in the universe. That was exactly the sort of thing my mother would do. “The only places I go these days are school and home, and Lionel escorts me. No one’s going to murder me on a crowded campus, and no one’s getting in here to kill me.”

  “They got past the Millers’ security.”

  “Then the Millers must have a flaw in their system.”

  Marcy raised a skeptical brow.

  But that wasn’t my largest concern right now. Pollock wasn’t some deranged lunatic who enjoyed attacking people. He was just a guy who had gone off his meds and lost control. I could empathize with that—losing control. I’d twisted Harmony’s arm and beaten Adam Pollock into submission. I couldn’t blame Pollock for losing it himself every now and then.

  Me, on the other hand—I was another story. I despised CyberCorp almost as much as the Pollocks, and unlike Adam, I had no alibi for Harmony’s and Kevin’s murders. In fact, I had the opposite of an alibi. An anti-alibi—if that was a thing.

  I was sleepwalking and had no idea where I was. Plus, I’d been upset with Harmony when she died. Adam Pollock trailed far behind me when it came to number-one suspects for these murders.

  His family could have modified their own security system to make it look like he was home, even instructed the staff to lie for him. But still, without an ID chip, it was easier for me to get past the Millers’ system than it was for him.

  I looked guilty as hell.

  22

  Before heading for the school’s front steps on Monday morning, I locked the doors of my new car and ran my fingers along the shiny red hood. Full of curves and angles, it held so much more personality than the sweeping, impersonal shape of more modern vehicles.

  My mother had been trying to make a point when she chose this particular model. I guessed she wanted to prove I’d miss the technology—the automatic locks keyed to ID chips, auto-drive, ultra-adjustable seats. I didn’t. Instead, I felt like I finally had a car that suited me.

  My bodyguard Owen exited the vehicle next to mine and strode behind me until I stopped at the school’s front steps. When Adam Pollock had been released, Owen returned to my side once again. I’d had one bodyguard-free night and morning, and now he was back.

  I scowled and shuffled away to put more distance between us. The last thing I needed was the additional attention I’d get from toting the oversized bodyguard around.

  “I need you to get me a phone number,” I said into my hand-screen. I’d called Ron as I was parking my car.

  “Whose?” Ron asked.

  “Adam Pollock.” The best way to discover for myself whether he was guilty—and whether I was innocent—was to talk to the man one-on-one.

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  “Ron? You still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Why do want to talk to the guy whose face you beat into a bloody pulp?”

  I’d mapped out the various paths the conversation could take, but nowhere in my map did I expect Ron to use the term bloody pulp. I did, however, have an answer to why I wanted to talk to Pollock. “I want to formally accept the apology he offered me at the press conference, and offer him one in return.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Can you get the number or not?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  We disconnected the call, and a second later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find Hunter smiling down at me.

  As usual, his body tilted slightly to one side when he stood still, favoring his bad leg. He gave me the same crooked smile that had caught me off guard when we first met. His humble confidence made him so different from Jackson and so different from me.

  I threw my arms around him and squeezed.

  “Hey,” he said when I pulled back. “You okay?”

  I wanted to confess everything on my mind—that I needed Adam Pollock to be a murderer because otherwise I might be one. I had gone against my own judgment and not demanded another surgery to remove the arm. I should have insisted harder, even refused to leave CyberCorp until I got what I wanted. But I hadn’t, and now this was my punishment.

  To top it off, I couldn’t stop thinking about Hunter—when I should have been camped out at Jackson’s bedside. Because even if Harmony and Kevin weren’t my fault—even if I was innocent of that—Jackson’s fate rested squarely on my conscience.

  Still gripped in my metal fist, my hand-screen vibrated. For a moment, I had a surreal, out-of-body feeling as I realized my skin wasn’t touching the device at all, but still, I could somehow feel the vibration.

  It was freaky.

  The small display on the side informed me it was Ron calling. I accepted the call and placed the device to my ear.

  “That was quick.”

  “The Pollocks aren’t exactly hard to find,” Ron said. “Their family is almost as high profile as yours.” He rattled off the number.

  My hand-screen captured the number during the call, and when I disconnected, it asked if I wanted to call it. I confirmed, and the device placed my call to Adam Pollock.

  A man answered on the fourth ring, just as I was about to give up. “Hello. Philip Pollock speaking.”

  I went mute, taken aback that this apparently was not a direct line to Adam’s micro-comm—and doubly taken aback that I’d just reached the Philip Pollock. The same Philip Pollock whose audio programs I listened to religiously.

  I would keep it together. I would not be some starstruck teenager. Not right now.

  “I was trying to reach Adam Pollock. Please.” I added that last part as an afterthought. “Is this not his micro?”

  “Adam doesn’t have a micro.” It was a little disturbing how much this potential murderer had in common with me. “And, regardless, we have no comment about the events of the last few days. As we’ve said before, Mr. Pollock did not kill anyone, which is why he was released.”

  “I’m not the press,” I said, before he could disconnect. “I’m Lena Hayes.”

  Silence on the other end, and then, “What can I do for you, Miss Hayes?”

  “I’d like to speak to Adam please. If you ask him, I’m sure he’ll agree to talk to me.” It was worth a shot. After all, Adam had apologized to me during the press conference, and he’d looked sincere when he did it. If he meant his words, he would want to relay them in person.

  After a pause, Philip said, “I’ll tell him you called. Unfortunately, he’s under medical care at the moment and not available to talk.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be available?”

  “Later today, perhaps. Goodbye, Miss Hayes.”

  “Wait!” I shouted into the hand-screen before my idol could end the call.

  “Yes, Miss Hayes.” Annoyance laced his words.

  “I’m sorry, but I just have to tell you. I listen to your audios. T
hey’re fantastic.”

  “Are you mocking me, Miss Hayes?” This time, when he said my name, he emphasized it hard—as if I needed a reminder of who I was. “CyberCorp is a blight upon humanity. Humans are the ones that need celebrating, not inanimate objects—and certainly not ones masquerading as humans with artificial intelligence. Our complex brains make us unique in this world. We cannot be duplicated by machines.”

  “I know that. I—”

  “Machines are not companions or employees or protectors. Neither your parents nor any other human being should make intelligence artificial. In the end, we can rely only on ourselves—on humans—to guarantee our future existence. In the end, there is—”

  “In the end, there is only us,” I said, concluding with the catch phrase he often used to wrap up his audio programs.

  “Yes. Only us.” Hints of fury bubbled at the surface of his words. I could hear him fighting to keep them contained. I couldn’t tell whether that anger was because he still thought I was mocking him or because he was simply passionate about his beliefs.

  “I’ll tell my brother you called.”

  The line went silent, leaving just the sound of me breathing staccato breaths into the receiver. My right hand felt warm, and I looked down to find it gripping Hunter’s, my knuckles bright with the pressure. I uncurled my fingers, mumbling an apology too low for him to possibly hear.

  I was both devastated at not having been able to talk to Adam and thrilled that I’d just talked to my idol. My disloyal heart still raced with excitement, despite my silently informing it that I was in the midst of some serious shit, and now was not the time to be starstruck.

  I needed to talk to Adam Pollock to find out whether he was telling the truth about his alibi. These ultra-modern security systems were flawed, just like the older ones they replaced. They assumed people had ID chips, and anyone without a chip could potentially beat them.

  For all I knew, Adam Pollock—who spent his days decrying technology outside the CyberCorp building—had no chip. His family could afford to hire a doctor willing to remove it.

  Adam’s alibi could be bogus, and I needed him to be guilty.

  Hunter waved to get my attention, and I realized I’d been staring off into space.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Why did you just call Adam Pollock?”

  I turned to face Owen. “I need to speak to my friend in private for a minute. Can you give us some space please?”

  He scanned the area around us and then nodded. “Stay where I can see you.”

  I grabbed Hunter’s hand and pulled him away from the nearby students, until I felt confident we stood out of anyone’s earshot. “They’re saying Adam Pollock didn’t kill Harmony and Kevin.”

  “We’ve been over this already. You didn’t kill them.”

  “But the sleepwalking—”

  He cut me off. “I don’t know what I was doing in my sleep on those nights either. But neither of us killed them.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You’re not a killer. You don’t break into people’s houses and strangle them. You didn’t even know Kevin. Why would you kill him?”

  “I don’t know!” I shouted, and then regretted it when nearby students glanced at us.

  Now that they’d seen me—the girl with the robotic arm—they continued to stare. I grabbed Hunter’s hand and moved him to the far end of the school building. Owen followed behind us but still left enough room for us to talk in private. When I loosened my grasp to drop Hunter’s hand, he gripped me tighter. His hand felt warm around mine. I leaned into him until my shoulder touched his chest, and stayed there.

  “I don’t know why I’d kill him,” I said, more calmly this time. My insides felt all twisted, but Hunter’s nearness helped quell the panic. “Maybe to intimidate CyberCorp into scrapping the Model One rollout.”

  “In that case, wouldn’t it be easier to just kill your parents?”

  My mouth dropped open, and I tried to pull away from him.

  “I’m not suggesting you do that. I’m just saying, if you’re the killer, your plan is illogical. You live in the house with CyberCorp’s owners. It’s a privately owned company. If its owners die, don’t you inherit the whole thing?”

  My brow scrunched up. “I assume.”

  “Except, if you were a murderer, you would have thought about it. Instead of this convoluted plan to kill CyberCorp kids to convince their parents to call off the rollout, you would have killed your parents and canceled the thing yourself. Or dismantled the whole damn company.”

  “Maybe I’m not that bright when I’m sleepwalking.”

  “You’d have to be bright to get past the security in Harmony’s and Kevin’s homes.”

  I patted Hunter on the shoulder to let him know I understood his point. “So basically, I’d have to be dumb or crazy to kill Harmony and Kevin, and I couldn’t have killed them if I was dumb or crazy.”

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “A little.” And I did. The weight that had pressed down on me since Harmony’s death felt a little lighter. “But I still don’t know why I’m sleepwalk . . .” I turned when I noticed him staring at something behind me.

  A police car had just parked in front of the school. Out of it climbed two plain-clothed detectives. A tall, broad-shouldered man and a woman of medium height, her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Both had perfect posture as they strode toward the front steps.

  “You think they’re investigating the murders?” I asked.

  “Probably,” Hunter said. “Kevin and Harmony both went to school here. It was only a matter of time before they started questioning students.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I checked the time on my hand-screen. “We should head inside. Class in five minutes.”

  Owen rejoined us and we hurried into the school building. Inside, Hunter and I went our separate ways toward our lockers.

  A redheaded girl stood by the bank of lockers my friends and I shared, her back toward me. Claire stood with her, leaning against her own locker and quietly tracking the girl’s movements.

  Harmony?

  No, Melody. Of course, it was Melody. And Claire was watching her closely because she’d lost her twin sister. Harmony had left for good.

  Melody seemed shorter than usual today, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, her shoulders slumped. I itched to run up to her, hug her, and tell her how much I missed her sister too.

  I reached out a hand to tap her on the shoulder. She turned a split second before I made contact. She shrieked and jerked to the side to avoid me.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice rang out across the hallway, shrill.

  “I was just . . . I wanted to see how you’re doing.” I cringed even as the words were coming out. How she was doing? Her twin sister died last week. She was feeling like crap. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  Claire grabbed her hand and tugged it toward herself, away from me, mumbling something too low for me to hear. Melody didn’t budge.

  Melody stuck her hands on her hips. “What would we talk about—how you murdered my sister? What happened to you?” Her eyes did that blinking-rapidly thing people did when they were trying not to cry.

  “Let’s go,” Claire said, more loudly this time. To me, she mouthed words that looked like an apology.

  “Harmony never liked you,” Melody continued. “Mostly she hung out with you because Claire and I did, and because you’re a Hayes. She thought you were weird, the way you insist on using old tech. She always said Jackson could do better.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” My voice caught in my throat.

  Claire tugged on her arm again, and Melody yanked her hand back.

  She looked me straight in the eye. “You killed my sister. Maybe because she didn’t like you—or because of what happened that day—I don’t know why. But you’re a monster.”

  Her words stabbed me in the gut and twisted, and I doubled over with the pain. Ha
rmony was my friend. If she had thought otherwise, I didn’t want to hear about it. I didn’t want to know.

  When I opened my mouth, all that came out was a gasp, and my whole body felt liquid. Unstable. Claire hurried toward me and held me up until Melody grabbed her arm and dragged her back.

  Something behind me caught Melody’s attention, and her gaze shifted to look over my shoulder. I turned.

  The two detectives from outside strode toward us. In front of them walked Debbie, who was one of the principal’s student assistants.

  I never spoke to her except about schoolwork, but I sometimes saw her at CyberCorp family affairs, since her mother worked for my parents. Debbie pointed at me as they approached.

  Since the cops had Melody’s attention, I took the reprieve to inhale a few sharp breaths. Melody was lying. Harmony and I were friends—best friends—and I didn’t kill her.

  “Lena Hayes?” the female detective asked.

  I nodded, still fighting to push Melody’s words out of my brain. Still fighting not to burst into a sobbing mess in the middle of the hallway.

  “I’m Detective Garrett, and this is my partner, Detective Johnson. We’d like a few minutes of your time.”

  Melody stepped forward. “Is this about Harmony’s murder?”

  “Miss Miller.” The detective’s face softened. “We’re doing everything we can to find your sister’s killer.”

  “She’s right there.” Melody jabbed a finger at me. “Lena did it.”

  “We’re exploring all options, but we need to speak to Miss Hayes alone.” She shifted, placing her body partly in front of Melody’s to remove her from the conversation, and gestured for me to follow.

  Debbie dismissed herself, and I let the two detectives lead me to an empty classroom. Melody and Claire watched us go. I felt their gazes on us until the detectives pulled the classroom door closed, with the three of us inside and them outside.

  I sat down hard on the surface of the teacher’s desk, the closest seat to the door. “Am I a suspect in Harmony’s murder?”