by Alicia Ellis
But I didn’t know whether this life was much better—a life controlled by machines.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I whispered.
“I’m better than okay.” His face lit up with excitement when he spoke. “I never knew my body could feel like this. Powerful. Invincible.”
“You’re not invincible, Jacks. You almost died.”
“If I were in that same accident again, I could step out of the car with nothing but flesh wounds.” He grabbed a pen from his nightstand and rammed it into his left forearm.
I shrieked and pressed my hands to the wound to staunch the flow of blood. He laughed and waved me away.
He wasn’t bleeding.
It looked like real flesh, but the gash revealed metal beneath. No red liquid leaked from the cut. Thin threads of flesh reached out from both sides of the wound, stretching toward each other.
The threads twisted together and pulled the two sides toward each other like a cavern gradually becoming a small crack. The flesh stitched itself back together, until all that remained was a thin scar. A moment later, even that disappeared.
My stomach lurched, and I tasted bile in my mouth.
Still chuckling, Jackson reached out to touch my chin and shut it. “Now tell me again how I’m not invincible.”
“You’re not.”
I’d been fooled by how perfect Jackson looked. Skin covered his metal, but that didn’t make it human. Just machines masquerading as a boy. Jackson had a chip in his head just like I did—but he wanted it.
He loved everything I hated. Underneath the perfect smile and the perfect skin, he was everything I hated.
I inched farther away from him.
Jackson grabbed my wrist, his expression solemn. “It’s keeping me alive.”
I softened.
He tugged my wrist, and I stepped closer.
“How’d you get them to install all your skin already? They keep saying I’m not healed enough yet.”
“They’ve been tinkering with my hardware every day for the past month and a half. Plus, they put me in the healing tube multiple times per day when I was unconscious. They’re done tinkering, and I’m healed.”
“No more pain?” I asked.
“Not much. A little when I pushed myself too hard in physical therapy.” He gestured toward my left arm. “What are they waiting on with you?”
I grimaced. “Headaches.”
“Bummer.” His face suddenly became serious. “Can we get back to our other conversation—the one about us?”
I knew this was coming, but I didn’t know what I wanted to say—which was the worst-case scenario. I didn’t want Jackson convincing me that his way was the right way.
He continued, even though I hadn’t given him a response. “I love you, Lena. I don’t want to stay broken up. I want to fix this.”
“I can’t—”
Jackson folded my metal hand in one of his flesh-covered ones. “Is this because I want us to take over CyberCorp?”
He shifted to sit up straighter, and the move was so effortless—like half his body hadn’t been replaced with robotics. The smile shone the same as always, even the dimple on his cheek had survived. Despite our sitting in a hospital room in CyberCorp, the familiarity of the moment set my head spinning.
The car accident had done more than crush my arm into a pulpy mess. That silver car flying at me out of the darkness shattered not only my arm—but also the perfect portrait of my life. It left pieces scattered all over the intersection.
Deep in my gut, I yearned to sort through the muck for each piece, dust it off, and fit it back into place. But sometimes, when things get broken, no amount of spit and glue would save them.
I couldn’t unwind the seams of time and put all the pieces back together.
That was a fantasy.
“We want different things. We’re not the same—like we used to be.”
A nurse popped her head into the room. She was clean faced, no makeup, with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. “You need anything, hon?” Her brows rose when she saw me, and she stepped fully into the room. “Miss Hayes?”
“Don’t mind me.”
She hesitated for a couple seconds before shifting her attention back to Jackson. “Ready for lunch yet?”
He flashed her a smile, and she seemed to relax again despite my presence. She looked a bit younger than my parents, maybe in her early thirties, but even an older woman couldn’t resist a Jackson Watts thousand-watt smile.
“I’ve got it right here.” She stepped out of the room and returned several seconds later with a tray of food. It held what looked like meatloaf, broccoli salad, and a pudding cup.
“Would it be all right if I get a different flavor?” He pointed at the clear bottom of the prepackaged pudding cup, which clearly showed it was chocolate.
“What would you like?”
“Anything except chocolate. Strawberry maybe?”
“No problem.” She plucked the pudding cup off the tray, swept up the empty bowl from the cart beside Jackson’s bed, and set everything else in its place. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared through the doorway, leaving Jackson and me alone again.
Jackson and I stared at each other in silence before he spoke again. “You think I don’t care what you want?” he asked, his voice more hushed than before. “You’re wrong. I just want the best for you.”
I didn’t answer because I didn’t need to. We both knew that’s who he was. He was still holding my hand, and when I tried to tug it away, he held on tighter.
“We don’t have to be your parents,” he continued.
“I’ve told you a thousand times I don’t want to run CyberCorp. You don’t listen.”
“And I’ve told you a thousand times I don’t expect you to. You get to own it.”
“I don’t want—”
“When you own your parents’ company, you can kill the artificial intelligence research. You can amp up the medical research. You can even sell the company in tiny little bits and pieces until nothing left of it exists, and then donate the profits to non-profit STEM programs for minority kids.”
My mouth gaped open.
“Or whatever you want—because CyberCorp will be fully and entirely yours.”
“What?” All this time, he never wanted to be a CyberCorp mogul?
“It’s good money, Lena. I admit that I’d love to actually run the company, but I know that’s not what you want. We don’t have to be the bad guys. We don’t have to be your parents.”
Behind my eyes, I could see the pieces of my life fitting back together. Jackson could help me clean them up, glue them together. It would be perfect.
Was perfection even a thing, or was it lying to myself?
“I don’t know,” I said.
The nurse picked that moment to return, this time carrying a strawberry pudding cup. She quietly set it on Jackson’s tray, offered a small wave to me, and pulled the door shut when she left.
“You like chocolate.” I gestured toward the new pudding on his tray.
Jackson pushed the cup toward me. “You don’t.”
My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. “I skipped lunch,” I said as I accepted the pudding.
“You don’t have to answer right now,” Jackson said. “About us, I mean. I don’t think I could handle heartbreak while I’m still lying in a hospital bed.” His pale-blue eyes pleaded with me.
I loved those eyes. I didn’t want to see them sad. The least I could do for him after landing him here—so broken that he now had as many robotic parts as human ones—was to think about it a little more.
“Sure. I’ll think about it.”
25
By the time I reached the underground parking lot of CyberCorp, I’d made up my mind about one thing—but it had nothing to do with Jackson.
If the Pollocks wouldn’t talk to me over the phone, they’d talk to me in person. Before starting my car, I placed a call to Ron. He answered on t
he first ring.
“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon,” he said.
“Could you get me Adam Pollock’s address? I’m sure CyberCorp has it on file somewhere.”
“You realize this state has anti-stalking laws, right?”
“Can you get it or not?”
“Hold on.” There was silence on the line. Then Ron returned and gave me the address.
I repeated the information aloud for my car’s navigator, and its display screen showed me a map to the Pollocks’ house. Adam lived thirty minutes east of downtown.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d driven a distance that far manually the entire way. I didn’t mind though. I even rolled down the driver-side window and let the chill breeze whip through the car. With the exception of the night of the accident, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that either.
“You have arrived at your destination,” the navigator chirped when I drove past the driveway of the Pollocks’ grand home. I parked on the side of the road, one block up, then got out and walked back to the house.
Cypress trees surrounded the grand property. The only gap in the greenery made way for a tall, wrought-iron gate. The house beyond the gate oozed old-fashioned charm. Its brick façade rose two stories, with a white entryway and a red door and shutters. My home’s white, marble, and glass seemed cold in comparison.
An intercom and security camera sat on the fence to one side of the gate. It made sense that the Pollocks would avoid modern forms of surveillance and opt for old-style cameras instead.
For most people, that might make bypassing security easier. After all, cameras had been replaced by chip scanners because camera footage was too easy to modify and fake, and cameras were too easy to obstruct. But in my case, having no ID chip, I could beat high-tech security systems in my sleep—maybe literally.
If Philip caught me here, he’d block me from seeing Adam. And I couldn’t have that.
I stepped to the side until I was confident the camera couldn’t see me. At the nearest two cypress trunks, I pushed aside the thick, prickly leaves. Behind the trees stood more of the wrought-iron fence, extending from the gate to wrap around the property. The vertical rungs didn’t provide any kind of footing for me to climb over, but I wasn’t giving up that easily. I’d come all this way, and I intended to talk to Adam.
I gripped one dark rung with my metal hand and pulled it away from the one beside it. It buckled, enlarging the space between them. I grinned and bent the other rung as well, before I squeezed through.
Two cameras stared down from the front corners of the roof. I ran toward the side of the house. Since the cameras pointed away from the structure, I would have a better chance of avoiding detection if I stayed close to the walls.
Six large windows marked the second floor at the back of the house, and I figured they were bedrooms. I scooped up a handful of pebbles from the landscaping and tossed one at the leftmost window. An older woman pushed aside the heavy drapes and peered into the yard. I pressed myself against the house, waited for her to close the window, and then moved on.
At the side of the house, I chucked a pebble at the first window there. About ten seconds later, it slid upward, and Adam Pollock stuck his head out. Jackpot!
“Adam,” I hissed up at him. He must not have heard me because the window began to slide shut, so I shouted. “Adam!”
It rose again, and he searched the yard. I stepped into view and waved up at him. “It’s Lena Hayes,” I said. “Can we talk?”
When he spotted me, his brows shot upward. “Meet me at the back door.”
I returned to the rear of the house. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Adam Pollock emerged.
Today, his appearance fell somewhere between that of the last two times I’d seen him. Still short, his hair now hung out of place, uncombed and oily. Stubble camouflaged his swollen jaw. Red rimmed his tired eyes. Most of the dark bruises I’d given him had dulled to a sickly yellow, and the swelling had come down a bit.
He was talking even before the door shut behind him. “I’m so sorry about Friday.” He made a praying motion with his hands, both palms pressed together. “I was off my medication. I would never put an innocent life at risk otherwise.”
I gave him a weak smile that I hoped looked real. Seeing Adam like this—so contrite and harmless—made me doubt more and more that he was the murderer, which made me look guilty. This man with the sad, pleading eyes didn’t strike me as a serial killer.
On the other hand, the screaming, unkempt mess of a man who’d attacked me twice had proven unpredictable, and that was who this man had been before his arrest.
“Did you kill Harmony Miller and Kevin Rodriguez?”
Adam’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a long stream of air like a popped balloon. “Why would I do that? I had nothing against those kids.” I couldn’t tell whether his posture suggested guilt at murdering two people—or sadness at being suspected.
“Do you have something against me?”
“Of course not. I’m so sorry for Friday.”
“And last week Sunday?”
His eyes narrowed. “What happened last Sunday?”
“I was leaving the CyberCorp building. You were protesting the Model One rollout. You broke through security and tackled me, screaming about how artificial intelligence would lead to doom and destruction and whatnot.”
“That was you?”
After our most recent encounter, I’d assumed I was a target, chosen because of my closeness to CyberCorp. Now, his reaction suggested our first encounter was a coincidence.
I pulled my hand-screen from the pocket of my leather jacket, opened it, and brought up the threatening letter my mother had shown me. “Did you write this?” I passed it to Adam.
He glanced at it for only a second, cringed, and then passed the device back to me. “Yes. But again, I was off my meds.”
“You were off your meds when Harmony and Kevin were killed too.”
“I didn’t kill them!” he shouted. He shot a glance at the house behind him and lowered his voice. “What would it prove?”
“I don’t know about proving anything, but it would discourage CyberCorp employees from continuing work on the Model Ones. After the murders, some employees quit, and others bowed out of the project.”
“Really?” His face brightened. The slightest smile danced there and then fell again.
My eyes narrowed. He denied being the killer, yet he seemed happy about the result of the killings. Adam Pollock was an odd man, hard to figure out.
“Are you happy they’re dead?” I asked.
Adam’s gaze shifted to the left for a moment, before returning to my face. “Their deaths serve a purpose. When we die, that’s the best we can hope for. Isn’t it?”
“The best we can hope for is to live long happy lives and die as old people in our sleep. I would never want to die for someone else’s cause.” I shook my head hard. “Don’t get me wrong. I object to the Model Ones too.” Harmony’s face hovered in my mind. “But this isn’t the way to get the attention we need. Our cause needs positive attention, not negative. We need—”
Adam cut me off. “What do you know about it? You walk around in your giant house full of luxuries paid for by CyberCorp, and you have the nerve to decide what’s best for our cause.” Although he was calmer than at other times I’d seen him, now—with his tight jaw and wild eyes—I saw the ghost of the man who’d attacked me only a few days ago.
I brought my volume down a notch and smoothed out the roughness in my voice, hoping Adam would take a cue from me. “I care about stopping CyberCorp as much as—”
“I think these murders are exactly what we need.” His voice trembled with intensity.
Stunned, I said nothing for a moment. And then, “You killed Harmony and Kevin.”
The silence spanned so many seconds that I wondered if he heard me at all.
“You killed them.”
He nodded, his
back straightening. “Maybe I did.”
I took a large step away from him. I’d wanted a confession, and this was as good as one. In hindsight, the whole idea of coming here seemed ludicrous. I had gone out of my way for an audience with a possible killer, and maybe I’d found one.
I was now alone with him on his property. He could attack me, again, and kill me this time.
I spun away from him, almost slipping on the slick grass, and ran back toward the front of the house. I squeezed through the bars of the fence, jumped into my car, and drove away from the Pollocks’ home as fast as I could.
26
My hand-screen vibrated as I left the Pollocks’ neighborhood. I removed it from my pocket to check the display. Jackson was calling.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of having another discussion with him about our relationship—or lack of relationship. Plus, a murderer had almost confessed to me, and that took priority. I waited for my voicemail to pick up and then started a new call.
“Call Fuller County police,” I said to the hand-screen. The sound of ringing filled the vehicle. I reached into my glove compartment and grabbed the bag of gummy candies I’d stashed there before school this morning.
The ringing stopped abruptly, and a man answered. “Fuller Police Department.”
“I have information about Adam Pollock’s involvement in the murders of Harmony Miller and Kevin Rodriguez,” I said, chewing on a red gummy.
The line went quiet, and I thought the man had hung up. But then a woman said, “This is Detective Garrett.” It was the female detective I’d spoken to at school.
“Hi. This is Lena Hayes. I have information about Harmony’s murder.”
“Tell me.”
“I just left Adam Pollock’s house—”
She cut me off. “We already cleared Mr. Pollock.”
“Yeah, I know. But three minutes ago, he told me the murders were a good thing. He said they serve a purpose. And the way he said it—it was as good as a confession.”
“Why would he confess?” Her tone sounded less bored now but still unconvinced.
