Girls with Razor Hearts

by Suzanne Young

  27

  Brynn looks me over worriedly as Marcella drives us toward Adrian’s house. It turns out, Adrian doesn’t live in an average neighborhood, not full-time. Her parents are divorced, but her dad is incredibly rich. Or, at least, he puts on the pretense of being incredibly rich. I suppose he’s not anymore if he’s borrowing money.

  “Why’s he still paying?” I ask the girls. “If he can’t afford it anymore, why borrow money to pay Innovations Academy?”

  “Good question,” Marcella says.

  “Are you okay, Mena?” Brynn asks me. “You … You have bruises all over your arms.”

  Surprised, I look down to see dozens of them, large and small, as well as spots of blood on my dress from where I scraped my thigh on the roof. It’s as if seeing them makes them hurt even more. But beyond that, it opens a wound in my chest, and I quickly turn toward the window, shivering.

  I’m still scared. And the night seems even darker.

  “I’m fine,” I say quietly.

  “Well,” Marcella says. “Raven let us know she got the recordings, including yours, Sydney. She’s putting them together now, and they should be sent to reporters tonight. She’s even reaching out to Mr. Marsh.”

  “I’m glad it’s over,” I murmur.

  “By the way,” Marcella says, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Has anyone heard from Annalise? Raven said she wasn’t at the house, and I’ve been calling her phone but she hasn’t answered.”

  I close my eyes. She’s already gone. I’ll have to tell the girls soon, but I promised Annalise that I’d finish this mission first. It’s dishonest and unfair … but I promised.

  “No,” Sydney says, surprised. “But I did get a call from Lennon Rose. She’s been trying to get in touch with you, Mena.”

  “Jonah threw my phone off the roof,” I say, looking back into the car. “Did she say what she wanted?”

  “Nope,” Sydney says, leaning back in the seat. “She just said she needed to talk to you and wouldn’t tell me why. So, you know. Usual Lennon Rose stuff,” Sydney adds, flashing a fake smile to show her annoyance.

  “I’ll find her later,” I say.

  We arrive at a set of massive metal gates with a guard posted in a windowed booth at the edge of Adrian’s neighborhood. Marcella pulls up anyway and rolls down the window. The guard comes out, examining the car before glancing inside at us.

  “Can I help you?” he asks.

  “We’re here to see Adrian Goodwin,” Marcella replies.

  He checks a list, an actual list of approved guests. “Name?”

  “We’re surprising her,” Marcella says. “Tell her it’s her friends from school.”

  The guard studies us again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “If you’re not on the list, I’m not going to call and disturb a resident.”

  Sydney slides her hand over her purse, but I reach out to stop her and shake my head no.

  “Fine,” Marcella says, annoyed. “Give me a second.”

  She takes out her phone, dials, and brings it to her ear. “So much for the surprise,” she says, glancing in the mirror at us.

  “Yes, hi,” she says when someone picks up. “Can I talk to Adrian? Good, hold on.” She then passes the phone back to me. I fumble with it for a second.

  “Hello?” Adrian says, sounding just like she did when she befriended me on my first day.

  “Hi … Adrian,” I reply. “It’s Mena, from, uh, history class.”

  “Mena! I’m happy you called.”

  “I’m actually calling from your gate,” I say. “Do you think you could tell the guard to let us in?”

  “Us?” she questions.

  “It’s me and Sydney and two other girls. We … We need to talk to you.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “All right,” she says. “Yeah, let me call down there right now.”

  We hang up and I give the phone back to Marcella. We wait, silently, until the guard gets the call. He writes down a few notes before hanging up.

  He comes next to the window again and taps on the roof of the car.

  “Welcome to The Gardens,” he says warmly, and then walks back to the booth.

  We all freeze, and Marcella looks around until she points out the name posted on the stone waterfall at the entrance.

  The name of the neighborhood is The Gardens. But we can’t help but think there’s a deeper meaning.

  Adrian’s house—her father’s house—is the grandest estate I’ve ever seen, including in movies. It even puts Winston Weeks’s property to shame. It’s funny, though—if Adrian is this rich, she certainly doesn’t behave that way, accessorize that way. I wonder what the story is.

  “She never told you she lived in a mansion?” Brynn asks, looking back at me from the passenger seat.

  “No,” I say. “She actually mentioned living somewhere else entirely. I don’t know why she lied about this, but I intend to ask her. First, we’re going to talk to her father.”

  We all get out, and Sydney double-checks that the Taser is still in her purse as we approach the front porch. Marcella and Brynn set their phones to record, and I ready myself for an altercation. We don’t know what’s waiting for us behind this oversized front door.

  “This is it,” Marcella murmurs, and holds out her hands. Brynn takes one while Sydney takes the other. I step forward to ring the bell.

  There is a shuffle behind the door, the sound of a twisting lock, and then the door eases open. The man standing there is short, with gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses. His cheeks are rosy, his expression polite. He’s wearing a navy sweater over a collared shirt, pleated pants, and shiny gold watch.

  “Mr. Goodwin?” I ask.

  “Can I help you, my dear?” he replies in a friendly enough way.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out at first. I imagined him as a demon, but instead, he looks like someone’s rich grandpa. Can evil masquerade as a regular person?

  “Are you here for—?” He cuts himself off as if suddenly realizing something. He runs his eyes quickly over me and then darts them to Sydney. To Marcella, to Brynn, each time taking in our appearance. His skin turns waxy, and his eyes widen slightly.

  Although we look different than we did at the academy, it’s pretty clear that we’re still Innovations girls, especially to an investor.

  “Christ,” Mr. Goodwin says, and moves to shut the door in our faces.

  Marcella throws herself against the door, getting her foot in before it can close. She knocks it open, and Mr. Goodwin shuffles backward, looking around wildly until he hits the wall under the staircase.

  The foyer is massive. There is a grand staircase with two entrances. It’s honestly too much.

  “Adrian!” I call, my voice echoing. I wait to see if a guard will run out, but it seems that Mr. Goodwin and his daughter are here alone, safe inside their gated community.

  “What do you want?” Mr. Goodwin asks, clearly scared. “Leave me and my daughter alone.”

  “That’s rich,” Marcella says.

  “How did you know?” Sydney asks, stopping directly in front of him. “When you saw us, what gave it away?”

  “Anton … ,” he starts. “Anton contacted me a few days ago. He, uh … He said you’d escaped the academy. He said you were dangerous.”

  Brynn laughs, but then she pauses and looks at Sydney. “Are we?” she asks.

  “Sometimes,” Sydney says.

  But the gravity of his words hits me. “Does Anton know we’re here?” I ask. “In town?” Mr. Goodwin nods, seeming hopeful that this will give us a bond that will keep me from torturing him.

  “What else did Anton say?” I demand.

  “That you killed a guardian, the doctor, maybe others. He said you were probably here to kill Winston Weeks.”

  “Not a terrible idea,” Marcella says.

  “And he told me … He said I needed to track you down,” Mr. Goodwin says, his voice desperate. “He said that if I did, he’d forgive my debt. So I ask
ed my daughter if she’d noticed any new girls in town, really pretty ones. She mentioned you. Then I called the school and they gave me your address. But I didn’t see any of you in person. Not until now.”

  “You were the man outside our apartment in the fancy car?” I ask.

  “You saw me?” he asks, surprised. “I didn’t realize …” When I step closer, he shrinks back again the wall.

  It strikes me as odd that this man is so terrified of us, four young girls. The only thing that sets us apart from others is the fact that he knows we’re not human. I doubt he walks around in his normal life cowering from teenage girls on the street.

  He’s scared of us because he doesn’t understand what we are, not really. He thinks we’re soulless machines. Programmed killers. Angry robots.

  But really, we’re just girls who are sick of being pushed around.

  “What debt?” Sydney asks, grabbing the collar of his sweater.

  “What?” he replies. This question seems to scare him more than anything.

  “What debt did you have to pay Anton?” she asks, irritated. Mr. Goodwin shakes his head no, telling us he won’t answer.

  There is motion at the top of the stairs.

  “Mena?” Adrian calls, sounding confused. I glance up to see her staring at us surrounding her father in the foyer of her home.

  “Adrian,” I reply. “Um … we need to talk to you.”

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Go upstairs, honey,” her father calls. “It’s okay. I need to discuss something with your friends.”

  “Why? ” she asks, even more confused.

  “We’re not here to hurt her,” I tell Mr. Goodwin. “We’re just here for information. I think it’s time your daughter finds out what you’ve done.”

  He swallows hard, and Sydney releases him, taking a step back.

  “Is there a place where we can talk?” I ask, turning to Adrian as she comes down the stairs. “Maybe somewhere we can sit down?”

  “And a rope to tie up your father, please,” Marcella says under her breath, turning away. Adrian doesn’t hear her, but she still looks concerned.

  “There’s the library,” she says, pointing at a set of sliding white doors.

  “Oooh … a library,” Brynn says, smiling at me.

  I motion for her to go ahead, and then I grab Mr. Goodwin’s arm and lead him to a chair beside the fireplace.

  I try not to get distracted by the room as I walk in, the massive bookcases reaching the ceiling, the intricately carved wood of the chairs, the ornate décor. Okay, it’s lovely.

  “Now sit,” I tell Mr. Goodwin, motioning to the chair. He does as I ask. When I move to the couch, sticking close by him, I see him studying me. Fascinated and terrified.

  For a split second, I wonder if that’s how Jackson feels when he looks at me sometimes.

  “Back to this debt,” Sydney says to Mr. Goodwin, pulling me from my thoughts. “What do you owe Anton?”

  “Who’s Anton?” Adrian asks.

  A question occurs to me. I look at Adrian. “Why didn’t you tell me you lived here?” I ask. “You said you lived in a small neighborhood near Corris Hawkes.”

  She winces. “I do. I mean, I live there with my mom. My … stepmom. Claire,” she clarifies. “I’ve lived with her since they divorced three years ago. In fact, I don’t usually see my dad. Only when …” She looks sideways at him. “Only when my mom gets sick.”

  “Your mother’s sick?” I ask.

  She nods. “It happens sometimes. She’ll be amazing and great. And then, she’ll be tired all the time. Headaches. Barely able to get out of bed. Dad brings her to a hospital for a few weeks, and then she comes back recharged. But now she’s sick again, so I’m here. She’s resting upstairs until he takes her tomorrow.”

  I look at Mr. Goodwin, trying to figure it out. “What’s the debt?” I ask, leaning toward him.

  “A … procedure,” he says. “A rare medical procedure.”

  Adrian looks around at us, her brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Stop lying for her benefit,” I tell Mr. Goodwin, motioning to his daughter. “Why are you really paying the analysts at Innovations Academy ungodly amounts of money? Money that you don’t have anymore?”

  “Dad?” Adrian asks. “What are they talking about?”

  And as I watch, this man seems to struggle with himself, blinking quickly as he decides whether to be honest. Then his face clears and he sighs deeply.

  “It was a sound investment,” Mr. Goodwin says quietly. “The initial projections were nearly five times at payout. I was the first investor. I toured the corporation facility, and they introduced me to Claire—the prototype.” He meets my eyes. “I wanted her. I paid top dollar.”

  Adrian looks around, even laughs like she’s missing some larger joke. “What are you talking about?” she asks.

  “You could afford it,” Marcella points out to Mr. Goodwin. “I’ve seen your past financial disclosures. But then you began sinking more money into the academy. So much that you had to start borrowing. Why? Why push beyond your means?”

  “Because she kept dying,” Mr. Goodwin says simply. “Claire was defective, and she kept dying. And then I would get her rebuilt, exactly the same. No modifications.”

  “Why not get a new girl?” I ask.

  “I would never!” He has the gall to sound offended. “I love her. My daughter loves her. And most importantly, Claire loves us. I couldn’t just … just get another girl. She’s ours.” He closes his eyes, calming himself.

  “And that debt?” he continues. “Anton told me he wouldn’t rebuild her until I’ve paid off my balance. So I borrowed money. Then Claire broke down again. Faster this time. But Anton said he wouldn’t rebuild her unless … unless I found you.”

  “Dad?” Adrian’s voice trembles. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Claire is …” He furrows his brow. “Honey, Claire was created in a lab. She was here to take care of us, and then, to take care of you. She’s … She’s AI.” He shifts his eyes to us. “Just like they are.”

  Adrian scoffs. “Is this some kind of practical joke?” she asks, although the hysteria in her voice tells me she knows it’s true on some level. A moment or two where Claire asked a strange question or blinked out of sync? Adrian’s seen something.

  “Did you tell him?” Brynn asks Mr. Goodwin. When he looks at her, he softens slightly.

  “Tell who, dear?”

  “Anton,” she says. “Did you tell Anton where we were?”

  “Not yet. But he knows you’re in this town,” he says.

  “Is he alone?” Sydney asks. “Or did he bring a Guardian with him?”

  “I believe he’s alone,” Mr. Goodwin answers.

  The girls and I look at each other. We have to get out of here.

  Mr. Goodwin smiles at Brynn. “You must be the caregiver,” he says, pointing at her. In quick succession, he points at Marcella, Sydney, and then me. “The educator, the companion, the rebel.”

  “What are you talking about?” Marcella asks.

  “Your models,” he says. “There are only six base programs. You’re missing the seductress and the doll.”

  He sounds like he’s being helpful, but instead, Brynn’s eyes begin to fill with tears.

  Program types.

  Adrian watches Brynn’s reaction, and she jumps to her feet. “I can’t take this,” she says, beginning to pace the room. “If any of this is true, why?” She spins toward her dad, her expression a mix of anger and hurt. “Why would you pay to create AI girls? What the fuck, Dad!”

  He swallows hard, lowering his eyes. “After your mother died, your real mother, I was lonely. I turned to money—making it, investing it.” He stops. “When I brought Claire home five years ago, you really took to her. And soon, I saw that you were great friends. That you loved each other. And then it was too late. I couldn’t bear you losing another person, so even after she and I couldn’t wo
rk—”

  “Yeah, because you’re clearly a fucking psycho!” she shouts at him.

  He flinches back but presses his lips together in understanding. “I knew you’d need her, Adrian,” he says. “That’s why I didn’t decommission her, even when it was clear that she was faulty.”

  Adrian stares at him, her lip beginning to quiver. Quickly, she turns to me. Her eyes examine me, looking for some sign that I’m not human. But there’s nothing she can perceive. Her chest heaves with breaths, and she pulls off her glasses to wipe her eyes before replacing them.

  “What did they do to you?” she asks me. “At the academy or whatever. What did they do to you there?”

  And this is the hard part. We don’t have time to go into all the details, but there’s enough to tell her the basics of the abuse, the intentions, the aftermath. Adrian openly cries when I tell her about impulse control therapy, about the Guardian’s threats and physical violence. I tell her about Imogene, broken and bruised by a man who bought her as his wife.

  “We feel,” I tell Adrian, putting my hand over my heart. “We feel all of it. We’re not just machines. We have hearts and organs and flesh. We love,” I whisper, looking sideways at the girls. Sydney’s eyes glisten as she smiles.

  “But the corporation created us to replace the girls in society who they couldn’t control,” I say. “I don’t know their grand plan yet, and maybe your dad doesn’t either.” I turn to him. “But I have no idea how you can claim to love Claire and then pay money for the school to torture us. Did you have any idea what they were doing?”

  “I …” He doesn’t want to answer honestly; I can see it in his eyes. “You are … machines.”

  “But not Claire, right?” I ask. “She’s your machine, so she’s the only one you care about.”

  He nods, and I realize that’s the way, the way of selfish people. They want to control everyone else, but when it’s them, they want their own rules.

  I hear Marcella’s knuckles crack when she makes a fist.

  “What about me?” Adrian asks her father. She hitches in a breath and turns to him. “Did you know what I was going through at Ridgeview?”