Prototype (16 page)

Y
o
u must be devastated.”

Declan smiles tightly at the man interviewing him from off-camera. He casts his gaze to his lap.
“Yes. This was the closest we’ve been to rescuing my wife yet.”

“What are your thoughts regarding the loss of life during the rescue attempt?”

Declan frowns.
“This has been my deepest regret. That the resistance would shoot first and risk the lives of innocent people. My wife is the most important thing to me, but not at the expense of the children aboard that station. Their lives are too precious. But I guess the resistance sees things differently.”

The camera switches to the interviewer, his expression set with a sympathetic frown.
“Absolutely. Absolutely.”
He gives Declan a thin smile.
“One last question, Mr. Burke. Rumor has it your wife was spending time in the lily community for a reason. Can you share with us what you’ve learned?”

Declan nods once, then covers his mouth again. He casts his eyes down and away from the camera. After a long moment, he clears his throat and looks up.
“They were taking her to see a specialist.”

“Can you confirm that Mrs. Burke is out of remission?”

He nods.
“Yes. It’s true. This specialist was attempting to treat her for her disease but died in the attack. There’s no way of knowing how much longer Emma can survive without Arthur’s help.”

 • • • 

Colonel Updike perches on the edge of Noah’s desk and laces his fingers over one leg. I have just denied reinstatement as major and left him speechless. I can hardly believe it myself. He even planned to give Major Reid another assignment to thwart any complications. Not that I would not love to see Reid go away, but making me Noah’s XO after everything that happened in San Francisco . . . Well, I think we are both better off not working together for now.

I cannot tell Colonel Updike any of this, but I have plenty of other reasons, and they happen to be true. “I have no memory of my training, let alone commanding however many men that entails. Besides, we both know this is only so I can stay with my daughter. Pretend I am just starting out. Should not be too hard. I sort of am.”

He sighs and folds his arms across his chest. “You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Private Wade it is, then. You won’t be in charge of any men, and I’ll talk to Tucker and Reid about keeping you out of combat situations.”

I stand and extend a hand. “Thank you, Colonel.”

He gives me a tight yet genuine smile and stands. He cups my hand between both of his. “I wish things could be different.”

“Me too,” I say, but doubt the things I would change are the same as the ones he would. He wants fighter Emma back. I want to be free of all this and to live somewhere quiet with my family.

Colonel Updike looks pointedly at my arm. “How are you healing up?”

I glance down at the white bandage protecting the new skin growing underneath. I spent nearly two full days in the hospital wing with Sonya while she removed the damaged part of my arm and replaced it with new, cloned skin, tissue, and muscle.

“I am much better, thank you. I am seeing Sonya for my last appointment in an hour.”

With a nod, he leads me to the exit. “Since Tucker is in meetings all day, you’ll have to see Reid for your schedule. Report after your appointment with Dr. Toro.”

“Yes, sir.” I turn outside the open door. “You are leaving today, yes?”

“In ten minutes.”

I feel an unexpected pang of regret and do not know where it comes from. “Maybe when you return, you can tell me why we were on a first-name basis.” Since he last mentioned this in his home, I have wondered why I would feel comfortable enough to call my superior officer by his first name. In addition, he seems to care enough about me to make sure I am safe and happy while maintaining structure within the ranks.

“I would love to tell you why,” he says. His eyes shine and lift with his smile. “Next time.”

I enter my room a few minutes later wondering how I should fill the next hour. It is not enough time to do anything useful. Not enough time for a good run, either. I have already showered. Eaten. Everything.

I would go early for my doctor’s appointment, but no amount of time in the last couple of days has made going to the hospital any easier. In fact, I think the wing has made my nightmares worse.

In addition to the abyss, I dream I am back in the tank watching Noah and Sonya raise my daughter, shoving their happy life in my face while I pound my fists on the glass. I cannot get out, and he never lets me out, and it is just as frightening now as it was two years ago.

I eye the stack of books on my bedside table. Noah brought
Emma
back with us from San Francisco Island—as well as a few other books he thought I would enjoy—and I read a little each night. It is not the same without his soothing voice reciting the lines aloud, but I am enjoying the classic novel despite how my previous incarnation hated them.

I consider reading while I wait but spy “Emma’s” box beside me. More proof that I never planned to stay. Noah has not confirmed as much, but after the things he said, I know he believes I will jump at the chance to leave. It is no wonder he has kept his distance from me since we returned. He wants to protect his heart, and nothing I say will change things. Maybe my actions will.

Other than to rifle through the clothes, I have not dug deeper into the personal belongings yet. I could at the very least utilize my currently empty dresser. Pulling things out to wear, washing them, and then returning them to the box seems a ridiculous thing to continue.

“Time to move in, Emma,” I whisper, and kneel.

It takes no more than five minutes to put the garments away, leaving me with the miscellaneous items in the bottom. While I had not wanted to go through the box before, I cannot help but wonder what else there is. And from the outside looking in, I am already curious what kind of woman I was and why I kept the things I did.

Two pairs of flip-flops that have seen better days sit on their sides, propped up by what looks like a wooden jewelry box. Beside that is a large, clear bag with bathroom necessities: toothbrush, hairbrush and bands, and a razor, among a bunch of other things I cannot see without pulling them all the way out.

I reach inside to retrieve a black journal. My heart pounds, wondering what She might have written. How far it goes back and when it stops. I open to the first unlined page. Instead of words, I find a drawing. I recognize the details from a long-ago memory. A hotel room, early morning according to the penciled-in sun rays. Emma stands in front of Noah wearing a robe. He is frozen with a hand combing through his hair, grinning down at her. I even recognize the clothes he wears. I know this moment and do not need the words She has left out. This was the morning Noah showed up to tell Her he loved Her.

No, not Her.

Me.

This is how the diary is laid out. In pictures. The pages depict so many moments, good and bad, before and through the beach wedding, the honeymoon, and long after. Most with Noah, some without. She—
I
—took so much care to remember every last detail of the important moments in such a way as to never forget them. Each line as important as the next. A visual memory.

My memory.

And suddenly, my memory does not feel as lost as it once did, because here it is. I only need the important ones, right? It is as if somehow I knew I would need this one day.

A knock on the door startles me, and I look up as the
shiff
sound fills the room. Leigh peers in and down, leaning against the frame. “Just heard you’re officially a grunt. Drinks later to celebrate?” Her arched eyebrows pinch together as she realizes what I am doing. She walks in and shuts the door. “What’s all this?”

Kneeling beside me, Leigh gathers her thick hair and twists it over her shoulder. I hand her the diary, then dip into the box for the rest of the treasures it might hold. I cannot believe I waited so long to look. I lift the jewelry box free while Leigh digs out a black knife hilt that fits perfectly in her palm. She presses a button and a sharp blade springs free. We exchange a look, though she looks a million times more impressed than I am.

I lift the case’s lid and find smooth sea glass of various colors among seashells. Folded in opaque white paper are pressed indigo petals. My heart twists. These are items from the honeymoon. I have imagined these petals and painted them, but to have them in my hand . . . It seems too unreal.

Leigh fingers through the small pile of glass and frees a silver chain, the one piece of jewelry inside. Dangling on the end is a pair of intertwined hearts—a luckenbooth. On the left side of each heart is a row of sparkling gems. One heart’s jewels are sapphires, the other, emeralds. Birthstones. Virgo and Taurus. Emma and Noah.

“Pretty,” Leigh says. “You should wear it.”

I try swallowing past the lump growing in my throat. “No, that would not be right.”

Leigh rolls her eyes and clasps the chain around my neck. “How can it not be right? It’s yours and obviously meant something to you.” She sits back on her heels and studies how it looks. “I want to hate it, but I love it. It’s really beautiful.”

I glance down at the hearts that are meant to bind women to a husband not of their choosing. The same symbol that led me back to Noah. The hearts lie over a small lump under my shirt.

I pull Declan’s wedding ring free and yank the chain until it snaps. My heart beats faster, but I will not need the ring anymore and may as well stop pretending I will. Actions, not words.

I take Leigh’s hand and drop the jewelry in her palm. “Here. Just in case you need an escape plan.”

She quirks a smile. “What exactly am I trying to escape?”

I shrug a single shoulder, then turn back to the box. In my periphery, I watch as she pockets my wedding ring without another word. This one action confirms I was right to give it to her. And maybe she does not need to escape right now, but Leigh is not as settled as she likes to let us all believe. She deserves a chance at happiness, and maybe that ring will help her get there.

“What’s in here?” Leigh asks, pulling out a small wooden chest. It is locked, but she breaks it open easily using the knife. She opens, then slams it shut and cries, “Oh dear sweet baby Jesus.” She laughs so loud I am sure everyone in the hall can hear her.

“What is it?”

She shakes her head and twists the container out of my reach. “Nuh-uh. Trust me, 2.0; you do
not
want to see this. It will ruin your fragile sensibilities.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her skin flushes a deep pink and a vein snakes up her forehead. Her grin deepens the longer she holds out on me, but finally, she passes me the box.

Now that I have it, curious or not, I am scared to open it. “You do it,” I say, passing it back.

Giggling, she takes it and opens the top just high enough for me to peek in and see the devices and lubricants clearly meant for self-pleasure. I gasp and slam a palm down on the lid. Heat fills my cheeks and I bury my face in my hands.

“Told you,” Leigh says, going into another fit of giggles and snorts.

I point at the offending container, choking back my own laugh. “I can
not
keep that. That is disgusting.”

“If you think that’s disgusting, you clearly haven’t lived. That said, it’s like borrowing from a friend, and
that
is most definitely a do-not-use-or-abuse situation.” She clasps my knee and winks. “You, me, a box of vibrators, and the incinerator. We’ll have a funeral for the poor bastards tonight before we hit the whiskey.”

“Can we do it now?” I cannot fathom the idea of them sitting here until then. What if someone walks in and decides to look?

“You can wait a few more hours.” She lays the box back inside the larger one and says, “Man, who knew 1.0 was such a dirty bitch? I sure as hell didn’t. Oh,” she nearly squeals. “A vid screen and data-slips. I wonder if there’s porn. Miles will love that.”

She produces a four-by-five-inch flat screen and a black rectangular pouch. Inside the pouch are clear films the same rectangular shape and as thin as paper. Leigh squints to read the single lines typed across the sides. “Looks like home videos.” She starts to hand me one. “Your wedding.”

In a single heartbeat, I see the arch draped in fabric. Indigo flower petals lying on sand. A wedding I feel but have no actual memory of. I shake my head, overwhelmed by the idea of watching what I lost live and in color. Noah and me vowing to love each other forever. Memories this alive will only exacerbate the fact that I
lost him.
That I did not take him back when I had the chance. That I did not fight for him.

I sit back on my heels and stare at the data-slip, tightening my arms around my middle. “Not yet.”

She nods once, her expression falling, and slides it back in the pouch. “Do you want to watch any of them? Some look harmless enough.”

Standing, I say, “I want to forget they are there.”

The room spins and I waver on my feet. There is so much of Her around me suddenly, yet I am still the wrong-shaped peg trying to shove my way back into Her square hole. No longer a circle, but a triangle, maybe. A rectangle. Never quite right. Not on the inside, at least. Maybe this is why Noah kissed me. Because outwardly, I look the same. I wear Her hair and Her clothes and Her smile and love Her family . . .

My family.

I cannot breathe. My God, what have I done?

Leigh jumps up and takes me by the shoulders with tight fingers. Her eyes are wide, and a worried line creases her brow. “Hey. No need to panic. We’ll fix whatever it is. What do you need?”

Tears slip over the rims of my eyes.
I need Noah to love me, not Her.

I
am late for my appointment with Sonya but cannot find it in myself to care. Once through the doors, I take only a moment to scan the room I know every inch of by heart. After all, it is the place my host body spent Her last nine months.

The tank is gone from the corner, and Sonya has placed more beds with privacy curtains in its place. The wall of monitors still resides along an entire wall, but with no patients to monitor, it is blank.

Sonya stands at the row of cabinets to my right, rifling through drawers. Her black hair is straight and pulled into a low ponytail today. “You’re late, which means you’ll be late to report in. You can’t—” She looks at me and comes to an abrupt stop.

I cup the back of my bare neck automatically. Leigh helped me cut my hair, which is why I ended up running late. We found the scissors in Emma’s toiletry bag and clipped my hair back into the short, angled cut I maintained before. Had I not been on the run all this time, I might have kept it short. The style is me. Not Her.

In addition to the cut, I have put a little makeup on. I used to wear it all the time, and according to Leigh, Emma did
not.
Haircuts and makeup came second to her job. No, not second. Dead last.

“I like it,” Sonya says, and gives me a reluctant smile. “The cut has always suited you.”

“Thank you. Will this take long? As you started to mention, Major Reid will be upset because I have not reported in.”

“I’ll be quick.” She motions for an empty bed. “Have a seat.”

I push up onto the side of the bed and she stands in front of me with a pair of shears. She gives me another tiny smile as she begins cutting up one side of my bandage. I do not understand the kindness she is attempting to show. She never smiles at me and has worked with nothing more than clinical efficiency these past couple of days. I do not know what to think or how I should react.

“Why the sudden change?” she asks, and glances up at me.

I bite my lip. She cannot know, nor does she need to know, why I needed to be myself again. “Will I have a scar?”

Sonya’s eyes drop from my face and she frowns. “If you do, it will be minimal.”

“Good.”

“You’re worried about scarring? That’s not like you.”

She says this so easily. Automatically. As if she knows me. Little does she know that this is the wrong day to confuse me with my doppelgänger. I am still too raw after the box incident.

An ache fills my jaw and I unclench my teeth. “Like me or like Her?”

Sonya blinks rapidly and stops cutting midclip, but soon finishes without another word. She parts the bandage and lays it aside, then examines the large area of cloned skin. The shade is wrong. My skin is tan from all the sun I have gotten this year, and this tone is a much lighter shade. A faint pink line surrounds the new skin and tissue.

“This will all change,” she says, and presses her fingers around the area. “I wouldn’t suggest going out for a tan just yet, but the color will even out eventually. And if you’re that worried about scarring, I’ll take care of that whenever you’re ready. The guys around here have this macho thing with keeping their battle wounds, but I’m not so out of practice with removing them.”

With a sigh, she straightens. “Looks good. Light weights to reshape the new muscle and come see me if you experience any discomfort.”

I jump off the bed. “That is it? We are done?”

“As far as I can see, yes.”

“Thank you.”

I am three steps past her when she says, “Emma, wait.”

Turning, I find her biting the corner of her lip and staring at the floor, arms akimbo. She toes the tiled floor with the tip of her shoe, then forces her head up and gives me a determined look. “I can’t ask him, and I like to believe you’ll give me a straight answer.”

My stomach sinks.

“What happened in San Francisco?”

My chest tightens and I have to pace my breathing to keep from reacting too strongly. She wants to know about me and Noah. How can she expect me to tell her the truth after how she has treated me? I do not want this tension between us, but I did not put the wall there. She did.

“You know what happened,” I tell her. It is the straightest answer she will get from me.

“You know I’m not asking about the assault.” She takes a step forward and casts her gaze to the side, biting her lip again. “He’s being especially attentive.”

Too much.
I hold up my hands, palms facing her. “In my experience, that is not usually a problem.” I turn around to leave.

“Did you say something to him? Did he to you?”

Stopping, I turn back around and school my expression into the same kindness she tried showing me moments ago. “You want the truth? He cares about you. More than I like to admit. Do not question his attentiveness. Embrace it for what it is.”

Her dark eyes narrow. “Embrace what? His guilt?”

It takes everything I have not to react. I will not betray Noah. This is his relationship to destroy, not mine.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine. “We talked about Adrienne. I want to be a mother to her and he agreed. If there is any guilt to be had, it is over that.”

Unlike me, Sonya is unable to hide the flinch of surprise. Her eyes glaze with tears, but she blinks them away and clears her throat. “He didn’t tell me that.” She gives me a twitchy smile. “But I can see why he wouldn’t. He knows how I feel about her.”

“I was there when Adrienne was born; did you know that?” She shakes her head and pales. “Those are my memories of her birth. My eyes that saw her for the first time. I just want a chance to love my daughter. I want to right my mistakes, and Noah is willing to let me.”

“And what about me?” she asks, her hands falling to her sides. “Where do I fit in with your new plans?”

I smile though I do not feel it, wondering when we switched roles. She must now feel like the outsider looking for a way in, and I know how lonely that can be. I will not be as cruel to her as she was to me, because I would never allow Adrienne to be hurt over this. “Adrienne is lucky to have two mothers who love her, yes?”

She has no opportunity to respond, because Dr. Malcolm rushes in, winded and holding a finger up to ask me to wait. “Thank goodness. You’re still here.” As per his usual, he is disheveled and smiling, though with a bit of difficulty due to being so out of breath. He bends and braces on his knees. “I thought I missed you. Wow.” He rattles his head and swallows hard. “I really need. To start an exercise. Program.”

“I was just on my way out,” I tell him. “And this time I really cannot be late.”

He fills his lungs. “May I walk with you?”

“Of course.” I send Sonya a parting smile, then exit the hospital. “What is it I can do for you, Dr. Malcolm?”

“I was hoping we could talk about your friend Ruby.”

I stop and face him. “Do you know how she died? What did you find out?”

He wipes sweat from his brow with the flat of a palm. His face is so red I wonder if I should be concerned. “Nothing. We still have no idea what killed her, but I have theories.”

“Which are?”

“The most obvious is that her husband killed her, but I don’t believe that. In fact, I don’t believe anyone killed her. Not since seeing the interview with her neighbor.”

The old man who watched her collapse . . .
but she was dead, you see. Just like that. Dead.
“He could have been lying.”

You’re perfect,
Dr. Travista’s voice adds.

“But for what purpose?” Dr. Malcolm says, unaware of the darkness filling the recesses of my mind. “Actually, I’m inclined to think she just collapsed and died, and here’s why.” He raises both hands, palms facing me. “You ready for this? It’s a good one, and seems so obvious now that I—”

“Dr. Malcolm.”

“Electromagnetism.” He says this as if to a background of oohs and aahs.

“Electromagnetism?”

He bounces on the balls of his feet. “The EM force is one of four fundamental interactions in nature. With the exception of gravity, it’s responsible for—”

“Dr. Malcolm. I do not have time for a science lesson. I want to know what killed my friend.”

I start back down the hallway and he catches up a moment later, his shorter legs having to jog to keep up with me.

“Balance is essential in nature,” he says, now using large hand gestures to emphasize his speech. “And the EM field isn’t just limited to the physical, but also the metaphysical. Not a popular school of thought, but I like to believe that we have an incorporeal—”

“What does this have to do with Ruby?”

“Dr. Travista, I believe, may have upset an electromagnetic balance during the transfer. You were bound to your host as long as she was alive. Think of this as the universe’s way of trying to maintain the balance. Set things right. But with the host gone . . . Now what? The mind-body is electronic, and extremely sensitive.”

I have not missed the fact that we have stopped talking about Ruby. “I am perfectly healthy, Dr. Malcolm, as you can plainly see.”

“I do see that, yes.”

“And I really hope this is not your way of trying to talk me into those tests you so desperately want.”

His steps falter but catch back up. “No. No, of course not.” He chuckles, but the humor is forced. “That would be just silly to request such a thing. Especially given your opinion. But . . .”

I stop and look down at him. “But what, Dr. Malcolm?”

He lifts and holds a shrug, his head tilting to one side. “Maybe you understand my concern for Miss Bennett?”

Leigh. Who is scheduled to meet with Dr. Travista in only three weeks. Dr. Malcolm must have realized this would trigger a response. A need to protect my friend.

I sigh and rub my eyes. “What is it you need from me?”

I am suddenly surrounded in his tight arms while he bounces. “Oh, thank you, Miss Emma. I promise this won’t hurt a bit.”

“What will not hurt? What will you need from me? Blood?”

He backs away, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. Just a brain scan.”

That sounds simple enough. “That is all?”

“Oh, well, yes, but you see, the scan will require a few days where I’ll have you performing a few tests, such as math and listening tasks. Among other things. In the end, I will have a very detailed map of your brain. From personality and talents to—”

“A few
days
?” Tests within a test? Not only that, but I seriously doubt I will have the time. “We will have to come back to this when I know what my schedule is like.” And in the meantime, maybe I can talk Leigh out of this madness, which will in turn free me from this responsibility.

Dr. Malcolm holds up his hands and nods erratically. “Of course. I will work around you. You have no idea what this means. The future benefits for Miss Bennett alone—”

“Okay, but I really must go now. Major Reid is waiting for me to report for duty.”

He hugs me again, and this time the squeeze forces all the air from my lungs.

“
Oh
.
Kay,
” I wheeze.

He lets me go and beams. “We’ll talk soon.”

I spin and jog toward the command center, shooting back a wave in response. Major Reid is going to kill me for being late. I may even let him because I cannot believe I just agreed to those tests. But I would do anything if it meant helping Leigh survive what is coming. At least she will not experience what I have. The nightmares when my host was alive. The nightmares after.

I slow to a stop around the corner, recalling something Dr. Travista said last year.
“I believe Emma may still be connected to the host body. That’s why she’s proven difficult to erase. I discovered a connection between Ruby and her host initially, but it ended the moment I terminated the original.”

What was it Dr. Malcolm just said?
“You were bound to your host as long as she was alive . . . the universe’s way of trying to maintain the balance. Set things right. But with the host gone . . .”

With the host gone . . .
what
?

“Wade, you all right?”

I look up at the sound of Foster’s voice. He leans around the corner of the command center but enters the hallway after seeing my face.

“You look pale,” he says. “Are you sick?”

I force a smile and shake my head. “Is Major Reid mad that I am late?”

“Furious.” He attempts a light tone, but concern etches his expression.

“Good. I like him better when he is angry.”

He wraps an arm over my shoulder. “You know what they’re going to put on your headstone? Masochist unto death.”

He has no idea.