Falls the Shadow (11 page)

It's amazing how you can believe your life is so awful,
but then something worse comes along, and suddenly you'd give anything to just have that normal, awful life back. I want my parents. I want my sister calling me names and breaking things and blaming it on me. I want those stupid people shouting, protesting outside my window all night, and I want that to be my only problem. Wasn't that a big enough problem by itself?

“You said you brought me here for my protection.” My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else, someone who's accepted the impossibility of all this while the real me is hiding someplace far away. “Why?” I ask. “Do you think Huxley is planning to kill me too?”

“We actually think they'll be more interested in your sister's clone.”

Isn't everyone?

“I'm not an expert on clones or their programming, but it doesn't take a genius to see that something about your sister's replica seems to be off. She's spent most of the time since her activation drawing bad publicity to Huxley, and while we're thankful for it, somehow I doubt her creators are. And this latest deed that she's committed—”

“
Supposedly
committed,” I correct automatically.

“—is a bit over the top, don't you think? Huxley is looking for her along with everyone else now, I'm sure. I imagine they're scrambling, trying to figure out where they went wrong with her, and they'll probably see you as a potential link to figuring that out.” She hesitates, presses her fingertips to the corner touch screen again. The projections fade into the air, and the computer's control panel
makes a soft humming noise as it shuts down. “Jaxon tells me you and Violet are close,” she adds. “And that if anybody would know how to find her, it would be you.”

Just his name is enough to irritate me all over again. What else has he told her, I wonder?

“Which is why I've confided all of this to you,” she says. “I thought if you understood where I was coming from, you might help us do precisely that.”

“What do you plan on doing with her if you find her, exactly?”

“You're very protective of her, aren't you?”

“Of course I am. She's my sister.”

The president's smile is smug. “Is she, now? You're sure of that?”

Shut up,
I think. But my mind is as far as the words get. However much I might want to shout them at her, something stops me. I lower my eyes, pretend to be very interested in a black scuff mark across the metal-grate flooring. I want this conversation to be over. If my father were here, it would be; this is the point in the conversation where he would say,
No more questions—this interview is finished
. In my mind, I can see him clearly: stoic and unyielding, looking straight ahead until the reporters and protestors finally get tired of trying to make him talk, and just move on. At least until next time.

But President Cross doesn't move on.

“We only want to contain her, Catelyn. To keep her from Huxley's scientists, because if she
is
a broken link in their experiments, then we want to do everything we can
to stop them from figuring out how to fix it. She would be safer with us than she would be with Huxley, anyway. You have my word on that.”

“Which is more or less worthless to me,” I say. After all, I took her son's word for things, and look where
that
got me.

“I'm sorry you think so.” She pauses thoughtfully, picks a loose thread from the cuff of her jacket and flicks it away. Somehow, she manages to make even that small movement seem oddly menacing. “Because I so wanted us to be on the same side for once,” she says.

No more questions. This interview is over. Don't speak to her, Catelyn. Don't even look at her.

She isn't going to listen to anything I have to say anyway, because she already knows what she wants to hear. And I'm not telling her that, for the same reason I didn't tell our mother where Violet was hiding that day my sister painted obnoxious words on the fence around the backyard—just because she was feeling “artsy,” she told me later. Mother was almost as menacing then as President Cross is now, and if Violet got in trouble, it wasn't going to be because of me.

It's never going to be because of me.

Secrets make sisters
. Every time she asked me to cover for her, that's what this new Violet would say. So I keep her secrets. Because this way, in the moments when she doesn't seem so much like the old Violet, I've at least got some sort of connection to her left. Something that's only ours and that no one can ever take away.

The president is silent. Waiting for me to speak, to blurt out some sort of confession, maybe. But I could endure her incriminating stare all day if I had to. Furniture-girl, remember?

“I will find your sister,” she says after another long moment, after I've apparently made it clear enough that I have no plans to talk. “With or without your help, her fate is already determined—all that's left to be decided is yours. And as far as I'm concerned, you are either working for us or you are against us. I've no use for people who insist on staying caught in the middle.” She glances at the communicator on her wrist, jabs a few times at one of the buttons on the side. “And do keep in mind, Catelyn,” she adds, still messing with that button, “that I'm being exceptionally gracious in giving you the opportunity to be
with
us. Do you know they all laughed at me when I suggested we ask an origin to help us?”

“I'm not going to help you.”

She glances up at me with a smile.

“Oh, we'll see about that.”

Six hours
.

That's how long I've been in here. And if I have to spend another six hours in here, I am going to go insane.

I've been passing the time by watching the minutes slide by on my phone's display; it's about all I can do with it, because the solid concrete walls of this prison cell make it impossible to get any sort of signal. That's probably why they didn't bother to take it from me. I couldn't call anybody for help if I wanted to.

Another minute goes by. I toss the useless phone onto the bed in the corner; the mattress is so stiff that the phone bounces several feet in the air after hitting it, then lands on the metal grate flooring with a sharp
clang!
that makes me cringe. I go to pick it up, to check the damage I've done, just as the door behind me slides open.

I turn around, and Jaxon is standing in the frame.

He doesn't say anything at first, but I'm instantly, painfully, aware of how different things are between us now.

Those eyes that used to be one of the brightest parts of my day are guarded now, and all they do is make me angry—because all I can think about as I look into them is how stupid I was to get into that car with him not once but twice.

Twice
.

How could I have been so embarrassingly stupid?

“What do you want?” The memory of that embarrassment—along with six hours of this cell—makes my voice a lot edgier than normal.

“I just want to talk,” he says.

“I don't have anything to say to you.”

“Well, just listen, then.”

“You know, I see your lips moving, but all I hear is white noise. It's really weird.”

“Cate, please don't be like that.”

My glare is so intense that he actually stumbles back a step.

“I didn't know it was going to be like this,” he says. “I swear I didn't.”

“But you knew your mother was the president of the CCA,” I say. “Or did that slip your mind too?” I force myself to unclench the phone from my hand and set it back down on the bed, so I'm not tempted anymore to throw it at him. I don't want to break it for real this time.

“She said she just wanted to talk to you.”

“Well they always say that, don't they? And then the talking turns to shouting, and the shouting turns into them throwing bricks through our window, and then—”

“I know this sucks, okay? And I'm sorry about everything the CCA has done to you. I really am. That's why I'm here—to apologize.” He steps cautiously toward me. Takes a deep breath. Hesitates, like he hasn't completely decided whether or not he wants to say this next part out loud.
“Because just for the record?” he finally continues. “I don't agree with everything that goes on here. I don't agree with a lot of it.”

“But you don't agree with people like me, either, right? People like my sister.”

“I didn't say that—”

“You think my sister killed Samantha Voss. That's why you brought me here. You think I know what happened and I'm just not telling you.”

Another deep breath. In his nose, out his mouth. He doesn't answer me.

“That's what I thought,” I say.

“Well,” he says, “
do
you know what happened?” His features are perfectly stoic. He's actually asking me that. He actually thinks I might be an accomplice to murder.

Suddenly I'm so angry I can hardly breathe, much less talk; after several attempts, I manage to force two scathing words from my mouth: “Get. Out.”

He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the wall, frowning.

“Okay, then
you
stay. I'll leave.” I shove past him just as the door slides open again, and Seth Lancaster—of all people—steps inside. Because that's what I get for thinking today couldn't get worse.

“You too?” I mutter under my breath, staring at the huge grin on Seth's face.

“So it's true,” he says. “She really is here. Excellent.”

My face flames. Of course he'd find it excellent. I'm sure he thinks this is fantastic payback for me punching
him yesterday. Although I'm not sure it's a fair trade-off—since his nose seems perfectly fine today. If I'd known he was CCA, I probably would have punched him harder and at least made it worth getting suspended over.

“What are you doing in here?” Jaxon asks. The edge in my voice is in his now too, and Seth seems taken aback by it. He gets over it quickly enough.

“Looking for you, actually,” he says, “because I was wondering how things had turned out. But now I see it for myself, of course—and can I just say thanks?”

I'm even more confused than ever, but Jaxon shakes his head and says, “You and Alex have been betting again, haven't you?”

Seth beams at him. “You know that moron bet me a fifty the other day that you wouldn't be able to pull this one off?” he says, pointing at me. Because I'm apparently just a “this” now. “And when you f'ed up yesterday, I talked him into going double or nothing. So you know what that means? It means I'm a hundred bucks richer because
I
kept the faith in you, my friend.”

My eyes narrow. “You were placing bets on whether or not Jaxon would manage to kidnap me?” I ask, taking an angry step toward him.

He spins around and does this crazy kung fu pose, his hand up like he's going to karate chop me or something. “Back up, devil woman,” he says. “You punch me again and I'm hitting you back this time.”

“No. You are not,” Jaxon says, grabbing Seth by the sleeve and jerking him back.

“Did you see what she did to my nose yesterday?” Seth protests, shrugging his arm free. “She has a mean right hook. I don't care if she is a girl—it would still be a fair fight.”

“Yeah right,” Jaxon says. “She would kick your ass, and we both know it.” He flashes me a quick smile. I don't return it, as charming as it might be. That charm is what got me into this mess in the first place; I'm not falling for it again.

“That was cold, man,” Seth says.

“Get out, Seth,” Jaxon says.

“Are you betraying me for the clonie? Because I feel like I'm being betrayed for the clonie.”

“Don't call her that.”

Seth's grin is unapologetic. “And getting defensive, too? Right . . . I think I get what's going on here. Did I interrupt something? Is that why you both looked so pissed off when I walked in?”

“
Out
, Seth.”

“Because, you know, you could have just kept on doing your thing. I could have sat quietly in the corner and waited.”

“Kept on doing
what
thing?” I ask.

He cocks an eyebrow. And I clench my fist and draw it back, thinking about hitting him on purpose this time.

“Please don't hit me,” he says, throwing his hands in front of his face. “Save your wrath for someone less handsome. The world can't afford to lose a face like this.”

“Debatable,” Jaxon says.

Seth fakes a crushed expression. “If that isn't betrayal, I don't know what is.”

“Can I make up for it by walking you to the door?” Jaxon suggests.

“All right. Okay. I can tell when I'm not wanted.”

“Sometimes I wonder about that.”

Seth's smile only widens before he turns and walks to the door. “Oh, and by the way,” he says, glancing back at Jaxon, “mama-president was looking for you. Said it was urgent.”

“You couldn't have told me that five minutes ago?”

He just shrugs and then disappears into the hallway.

“Sorry about that,” Jaxon says.

“Why are you apologizing for him?”

“I think it's just a reflex at this point,” he answers, trying that smile out on me again.

Still not letting it work.

“Sometimes I don't even listen to what he says,” he goes on, “but I still apologize for it, because nine times out of ten
someone
needs to.” He laughs, shaking his head. “He doesn't mean half of what he says, though. Especially not the name-calling part. The clones and Huxley and the CCA—I don't think he could care less about any of that.”