False Future (20 page)

M
y mouth opens. I close it right away, but I saw his eyes flick down. He noticed me noticing. I turn my face toward the cameras and let them take our picture. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it against my ribs. This white-hot ball of rage inside me just wants to know where Peter is and who this fake person is standing next to me. I’m going to find out.

They thought of every little detail but a scar you can hardly see.

We file off the stage in a line, and I decide it’s not too late to recover. I grab the imposter’s hand and give it a squeeze, then stand up on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Why don’t you come to my room when things settle down?” The president has us staying in the White House—I’m in the Lincoln Bedroom with Sophia, and Peter is in the Queens’ Bedroom with Noble, right across the hall.

“How come?” He’s kind of smiling.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, trying to make my voice sound playful, which I don’t have much practice at. “Maybe I just want to celebrate all of this being over. In private.”

He smiles, and now I wonder how I’ve been so blind. Peter would never smile like that—all slimy and devious.

This was the mole for the director. He told her the attack was coming. My mind rewinds through all the conversations I had with Peter. He was against attacking in the first place….Was it this imposter all along? Have I never actually seen my Peter since I’ve been back? No, that’s impossible. I remember seeing Peter’s scar the first time I saw him in the Verge. Back when we were both pretending to be someone else. The switch had to have been when Albin came for me the first time, when he tricked me into revealing our base in the Time Warner Center. Or maybe after, when I was unconscious for four days.
Where are you, Peter?

If I can get the imposter to come to my room, I can neutralize him before he can hurt anyone. Then we’ll just have to explain to the president what happened. It might ruin some of our goodwill, but there’s no other way. I’m not about to sound the alarm and risk this guy using his fear waves on all these people.

Plus there’s a part of me that wants to believe there’s an explanation, and a very small part of me that has doubt. I want to see his chin again. I want to see if he has an excuse.

In the East Sitting Hall, Peter and Noble go into their bedroom. Peter looks at me one last time and gives me a real smile that is so much like the Peter I know that I question everything I saw. He could just be acting weird because of all that’s happened…or because of what I’ve done. I hadn’t considered that possibility—he was never 100 percent on the plan. Maybe he’s upset about the choice I made.

Back in our room, Sophia turns to me with bloodshot eyes. “I need a shower, and then a nap, in that order. Is that fine?”

My mouth opens to tell her what I saw—or rather, what I didn’t see—but she’s already turning away, walking with such heavy shoulders that I don’t want to bother her. “Sure,” I say. “Go ahead.”

Rather than wait for him, I decide to pay Peter a little visit myself. I spend a minute imagining different scenarios and possible reactions from him. One I like, the others end with one or both of us dead.

I open the door to my room quietly, as Sophia starts the shower. Then I tiptoe across the hall to the Queens’ Bedroom. The door is cracked, just an inch. I pause, listening hard for any sounds coming from within. I tilt my ear toward the door, and that’s why I see the stain on the hall carpet. It’s just a few yards away, where the hallway turns to the right. The red carpet is a darker shade there, the stain about the size of a plate. It could be anything—it could be spilled water.

I sidestep toward it, and just around the corner lies the body of a Secret Service agent on his back, throat slashed.

“Oh no.”

I kick open the door to the Queens’ Bedroom, but it’s too late. Noble is on the floor, a halo of blood around his head, both hands clamped on his neck. His eyes roll toward me. Blood bubbles on his lips. I fall to my knees next to him.

“Too late,” he says through the blood.

No!
I want to be on the other side. I want to be the one looking up, not down. I’m always looking down.

“Let me see,” I say, my voice sounding cold and alien.

“Too late,” he says again. “Get him.”

“I’m going to stay with you.” I’m crying again. I thought I wouldn’t have to cry anymore.

Noble closes his eyes. “Be safe,” he says, and then says no more.

I’m on my feet and through the door, tearing down the hallways as fast as I can run. I grab a gun off a fallen agent who actually managed to draw it before dying. The hallway is filled with the bodies of agents ordered to guard us. I know where Peter is going. The Black. He’ll want to go home, or at least try. He knows it’s poisoned, but maybe he thinks he can survive the trip through. There’s nowhere else for him to go.

I make it to the exit by following the trail of carnage. Outside the sun is so bright it makes my eyes ache. I sprint across the south lawn, past Marine One, toward the Washington Monument straight to the south. My mind is frozen with grief, but it still shows me memories from this place, from when I rode a horse across the grass, trying to stop Nina from ending the entire world. It was night then, and the air was full of machine-gun fire and sirens. Now there are just patches of snow and blue sky and quiet as the world continues its slow awakening.

The hole to the tunnel that leads to the Black was covered up with a small cinder-block hut. Of course the government didn’t just seal it—they wanted to study it. The guards in the hut are dead too, throats slashed. My lungs burn from the freezing air, but I can’t stop, I have to catch him before he goes through. I sprint down the tunnel on numb legs for what seems like miles. I want to laugh at myself for believing it was over, that we’d won. That we were going to live as one big happy family.

Finally I’m in the giant cavern where I first saw the Black with Peter and Rhys. It’s still strewn with huge chunks of the Verge from Gane’s world.

And Peter is standing right next to the edge.

“D
ON’T MOVE!”
I scream at the top of my lungs, gun leveled at him, the sights over his center mass.

He turns toward me slowly. Blood covers his arms and chest and neck. It’s smeared on his face.

“You knew,” he says. “I could see the change in your eyes. That’s the only reason I did this.”

“Where is Peter?”

He raises an eyebrow and smiles grimly. “He did not go quietly, let me tell you.”

I can’t stop my voice from cracking and shaking. “Tell me where he is or I
swear to God I will end you
.”

“If I told you, I bet you’d shoot me anyway.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

He shrugs. “In that case, your precious boyfriend is in True Earth. The director wanted him secure in case she needed to leverage you once again. You trapped him there. You probably killed him.”

I go down on one knee, the air driven out of me. My head hangs, and I don’t have the strength to lift it.

I trapped Peter over there. I left him to die. I will never see him again.

The imposter is laughing at me, and I find time to wonder how people like him can exist. How can a human start as a blank slate and then become something like this? I will never understand us. I will never understand any of it.

“How does it feel?” he says. “I must admit, I wish you hadn’t noticed who I was. I was ready to live here. With you.”

“I would’ve noticed eventually. It never would’ve lasted.”

“But it was a nice idea. I liked being a hero. And I liked being with you. It could’ve become real over time.”

“Never.”

He makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. “What gave me away?”

I don’t say anything.

“So what happens if I jump through? You poisoned it, right? What happens?”

“You’ll have to jump to find out.” My voice is shaky and watery and hoarse. “Jump, or I’ll shoot you and throw you in.”

He looks down at the Black. I fire a shot at his feet, and he flinches away.

“I have nowhere to go,” he says.

“Well, maybe you’ll survive the trip,” I say, knowing he won’t. “Jump. Now.”

Peter stares at me with this devastated look I will always remember, anguish breaking through for a second. And then he steps forward and falls into the Black, disappearing completely. I know at that moment the Dark Room did its job. The surface of the Black simmers and smokes, and dark particles drift and swirl to the ceiling high above.

I
t doesn’t take them long to find me. I haven’t moved, I just curled up on my side on the hard rock floor. I hear the sounds of the soldiers in the tunnels, echoing for two minutes before they reach me. Their boot steps thump along the floor. They surround me with assault rifles.

Kellogg crouches in front of me. “Hey there.”

I look up at him.

“Did Peter go through?”

“It wasn’t Peter. And yes.”

Kellogg nods. “This changes things. You guys are already famous.”

“I know.” I still haven’t moved.

“We have Sophia in custody. She’s okay. But we’re gonna need you to answer some questions. I can vouch for you.” He grabs my cold hand and holds it in his warm one. “I will be with you the whole way. Don’t give up yet, okay? Don’t shut down.”

Slowly, I sit up. Peter wouldn’t want me to shut down. He would never want that. Even with what I did to him. Even though I trapped him behind enemy lines, forever.

“There’s one thing you can help us with,” Kellogg says. “Something that will get you back some trust, I think.”

I hug my knees to my chest. The soldiers are still all around us with their guns pointed in my general direction.

“What is it?” I say.

“The director is in custody in a special facility, along with other Roses we’ve detained. She claims she has vital information for us, but she only wants to talk to you. Can you do that?”

Me?

Why would she want to talk to me?

“Yes,” I say. “I can do that.”

The director is in a location so secret they have to blindfold me. I don’t bother to pay attention to the time and turns—I just let them guide me. I’m cuffed until they lead me through some chilly hallways and into an interview room, which contains a metal table, two chairs, and a one-way mirror.

The director is wearing some kind of helmet, probably to prohibit her fear waves, if that’s even possible. It makes her look ridiculous and not scary at all. Her hands are chained to the table, which is welded to the floor.

“What do you want?” I say.

She’s straight to business. No more villainous talk. She knows she lost. “If you free me, I will tell you where to find Peter.”

Just hearing her speak his name makes my skin crawl. She doesn’t deserve to say it. “Peter is trapped in True Earth. Try again.”

She shakes her head briskly. “No. He was there briefly, but I had him moved back here at the last minute to use against you.”

My heart starts pounding with hope, which is dangerous. I don’t want to hope. Not right now. I like the way I feel—I like feeling nothing.

“You’re lying.”

“What does your heart tell you?”

“I’m not sure I have one left.”

“Yes, you did isolate and sentence the future to what you think is a cold death. That would hurt one’s heart. But I guess that’s my fault, isn’t it?” She doesn’t seem angry about it anymore, just sad. Introspective, maybe. She must be wondering how it came to this. Beaten by herself.

“I guess.”

“Free me and I’ll tell you where he is.”

“I could never get you out of here alive. You know that.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to be alive. I said I want to be
free
. I can never go home. So kill me. Kill all the Roses before your world figures out what makes us tick. Don’t you see? You haven’t won. Unless you do this, they will examine us, experiment on us, and that will lead to one thing—re-creating us.”

She’s right. As long as we’re here, I can’t trust anyone to not want what’s inside my head. While I’m in this building, I could be in danger. They might never let me leave.

“Do the right thing, Miranda,” she says. Her eyes are desperate. She is pleading with me. Pleading with me to end her life.

Who am I to say no?

“Okay. Tell me.”

I lean forward and she whispers Peter’s location in my ear. Then the door bursts open and men in suits are trying to grab at me, but I’m a Rose and they are not. I reach forward and grab the director’s head in both hands and twist as hard as I can. Her neck breaks with a loud pop and her head falls to the table hard. The men carry me out of the room, and I don’t resist. But I also can’t help but smile.

And hope.

I’m in custody for three days.

On the first day the president himself admitted that the remaining Roses will be kept for further study, and because as a world leader America can’t just execute its enemies because they’re dangerous (this last part makes me laugh).

There’s nothing I can do about it, for now. The Roses will be kept in comas, he assures me. They will pose no danger, he assures me. I can only hope that’s true. Kellogg visits me on the second day, and we talk about nothing of relevance until he leans in and whispers, “The Roses mysteriously passed away in the night.” Then he looks at me and shrugs. I never see him again.

On day three they release me, but I have to remain under supervision. A dozen agents bring me to Sophia, who was also detained and released, and we hug a long time. Sophia agrees to come with me. To stay with me. We’re all each other has right now.

One hour after being freed, I easily lose my guard of agents. I don’t even have to hurt them.

The airlines aren’t running just yet, but we find a boat that’s going across the Atlantic. The captain lets us come aboard if we work, hauling nets full of fish out of the water. The captain and his crew were stranded at sea without power, he tells us, until it mysteriously turned back on. Now it’s back to work. Living and working on that boat for a few weeks is the most fun I’ve ever had. We play cards at night with the crew, and they’re totally respectful of us. Sophia smiles again. I laugh again. Because we’re going to get Peter. I hold on to that the entire time. The director was many things, but I don’t think she would lie to me in the end. Not with what she was asking me to do. She knew I’d see the lie. So I hold on to hope tightly.

We change boats three times, until we’re deep in the Mediterranean. The breeze on the water is warm, and then it’s cold. The last boat will take us to a tiny island in Greece named Ikaria. A month has passed by the time we make it to the island.

The first week there, Sophia gathers materials to make new memory shots, for the day when we run out of Noble’s stockpile and I start forgetting things. I scour the stony beaches and stores, asking people if they’ve seen someone with Peter’s description. Some people say they have, but there are many people here with dark hair. Not many of them have purplish-blue eyes, though.

I know what to expect when I find him. It’s the same way he found me, not so long ago.

But it still hurts.

He’s working in a café on the beach. It’s his break. He’s wearing his apron, sitting at a table, drinking coffee from a tiny cup, staring at the waves. The breeze ruffles his hair, which is longer than before and curling at the neck. He spots me and his eyebrows rise like he’s surprised to see me. But not because he knows who I am.

He must realize the face he’s making, because he quickly drops his gaze and pretends to study the shells at his feet. But then he’s looking at me again, out of the corner of his eye. I keep staring. After not seeing him for so long, there’s nothing else I can do but stare. I walk over to him slowly, like I’m approaching a wild animal that might bolt at any second.

“Hello,” I say.

He smiles up at me. “Hi. You’re an American.”

“Kind of.”

He doesn’t say anything. The little patio area is completely empty. He gestures at the seat across from him. “Do you want to sit down?”

“I’d love to,” I say, maybe a little too eagerly. But his smile seems happy.

We sit for a moment, just enjoying the breeze and the sound of the waves. He keeps fighting a smile. Finally he says, “This is gonna sound crazy, but you look so completely familiar to me, which is kind of a big deal. Have we met before?”

“We have.”

His eyes light up. “Really?” He leans forward. “You know who I am?”

I can feel my eyes tearing up. “I do.”

He pauses. “Wait. Then what is my name?”

“Peter,” I say without hesitation.

He stares at me, and for a second, even though I know it’s not real, I think I see recognition in his eyes. “Do you know how I lost my memory?”

I nod.

“How?”

“It’s a long story,” I say.

He shakes his head. “I forget things all the time. I forget things each day. I can make a good cup of coffee, thank God, or else I’d be fired. Every morning the owner comes and gets me and tells me what to do. I don’t even know if he pays me. I don’t know how I got here, or why I have this job. I don’t even speak Greek.”

Somehow I’m holding both of his hands across the table. I don’t remember grabbing them, but now I feel their warmth. His hands are callused from the weapons we used to use. “I can help you remember. This might sound crazy, but we’ve actually known each other since we were kids. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

His eyes are wet and so are mine. It’s like he wants to believe it, but it’s too good to be true. He’s lived a month or more in confusion, and now it’s all going to be over.

“Really? That would be great.”

I squeeze his hands.

“So we were friends, huh?” he says.

I try not to smile. “Well, maybe a little more than that. My name is Miranda. Miranda North.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he says, voice brimming with laughter.

“I have a lot to tell you. A lot. And it’s going to be hard to believe. But
you
made me believe it once, and I think I can do that for you. I know I can.”

He’s shaking his head. “I already believe you. I can’t explain it, but I do.”

“Good. Then believe this. I’m going to give you a syringe filled with weird liquid, and you’re going to inject it into your arm, and then you’ll stop forgetting things. When I had this problem, you just jabbed me without asking, but I’m nicer than you.”

He laughs. “I believe that too.”

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

“On the beach?” He looks at the waves. “Okay.” He rises, taking off his apron. He calls toward the kitchen. “Hey, guy! I’m leaving!”

His boss comes out, then looks at me, throws up his hands, and goes back inside.

“Is his name Guy? Or do you just call him that?”

“I don’t know what his name is,” Peter says, then laughs again. He takes the syringe that Sophia filled and sticks it in his arm without looking, like he’s done it a thousand times, which he has.

I start laughing too, fighting back tears. I don’t want to blur my vision.

I want to keep seeing him clearly.

“Okay, a walk. And then what?” he says.

“Whatever we want. We have the rest of our lives.” We finally have the rest of our lives.

Peter holds out his hand. “I like the sound of that.”