Imitation (19 page)

By the end of the second day, I am too
worried to eat dinner. I excuse myself to my room, which I’m
allowed to travel to and from on my own now. I pass by the library
and three other rooms that are all different versions of a sitting
room. The fourth door is mahogany and heavy looking. So far during
my time here, it has remained closed and I’ve come to know it as
one of Titus’s personal spaces. Off limits.

The sound of voices coming from inside
slows me and when I near the frame, I realize the door is cracked.
Through the fraction of space, I see Titus speaking to someone
whose back is toward me. The scent of cigars wafts out the
opening.

“…
But the RNA sequence is
better than ever,” Titus says. “These new models won’t even have
the ability to question their fate, much less care about their
circumstances. They will be completely loyal to me.”

“
How long until they’re
ready to be woken and integrated?”

“
Six months, give or
take.”

“
None too soon,” the
stranger says. His hair is wavy black and his voice is rough like
he needs to clear his throat. “Twig City’s beginning to look like a
ghost town. We’ve depleted our numbers. Marla says the products are
nervous.”

“
They’ll be fine. Just
keep them in a routine. Once the new line is introduced, their
complacency will spill over and reassure the rest.”

“
That’s what you said a
year ago.”

I can hear Titus losing patience as he
snaps back. “I’ve done my best given the circumstances. They’re
under control.”

“
That doesn’t fix the
problem with the current products in place,” the man says without
turning. He sounds unruffled, and I wonder if anyone has ever
ignored Titus and his temper so blatantly.

“
The current line is
manageable. “I should think I’ve made that obvious beginning with
Senator Ryan’s replacement.”

“
For now,” the stranger
agrees. “Your daughter’s product is another matter. These
disappearances are disturbing in their frequency.”

“
We’re getting close to
neutralizing the threat,” Titus says.

“
What leads do you
have?”

“
Don’t worry about leads.
It’s handled,” Titus snaps.

“
Is it?” The man turns
from the window but he is too far right for me to see him through
the small crack. He sounds angry now. “You have had more than one
opportunity to catch her attackers. Instead, they’ve come way too
close to taking her out, or worse, taking her alive. If that
happens, everything crumbles.”

“
I would kill the product
myself before I let that happen,” Titus says.

My body goes cold. I can feel the
blood draining from my face. Titus whirls and I think he may come
to investigate some noise I’ve made but I am already hurrying down
the hall to my room. I run the last few steps and throw the door
closed behind me before I realize the sound of it slamming will
probably give me away.

I freeze and wait for Titus to storm
inside and punish me—but nothing happens. No one comes.

My shoulders slump and I exhale. I
don’t bother with undressing as I crawl underneath the covers and
bury my head in the pillows. Closing my eyes doesn’t erase what
I’ve heard, but it helps me concentrate on blocking out the worst
of it.

Senator Ryan is an Imitation. This is
much easier to think about than anything they said about me. What
happened to the Authentic Senator Ryan? I remember Linc saying
something about an attack but that the senator survived. Was there
another? And does Daniel know that his father is not his father? I
cannot afford to ask him and give away what I’ve heard. Not
yet.

They made it sound like the senator
isn’t the only one Titus switched out for his Imitation. The idea
of so many more Imitations in place is scary. It means the reach of
Titus’s control extends so much farther than I ever
imagined.

I wonder again who the
strange man is and how he has the power to speak to Titus that way.
I try not to think about what Titus said, but it’s inevitable. The
more I try to shut it out, the louder his words ring in my
ears:
I would kill the product myself
before I let that happen …

I’ve known all along he has brought me
here to be dangled as bait. To die, if need be. So it shouldn’t be
this shocking to hear him say he’d do it himself. But there are
some words that when overheard will always twist a person’s guts
sideways. He’s said it to me in the past but never like that. Maybe
it was the absolute conviction of his words. Or the tone devoid of
any emotion that went with it. The GPS underneath my skin hums like
a singing grenade.

I feel as if I’m drowning and there is
no surface to search for, no oxygen left in any direction. I lie
there for a long time before I sleep. Part of me is determined to
survive this. If not for myself, then for Ida and Lonnie, for
Obadiah. For Linc. But another part wonders why it matters, why I
matter.

In this moment, I ache to be human—to
be Authentic and free and owned by no one.

When I do finally sleep, I dream that
my lungs are filling with water from a tube that is set on a slow
drip, and though I see it dangling before me, I can do nothing to
stop it.

The following evening, Titus sends me
to a party alone. He says he trusts me. I know the truth. He trusts
that if I’m alone, someone will try to kill me. As proof, my only
escorts are Gus and two men I don’t know. I’m told Linc and others
are stationed nearby, watching. It is a small comfort until I learn
I will enter the party alone while my team waits in the building
across the street.

A doorman with a meaty hand pulls me
from the car and escorts me up the walk and through the doors. The
party is already in full swing. It is a celebration, one of many
being held in the city tonight because the election is over.
Senator Whitcomb has been re-elected and everyone is overjoyed. I
only care because it means I will see Obadiah.

I crane my neck searching for him but
I cannot see past the two black-and-white tuxes blocking my path as
they surge closer. Daniel reaches me first. He turns to smirk at
Caine Rafferty who comes in second, which in this case is last. My
curbside escort lets go of my hand and drops back, leaving me
standing alone with them.

“
Hello, Raven,” Daniel
says, leaning in much closer than necessary. His breath hits my
face. It smells like stale alcohol and artificial mint. He plants a
kiss on my cheek that lingers too long.

Caine takes my hand in his, bringing
it to his lips for a kiss. “The night was such a waste until you
arrived,” he says.

I roll my eyes, for once my reaction
matching perfectly with that of Authentic Raven. “Boys,” I say,
with a fair amount of disdain and boredom, “can you let me get in
the door before you pounce on me like a pair of
puppies?”

My chastising works. They both frown
and step back. I sweep past them and head for the dais where the
politicians are holding their meet-and-greet. I shake hands with a
few as I pass by, an Authentic smile pasted on my face. I search
faces, looking for Obadiah, but I can still sense the boys on my
heels.

I sigh and slow my step, allowing them
to catch up. Even though Titus isn’t here, I don’t doubt for a
second he is watching in some capacity. If I break my role, he will
know. The music slows and the dance floor thickens with swaying
bodies.

“
Would you like to dance?”
I ask Caine.

Daniel scowls and Caine gives him a
triumphant smile.

“
After you,” Caine says to
me, gesturing at me to lead the way.

“
I’ve got next,” Daniel
calls after us.

I dance with Caine for a song and a
half before Daniel cuts in. I tense the moment our bodies
connect.

“
Where’s your bodyguard
tonight?” Daniel asks.

“
Shut up, Daniel,” I say,
weary of him already.

His jaw muscle tics, though his smile
remains frozen in place. To the rest of the crowd, he looks
pleasant enough, but I don’t miss the way he tightens his grip on
me. “You will speak to me with respect,” he says through closed
teeth.

“
I will dance with you in
front of this crowd. And that is all,” I say. I am not naïve enough
to think he will listen but my security detail—including Linc—is
hearing every word of this. I know if Daniel tries anything,
someone will come running.

Daniel scowls and yanks me closer,
daring me to resist. I don’t and we finish the dance in silence.
After that, a politician old enough to be my grandfather holds me
too tight with fat fingers as his wife looks on, glaring. I try not
to think about how familiar he seems with me as he cracks
inappropriate jokes about farm animals. He is disgusting in a way
I’ve never encountered, and I am rigid with disgust by the time
Obadiah taps him on the shoulder.

“
May I cut in?” Obadiah
asks.

The old man lets go, clearly
disappointed. He gets three steps before his wife grabs him and
drags him away.

Obadiah looks beautiful tonight in a
silk vest under his soft charcoal suit. He drapes one hand gently
around my hip. The other hand settles into mine, firm and
reassuring, and we begin to sway. I cling to him
gratefully.

“
I was looking for you,” I
say.

He snorts. “From the center of the
dance floor? Because I’ve been here for almost an hour and this is
the only place I’ve seen you.”

“
I figured I’d dance and
get it over with but that last one …” I shudder.

He shakes his head. “I don’t get
you.”

“
What do you
mean?”

“
A few weeks ago, you’d
have danced with that creeper and giggled the entire time his hands
slid over your backside. Now, you act disgusted with this whole
scene. Did that hit on your head really do that much
damage?”

“
I …” My response dies in
my mouth. I want so badly to tell him the truth, but I don’t dare.
The truth will only bring him trouble. “Maybe. I do feel
different.”

I am drawn to someone behind him. A
familiar face buried far back in the crowd. I stop dancing but
continue to hold Obadiah’s hand. The pressure of it anchors me. It
is the only thing assuring me I haven’t somehow been transported
back to Twig City.

Hers is a face I’ve seen a million
times. Before I go to bed and moments after I wake each morning as
we share our ritualistic smile. She is Anna, the occupant of the
bunk beside my own. And although I can only assume it is her
Authentic staring back at me, the way her eyes lock onto mine from
across the room suggests something else. Something more
meaningful.

“
Who is that?” I
ask.

“
Who?” Obadiah twists
around, arching his back as he searches for the one who’s caught my
interest. “Oh, you mean Annalyn?” He turns back to me, his forehead
wrinkling in thought. “I think her father’s a statesman. Benner is
the last name. I don’t know her very well. Do you?”

“
I … don’t
know.”

The girl circles the outskirts of the
crowd, still watching me. “Well, it looks like she knows you.
Should we talk to her?”

“
Yes.”

I don’t wait to see if Obadiah follows
me through the crowd. A growing sense of urgency propels me
forward. I deftly slip around the bodies that stand between us.
When I’ve almost reached her, the girl suddenly spins on her heel
and retreats. I increase my pace, almost running by the time the
girl rounds the corner ahead of me.

I catch sight of the ends of her hair
trailing out behind her—the only evidence of the direction she’s
gone.

“
She went into the ladies’
room,” Obadiah says from behind me. He is panting as if even this
small amount of exercise has winded him. “I’ll have to wait
here.”

I hesitate. It’s clear this girl wants
me to follow her. Alone. “Maybe this isn’t …”

“
You came this far. You
might as well see what she wants,” he says. “Go on. I’ll be right
here.”

I take a deep breath and walk
inside.

The stalls are empty. I am confused
and wondering if I somehow missed the girl’s quick exit. I am
headed for the door when a hand closes over my shoulder and spins
me around. I muffle a scream and come face to face with Anna. Or
Annalyn.

She holds a finger to her lips,
shushing me. Gingerly, she reaches down and unhooks the brooch
attached to the shoulder of my dress. It pins the gauze in place
that hangs down my back like a one-sided cape—and also acts as a
one-way radio transmitter for my security team. She sets it on the
floor between us and stomps on it until it is crushed into
pieces.

“
What are you doing?” I
cannot help but feel panicked. Something about this girl—whichever
version of herself I’ve just met—feels unpredictable.

She doesn’t answer and I notice her
arm, the place where her GPS should be. A wound, scabbed over and
fresh at the edges, mars the delicate skin of her forearm. I fall
silent and stare at her cut flesh. It is an anomaly I can’t explain
for either version of the girl standing in front of me.