Imitation (6 page)

“
We were.” He hesitates
and then his voice goes flat as he says, “He’s dead.”

I can’t help the flinch of my
shoulders. Death is so final for me, a soulless being. For humans,
they say it isn’t the end, though I have no idea what would come
next. “What happened?” I ask.

“
There was an attack on
his employer. He was outnumbered and they killed him.”

“
His employer?”

“
Congressman Ryan and his
son. They survived. Adam did not.” He presses his lips together and
goes silent.

I don’t push. It’s clear he doesn’t
want to discuss it further. His story sounds an awful lot like the
one he and I are currently living out. And then I realize … “You’re
supposed to protect me.”

He doesn’t answer.

“
Linc, you don’t—you
shouldn’t.” I don’t know how to say it without giving away too
much, but I feel the weight of it all pressing against me and I
have to say something. “It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.
Don’t—don’t die for me.”

He glares at me, his expression so
cold I shrink back. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps. “None of this
is for you. It’s a job and I have my orders. We’re done
here.”

He springs to his feet and is gone.
The door slams shut behind him. In the hall, I hear him speaking to
someone before his footsteps fade.

I am alone.

I’m never alone.

The following afternoon, I spend two
hours with the maid—whose name I’ve overheard from other staff is
Maria—going over the correct order in which to use my silverware
and how to place my napkin properly. These are all things I learned
during my first year in Twig City but Titus insists I be put
through a refresher course.

I am told by the security guard on
duty that Titus watches from a hidden security feed, and throughout
my lessons the back of my neck burns with the knowledge. It is
exhausting and mind-numbing how serious they take social etiquette,
but I know it will mean the difference between being me and being
her tonight. In other words, the difference between survival and
termination.

Not that anyone would suspect
differently. The world at large knows nothing of Imitations. Not
unless you’re rich enough to afford one yourself. We are the
ultimate in genetically engineered secrets.

At seven, Maria ends her lessons and
leads me back to my room. She goes straight to the closet,
examining my dresses with solemn scrutiny. She does not speak of
anything personal, nor does she seem to care for my company, but
she is not disdainful like the rest of the staff. Like Linc
is.

I haven’t seen him today.
Earlier, I swore I heard his voice in the hall, but he never showed
himself. I don’t think I want him to. I know it is all a reflection
on
her
, but it is
daunting nonetheless to know that everyone I meet hates me even
before I open my mouth. I haven’t even left the house yet. What
does the rest of the world think of Raven Rogen?

Maria thumbs through waves of fabric
and stops on a purple halter-top gown. The skirt is layered with
gauzy fabric that reminds me of tissue paper. “This one,” she says,
shoving it at me.

“
Are you sure?” I ask,
eyeing the tiny swath of fabric that will clothe my torso. It
doesn’t seem to be enough to cover all that I’m used to
covering.

She looks at me quizzically, and I
remember I’m supposed to want to wear this sort of thing. “I’m
sure. Mr. Titus will approve,” she says.

I force flippancy into my words and
say, “Good. I’ll get changed.”

She regards me for another moment and
then leaves without another word. I don’t exhale until the door
clicks shut behind her. For once, when the lock twists, I am
relieved.

The dress is short in the front with a
tail of gauze flowing down the back. The gym shorts I wore in Twig
City were longer than the front of this dress. I stare at myself in
the full-length mirror and pretend this is exactly the sort of
thing I want to be seen in. But my skin feels so exposed I might as
well be naked. It’s more than my body … I feel as if they’ll see
all the way through to the secrets I keep.

I was created to keep secrets. I am a
secret.

It shouldn’t bother me so much but it
does. I’ve never admitted it to a single person—not my examiner,
not even Lonnie or Ida—but I am not nearly as accepting of my
intended purpose or fate as they’d like me to be. I wasn’t certain
of it then, when it was just an abstract idea of something that
hadn’t happened yet. And I’m not certain now, when it’s such a
stark reality that each passing second feels like a grain of sand
lost inside an hourglass. It is all a countdown to the end
now.

I was created a copy. I want more than
anything to be an original.

The only move I have is forward,
though, and so I continue to dress and ready myself. If I can pull
off tonight, I’ll live until tomorrow. It’s not much but it’s all I
have. For some reason, this line of thinking makes me angry. I let
it, knowing anger is much more effective than fear for all I have
to do tonight.

The purple heels I wear only serve to
raise the hem another half an inch and I growl in frustration. The
lock slides free and the door opens. Gus pokes his head in and his
eyes land on mine through the reflection in the mirror.

“
It’s time,” he says,
swinging the door wider to allow me passage.

I slide my arms into the jacket he
offers and walk out.

Titus waits for us by the elevator. He
is dressed in a dark suit that shines with newness. It makes his
shoulders appear wider, his chest broader than it seemed last
night. I wonder if he’s trying to look taller or if it’s an
unintentional side effect of the fabric’s cut. He doesn’t seem the
type to need cosmetic reassurances. My heels leave the soft carpet
and make a click-click against the heavy marble. Titus looks up and
gives me a once-over that tightens my knuckles.

Like before, I have the urge to speak
up, to rail against the injustice of his ultimatum: be her, or die.
But the look he gives me freezes my tongue. I don’t know what he is
capable of and the possibilities scare me.

He gives a barely perceptible nod
indicating I pass his inspection and then presses the button for
the metal box that will take us out of here.

My heart thumps wildly and it’s more
than my nerves at seeing Titus. I am leaving my prison. Even if
it’s only to be transported from one cage to another, the idea of
being outside for any length of time is too appealing to ignore.
The idea of riding in an automobile again, even sandwiched between
Gus and Titus, has adrenaline pumping through me. I am caught up in
thinking words like “freedom” and “fresh air” when I hear Gus
speaking to Titus in a low voice.

“…
Assessed the threat
level for the vicinity. There are vulnerabilities—”

“
That’s exactly what we
want,” Titus cuts in. “The more vulnerabilities, the quicker
they’ll try again. Just have the men ready to counter. I want them
alive. I want names.”

Gus’s mouth tightens. “Yes,
sir.”

They glance my way, but I pretend to
be fully engaged in adjusting my shoe. The elevator bell dings and
the doors slide open. I step inside behind them and stare straight
ahead without a sound. I am no longer thinking about fresh air and
getting outside. I am thinking about how my dress will look stained
with my blood. And whether satin sheets are worth whatever—or
whoever—is coming for me.

The entire car ride over, Titus’s mood
is heavy, a reminder of what is expected when the car stops and the
doors open. Neither of us speaks. There’s nothing more to say
unless I live.

Our journey is made up of short bursts
of speed and frequent stops at red lights. By the time we arrive,
the excitement of being inside a car—even a car as nice as this
one—has dulled. I pile out between Titus and Gus and follow them to
the main entrance.

Streetlights illuminate every corner
of the otherwise darkened sidewalks. There is a fair amount of
hustle and bustle on the sidewalk, though this group is dressed
more extravagantly than any I saw on my trip into the city. I
suspect it must have something to do with evening apparel being
fancier than daywear.

When I reach the entrance, a man in a
gray jacket holds the door and nods as I pass through. “Miss
Rogen,” he says.

“
Thank you,” I murmur,
trying hard to sound like I don’t mean it.

Titus and Gus walk behind
me and I am so focused on
being her
that I do not see them coming until they’ve
almost reached me. A boy and a girl, both redheads, approach me at
a speed that has me pulling up short. Terror grips me. Gus is at my
elbow in an instant, tugging me back a step.

When I catch sight of the girl, an
instant of recognition sweeps over me. She reminds me of Lonnie,
the way she moves, the way she carries herself with utter
confidence. But then I focus on her features and the resemblance
dissolves. Her hair, the freckles on her cheeks—it is not like
Lonnie at all.

“
Hi there,” the girl says
with a bright smile. “You’re Raven Rogen, right?” Her attention
shifts from me to Gus to Titus and back again. She pushes on
without waiting for confirmation. “My cousin lives in this building
and I heard you might come tonight. I would just love to get your
autograph and maybe your picture. I mean, I follow your fundraising
projects. That orphanage rebuild you did? Amazing. I am such a huge
fan. Would you mind signing this for me?”

She shoves a pen and paper at me
expectantly. The boy she is with hangs back. His hands are stuffed
into his pockets and he is staring at some spot on the wall. Gus
wanders away, clearly not considering the young couple a threat.
Titus has already pushed the button for the elevator. I look to him
for direction but he isn’t paying attention any longer.

When I look back at the girl, she is
still smiling and waiting. On impulse, I grab the pen and scribble
Raven Rogen on the paper and shove it back at her. As if taking a
cue, the boy straightens and lifts a small camera. The girl wraps
an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close, and the camera
clicks. It’s over before I can even pose.

“
Thank you so much,” she
gushes, folding the paper carefully around my name.

I try for haughty or at least
impatient when I say, “No problem,” and walk away.

Across the lobby, the elevator dings,
and I hurry to catch it. Gus holds the door while Titus waits
inside, his foot tapping. Once inside, I turn around and look for
the two teens but the lobby is empty. They are already
gone.

The elevator ride is silent. I focus
on who I am—her, not me—and when the doors open I smile widely,
donning the mask.

The first thing I notice is the music.
I cannot see where it comes from but it is floaty and wistful in a
way that makes my heart ache. Music in Twig City is rare, mostly
children’s songs and lullabies. Nothing like this.

I wander toward the sound, smiling and
nodding at men and women in dark suits who do the same for me. No
one approaches and I have the sense this is more Titus’s crowd than
mine. No one here is my age.

I am disappointed to realize after two
laps around the apartment that the music is only being poured in
through overhead speakers. Instead of turning back, I choose an
empty hallway, taking in the sight of the expensive art mixed among
fancy molding. Muted conversations float up from the party I’ve
left behind. It’s an almost enjoyable atmosphere, being here but
being apart somehow. The doors I pass are mostly closed but a few
are cracked, inviting those who seek privacy. I am curious to find
out what goes on in those rooms but too scared at what I’d find if
I looked.

Female laughter bubbles out of a room
as I pass, light and airy and Authentic. Before I can turn toward
the sound, someone grabs me from behind. I spin quickly, terror and
surprise mingling. Any noise I could’ve made sticks in my throat at
the sight of Linc. He is dressed in black slacks and a pressed
white shirt. It is more formal than yesterday’s ensemble of denim
and cotton. I suppose he is trying to blend in here.

“
What are you doing back
here?” he demands.

“
I was … looking for the
music,” I say. He is standing close enough that I catch the scent
of something man-made, some sort of cologne on him. Mixed with the
outdoorsy smell that seems to be his signature, it distracts me. I
feel my face heat when I realize he’s begun to notice my
reaction.

He drops my elbow. “It’s not safe to
wander alone.”

“
I’m not alone. There are
people everywhere,” I say.

“
Exactly.”

I pause, understanding his meaning.
Someone here—even in this elite crowd—could have it out for me.
Before I can form a response, the trilling laughter comes again
from the room behind me, followed by my name.

“
Raven! There you
are!”

A petite blond appears in the doorway
and I feel Linc move away from me. She is smiling brightly at me
and completely ignoring him. I recognize her from the albums.
Taylor. She is Raven’s—my—best friend.