The Pretender (The Soren Chase Series Book 2) (19 page)

Soren grimaced. He knew this was coming eventually, but hated it nevertheless.

“Is that necessary?” he asked. “I can already do a lot more than when we started.”

Friday gave him a stern look.

“Don’t be a pussy. This is our raison d’etre. Do you understand why?”

“Because it allows us to infiltrate and spy,” Soren said.

“Yes, but it’s more than that,” she said. “It serves multiple purposes. We don’t just take the form of those we imitate, we take their memories, their feelings—their secrets. It allows us ultimate access to an enemy’s camp. That’s why we were made. Typically, our mission was to assume an identity, and then split a group apart from the inside.”

“I don’t have time to do that with Rakev,” Soren said.

“No, but it would be helpful to know more about him,” she said.

“Can I become Rakev? Can a pretender take the form of something other than a human?”

Friday looked thoughtful.

“It’s been tried, but it’s always ended badly,” she said. “I know one doppelgänger who became a deer and to this day, I think he still is one. And some creatures are immune in any case. It would be unwise to risk it, I think. Come on, we’re wasting time.”

For once, Soren agreed.

“First, I need to show you how it’s done,” Friday said. “It should be instinctual for you, but it would be bad if you messed it up. Besides, I’m anxious to shed this skin. I keep wanting to give free gym memberships to all the overweight people we pass. It’s getting distracting.”

“I’ll bet,” Soren said sarcastically.

She gave him a sharp look.

“Oh, you think it’s so easy,” she said. “But you of all people should appreciate how hard it is to shed the concerns of the mask you’re wearing. Just look at you. You think you
are
Soren Chase. You’re busy trying to save the love of his life’s son.”

Soren held up his hands.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I guess it is distracting. I would just think you could ignore it or tune it out.”

But Friday wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. Instead, she was pointing at a tall, middle-aged woman who walked by.

“Her,” she said. “She’s perfect. Doubt she has much of a life, so I shouldn’t be too overwhelmed.”

“What does that mean?”

Friday began walking after the woman and Soren hurried to keep up. A sudden gust of cold wind blew down the street, reminding him that despite the warmish weather, it was still winter.

“When you first take a form, it can be confusing,” Friday said quietly. “It’s hard to know where you end and the person you became begins.”

“Trust me, I’m aware of that problem,” Soren said.

“But it’s worse when you first take a new identity,” Friday said. “That’s typically when splintering happens. In your case, I’ve never heard of it staying this long. Maybe a few months, but not several years. When we take a new identity is when we’re at our most vulnerable. So it’s important to know who to pick.”

“So why is the woman in front of us a good target?”

“She’s older, for one,” Friday replied, still walking briskly. “They have more memories, but their emotions are easier to control. She looks professional, not in any hurry to get anywhere. From that, I’m hoping she doesn’t have kids. Those feelings are so strong it’s terrifying. The urge to protect them is almost overpowering.”

Soren put out a hand to stop her.

“Look, just give me a second,” he said. “I’ve tracked pretenders, remember?”

“Doppelgängers.”

“Fine, doppelgängers, whatever,” Soren said. “And I’ve seen them kill their kids. I’ve seen them wipe out whole families. So don’t tell me they absorb those feelings because I know different.”

“Do you?” Friday asked, her eyes narrowing. “Because what you’ve described and what I’m talking about are exactly the same thing. Emotions are hard to control and when they get to the extremes, it’s even worse. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, and it’s easier than you think to flip it. The urge to protect can suddenly become the urge to kill. I’ve seen cases where doppelgängers kill the kids because they think it’s saving them from the evils of the world. Or because they’re so overwhelmed by the emotions they’ve stirred up, they’ll do anything to stop them. Emotions are a drug, and sometimes they make us do terrible things. Now come on, I don’t want her to get away.”

Friday began walking again, and Soren hurried to stay with her.

“I have to be clear about one thing,” Soren said. “You can’t kill her.”

“Oh I can’t?” Friday asked. “That’s too bad, because it’s Tuesday, and I always kill somebody on Tuesday. Gee, Dad, you’re no fun at all.”

“I’m serious,” Soren said.

“So am I,” Friday replied. “At some point, you have to accept that the black-and-white view of us isn’t correct. Yes, some doppelgängers commit awful acts, but so do aussenseiter. It doesn’t mean all of them are evil. I know you don’t trust me—and I don’t blame you. But I have no intention of killing this woman.”

Soren still almost stopped her. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. A few days ago, he wanted to wipe out all pretenders. Now he was not only being trained by one, he was allowing her to target an innocent person.

And then a picture of Alex flashed through his mind. He didn’t know if learning all these skills could save Sara and John’s son, but he had to try. It didn’t balance the scales for what he’d taken from them, but it was more meaningful than trying to blow himself up.

Just as the woman in front of them was passing an alley, Friday leaped ahead. She crossed the eight feet between them so fast that Soren barely saw her. Friday grabbed the woman and pulled her into the alley, holding her mouth as she did so.

Soren followed her, to see the woman looking at him with wide, terrified eyes. He wanted to reassure her, but he wasn’t sure what to say. The woman was in her late forties, wearing business clothes and an American flag pinned on her lapel. She had long, brown hair, high cheekbones, and pencil-thin eyebrows.

Friday turned toward him.

“Watch,” she said.

Friday held the woman from behind, her hand clasped tightly over her mouth with her right hand. The woman struggled against Friday, even slamming her foot down on the pretender’s leg, but Friday took no notice.

She lifted her left arm, and then jabbed it straight into the back of the woman’s neck. Her hand didn’t hit the neck so much as go through it, piercing into the skin as if it were a knife. Friday buried her wrist inside the woman’s neck.

The woman’s body immediately went rigid, and she stopped struggling. Her expression was slack, turning from terror into a horrible, blank look. Friday’s expression, meanwhile, was one of near ecstatic joy. Her face was upturned, looking into some far distance while her mouth hung open. She released her right arm from around the woman’s body and it hung at her side.

Soren was repulsed. The flesh where Friday’s arm was buried inside the woman began to bubble. Her skin became a mass of movement, the bubbles rising to the surface and popping as a new shape began to emerge. It looked like she should be screaming in agony, but her ecstatic expression never wavered. Instead, the bubbling spread up her arm, at first slowly, and then rapidly. It cascaded over her shoulders, and then spread down her body and up her neck.

Soon the ponytailed fitness instructor she had been was gone, buried underneath bubbling flesh. The thing Friday had become abruptly withdrew her arm from the neck of the woman, who fell forward. Soren caught the woman before she could hit the ground. By the time he looked up, Friday had grown several inches, to nearly six feet tall. The mass of flesh around her began to reform. Slowly, Soren saw another woman’s face emerge, a perfect copy of the person he held in his arms. Within a few seconds, an identical version of that woman stood before him, right down to the American flag pinned on her blazer.

It took an extra moment for her eyes to focus and lock on Soren, and then she extended a slender hand.

“Helen Gable,” she said. “Reporter for
The Loudoun Chronicle
.”

Soren eased the real Helen Gable to the ground, careful to lay her on her back gently. When he pulled his hand away, there was blood on it. He noticed a few drops of blood coming out of the real Helen’s mouth.

He eyed the new version of Helen, uncertain what to think. With her left hand, Friday rubbed the back of her neck.

“I have to say, you’re being very rude,” Friday said, still holding out her right hand.

Soren belatedly shook it.

“Soren Chase, paranormal investigator,” he said.

He wasn’t sure what to say. Did Friday know she was Friday? Was she messing with him?

“Oh, how fascinating,” Helen said. “My editor loves discussion about the paranormal. It’s become a bit of a hobby with him. You read the paper, surely? I know people don’t pay attention to bylines, but I cover local politics.”

As she said this, Friday visibly straightened up, making herself taller. Friday suddenly seemed to notice the other Helen Gable on the ground.

“Oh my, is that woman okay?” she asked.

She reached down and gently patted the woman’s face.

“My dear,” she said. “My dear, are you all right?”

Soren nearly put a hand out to stop her, but the Helen on the ground became alert. Her eyes focused on the woman above her, and then looked over at Soren.

“What happened?” the real Helen asked.

Soren didn’t understand why she wasn’t freaking out. She just looked confused and a little embarrassed. Soren realized that both Helens were looking at him to answer her question.

“You were passing by the alley and you suddenly collapsed,” Soren said. “We ran in here to help you. You might want to see a doctor when you get a chance.”

Soren helped the real Helen to her feet. Just like Friday, she began rubbing the back of her neck as if it hurt. The two were standing side by side, doing the exact same thing at the same time. It was incredibly disturbing. If they had traded places without him looking, Soren wouldn’t have been able to tell who was who anymore.

“Do you feel okay?” Soren asked the real Helen.

“I think so,” both Helens answered him.

Soren wanted to sit down, but there was nowhere to do so. Instead, he just stared at both of them.

“Well, I have to be going,” both Helens said.

Soren put his hand out to stop Friday, the second Helen, from going anywhere.

“But I was just discussing a story idea with you, wasn’t I?” he asked.

The first Helen turned to her.

“Oh, are you a reporter, too?” she asked. “I think I’ve seen you before. You look very familiar.”

Soren couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Friday opened her mouth to speak, but Soren cut her off.

“She does a . . . podcast,” he said. “Covering local news or something like that.”

“Oh,” Helen replied. “Well, that’s . . . that’s very nice.”

Her pitying smile said it all. Friday, meanwhile, appeared confused.

“Do I?” she asked. “I don’t think so.”

Soren turned to the real Helen.

“Look, it was very nice meeting you, but I’d like to continue with our interview,” he said. “Have a nice day.”

Helen seemed to take the hint. She gave them both a searching look, and her eyes lingered on Friday for a minute. It was like a puzzle she was trying to solve. She turned and left with a perplexed expression on her face, the mirror of the one on Friday.

“Why did you say I worked in radio?” Friday asked. “I would never work in radio. Print is the only real journalism.”

Soren threw up his hands.

“She’s a rival reporter,” he said. “I didn’t want her to have the scoop.”

Friday nodded with sudden understanding.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “Oh I see. Well, that makes sense. Good thinking. Now, what’s the story?”

Soren sighed and stared at her, uncertain what to do next.

“Friday?” he asked finally. “Are you in there?”

Friday gave him an odd look.

“Is today Friday? I thought it was Tuesday,” she said.

“The weird thing is, I can’t tell if you’re joking,” he said.

Friday gave him a slight smile and arched an eyebrow.

“Gotcha,” she said. “I had you going there, didn’t I?”

Soren nodded.

“Yes. Why didn’t she lose it when she saw you?”

“The process temporarily blocks access to her nervous system and most of her memories,” Friday replied. “When we’re taking a target, they can’t fight back.”

“Can’t fight at all?” Soren asked, disturbed by the implications.

“Well, they can fight back mentally. The process is more than just taking a form. You have to take thoughts, feelings, and memories, everything that makes a person who he or she is. That can be invasive.”

“You don’t say,” Soren said.

“Most of the time, the target doesn’t realize what’s happening,” she continued. “When you first attack, you enter their consciousness. It’s difficult to describe, but you effectively enter a construct of their own minds. A kind of mental control room, if you will. We refer to it as a mind palace. It looks different for every person because it’s built from each one’s memories and experiences. Sometimes it’s a real place; other times it’s something they imagined. Your job is to hunt through the place to find their
heiligtum.
It’s an object that represents their inner self.”

“This is getting a little metaphysical, don’t you think?” Soren asked.

Friday shrugged. “It is what it is. The heiligtum
can be anything—a childhood toy, a gift from a friend or parent, a wedding ring. It’s something that represents them somehow, a talisman.”

“And where do you find it?”

“Oh that’s easy. Within the mind palace, you’ll find a version of the aussenseiter you’re attacking. They usually have it with them.”

“And they just give it to you?”

Friday laughed. “No, you have to take it from them by force. Most of the time, it’s pretty easy, but every so often, they try and fight you for it—and that’s always a good time.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a fight we always win,” she said. “Oh, we’re vulnerable when we’re inside a mind palace. We’re subject to whatever rules the aussenseiter has subconsciously put in place. We can even be hurt. It’s just that the aussenseiter usually doesn’t even know what’s going on. Unless they’ve been trained to resist you, but I haven’t seen that in decades. Even if they are, all it does is buy them a little extra time. Aussenseiter
ultimately aren’t equipped to handle the process, so they always lose. We’re stronger, faster, and better, in every conceivable way.”