Imposter (6 page)

Red-blooded American

Will

Like an errant child, I peek around the edge of a bookcase deep in the library’s shadowy recesses. Socrates fumbles blindly for answers to the reporter’s questions.
Is he purposely acting stupid?
He should know these things; he’s lived it, after all. 

When Socrates glances around for support, I melt farther back into the shadows so he doesn’t see me. In the five hundred years he’s been alive, he’s given hundreds of interviews, yet he’s acting as if he’s never done this before.

“Was it hard for you to kill Mira?” the reporter asks. Something twists in my stomach, and I realize that I, too, want the bastard admit how tough it was for him to end Mira’s life. My shoulder bumps a couple of oversized books and I grab them before they tumble to the ground.

“Yes. It’s always very difficult. It seems like it takes longer every time to adjust. My doctors wanted me to move the procedure up, but I was too stubborn. I won’t make that mistake again.”

I clench my fists around the two books I’d rescued, bending the thin, fragile covers.
What about Mira? Did he have no compassion for her whatsoever?

One of the book’s spines cracks in my hands. With my breath lodged in my throat, I wait to be discovered, but Socrates doesn’t seem to have heard me. Forcing my muscles to relax, I smooth down the edges before easing both of the antique texts back onto the shelf. I have to get out of here before I do something that’ll really give myself away.

  When I get to the library’s rear door, I grab the antique knob in my hand and slowly turn it, holding my breath. I may just get out of this library before they find me. 

“What would you do if the Free America Bill failed?”

With one foot hovering over the threshold, I wait for his answer so intently that I hear the blood rushing through my veins and my heart pounding in my chest. 

“I’d do what any red-blooded American would do,” he says. “I’d keep fighting, of course.”

Terrified

Mira

I stomp into Ellie’s brightly lit sunroom. Perched on one of two spindly-legged sky blue chairs that face a floor-to-ceiling window, she stares at a holo-reader projecting words and pictures in front of her. She flicks through the images, scanning the text far faster than I ever could. When she doesn’t move, I clear my throat and she jumps.

“You never told me there could be two minds in one body,” I snap as she turns around.

A sardonic smile tugs at her lips. “Good morning to you too, dear.”

Before I can think better of it, a disgusted snort escapes me. “How come I never knew this? I’ve heard of the procedure failing before, but I never thought that could happen.”

She shrugs and sets the holo-reader on the side table next to her. “There are several possible endings to every Exchange.” She raises one finger. “The procedure is successful.” Up goes another finger. “Two, neither mind takes hold.” And another. “Each mind stays in its original body. Four, one person dies, the other lives. Five, two minds, one body. It’s only happened twice, and the first committed suicide shortly after waking up.”

I fold my arms in front of my chest. “I want to meet him.”

She gestures at the chair across from her. “Lewis Carroll? Why on earth would you want to see him? He’s crazy.”

With a huff, I throw myself into it. “That reporter said they were afraid something like that had happened to me. I don’t know, it was something in the way he mentioned him...”

Eliot regards me with a cold expression. “No. Carroll’s a loose cannon, completely unpredictable and prone to violence. In fact, he’s been institutionalized since his procedure five years ago.” She folds her hands in front of her and leans forward. “I don’t think you fully understand what you’re asking. Mr. Carroll has two minds trapped in one body. They’re constantly at war with each other. You never know which soul you’re speaking to at any given time. This has proven deadly on more than one occasion.”

I fish for an answer. “He wouldn’t hurt me. Not if I explain what happened.”

Something like hope ignites a light in her eyes. “You mean Socrates is still there?” Her words come as a breathy whisper. “He’s alive?”

“What? No!”

At the devastated expression on her face, I touch her hand.

“I’m sorry. I need to watch what I’m saying.” I take a deep breath. “Maybe I just want to meet someone as screwed up as I am.”

Eliot dabs at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You think a man confined to an insane asylum has the answers you seek?”

“No, of course not,” I snap. “But the only person who has the answers is dead, so I can’t ask him.”

Eliot winces.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just frustrated.” I throw my hands up, palms toward her. “The reporter kept asking me questions I didn’t know the answers to, and I kept feeling like everything I said would screw up our plan.” I grind my teeth, frustrated.

She takes my hands in hers. “You’ll do fine. I know it’s hard and seems impossible, but you will be absolutely everything Soc wanted you to be.” I try to pull my hands away, but she squeezes them tighter. “Carroll won’t be able to help you. He’s been out of society for years. They keep him so drugged he can barely feed himself.”

I shrug. “I don’t care. I feel like I need to meet him.”

A half smile tugs at her lips. “Socrates was like that. He always followed his intuition. If something felt right, it didn’t need to make sense, he just went with it. Like when he chose you.” She chuckles. “I thought he was crazy, given your past.”

My face flushes. “Me too.”

Eliot laughs a throw-your-head-back kind of laugh. She’s never laughed like that around me before. “I don’t know why I was so surprised. I wonder if he planned this for a long time or if it came upon him like some kind of epiphany. Soc usually didn’t overanalyze things, so I wouldn’t be shocked if it came to him all of a sudden and he decided to go for it. I just don’t understand why he didn’t tell me.” A twinge of hurt colors her voice. “I know you didn’t know him long, but he was a great man. One of the best.”

I look away, uncomfortable. She’s right. I only knew him for a few days, nothing like the lifetimes they spent together. “He was always very kind to me.”

“He
was
kind, for as long as I’ve known him, even to the other kids.”

“Is that normal for Firsts?”

Color creeps up her neck. “No. Most Firsts don’t care about the emotions of their Seconds. They’re only concerned about what the children can do for them. I’m not proud to admit it, but I was like that once.” She tears her attention from me to study the far window. “I think the burden is even greater on us because we are immortals. We should know better. Hell, we’ve seen it all before, and some of us had a front row seat on an number of atrocities.”

The minutes stretch between us like the long, wispy clouds in the sky, tenuous and delicate, ready to break at any minute. “Are you afraid of dying?”

“Were you?” Her voice is quiet, contemplative. She studies me, almost as though she actually cares about my answer.

“Yes, I was terrified.”

“Then why did you do it?” Her eyes bore into mine.

I can’t meet her gaze any longer and break it to study my hands. “Because I had to.”

“That’s a bullshit answer, and you know it.”

I jerk my head up at the vehemence in her voice.

“You know you could have turned him down. He’d have let you go and then… then he’d still be here.” Her voice breaks. “At least for a little while. At least until he could find another host body. ”

“Because he’s still more important, right?” I let out a frustrated huff. I tighten my hands into fists, and glare at her. “I’d be an outcast to my own people. It’s such a great honor to be chosen, even if they don’t know the half of what happens. And if they did, I don’t think it’d matter. They’d still have expected me to go through with it for the good of my country and all that. I’d be lucky if I’d have a week, maybe two. But that’s not the real reason. Do you know why I did it?” My words tumble out in a rush, unable to wait for her answer. “I did it because my sister died to escape you people. My mom sent her off into the forest, hoping a rebel scout would pick her up and take her somewhere safe, but he never came. She died so she wouldn’t be chosen. Someone needs to stop this horrible procedure. At first, I thought it would be Socrates, but I guess that it’s my fight now. I want you people to have to live short, pointless, mortal lives just like the rest of us.”

“And that,” Eliot says as she sits back in her chair, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Is why Soc picked you.”

Good Graces

Will

“I need you to go on a short trip with Soc tomorrow,” George Eliot says as she walks into the kitchen. Her trim black tunic, paired incongruously with billowing cream pants, stretches across her chest.

“Why?” My hand hovers over a bright green head of lettuce. Freshly washed, it glistens in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows on either side of the long stainless steel counter. “I didn’t think we were going anywhere until right before Socrates gives his speech.”

“There’s been a slight change of plans.” A grim smile plays across her face.

Now she’s piqued my interest. “So we’re not going to the Smith?”

“No. Not yet, anyway.”

“Then where are we going?”
Why do I have to drag every tidbit of information out of her?

“To see an old friend.” At my continued silence, she shrugs. “It’s all Socrates’s idea. I told him it would end in disaster, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

I tighten my hand on the knife until my knuckles turn white and slice the blade cleanly through a chunk of lettuce. “Then why are we going?”

“I’m sure Socrates has his reasons for risking his own neck. Your goal is to keep this trip from costing him it.”

“So you think someone is going to try and hurt him?”

Eliot nods and leans back against the counter. “It’s a distinct possibility. I have a prior engagement that I can’t break or I’d also accompany you.” She pauses and assesses me. What is she searching for? My level of dedication to my job? I’m not going to let anything happen to her precious Socrates. “I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about how unpredictable Carroll can be, right?”

I stare at the lettuce lying in a heap on the cutting board to avoid her probing gaze. “I might have heard a thing or two.”

“Then you understand how important it is for Socrates to have protection at all times, correct?”

“Why don’t you hire some protection? They’d be much better trained than me.”

Eliot shakes her head. “We want to be discreet. Carroll might take it a bit personally too, if we show up with a dozen armed guards.”

I turn away and run my blade through the lettuce again, reducing it to fine, shredded greens. Even as the seconds stretch between us, I know she hasn’t left.

“Look,” she says. “I know you don’t like this situation any more than I do. If it were my choice, I would have left you at the Smith. But right now, this is where we are, and we have to make the best of the situation.”

I spin around, rage consuming me before I can tamp it down. “The best of the situation? Socrates murdered Mira and I’m stuck here, pretending she was—”

“Your assignment.” Eliot glares at me, daring me to deny it.

My jaw drops open. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew.” She chuckles. “Don’t act so shocked. Did you really think I didn’t know you were a Lifer?”

“Then why am I still here? Shouldn’t I have been arrested?”

“Because I saved your life. The police were about to make an example out of you, but I prevented that by requesting your service.”

Understanding claws its way to the surface. “So it wasn’t because of the promise I made to Mira?”

When Eliot doesn’t respond, I fill in the spaces for what she leaves out. “Socrates didn’t want me to come either, did he?”

“He couldn’t care less,” she scoffs. “You think it matters to Soc that you’re here? He doesn’t need you when he has me.”

Even though what she says is true, her words still sting. “Why did you save my life, then?”

Eliot threads her fingers together. “Maybe I’m just a sentimental old fool. That girl cared for you; that’s enough for me.”

“Does Socrates know about my ties to the rebels?”

“No. Nor does he know about your fiancée or your unborn child.”

The knife slips from my hand and clatters onto the counter. “You know about Evie, too?”

“Of course. It’s not exactly a secret.”

As the blood drains from my face, my hands start to shake so badly that I can’t pick up the knife. I just stare at it, not trusting myself to handle it without hurting myself. “Are you going to tell him?”

She shakes her head. “No, and I recommend you keep your mouth shut as well.”

“I thought you said Socrates couldn’t care less.”

She stares deep into my soul, her gaze so hypnotic I can’t look away. “Because if you fall out of Socrates’s good graces, you’ll end up back in the Smith. And without anyone to protect you, you’d be dead before you unpacked your clothes.”