The Girl Who Wasn't (6 page)

Before I know it, the words tumble out
of me on a wanton whisper. “What’s sex?”

Linc blinks and straightens. His
animosity is gone but so is the intimacy of the moment. If his
downturned mouth and slanted lids are any indication, all of it has
replaced by guarded suspicion. I’ve botched it again.

Linc clears his throat and, instead of
answering, gestures to the album in our laps. “We better get back
to it,” he says. “Lots more to cover and Titus won’t tolerate
failure.”

We resume our game of
memory.

I come upon one picture of a woman
dressed in a bright yellow feather costume. She is obviously some
sort of performer with her arms spread wide for dramatic effect and
her outlandish outfit and high-heeled shoes. I think she must have
been going for sensuous or even sexy, but to me, the effect is
ridiculous.

I let out a giggle and Linc’s fingers
go still against the page. He looks over at me like he’s never seen
me before.

“
What?” I say, trying—and
failing—to contain the rest of my laughter.

“
Your laugh …”

“
I’m sorry, but she looks
like a giant bird,” I say, only to giggle again.

His expression turns from confusion to
utter concentration. My laughter dies. There’s a shift in the way
he watches me. I can’t identify it, but neither can I look away. If
this is what it feels like to have a boy look at you, no wonder
they keep us segregated in Twig City. My nerves dance on
end.

Out in the hall, a gruff voice calls
out to another. The words are muted but it’s enough. The spell is
broken. Linc looks away. I blink furiously and stare down at the
album shared between us.

Linc clears his throat. “This one,” he
says, picking up where we left off.

An hour passes.

Albums are cast aside, replaced by
fresh ones. A face catches my eye. It is a boy, striking in his
similarity to Linc, though this face is rounder, older. “Who is
that?” I ask.

Linc is quiet for a long time. When I
look at him, he is staring at the page so hard I think he could
burn a hole through it. “That’s Adam,” he says finally. “My
brother.”

His answer intrigues me. Any sort of
familial reference makes me curious because I have no idea what
that would feel like. Sometimes I think Ida and Lonnie are like my
sisters but I suspect it’s not the same. My attention returns to
the picture. “You look like him. Are you close?”

“
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.

Chapter Four

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.