The Pretenders

by Rebecca Hanover

  I only discovered the truth because of my unique abilities. And because I’m so goddamned stubborn.

  I don’t know why that rattles me deep in my bones.

  Because you weren’t supposed to find out. Because Gravelle meant to install this Duplicate Oliver without you ever knowing.

  But how? And when?

  It hits me then, like a light bulb turning on. The holiday break. I stop in my tracks, my hands on my thighs, bending over to catch my halting breath. I don’t have any proof, but it would make sense. Gravelle must have made the switch over the break. He sent this Duplicate back to Darkwood in Ollie’s place, after New Year’s.

  And now I know why I’m so afraid, in every cell of my body. Because if a switch was made—if this Duplicate Ollie was “installed” over Christmas break—that means the real Ollie, my Ollie, isn’t here.

  It means he’s been taken. It means he’s gone.

  • • •

  “Dash, buzz my friends. Not Ollie. The Similars and Pru. Tell them it’s an emergency,” I whisper into my plum when I make it back to my empty dorm room. “I need to talk to them. Ask them to meet me at the circular drive. Now.”

  Fear and adrenaline are coursing through me. Ollie has been kidnapped again by Gravelle. I’m sure of it.

  And we all let it happen.

  Of course, it’s not my fault, or that of any of my friends—how could it be? I never could have imagined this, never would have suspected that Gravelle would do this.

  But with increasing dread, I remind myself that Gravelle is unpredictable, and sick, and that his agendas are so twisted no normal person would ever anticipate them.

  I grab my coat from the back of my desk chair and slip it on, then run to the circular drive in a haze, finding my gloves in my pockets and shoving my fingers into them. Tears encroach on my eyes as the gravity of what I’ve discovered hits me.

  Ollie isn’t here. Ollie is missing.

  For all I know, he could be dead.

  No. I won’t let myself think that. I can’t. This is one of Gravelle’s plots. To pull the wool over our eyes yet again, for some messed-up reason I can’t even begin to guess at. But he wouldn’t kill Ollie—his biological son. Would he?

  My friends arrive and crowd around me.

  “Emma?” Pru exhorts. I must look the way I feel on the inside: utterly bereft. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  I tell them everything. About leaving my room at 4:00 p.m. the past two days. About how I read his thoughts and heard him communicating with Gravelle about the installation. How he mentioned Pollux.

  “Four p.m.,” I tell them in a rush, my words tumbling out in no order, with no organization. “That was the time when Ollie’s Duplicate… It was like he turned off, or on, or something,” I say, trying to explain it. “He was there physically, but mentally, he wasn’t. I heard these strange thoughts, not the thoughts of Ollie or someone resembling Ollie, but more like instructions. I bet they aren’t even in his head the majority of the day, when he believes he’s Ollie. Because they do believe, don’t they? Even the first Duplicates who came here believed they were Tessa, Archer, and Jake. When Ollie deactivated—or whatever it was that happened from 4:00 to 4:05 p.m.—he communicated with Gravelle via his plum. He mentioned a time stamp on his wrist,” I add, recalling that detail now. “I don’t think he consciously wanted me to hear him think that. Maybe he knew it might give him away? But you know what it’s like when you try not to think about something. It only makes you think about it more.”

  I stop, getting my bearings, then remember I haven’t told them everything. “He said something about an infrared light. That must be how you can see the time stamp,” I explain.

  I watch as my friends process this, going through the same line of thinking I did. Wondering how, and when, and why?

  Maude’s pacing, trying to work this out in her mind. “The first Duplicates who came to campus were Duplicates of original kids. Of Tessa. Of Archer. And of Jake…”

  “And now Ollie,” I supply. “It’s the kids who were originally cloned…”

  “Resulting in us,” Ansel says.

  “Who does that leave?” I jump in. “Just Madison.”

  “And Pru,” Pippa says, her voice sounding deflated.

  We all turn, on reflex, to stare at Pru, who shakes her head.

  “But I’m not—I’m me,” she says, squaring her shoulders. “This time stamp. What is it exactly?”

  “My guess is that the Duplicates were all given date and time codes, kind of like birth-certificate records from when they were ‘born,’” Jago says. “And Gravelle put that information on their wrists so he could track them. Like produce or a carton of milk.”

  “Or cattle,” I add, disgusted.

  “He’d have to, wouldn’t he?” Theodora asks. “Otherwise, things could go totally sideways, if he had no way of differentiating original from Duplicate. He had to build in some kind of marker to be able to quickly check on his creations, keep them in line.”

  Pru’s pacing, thinking this over. “Where do we get this infrared light the Ollie Duplicate mentioned?”

  “The science lab,” Maude answers with authority. “I’m sure I saw one there last year when Emma and I were snooping around. I bet I still have access from Ransom’s experiment. I’ll meet you back here. Twenty minutes,” she shouts, already taking off and disappearing into the thick woods.

  “If this Ollie seemed so similar to the real Oliver,” Pippa wonders out loud. “Then where did his memories come from? How would he have access to every thought and feeling Ollie ever experienced? How would he know all of Ollie’s history?”

  “My guess is that it’s a combination of downloaded thoughts and incredibly meticulous training,” Ansel says, thoughtful. “We already know Gravelle’s been manipulating minds with his portal. And he showed you those memories last year, didn’t he, Emma? Of his time at Darkwood?”

  It’s true. Those memories transported me to the time when Gravelle was Johnny Underwood, when he was expelled from Darkwood in his junior year.

  “The first Duplicates didn’t seem to have all those memories,” I say. “They didn’t possess all the nuances and life experience that this Ollie clone has. Why?”

  “Gravelle kept Ollie on the island for nearly a year,” Ansel reminds me. “Who knows what he did to him, what he put him through? The tests and studies and ‘research’? He could have downloaded every single memory of Ollie’s, every single thought, and transferred it to this Duplicate.”

  I lean against the stone wall by the circular driveway and pull my arms around myself, suddenly shivering in the frigid air.

  “Where is Ollie?” I whisper, looking from one friend to the next. “Back on the island? What’s he done to my best friend now? What if—”

  But I don’t allow myself to say the thought out loud. What if he’s dead. What if I never see him again. It’s incomprehensible.

  “I can’t lose Ollie again,” I cry out. My chest feels like someone’s tightening it in a corset, pulling it so taut I soon won’t be able to breathe.

  I don’t say out loud what I’m thinking about, which is the way we left things, before Ollie was taken… How I pulled away from that kiss and told him I couldn’t love him that way. If that’s the last thing I ever said to him…

  No, no, no. It can’t be. It won’t be.

  “We’ll find him,” Pru says gently, moving up to wrap her arms around me. When I look over her shoulder, too numb to even let myself cry, my eyes land on Levi’s. He’s standing there in the cold air, hands in his pockets, watching me with such an expression of pain on his face, I have to look away.

  • • •

  We’re all still standing by the wall in silence as twilight falls, when Maude returns from the science lab in record speed, a pen-size device in her hand. It must be the i
nfrared light.

  “Give me your wrists,” Maude instructs Pru, who’s already holding her arms out for inspection. Maude scans them thoroughly with the light. We’re all on edge; what will we do if—I can’t think about it. Not Pru too…

  “Nothing,” Maude declares, slipping the light in her pocket. “You’re clear.”

  “The rest of us should check too,” Pippa says. “Me, Ansel, Thea… Just to be sure.”

  “But Ollie’s an original, not a Similar,” I say, working through this in my head. “Gravelle’s replacing originals, right?”

  But Maude’s already shining the light on her own wrists. Nothing. She quickly scans Pippa and Jago’s wrists. Same.

  “He’s not making Duplicates of you!” I say, unable to keep the emotion out of my voice.

  “Well, technically, the Ollie Duplicate could be a Duplicate of me as much as Ollie,” Levi says quietly.

  “Except he isn’t a copy of you,” I remind him. “He has Ollie’s memories, not yours. He believes he’s Oliver Ward.” I try not to let myself cry, but it’s all I feel like doing. “What are we going to do with him?” I mean the Duplicate Ollie. And another thought occurs to me. I don’t want to confront this one either. “Do we tell Jane?”

  That thought guts me. Because I don’t know if Jane will survive this again. When she thought Ollie died last year, it nearly killed her too.

  “What options do we have?” Levi asks, finally speaking up. My eyes fly to his. For the moment, I can’t even remember why I’ve been so angry at him. All I know is that Ollie is gone, and nothing else matters.

  “I could confide in my father. He could alert the Quarry. Get their backing,” Pru says.

  “No,” Maude answers quickly. “Not yet. What if—”

  “It’s a mistake?” Pru cuts her off. “I had the same thought. If we show our hand—if we let Gravelle know that we’ve discovered this Duplicate…”

  “We’ll have no cards left to play,” I finish her thought. “I say we wait. If we can figure out what Gravelle wants, what his ultimate goal is…”

  “We can get two steps ahead of him,” Theodora says, her voice resolute.

  I don’t know if I believe we can. Or if that seems even remotely possible. Gravelle has spent nearly two decades scheming, making plans. We have no idea what he wants, except to screw with everyone we know and love.

  “If we tell Jane,” Ansel speaks up, interrupting my thoughts, “she’ll immediately leave Darkwood, won’t she? And try to look for Ollie?”

  “If she suspects he’s back on Castor Island…” I think out loud.

  “Then that’s where she’d go, welcome or not.”

  “Isn’t that what Gravelle wants?” Pru asks. “To lure her there? He still loves her, in his warped way. What if this is all a ploy to get her on his turf?”

  “Then we can’t let that happen,” I say quietly. “Jane won’t be able to do anyone any good if she’s locked up there. Which means we have to keep this a secret from her.”

  “But is that fair to her?” Levi asks. “What if we knew about Ollie, that he was gone, that he’d been replaced by a clone—and we didn’t tell you?”

  “I’d kill you,” I answer wryly.

  “Exactly,” he says. But his voice is soft and lacking any edge. He’s trying to help. They all are.

  Levi’s right. I have to tell Jane. Still, we can’t let her go off on a suicide mission to Castor Island. As much as I want to find Ollie, we have to be smart about it. We have to figure out what Gravelle wants and find a way to stop him, to outsmart him.

  I wish I had even the slightest idea how.

  Later that night, when I finally collapse in bed, the tears come. I am racked with sobs as the reality of what I’ve discovered hits me hard, like a speeding truck. I cry myself to sleep at two in the morning.

  The Parents

  The next morning, I head straight to Jane’s office. I’ve barely slept at all. Telling her that her son has been replaced is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Harder, even, than telling her last year about Levi’s existence. Losing her son the first time broke her in two. I don’t know if she’ll survive the blow this time.

  When I get to her office and knock softly on the door, a gravelly voice answers.

  “Yes?”

  I’m confused. That doesn’t sound like Jane. It sounds like…

  I push open the door. Principal Fleischer. She’s sitting behind Jane’s desk, acting like she owns the place.

  “I don’t remember inviting you in.” Fleischer surveys me with disdain.

  “Oh,” I say, flummoxed. “Where’s Ja—I mean, Headmistress Ward?”

  “Interim headmistress,” Fleischer responds curtly. “And she’s gone to California on urgent business. Won’t be back for quite some time.”

  “What kind of business?” I demand.

  “That is none of your concern, young lady,” Fleischer answers coldly. “You may go.”

  She turns back to her papers—probably detention slips she’s filling out—leaving me with no choice but to turn around and leave, my head spinning.

  Jane’s not here? She’s gone back to California. Why do I get the sense that this is Gravelle’s doing, because he somehow knows that we know about Ollie? Could this be a coincidence? Possibly. If what he truly wants is to lure Jane to Castor Island, then this wrinkle won’t help him.

  As I walk away from Jane’s office, blindsided, I consider my options. I could call her. But I can’t tell Jane about Ollie over the phone. She’d panic. And whatever has brought her back to California, whether it’s urgent Ward, Inc. business or something with Booker, I can’t spring this Ollie news on her. It could send her into a tailspin.

  “We’ll wait,” I tell my friends, resolutely, at lunch.

  “Are you sure?” Maude asks, barely touching the sandwich on her plate.

  “No,” I answer honestly. “But I don’t see how freaking her out so she rushes back here will help. Do you?”

  None of my friends answer, because the truth is, we simply don’t know.

  I’m a wreck for the next week. I can barely concentrate on my classes and only manage to go through the motions of extracurriculars and homework and meals. There’s only one thing on my mind: Ollie.

  I worry that he’s suffering. I worry that Gravelle is putting him through more mind control on Castor Island. I worry that he’s being forced to relive the worst moments of his life, over and over again. I don’t let myself indulge in my worst fear of all—that Ollie’s not with Gravelle, but lying dead somewhere, lifeless.

  Compounding my heartbreak over Ollie’s absence is the unwelcome presence of his Duplicate. He’s so like Ollie, in every way—yet I know it’s not him. It isn’t this boy’s fault. He’s a pawn like the rest of us. And I do my best not to let on that something’s wrong, because I don’t want him reporting back to Gravelle that we’re on to him. Until we figure out what we’re going to do, we have to play the game. That means I have to act like everything’s normal when Duplicate Ollie’s around. We all do.

  It takes every effort I have left to continue our easy banter. To answer his sweet and sarcastic comments with our usual relaxed rapport. My heart’s not in it. In fact, it’s tangled and battered and more bruised than ever. Pretending this Duplicate Ollie is my best friend is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

  I wake up one late January morning after a fitful night of sleep. I can’t hide the dark circles under my eyes anymore, not even with concealer. What’s the point of trying? I know I’m depressed—deeply so. I have no pharmas this time around to alleviate my pain. I could see the school therapist, but what would I possibly say to her? My best friend’s been taken, again? And this time he’s been replaced by a clone? But, oh yeah, don’t tell a soul?

  Every day, I think of how I left things with O
llie—my Ollie—and I’m filled with regret.

  Of course I love him. Of course there’s a part of me that could see myself with him. Loving him. I wish I’d said that, instead of pulling away, running away, like I did.

  Pru’s already gone to crew practice when I roll out of bed at seven. I slip on jeans and my warmest coat, rooting around in my closet for my gloves. I’m on my way out when Dash interrupts me.

  “You have an incoming email, Emmaline,” he tells me in his comforting voice. “From the University of Oxford. It looks quite official.”

  I stop what I’m doing and pull up the email on my plum. I’m momentarily confused—why would they be contacting me now?—until I remember that Oxford sends out its admissions decisions early. In January.

  My heart sinks when I see what they’ve written. In spite of my “strong academic record,” I’ve been wait-listed until the university has a chance to review recent materials submitted to the school. I know instantly that those “materials” must be the video Harlowe sent them of me leaping from the boathouse roof. Surely Oxford isn’t taking this footage seriously, is it? Furious at Harlowe, I swipe off my plum screen and head to the dining hall.

  Duplicate Oliver is in line there when I arrive. I’m exhausted and shaken, and my heart almost breaks its steady rhythm at the sight of him.

  “Em,” he says, brightening at the sight of me. “Why do I feel like I haven’t seen you in days?”

  It hasn’t been days. But I’ve been distant with him, and he must sense that. Coexisting with him, here at school, is almost harder than it was to accept Levi last year. Tears prick my eyes, and I feel Ollie’s absence like an open wound. But what can I expect this Duplicate to do? It’s not like I’d want to send him back to that island; his life there couldn’t have been meaningful, and it was probably filled with suffering.