Archetype

by M. D. Waters

Sonya looks at Noah, then drops her head.

  Noah, on the other hand, stands straighter. “She’s already gone.” With that, he turns his back on me and leaves the room.

  I want to scream at him because I am here and I never left him, but I cannot claim what is not mine. And Her life is not mine. It never was. Never will be.

  CHAPTER 40

  Foster breaks the silence. “Let’s say you’re right. Say this brilliant doctor hijacked Emma’s soul—which I still say is ridiculous—from her body. Then, technically, she’s standing right there.”

  I turn to find him pointing absently in my direction. “That is ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head.

  He shrugs. “I’m just going off what I know. Think about it. You’ve been body jumping.”

  Sonya folds her arms. “Body jumping? Is that the medical term?”

  “You use ‘soul’ on a daily basis as a medical diagnosis, do you?” he says, mirroring her stance.

  She raises a hand. “This is all very good in theory, but let’s be serious. What you’re saying isn’t possible.”

  I am tired of listening to theories. I want the truth, and I want it now. I turn to look up at Emma one last time. She is more human than I will ever be, yet She resembles a wax figure. There is nothing more eerie than looking at your own likeness, especially when my likeness looks like clay.

  Foster and Sonya are still tossing around “ideas” when I head for the exit.

  “Where are you going?” Foster asks.

  “Home. Or the labs, I guess. I need to find out the truth.”

  I am well into the boxlike concrete hallway when he reaches me, takes me by the elbow, and swings me around. “What’s the master plan? To walk in and demand answers?” He shakes his head. “Do everyone a favor and think about this first. You see, nobody knows how to save your ass ’cause you’re always saving ours.”

  He says this with that unbelievably cute tilted grin of his, and his eyes glint with humor, but I do not find this amusing in the least. I look back at the closed hospital ward with a sigh. “You have to stop acting like I have anything to do with that woman in there.”

  He folds his arms and shifts the weight off his left leg. “Is it that easy for you?”

  My throat tightens and I comb my fingers through my hair. “What choice do I have?”

  The approaching shuffle of footsteps draws our attention to Noah. His eyes are bloodshot. He nods his head at a closed door. “Let’s talk,” he says to me with a strained voice.

  I already feel the threat of tears, too close for my liking by the time I follow him into the small room that looks like someone’s office. Stacks of paper clutter the metal desk. Folding chairs are propped against one wall, but otherwise, the room is very minimalistic. No pictures, no awards, no sign of life.

  I face a corner with folded arms, Noah behind me, and cling to my elbows. Every muscle in my body is locked and threatens to vibrate out of my control. If I do not get out of here soon, I will have a breakdown, and I do not want to do that in front of him.

  “What do you want to do?” he asks after a moment. “You could be a great asset if you decide to stay where you’re at, but you don’t owe us anything. Or you can come . . . here.”

  The way he phrased his last sentence, I swear he almost said “home.” My heart feels as if it is being flogged, each retracted word a searing lash of pain. Everything I know, everything I have come to believe in such a short amount of time, says my home is with Noah. How am I supposed to ignore that? Ignore the memories of his touch? Our lives together?

  My pain rolls out of me like an unyielding tide. I bury my face in my hands to muffle my sobs. Noah turns me into him, and his arms are tight. So tight I can barely breathe, yet it will never be tight enough. I circle my arms around him and clutch at his shirt. His cheek rests on the crown of my head.

  “How am I supposed to let you go?” I ask. The words are thick and mingled with tears, but his arms tightening tell me he understood every word. “I do not have anything left except these cruel memories of a life that is not mine.”

  His hand covers the back of my head and presses me closer. His heart beats heavy against my cheek, and his chest shudders with unsteady breaths. His lips press to my head; the heat of his breath washes against my scalp. Fingers fist and clutch my hair.

  I push away from him and spin around to wipe my face. “I am sorry. I should not have said that.”

  One heartbeat.

  Two.

  “I know all about cruel,” he says. “If anyone understands what you’re going through, it’s me.”

  I drop my head. “Right. Of course you do.” I am nothing but a ghost of the woman he loves. Not real. This solidity of body I took for granted was the biggest lie of them all.

  I wipe my face and turn to face him. His fingers are clasped behind his neck and he is looking up at a corner. His skin is flushed and he is blinking rapidly, each breath a tremble in his chest. I want nothing more than to take the two steps forward, brush fingers through his thick waves, and force him to look at me. Kiss him. Take away what pains him. The same thing that pains me.

  I clear my throat. “I am going back.”

  His head falls forward and his hands drop heavily to his sides. “You know you don’t have to do that.”

  “I understand my options. Declan ruined our lives. I cannot let him get away with that.”

  He finally looks at me, the amber of his eyes aflame with emotion. “So you go back to playing the dutiful wife? Can you do it?”

  I do not intend to do any such thing, but I do not have to tell him that. “I will do whatever it takes.”

  “And if he finds out?”

  I laugh, but there is little mirth in it. “What is the worst thing he will do to me? Wipe my memory again? I am tempted to turn myself in at this point. Maybe it will stick this time.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Emma. He could torture you for information. He could kill you.”

  “He will never get information from me. You know me better than that.”

  The second the words slip out, I clench my jaw shut and avert my eyes.

  “Yeah,” he says softly. “I guess I do.”

  I glance over and he has turned his eyes away, too.

  “We never saw this coming, did we?” I ask. “So much for retiring in Mexico with a truckload of little Tuckers.”

  His eyes close momentarily and he shakes his head. “Guess the joke’s on us.”

  “At least you get one out of the deal, right?” I picture the live monitor in the other room. Adrienne. A daughter who is biologically half mine but will never belong to me. Only to Her. “What was it you said? ‘The men in this world won’t stand a chance with one of our daughters—’”

  Noah’s eyes widen. “You really do remember everything, don’t you?”

  I shake my head and tuck my hair back. “No. Not everything.”

  “Did—” He stops and averts his eyes, blinking rapidly again. “Did she know about the baby?”

  I did not expect this question, which must have been burning him alive for months. Never knowing if She risked the life of their child for one last raid—the raid that took Her life. “I really do not know, but I do not believe so. I remember pieces of the raid. She never thought about it. Only of you.”

  His chin trembles and he nods. “Okay, thanks. That’s good.” He takes a deep breath. “Means I won’t have to kick her ass.”

  I chuckle. “Good. Then you will not end up hitting me by default.”

  He laughs and there is a moment of easy bliss between us. Why do things have to be so effortless for us? My soul is in agony without its other half—his. This uncrossable chasm between us makes these single moments that much more painful.

  “I should go,” I say and begin to step around him.

  He reaches out and takes my arm. “You don’t have to do this. Every second you spend as his wife—” He stops and takes a shaky breath. “It’s dangerous.”

  “
I know what I am doing.” I look up into his piercing eyes. “Trust me.”

  “You’ll signal if you need anything?”

  I nod and move away, ignoring the pull of his touch. His eyes. “See you around,” I whisper and turn into the hallway, out of his line of sight.

  Somehow, I find my way into the control center. I wipe my face until it is as dry as I can get it and wish it were not so obvious that I have been crying. No doubt everyone in this room knows why. The pitying looks only verify my suspicion.

  Foster catches up to me when I am halfway to the teleporter. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you are not,” I say.

  He passes me a small gun. “You’ll need this and you’ll need me.”

  I stop and face him. “I do not need anyone.”

  He lifts his chin. “I owe you my life many times over.”

  “You owe Emma your life.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m coming.”

  I consider the options. He knows what I plan to do, or at least knows I do not plan to return as Declan’s wife, so if he stays, he will tell Noah. I cannot let Noah follow me back there. I need him where he is safe because he has a daughter to raise. But this is most likely a suicide mission. I do not want Foster getting hurt.

  Foster nods at a man behind a computer screen. “Where’s she supposed to be right now?”

  “We set the trail to put her in the studio.”

  It takes me a second, but I figure out that they faked my leaving the house and going to paint. I would have spent hours in the studio. And unless Declan showed up unexpectedly as he did the other day, he will never suspect a thing.

  “Okay, let’s keep her there for a while longer. How close can you get us to the nonmonitored area?” he asks.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you talking about? What nonmonitored area?”

  “There’s an entire section in the labs where Burke never had security installed. He would only do that if there were things he didn’t want to risk anyone seeing.”

  “You think it is where they do the cloning?”

  He nods.

  This thought burns me from the core out. Screw talking this out with Declan. I want to end this with a bang. “We will need explosives.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Anti-explosive sensors scream their warning the second we step out of the teleporter. Foster and I exchange a glance and he absently adjusts the bag strapped across his chest. We had an idea this would happen and had prepared ahead of time. The red-coated security would not know where to look first, thanks to the multiple locations sounding at the same time.

  Foster and I step into the hallway, tucking away our weapons. I walk as if I belong, though I have never been on this floor before. It looks nothing like the hospital floor where I have lived most of my cloned life. Here the floor is carpeted, the color of walls and decorations darker. Photographs of lead team members and their specialties hang opposite plaques of achievement. This floor is where the private offices are. Where Declan’s office is.

  “He is not here,” I say. “You are sure?” I know I will have to confront Declan, but I do not think I am quite ready yet. I need time. I need forever.

  Foster nods. “Burke is in his Richmond office, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be here soon. Especially when he hears about the alert. He’s usually quick to react.”

  “We only need a couple minutes’ head start.” A couple hundred years. A couple hundred centuries.

  The piercing wail of sirens covers our conversation, so everyone we pass on their way to the transportation bay ignores us except to look at us like we are crazy for staying. So far, we have not run into anyone who recognizes me. Just a bunch of suits. No doctors. More important, no security.

  Foster takes me by the elbow to lead me down another hallway. “This way.”

  Declan’s office is at the back of a glass-encased reception area that is nearly identical to the one in Burke Enterprises. Walls with intercrossing black lines on silver to represent a computer chip. Mahogany wood. Comfortable furniture.

  I walk by a low coffee table with computer tablets arranged in a fan shape, the faces of various magazines on the front. I have time to read only the top one. THE BATTLE AGAINST MOTHER NATURE COMING TO A CLOSE. FERTILITY ON THE RISE. THE STEPS YOU CAN TAKE TO ENSURE IT ISN’T TOO LATE FOR YOU AND YOURS. There is even a picture of a perfect, happy family, openmouthed as if laughing. Husband, wife, son, and daughter.

  “Is that true?” I ask Foster.

  He glances down and skims the cover. “What?”

  I follow him down another hallway with a giant glass door on the front. “Fertility is on the rise?”

  He contemplates his answer before saying, “Yes, it appears that way. But there are several theories as to how.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some say Mother Nature is done screwing with us, while others credit men like Declan Burke.”

  This makes me pause. “What have men like Declan done to gain this regard?”

  Foster pushes through a set of glass doors. “Roughly a hundred years ago, a civil war broke out and split the United States right down the middle. Women in the west live free, while the east forces women at a young age into society as they see fit. It’s slavery masked as a training center.”

  “How many centers does Burke Enterprises run?” I ask, my throat tightening. I never imagined Declan was a man involved in the slavery of women. It makes me sick to my stomach.

  “More than half. They’ve been in the family for three generations. But your husband—shit, sorry—Burke has taken the business a step further.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s kidnapping women and children from the west, only neither government can pin the crime on him. It’s likely the east isn’t trying very hard.”

  I stop short just inside Declan’s office. “Kidnapping? So he is probably sending covert teams into the west to do the job?”

  Foster nods. “Yeah. Guess he didn’t think the few girls captured with the few-and-far-between resistance hubs were enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re everywhere, Wade, but we aren’t perfect. The government finds pockets of resistance all over the place. What do you think they do with the children? They’re innocent, right? The boys are adopted out, but the girls . . .”

  “Go into the nearest WTC,” I say.

  He nods. “How do you think you ended up there?”

  My heart gallops in my chest and I feel short of breath. “My parents were resistance?”

  “Stephen and Lily Wade, imprisoned twenty-four years ago. Escaped twenty years ago and haven’t been heard from since.”

  I could not believe it. My parents had names. And they could still be alive somewhere.

  Foster touches my arm. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  While Foster slides behind Declan’s desk and opens his bag, my mind whirls. Declan has a team in trouble over in the west as we speak, and if they are caught, the east’s government will not have any other choice but to fine him or throw him in prison or whatever the punishment is for such an act. From the stress it has caused Declan, it is bad enough that he risks losing the family’s business at the very least.

  Foster finds the computer hard drive—a wireless dark gray box lit up with five red lights—in a desk drawer and lays it on the desktop. He digs a slim card out of his bag and places it on the hard drive. A tiny red light lights up in the center and pulses on contact. He then pulls out his cell phone and autodials a number. Someone picks up after only two seconds.

  “Uploading now,” Foster says. “How long until you can get us in?”

  I scan Declan’s office for the first time. Only one plain wall, with the computer in sleep mode to his fish tank. A huge set of shelves fills another wall, part of it a glassed-in liquor cabinet. My paintings—another set of winter-themed mountains I did not like—decorate the other two walls. This office is half the size of his othe
r one, so I guess he does not spend as much time here.

  Foster hangs up and stands. “We’re in. You ready?”

  I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. This is it.

  The bare wall lifts into the ceiling, revealing another set of glass doors. They slide aside with a quick shiff, and Foster darts for the opening. He is pulling his gun out as he goes, and I follow his lead.

  We find ourselves in a bare white hallway that winds around in a curve. The wall opens to our left just ahead. Foster stops at the edge and peers around and over the railing quickly to scope out the area for security. The second time he looks, he stares intently, mouth ajar.

  “Shit,” he whispers. “This is it. This is where—”

  I do not wait for him to finish and move around his other side to look for myself. The room is massive—at least three stories high, hexagonal in shape, and blindingly white. Most of the walls are screens running a constant flow of data. In the center of the floor is a pool.

  With bodies in it.

  Foster digs into his bag again. “I have to set up video. Hold on.”

  “Why? We are destroying the place.”

  “Visual proof of what’s going down in flames.” Foster looks up at me. “Even if we make it out of here alive, our word will never be enough.”

  He pulls out a small, flat disc. The silver surface seems to disappear in his hand, yet he continues to clutch at it. He must catch my confusion because he presses the object in my hand. I feel the metal, flat and cold, but it is completely invisible.

  “It camouflages itself,” he tells me. “Once placed, no one will ever find it. The technology has been around for ages, but Tucker Securities gave it a massive upgrade.”

  I nod and hand the disc back, thinking of the camera I never found in my old hospital room and the 360-degree version Declan now has installed everywhere. “Yeah, I noticed.”

  Foster reaches over the railing and slaps it to the surface below. “Okay, let’s go.”

  I reach a set of stairs and take them as quickly as possible. The echoing tap of shoes behind me tells me Foster is on my heels. I run straight for the pool, and my momentum nearly sends me over the wide ledge into the water. Directly in front of me is a clear oval sack with a body that has no discernible features.