by Laura Lam
It took me a moment to realize what he was saying.
“Do it,” he said. Every muscle was straining. He held out the knife, and I thought he was going to kill me. But instead he dropped it, and it landed on the floor within reach.
“Don’t have … long,” he gasped. He juddered again, knocking over more of the furniture.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to. But then he said, “If he finds out about you, he’ll find out about your sister. He’ll—” another shudder—“hurt her to get to you.”
That decided it.
Of course that decided it.
It wasn’t as easy as that. He didn’t lie still and let me kill him. His programming took over. His hunter’s instincts. I took a swing and he blocked it, so I only cut his wrist. He grabbed me and I twisted back, stomping on his foot and then kicking up between his legs. He wheezed, dropped to his knees. I knew I couldn’t hesitate. If I did, I would die.
I had a lucky strike. It went right into the upper part of his stomach, and I thrust up, and I think I hit him in the heart.
He fell down almost immediately. But he wasn’t quite dead. He met my eyes and I didn’t look away until he was gone.
I remember the blood was warm and sticky. That everything smelled of red, rusty iron. I felt angry, like I’d been trapped. I slammed the knife into the coffee table and it stood there, quivering.
The puddle of blood got bigger.
The blood must have triggered an alarm or something. Sal came in, and it was the first time I ever saw him shocked by anything.
I knew I should say something to him, but I was really out of it. I ended up parroting Mia’s words: “He is the red one, the fair one, the handsome one. He came from the Earth and now he returns. The faces keep changing.”
That definitely freaked him out. He snapped his fingers in front of my face until I could look up at him. It was hard to focus.
“Why?” he asked me. I blinked like I was waking up from a nightmare.
I told him. Not everything, but a little. That Vuk was a hitman for the Ratel and he’d asked me to kill him to free him. Sal, bless him, believed me right away. Barely even blinked before he was thinking of a way to fix it. Mostly to help himself, but still, he wasn’t a totally selfish bastard, either.
“They’ll be sending the Ratel here. The only way you won’t die tonight is if you get out of here right now. Go home, get your things, and then go. I’m trusting you. Go straight there.”
So I followed his advice. Before I ran away, I felt like I needed to … I don’t know. Leave my mark. I scratched the sign of the Hearth, sad because I knew I’d never figure out exactly how everything was connected. Then I wrote Mia’s name in our alphabet. She was the only person who knew I was undercover. If the Ratel got me before I made it home, then I knew you could ask her, Taema, and at least have a few answers.
I started going home, but then I changed course and went to you. Sal ended up phoning the police after all, though, and they tracked my VeriChip and came and found me.
I wish I’d done it differently. Ripped the VeriChip out of my wrist, made you do the same, and we could have disappeared before they could find us. I don’t know where we would have gone, or what we could have done, but it would have been better than all this mess.
You know everything that happened after that. I think you even know more than me now.
They were supposed to put you into protective custody. That’s what they told me they were gonna do, just after they took me, when I said you were in trouble, too. That Mia might have sold me out to the Ratel so my cover was blown. But instead, they made you become me, and you got put in just as much danger.
Bunch of fucking bastards.
I’m sorry, T. I made a huge mess out of everything. And, as usual, you found a way to fix it. But that’s not fair. It’s not fair on you at all.
I am so nervous. I almost want to stay here, so I don’t have to face you. I only scratched at the edges of the Ratel. I’m afraid to learn your full story. It’s going to be painful to listen to it. But I will.
The guard just came and told me it’s time to go. I asked him for five more minutes. Five more minutes of scribbling crazily, the muscles in my hands cramping, as I try to figure out how to end this.
I guess I’ll be trite—it’s not like what I’ve written is good. Maybe I’ll get you to help me write it into something properly resembling a story, if you’re still speaking to me after all of this.
So this isn’t an end but a beginning. This morning, I thought I was going to be frozen solid and put in a freezer with other frozen humans. Now, I find out I have my whole life ahead of me again. You are the one that brought down Mana-ma and broke up the Ratel. Maybe Adam’s story can be told, along with all the other men and women whose memories were stolen. I heard Mia was killed, and I’m sure it was another one of Ensi’s poor creations. Changing faces like kaleidoscopes.
Maybe we can see our parents for the first time in a decade. Go back to the Hearth, walk through the forest. Listen to the birds. We could swim in the lake for the first time.
I don’t think we’ll really change anything in the long run. But I’ve always been pessimistic. You’ve been the one with all the hope.
So, this is my new chance. My clean slate. All thanks to you. As soon as I finish this, I’ll tuck my notebook into my pocket, give my lipstick a touch-up, walk out of this shithole and look you right in the eye.
THIRTY-THREE
TAEMA
I’m too afraid to go into the building where Tila’s being held, so I wait outside. It’s quiet, this time of day. People mill to and fro, heading to the MUNI or their offices and homes. They don’t spare me a second glance. They don’t know what I did and what I helped prevent, or at least delay. I hope they never find out.
The SFPD will send someone to the Hearth, to see how they’re faring. They received an emergency phone call from our old cult. Mana-ma was found dead the next morning, tangled in her bed sheets, electrodes attached to her head. I’ve asked if they can send Nazarin, and if I (and maybe Tila) can go with him. We’re not banned from the Hearth anymore, and I want to see my parents. I need to go back. Both of us do.
It’s a cool day, even though it’s late spring. It’s the famous uncertain San Francisco weather. I’m wearing a scarf and a hat, my hands deep in my pockets. Nazarin isn’t here. I came alone.
The door opens, and my breath hitches, but it’s not her. A man in a suit walks down the steps and past me, not even glancing in my direction. I rub the palms of my hands against my thighs.
I turn away from the door for a moment, taking in the view of the gunmetal gray of the water, the graceful arches of the bridges. The islands, half-hidden in the mist. Boats are out on the bay, gliding slowly through the white breaks, occasionally calling out softly to each other. It all seems so peaceful. I turn back.
There she is.
Tila stands on the top step. She’s already caught sight of me, and her body is stiffly uncertain. Security drones circle her head like bees before drifting away to continue their perimeter check. She hesitates, and then begins to walk down the stairs.
It’s so very strange, watching her come to me. She’s no longer my reflection, now that I’ve changed my hair and my features back, but we’re more different from each other now than ever before. I have two scars she doesn’t have, and that’s only the physical ones.
My sister stops a few paces away. We don’t speak. She looks a little thinner. She glances down, takes something from her coat pocket. It’s a notebook.
“Here. I wrote this, when I was inside. It was sort of a goodbye to you, I guess. When I thought I was going to freeze.”
I take it from her, not touching her fingers. I swallow. My mouth is so dry.
“It’s not very good, but it … explains a lot of it,” she says. “I’ll tell you the rest.”
“I know some of the rest,” I say quietly.
“Some of it was curiosity, but in the end it
was all to protect you. Even if I did a monumentally bad job at it.” She pauses, ducking her head to the side. “They told me you were shot. Did it hurt?”
I give her a half-smile. “Like a bitch. But not as much as getting struck by lightning when I was in Ensi’s head.”
“What—?”
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go home. Figure it all out. And then move on from here. Any more secrets I should know about?” I’m only half jesting.
“I don’t think so.” With a strangled sob, she throws herself into my arms. I wrap mine about her, resting my head on her shoulder. We’re both shaking. I hold her so tight, like I’ll never let her go. We have a lot to work out. To get beyond. To heal from. But we will. We have to.
We stand together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, our scars aligning, and beneath our bones our mechanical hearts beat, beat, beat.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As with any book, there are a great many people to thank. This was a fun book to write, but it was a departure from my previous fantasy, so I was nervous. Many people helped me find the confidence to keep going.
Thank you to my agent, Juliet Mushens, for invaluable early feedback, always being in my corner, and being fabulous and amazing. Many thanks also to her incredible assistant, Sarah Manning (not the Orphan Black character). To my original acquiring editor, Julie Crisp, and to editor extraordinaire Bella Pagan, as well as Louise Buckley and Lauren Welch. Everyone at Tor, both UK and U.S. (thank you, Marco Palmieri), has been amazing to work with and so enthusiastic about my work—it’s been a blast.
I sent this book to so many people over many drafts and received so much great feedback that truly transformed False Hearts. Thank you to my husband, Craig, and two of my closest friends, Erica Bretall and Shawn DeMille, who always read my really, really ugly first drafts before I send them out to anyone else. Thank you to my mom and staunch cheerleader, Sally Baxter. Much gratitude to Kim Curran, Amy Alward, Katharine Stubbs, Cassandra Rose Clarke, Wesley Chu, Lorna McKay, Hannah Beresford, Mike Kalar, Jonathan Butcher, Nazia Khatun, Colin Sinclair, Vonny McKay, Lisa McCurrach, Katie Kemp (for neuroscience help specifically), Leah Woods, Justina Ireland, Tristina Wright, and Ann Godridge. Whether you saw the very early drafts or the nearly finished one, I appreciate you taking the time to read and tell me what you thought. Thank you to several sex workers who read scenes about Tila’s work and made sure I hadn’t unintentionally fallen into any stereotypes. Thank you to Nick Harkaway for the name of Sudice for the company when I asked for suggestions on Twitter. I think that’s everyone, but if I forgot someone because my inbox is too disorganized, I’m super sorry and I’ll buy you a coffee.
I did a lot of research for this book. The initial idea came from reading an article about Daisy and Violet Hilton and wondering what it would be like to be connected to someone every minute of every day, and how strange it would be if you found out your literal other half had kept something from you. Alice Domurat Dreger’s book One of Us: Conjoined Twins and the Future of Normal really impacted the twins’ view of being conjoined, their relationship to each other, and how they were perceived by the outside world, both within the Hearth and San Francisco. I was also inspired by Lori Lansens’s work of fiction The Girls. I watched a lot of documentaries and interviews with conjoined twins: The Twins Who Share a Body, Abby & Brittany, Two Hearts, Bound by Flesh, The Twins Who Share a Brain, and more. I asked a few twins about their relationships and also observed my twin nephews, Ruben and Kade. For cults, Last Days by Adam Nevill and Whit by Iain Banks were some fictional influences, as was the film Martha Marcy May Marlene, and documentaries such as Jonestown: The Life and Death of Peoples Temple, Jesus Camp, and Cults: Dangerous Devotion gave me some invaluable insights. I also read numerous articles on various cults. I read Mapping the Mind by Rita Carter as a good resource on neuroscience, and I looked at the History Channel’s City of the Future’s entries for San Francisco, which inspired some aspects of my near-future city. I have a fuller list of resources on my website, if you’d like to learn more.
As ever, thank you to the readers who picked up the book and spent some time with Taema and Tila. You’re the reason I can keep doing this.
Also by Laura Lam
PANTOMIME
SHADOWPLAY
MASQUERADE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Laura Lam is the award-winning autor of Pantomime. False Hearts is her first speculative thriller. She lives in the United Kingdom.
Visit her at www.lauralam.co.uk or sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue: Taema
1. Taema
2. Taema
3. Tila
4. Taema
5. Taema
6. Tila
7. Taema
8. Taema
9. Tila
10. Taema
11. Taema
12. Tila
13. Taema
14. Taema
15. Tila
16. Taema
17. Taema
18. Tila
19. Taema
20. Taema
21. Tila
22. Taema
23. Taema
24. Tila
25. Taema
26. Taema
27. Tila
28. Taema
29. Taema
30. Tila
31. Taema
32. Tila
33. Taema
Acknowledgments
Also by Laura Lam
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
FALSE HEARTS
Copyright © 2016 by Laura Lam
All rights reserved.
Cover photographs from Alamy and Getty Images
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8205-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-8574-5 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466885745
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First Edition: June 2016