Imposter

by Chanda Stafford

  A hollow laugh fills the air, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s mine. “I’m pretty sure we’re all monsters, every last one of us, and the key is figuring out who is worse.”

  James’s mouth twitches at the corners. “When you figure that out, please let me know.”

  A few minutes later, James stands up and brushes his pants off. “I’m afraid I have to cut our conversation short. The longer we talk, the greater a risk of drawing undue attention. We’ll talk soon.” He tips an imaginary hat to me and turns away.

  After the doctor disappears, my com unit flashes. “Will,” a tinny electronic voice says. “You’re wanted back at Socrates’s quarters immediately.”

  “Of course I am.” A bitter resignation drenches my words.

  “Immediately.” The light on my com blinks off.

  By walking as slowly as possible, I’m able to waste almost twenty minutes before lifting my hand to knock on Socrates’s door.

  “Come in,” Eliot calls from inside.

  As soon as I enter, I realize Ellie’s alone. Part of me is relieved, but another part, some traitorous spot deep within my soul, yearns to see Mira’s face again.

  “Where were you?” Eliot demands.

  My back stiffens. “Out. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in need of my assistance.” Be careful, Will. Your mother always told you to watch your mouth. It could get you in serious trouble someday.

  She jerks her head toward the bathroom. “That’s fine, I suppose, but in Santa Fe, I expect to be kept aware of your location at all times. You can’t just up and disappear there.”

  I barely resist the sudden urge to salute her. “Understood. It won’t happen again.”

  “Good. See that it doesn’t,” Eliot says. “The physicians have cleared Soc, so we’d like to leave as soon as possible. Would you mind overseeing the transport of our bags to the pods?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” I force my voice to remain flat. “Do you need me to pack them for you?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Socrates says as he emerges from the bathroom. Even with the added weight of so many lives and centuries, he still appears so achingly identical to the girl I loved.

  “Yes, sir.” I turn on my heel and march from the room, eager to leave them, and my conversation with James Scoffield behind, even if it’s just for a short time.

  Every Step

  Mira

  “This is it?” I tear my gaze away from the squat, reddish-brown structure that rises above a thick, rough stone wall and peek at Ellie.

  “Yes.” A wistful smile transforms her face. Smaller buildings, built like little houses, match the main one and surround the outer barrier.

  It’s not just Socrates’s house. “It’s your house, too. Isn’t it?” A flush creeps up my cheeks.

  She nods curtly and murmurs in my ear, “Of course, we both live here.”

  That thought slowly sinks in. I have a house, an actual house. It’s not an apartment enclosed by paper-thin walls and surrounded by noisy neighbors and their noisy problems. It’s an actual freestanding building with rooms I can walk around in. I bet the walls are so solid I couldn’t hear someone scream if they were at the other end of the hall.

  As the rusted, red four-wheeled vehicle the driver called a Jeep putters down the road, I grab the door handle to steady myself. I can’t believe these were popular once. Who would choose to ride in one of these when there are pods and airborne transports?

  “Only you would want to keep an ancient gas-powered clunker like this.” She makes a clucking sound. “It’s your baby. Even when we had to hire and train someone to make the parts we needed for it. Money was no object, as long as this thing kept running.”

  I run my fingers across the cracked leather seats and wall panels. “Times change,” I grumble as we bounce over a metal grate set into the ground. “Maybe it’s about time we get a pod.”

  Ellie claps her hands. “Ha! I knew you’d eventually see things my way.”

  I tap the seat with my fingers. Maybe it is time for a change. Isn’t that what Socrates said? Am I the change he spoke of?

  Thick, spiky plants rise out of the ground, and a small, crumbling stone fountain gurgles in the patch of desert earth surrounded by the driveway. It’s beautiful and tranquil, almost like a place out of a dream. No wonder Socrates made this place his home.

  I glance at Eliot. She closes her eyes, and wetness glistens in their corners. A faint frown creases the sides of her mouth. A solitary tear slides down her face. She scrubs it away quickly.

  “I’m sorry.” This must be torture for her. I place my hand on her knee.

  “Don’t be.” She shakes her head. “We all make our own choices. He made his, you made yours, and the rest of us have to live with the consequences.” Her bitter laugh echoes through the vehicle.

  I jerk my hand away, hurt by her admission. Would she rather I have died? Of course, she would. That’s a stupid question. She loved Socrates. You’re nothing to her.

  Will holds on to the handle above his door. His shoulders are tense lines rising above the top of the seat. It doesn’t seem like he was paying attention to anything we said.

  Eliot squeezes my hand. I’ve heard that couples who have been together forever could hear each other’s thoughts. I bet she and Socrates were like that. They knew each other for so long, they could finish each other’s thoughts. I tilt my head to the side and peek at Will. His face is so blank, he looks more like a stranger than someone I would have pledged my life to just a few days before.

  Will’s gaze meets mine through a small mirror hanging between the two front seats, and in a flash, his eyes aren’t flat any longer, but filled with fury and disgust. Goosebumps rise along my arms and I shiver. If he hates Socrates so much, what would he do if he found out it’s been me all along? Would he ever forgive me?

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you earlier, but Maggie left,” Eliot murmurs as the Jeep rumbles to a stop in front of a pair of dark wooden doors in front of the house.

  “Maggie?” I wrack my brain, but can’t remember who this person is. She must have been important, or Eliot wouldn’t have bothered to tell me about her.

  “Our housekeeper. She’s lived with us for most of her life.”

  Eliot’s gentle prodding at such a basic fact makes me blush, embarrassed. “Oh, yes. Right.” I nod. “I remember now. Why did she leave?” Come on, Mira. Pay attention. This is too important to screw up.

  Eliot turns away, staring at the front of the house. “She wanted to retire. At least that’s what Arturo said.”

  Something in her voice doesn’t ring true. “Is that what you think?”

  Eliot shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m just letting you know she’s gone.”

  “Should I hire someone new?” The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. The way I’m speaking is as if she was nothing and no one important, and just as easy to replace. At the edge of my vision, I see Will stiffen. So he is listening.

  “That’s probably a good idea.” Eliot catches my eye and purses her lips. “In the meantime, I’m sure Will wouldn’t mind doing some light cooking and cleaning.” Eliot gives him a pointed glance in the mirror. She knew he was listening in, too.

  “Of course not, ma’am,” he says. “It’ll be an honor.”

  As we get out of the vehicle, Will grabs our bags from the back seat. A short, squat man with skin that resembles thick leather from too much time spent in the sun opens the door and smiles widely at us.

  “Socrates! You’re back!” He shuffles forward, pumping his arms and legs as fast as he can, and embraces me.

  I awkwardly pat his back, my gaze searching Eliot’s.

  “Arturo,” she mouths.

  I nod at her over the man’s shoulder as he releases me. “Arturo, I’m so glad to see you.” I clasp his hands in mine.

  “I’m not the only one.” Arturo laughs and whistles a short staccato burst of song over his shoulder.

  F
rom a wide crack in the front doors, a brown and black blur races toward us. I barely have time to stop before the animal jumps up on me, its thick, heavy paws digging into my pale blue shirt. Ben.

  Then the dog stops. His body stills so quickly it’s almost as if he’s not real anymore, and he’s one of those old photographs from a museum. Slowly, he drops back to the ground, and his tail stiffens. His ears fold back against his head, and he sniffs around my legs. Then he backs up a step, unsure, and whines. He stares beyond me, searching for something (or more likely, someone), and whimpers when he doesn’t see him.

  “Ben.” I crouch down in front of the rangy shepherd mix and hold out my hand for him to sniff, just like I used to do with the dogs at the farm.

  He settles back on his haunches, studies me, but doesn’t approach. He knows something is different but can’t identify what it is. A lump fills my throat. He was just as close to Socrates as Eliot was, especially in those last few days.

  My heart sinks. He knows I’m not Socrates. My panicked gaze begs Eliot for help, but she’s talking to Arturo. Fine. Will stands by the door, our bags by his feet, staring at us, at me. I gulp again. Ben sighs before forcing himself to his feet and turning away from me, dragging his feet as he returns to the house.

  Fresh tears burn my eyes as a heavy hand rests on my shoulder and squeezes it. I look up, hoping it’s Will, praying that maybe it wasn’t cold hatred I’d seen in him earlier. But it’s not him. It’s Arturo.

  “Just give it time,” he says. “I figured Ben wouldn’t recognize you at first.”

  I bite my bottom lip. “You’re right, of course.”

  “Trust me. He will know you in a couple of days and everything will be normal again.”

  “I know.” I rest my hands on my knees to push myself up. “It’s difficult, that’s all. I guess I forgot that he wouldn’t know who I am.”

  “Change is always difficult. It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re human or an animal.” He smiles again as he leads me to the front of the house.

  In my head, the real Socrates chuckles at Eliot, so I do the same. “You’re right, as always.” I hear his voice echoing in my words.

  As soon as I pass through the front door, I freeze. With rich, vibrant blues and purples on the walls and huge red Saltillo tiles, this house is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Dark leather furniture surrounds windows big enough to offer enough ambient lighting to illuminate the entire room. This must be the dining room, because a long table covered in a cream-colored cloth stretches down most of it. Three glittering glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling. They must be amazing when they’re lit up.

  Eliot turns to Will. “Our rooms are through the second door to the right. Would you please take our bags there?”

  Will nods without replying. He spins on his heel and stalks down the hall, the clip of his boot heels echoing against the stone tile.

  “That was awkward,” I murmur.

  Eliot chuckles. “Get used to it. I don’t suppose Will is happy to be here any more than you want him here.” But before I can reply, she takes a deep breath and gives herself a soft shake. “Enough of that. Here, let me show you around.”

  “Can we talk freely here?”

  She spreads out her arms and gestures all around her. “Of course, this is your home. You never let much technology in except for the most basic of computers and AVIS systems. Just be careful not to let inquisitive ears hear our conversations.” Her jaw tenses.

  I tilt my head and study her face. There’s something else there, under the surface. Something else that makes her so cautious, but I’ll never ask her what it is. I take a deep breath. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Not your best.” Eliot glares at me. “Do Socrates’s best. That’s the only thing that matters.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Eliot takes me on a whirlwind tour of my home. To the left of the dining room is the kitchen, the study, and a few random sitting rooms and studies. After that, we enter a large room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Enormous windows grace either side of a large desk, and the sunlight filters through what must be specially designed windows so the ancient books don’t disintegrate from ultraviolet damage.

  Eliot runs her fingers lightly over some of the book’s spines and dust floats away in her wake. She doesn’t speak, and it’s as if the room itself holds its breath, waiting for its rightful owner.

  “What is this place?” My voice is quiet, hesitant, and almost reverent. This room must mean a lot to Eliot.

  “It’s the library.” She walks up to a huge old desk and runs her fingers over the wood. “It was his favorite room in the whole damn house.” The last bit comes out as a whisper, her words barely registering over the silence.

  I close my eyes, imagining Socrates lowering himself into the leather chair behind the desk. On a rug right next to it, Ben lies in the sun, half-curled, facing us. His tail thumps twice when he sees Ellie, but he ignores me. He points his shiny black nose toward the door, waiting for Socrates to come home.

  I leave Eliot to her memories and walk around the room. There are more books here than I’ve ever seen in my life. Weird old bottles and antique trinkets also grace the shelves and perch on the small tables surrounding mismatched leather chairs. Eliot sinks into a black leather chair tucked in a dimly lit window nook and nods at the seat across from her. “Sit, please.”

  I do as she asks and rest my hands on my knees, unsure what to do with them. Eliot pats her knee. Ben pads over to her and then rests his head on her hand. His wise stare bores into hers with a sadness I can only ascribe to mourning.

  “He misses him, too, doesn’t he?”

  “Of course,” Eliot murmurs. “He was Soc’s best friend. He went everywhere with him.”

  “Why did Socrates have a service dog? I mean, I know he was sick and everything, but from what I learned in school, he always had one with him, even when he was younger.”

  “I don’t really know. Socrates never liked to talk about it. All I remember is that he got the first Ben right before the Immigration War.” She scratches the dog idly behind his ears. “From what I remember, he was somewhat of a scoundrel.” A wistful smile plays across her lips.

  My eyes widen. “You were a rebel?”

  She laughs. “How quickly you jump to that conclusion but don’t ask about Soc.”

  Heat rushes to my face. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  “He didn’t seem like the revolutionary type to you?”

  “Well, no. Not really.”

  “He was cautious. Reserved, even.”

  “I guess that’s why I was so surprised to find out he was sponsoring the Free America Bill.”

  “I’ve heard he was a lot more outgoing before we met, but something happened and…” She turns her gaze to Ben again and takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re breathing new life into his memory. You’re the Socrates he used to be and wanted to fulfill his legacy. I need you to remember that tomorrow.”

  A cold chill flickers up my spine. “Why, what’s tomorrow?”

  Eliot brushes off her pants and flashes me a humorless smile. “Your first interview since the Exchange.”

  I swear I can feel my heart stop. “Interview?” My palms immediately become sweaty, and I feel a similar wetness beading on my forehead. “I can’t. Last time was horrible! That awful woman, she…”

  Eliot chuckles, the humor erasing the pain from her face. “It won’t be like last time, I promise.”

  “I hope so! The last interview was a complete fake! They made everything up!” I tighten my hands on the armrests and start to rise.

  Eliot shakes her head, the motion almost imperceptible. “Shh, keep your voice down.” She jerks her head at the thick wooden door.

  “Sorry. It was awful, though.”

  “I’m sure it was. This one will be different, though. For one, it’s unscripted.”

  “So they won’t be telling me what to say and makin
g it up if I don’t give them the right answer?”

  “Correct. I’m certain they’ll still do some creative editing if need be, but this interview is a great deal more informal than the last. The physicians already proved that you are Socrates, this is just a way to familiarize the people with your new personal before you make your political debut.”

  I lean back in my chair as the strength drains from my body. “I can’t get out of this, can I?”

  Eliot must read the fear on my face. “No, not unless you want to lose credibility and important momentum for the Bill. Any positive press we can garner could make a huge difference.”

  The short laugh escapes before I can stop it. “It all comes back to that, doesn’t it?”

  A smile appears at the corner of her lips. “You’ll do fine. Just remember what Socrates would do.” She stands up and gestures around the room. “And maybe, if you’re really worried about it, check out a book. It might help you forget for a little while. Socrates always used to do that when he was stressed out and this is, after all, your library.” She turns around and leaves me sitting there, mind whirling.

  I push to my feet as I scan the bookshelves. Maybe Eliot’s right, and if she’s not, at least it’ll keep my mind off things. I tap my fingers along the shelves until I find the one on history and the Immigration War.

  He had a small part in it, you know.

  I slip the book from the shelf and take it to the huge desk. The chair creaks as I lower myself into it and lean back, the leather cupping my body in a cool embrace. Antiques, from ballpoint pens to an old pocket watch on a long silver chain, cover the top of the desk. I take a deep breath. These antiques belong to Socrates, and now, I guess, they are mine.

  From his spot on the floor, Ben gives me his best doggie stare before dropping his head back down on to his paws. Poor thing. I wonder if he’ll ever see me as more than an interloper. I lean back, and the chair starts to slip out from under me. I hook my fingers onto a shallow groove under the desk’s surface, sliding a drawer open with a nearly silent snick. What is this, a secret compartment? I hesitate before looking inside. It feels as though I’m invading someone’s privacy. Socrates’s privacy. But Socrates is dead and you’re not. You’re Socrates now.