Forgotten

by Kristin Smith

  “Radcliffe’s dead,” I remind him.

  “Then you should have nothing to worry about. A puppet can’t operate without its puppet master.”

  I turn Chaz’s words over in my mind. He’s right. With Radcliffe dead, there’s no one left to pull the strings.

  Then why do I feel like this is far from over.

  Sinking back against the couch, Chaz props his feet on the coffee table. “You wanna watch a show?”

  We used to do this all the time when we went to GIGA. We’d come here after school, Chaz would help me with my homework, and then we’d watch a show together. Those simple days seem so far away after everything I’ve experienced. That Sienna was naive and innocent. She’d never shot a man and left him for dead. Nor was she responsible for the deaths of hundreds. I wonder if that innocent girl is still somewhere inside of me. Or if she’s gone forever.

  I sink back next to Chaz on the couch and place my head on his wide shoulder. “Definitely.”

  Chaz’s two favorite shows are Return to Space—we’ve watched every season several times—and False Prophecy. I’m almost relieved when the background music for False Prophecy begins to play. I’m too distracted to truly enjoy the show, but one thing’s for sure—for exactly one hour, I shed my guilt, I forget my pain, and I become the old Sienna.

  4

  SIENNA

  It’s the same dream. It’s always the same. Smoke filling the room, making it impossible to breathe, screams echoing down a long hallway, and blood. So much blood. There’s a body half-hidden beneath concrete and debris. And a frantic urge to clear the debris and save the person trapped. When the last piece of concrete has been removed, the only thing underneath is a skeleton, its bones cracked and twisted at odd angles.

  I bolt up in bed, the scream dying on my lips, my heart thundering, my nightshirt soaked with sweat. Footsteps pound down the hall and the door flings open. Zane stands there, shirtless, his hair disheveled, his eyes wild and sweeping the room.

  “Are you okay?”

  When I nod, he exhales slowly. “Another bad dream?”

  With the back of my hand, I wipe the beads of sweat from my brow and nod again.

  Zane rests his hands on the doorframe above his head. “Same one?”

  “Yeah.” I finally speak, but it comes out hoarse. “Always.”

  His eyes sweep the room again and settle on the chair in the corner. “Want me to stay?”

  When I nod, he grabs a blanket from the end of the bed and settles into the chair, as he’s done almost every night since I’ve been here.

  “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, sinking deeper into the chair and closing his eyes. “I’m right here.”

  As my heart rate gradually slows, I lie back against the pillows and pull the covers up to my chin. I stare at the shadow-covered ceiling as images of the dream replay through my mind. The memories of that night in the Compound are still so strong that, without even trying, I can re-experience the horror of it all, including the terrifying sounds of screams, the sight of Trey with a rebar protruding from his chest, and the taste of sweat and smoke.

  “Zane?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Why do you think I keep having the same dream?” I ask.

  There’s a pause. For a moment, I think he’s already fallen asleep. “It’s probably your subconscious reliving that night,” he finally says, his voice slightly muffled.

  “But bones? Why bones?”

  “Bones are the epitome of death. And isn’t that what you’re most afraid of? Trey dying?”

  I’m more afraid of something bad happening to Mom or Emily, but I don’t correct him. Yes, I’ve seen Trey “dead,” and it’s something I’d rather not experience again with anyone I love.

  “I guess you’re right,” I say. I close my eyes, but an image of my father pops up behind my closed eyelids. I’m still no closer to knowing what he was involved in that made him change his name and eventually got him killed.

  “I think I’ll talk to your father tomorrow,” I say, changing the subject and letting this new thought carry across the room. “Maybe he can shed some light on what happened twenty-one years ago. And who knows? Maybe it’s connected with what’s going on with Trey now.”

  “Good luck,” Zane murmurs.

  I roll over on my side. From here, I can see Zane, his head tilted against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. “And you’re coming with me,” I say.

  I hear him snort, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Okay. But I’ve already warned you that he’s like a steel trapdoor. Good luck getting information from him.”

  ***

  Tennis balls fly across the court behind the Ryder’s massive home. Harlow Ryder is exactly where I was told he would be—hitting the balls ejected from the automatic machine.

  Zane keeps step with me as we cross the court. It’s so hot that even though I should probably be sweating, I’m dry as a bone. Thanks to the desert heat, the sweat dries quickly, leaving a salty film coating my skin. The heat shimmers like waves across the black tennis court.

  I watch as Zane strides over to the machine and flips the switch. It groans and hisses like a dying snake before shutting down completely.

  “Dad,” Zane calls out, “may we have a word with you?”

  Mr. Ryder twirls his tennis racquet a few times and pulls a towel from his back pocket, mopping the sweat off his face. He saunters over to the net where Zane and I join him. “What would you like to talk about, son?”

  Zane looks at me and nods, indicating that it’s my turn to speak.

  Other than the initial meeting where Zane introduced his father to my mom, my sister, and me, I’ve managed to steer clear of Harlow Ryder.

  I suck in a breath and straighten my shoulders. “Mr. Ryder, I have a few questions for you regarding my father.”

  Mr. Ryder squints at me, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Who's your father?”

  “Mitch Hoover,” I say, using the name my father had when he was Harlow’s lead geneticist.

  “That’s impossible,” he scoffs. “Mitch died in a car accident almost twenty-two years ago. You’re much younger than that.”

  “No,” I say. “He faked his own death. And changed his name to Ben Preston.”

  Harlow studies me, as if he’s trying to decide if he should believe me. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Miss Preston, but I don’t—”

  “I’m telling the truth! Just ask Zane.”

  Harlow’s eyes swing from me to Zane. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zane nod.

  Harlow swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Do you have a picture of your father?”

  I pull my Lynk from my pocket and scroll through old photos. There’s one of all four of us before Dad died. I think we were celebrating his birthday or something. I show Harlow the picture, and the color drains from his face. Ironically, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

  “Incredible,” Harlow mutters, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Now will you talk to me?” I ask as I pocket my Lynk.

  “There’s nothing to discuss. As you can see, I was completely unaware that your father is alive—”

  “Was alive,” I correct him. “He died a year ago. Apparently poisoned by Radcliffe, although he led me to believe that you were the one who killed him.”

  Harlow’s eyes narrow. “I don’t understand how any of this has to do with me. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  I’m not above begging. “Please, Mr. Ryder. I need answers, and you’re the only one who might be able to give them to me.”

  Harlow rubs the back of his neck as he contemplates my request. I glance over at Zane but he shrugs, remaining neutral.

  After a few awkward moments, Harlow gives me a curt nod. “Let me get cleaned up, and I’ll meet you in my study in thirty.” Without waiting for a response, he strides to the house, his towel slung over one shoulder and his tennis racket hanging loosely from his grip.

  �
��Was he telling the truth?” I ask Zane as we follow Harlow to the house. “Your father seemed surprised that my dad faked his death. You think he didn’t know?”

  Zane tilts his head, his gaze fixed on the door his father went through. “He was definitely convincing.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “And that went better than I thought,” Zane adds.

  “Yeah, no thanks to you. Where were you anyway? I could have sworn you were right beside me.”

  Zane grins. “I knew my father couldn’t resist you. I wanted to give you plenty of space to be convincing.”

  I give him a disappointed frown. “You could have been a little more supportive.”

  His face is immediately remorseful. “Sorry.”

  After a pause, I say, “Well, that is my specialty.”

  “What?”

  “Getting information that people don’t want to give.”

  ***

  My fingers strum against the supple leather of the armchair as Zane and I sit and wait for Harlow to join us in his study. When he enters the room, his hair is slightly damp, and he smells of shower gel and aftershave.

  Taking a seat in the upholstered chair across from us, Harlow fixes his gaze on me. He crosses his legs and clasps his hands at the knees.

  “Now, what is it you want to know, Miss Preston?”

  I lean forward. “What happened twenty-one years ago when my father was working for you? I know he was involved in something.”

  For a moment, it looks like he’s waging an internal war, his face trying to mask whatever it is he’s feeling. But then he sighs as if the weight of the world is crushing down on his chest. “No one was ever supposed to know the truth,” he says. “It was a mistake. An accident. I behaved poorly, and because of it, I’ve suffered more than I thought I could endure.”

  “What happened?” I ask, easing to the edge of my seat.

  Harlow looks directly at Zane, measuring his words. “I suspected your mother was having an affair, but I didn’t want to believe it.” His gaze shifts to his feet for a moment. When he looks up, the lines around his eyes make him appear ten years older than he really is. “I had just mastered genetic modification and convinced your mother to carry the first genetically modified baby—”

  I interrupt him then, because I can’t bear to hear another lie spew from his mouth. “That’s not entirely true though, is it? Zane isn’t the very first GM, is he?”

  Harlow leans forward in his chair and stares at me. “What do you mean, Miss Preston?”

  “I mean,” I say slowly, “that the Fringe have been harboring GMs from your first wave of genetic experimentations. Those who survived, that is.” At Harlow’s shocked look, I continue, “Yes, I know all about what you did to those innocent babies at the Match 360 Headquarters in Rubex. All in your quest to discover the perfect genome.”

  “Father, what is she talking about?” Zane asks, his voice even.

  Harlow slumps against his seat, as if I’ve stolen every ounce of energy he has. “My sins.”

  “Is this true? Did you experiment on babies?” Zane’s eyes are wide, incredulous.

  “Yes, and it was… reprehensible. I know that now. Once everything happened with your mother, I shut the program down.”

  “You shut it down?” I repeat, my mind reviewing what Trey told me in the Compound about the extraction from the AIG facility years ago that went terribly wrong, resulting in the death of many men and women, fathers and mothers. “Then that means you gave the government those children. For their own experiments.”

  Harlow frowns. “No. After Zane’s mother died, I wanted to wipe my hands of it all. I told Steele—who was in University at the time and plenty old enough to manage part of the company—to take care of it.”

  “What happened to my mother?” Zane demands. “I want to know.”

  Harlow straightens a bit in his chair, ready to continue his story. “As I was saying, I convinced your mother to carry the first baby with the perfect genome. I’ll admit, Penelope was a little too old to be the ideal candidate, but physically, she was strong and capable.”

  “But I thought—” Zane begins.

  Harlow holds up a hand to stop him. “Please, son, let me finish.” He pauses to gather his thoughts. “When I found out your mother was carrying twins, I didn’t know what to think or how that was possible. On the one hand, the process for genetic modification doesn’t really allow for duplicates, so my first assumption was that only one baby was genetically modified and the other was not. When she was in her third trimester, I ordered blood work done to check the development of the fetuses and to determine which was modified. My lead geneticist at the time…” His eyes flit to me. “Sienna’s father took the sample, but when he gave me his report, I noticed parts of it were missing. Curious, I asked him about it, but he denied tampering with it.”

  My heartbeat pulses against my skin, making me keenly aware of each beat. I might finally understand what happened with my dad so many years ago.

  “Naturally,” Harlow continues, “I did some investigating and discovered a shock beyond imagination. Both babies were genetically modified, which, per my theories, couldn’t happen. But then I realized that while one of the babies was genetically mine, the other was not.”

  “How is that possible?” Zane asks, his voice rising in disbelief.

  I reach over and place my hand on his knee, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze before returning my hand to my lap. This does not go unnoticed by Mr. Ryder, who raises one eyebrow into a perfect arch. Zane ignores him, and Harlow continues.

  “Apparently, my geneticist, Mitch Hoover, implanted two fertilized eggs, one from myself with all the qualities I had chosen for my son, and one Penelope, unbeknownst to me, had created with all the characteristics she wanted in a son. But it wasn’t my DNA she used. Oh, no. She used the DNA of the man she’d been having an affair with—Bryant Winchester.”

  My eyes shift to Zane to see how he’s handling this. His fists are clenched and a muscle in his jaw twitches.

  “When I found out, I’ll admit, I didn’t handle it well. I confronted her, yelled a bit, made her cry—” He stops as his voice becomes choked with emotion. A good thirty seconds pass before he continues. “Then I did something I will forever regret. I don’t know what I was thinking—” He shakes his head. “I went to Mitch and ordered him to take care of the baby who wasn’t mine or else he would be fired. I suggested that maybe something could happen during delivery…” He stops, letting the thought hang like a poisonous gas filling the air.

  My throat closes. An innocent baby. My thoughts turn to Trey, who I recently learned is not only genetically modified, but also Zane’s brother. Him. Harlow wanted my father to kill him. The man I now love. Kind of ironic, really.

  Zane shifts in his seat, and I look at him to gauge his reaction. His head rests in his hands.

  “I’m not proud of what I did,” Harlow continues. “I drove your mother away. She ran off to be with Bryant Winchester and give birth to her sons. When I realized where she’d gone, I tried to find her. At the time, the Fringe was barely getting off the ground, but I’d heard they were hunkered down in some abandoned building until they finished their Compound. An old friend of mine, George Radcliffe, offered to help. He had military training and said he could find them.”

  Harlow pauses, filling his lungs with a deep breath, before exhaling it slowly. “And find them, he did. I guess I didn’t think for a minute what the repercussions of showing up at the Fringe site with a government official and a few soldiers would be.” His face takes on a pained expression. “Your mother had just given birth to the two of you only hours earlier. She was still recovering… When Radcliffe and his men stormed the Fringe site, she was caught in the crossfire. She was killed along with several other Fringe men and women.” Harlow swallows hard, his eyes watery. “In all the confusion, Bryant grabbed one of the babies, and Radcliffe grabbed the other, not knowing if the baby they held was the
one with the right DNA.”

  Finally, it all makes sense. My father’s role in this. The guilt he must have felt knowing he was the one who helped Penelope fool her husband, which in the end resulted in her death. And perhaps after Penelope’s death, he did fear for his life. Harlow’s wrath.

  “At first, I didn’t want to know.” Harlow’s eyes are brimming with tears. “I didn’t want to know if the baby Radcliffe brought to me was mine genetically or not. But then, I had to. It was like a disease spreading through me. I’d lie awake at night. Wondering.” He glances at Zane, who is sitting straight as a board, hardly breathing.

  “After I did the testing, I decided it didn’t matter—”

  “Wait,” Zane interrupts. “Why wouldn’t it matter?”

  “Because I decided that, no matter what, you were my son.”

  “Which means…” Zane says slowly.

  Harlow heaves a huge sigh. “Which means that, genetically, Trey Winchester is my son.”

  5

  SIENNA

  The room is deathly quiet until Zane bursts to his feet and roars, “How could you keep this from me? All these years? How could you?”

  Harlow’s face goes pale. “I’m sorry, Zane. I didn’t want you to think less of me—”

  “You mean you didn’t want me to know the truth. About how you killed my mother,” he snaps. His forehead is scrunched and a muscle in his jaw twitches uncontrollably. I’ve never seen him look so angry, like he could smash through a wall with one swipe of his fist.

  Zane closes his eyes and lets out a rush of air, before opening them and fixing Harlow with his steely gaze. “I can’t do this.” He strides out of the room.

  I’m about to go after him, but Harlow’s voice stops me.

  “Sienna—” he starts.

  I turn and glare at him. “You’re such a coward. Did you honestly think he wouldn't find out?” Without waiting for a response, I hurry out of the room after Zane.