by Alicia Ellis
I wasn’t so sure.
After the party cleared and I changed into pajamas, I lay on my bed in my room, staring at the ceiling.
I hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in days. After tonight’s excitement, I felt like a shell of myself. Like I was running on automatic and seconds from sputtering to a stop. Despite the multiple cups of coffee I’d drunk today, I could no longer fight the urge to sleep. It was happening, whether I liked it or not.
I needed to do everything I could to avoid another sleepwalking incident. It was looking less and less like I was a killer, but I had no desire to wake on the side of the road regardless.
I squatted to better leverage my weight and shoved one of my two tall dressers until it blocked the door. I pushed the other one in front of the window. It turned out to be easier than I expected, thanks to my arm’s strength. I might have been grateful for the thing, if it weren’t the cause of all my troubles.
With the furniture in place, I almost climbed under the bedcovers. But that was too easy. If I could move those dressers without breaking a sweat, it would be just as easy for my sleeping self to move them out of my way should sleeping-me feel the need to take a late-night walk.
My desk sat on the other side of my spacious room. With my left arm, I gripped a handhold on its underside and yanked, trying to pull it away from the far wall. With a snap, one of the desk’s legs cracked, and one corner of the desk crashed to the floor. My hand-screen and textbooks slid off the surface.
I muttered a curse under my breath and pushed the desk the rest of the way across the room, until it pressed against the dresser in front of the door. Fortunately, I’d managed to keep the two dressers intact.
The desk, on the other hand, would not recover. The two legs on one side had cracks in them, while the two others had split, and the desk surface now slanted deeply to one side. Most likely, it would collapse altogether at some point. If not during the night, then when I moved it in the morning.
Oh well. Maybe the broken desk would keep me inside my room tonight. I toyed with the idea of moving my bed too, but maybe I was being too paranoid.
The relocated furniture did little to ease my mind as I lay in bed. For two hours, I stared at the smooth ivory of my ceiling. One corner held a hairline crack that my mother would freak over if she noticed.
At two o’clock, I was still exhausted and still awake. My mind kept running over last night, and how the man had stood over me but hadn’t gone for the kill.
What had he been waiting for?
I swiped my hand-screen off the nightstand and messaged Hunter. “You asleep?”
“Nope. Are you?”
“Yes,” I wrote back, grinning to myself. “I’m sleep-texting now too.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.” After a pause, another message followed that one. “You okay?”
“You mean after being attacked by an anti-tech serial killer and beating him into a bloody pulp with my artificially intelligent arm? I’m totally cool. How are you?”
“Want me to swing by?”
My fingers hovered over the display, tingling with anticipation. I wanted to say yes, but I hated myself for it. “No, I’m going to try to sleep.”
The response took longer than expected, and for a moment, I thought the conversation was over. “Let me rephrase. I’m going to come by. Leave your window open for me.”
I should have told him no, told him I was fine, but I couldn’t. “Sure.” Excitement squirmed inside my chest, but I pushed it back down and locked it in a little box. This was no big deal, just two friends making each other feel better after a traumatic night.
Fifteen minutes later, my hand-screen buzzed with a message from Hunter announcing he was outside.
After suspending our home security alarms, I shoved the dresser away from the window and stuck my head into the chill night air. Because the killer had—supposedly—been captured, security wasn’t on high alert tonight. In the dim glow of the streetlamps, Hunter sauntered across the lawn as if he had all the time in the world.
With the remains of his limp, he somehow made that uneven stride look sexy. He handled the tree outside my window so deftly that I was impressed he’d only recently become capable of climbing them, thanks to the new knee.
A moment later, he stood in my room, grinning like a Cheshire cat up to no good. He had changed out of his black catering clothing. Now, he wore a pair of dark jeans. A gray T-shirt clung to his chest, covered only partially by a bomber jacket. He shrugged off the jacket and slumped down into the armchair across from my bed.
I felt a twinge of disappointment that he didn’t try to sit on the bed next to me. I sucked it up and sat cross-legged, facing him.
He nodded toward the furniture against the door and quirked an eyebrow at me. “Still concerned about the sleepwalking?”
“Nah. I just did some redecorating. That desk had too many legs.”
He chuckled, but then his face went serious. “Get some sleep. I’ll stay here and wake you if you try to escape.”
“Won’t your mom worry if you don’t come home?”
“She feels bad that I struggled with my knee for so long. She pretty much lets me do whatever I want now. I’ll just let her know I’m at a friend’s.” He touched his ear and instructed his comm, “Send a message to Mom: I’m staying at a friend’s tonight. See you tomorrow.”
If I sent a message like that to my mother, she would flip out. All of CyberCorp’s security would comb the city for me. It would be a disaster of epic proportions—most likely involving screaming, cursing, and the National Guard.
“So you’re all mine until tomorrow?” I asked.
“Or longer.” He stared me in the eye when he answered.
Heat climbed over my cheeks and burrowed deep.
“You look exhausted,” he said.
“You really know how to flatter a girl.”
He chuckled. “It’s okay to go to sleep. I promise I’ll watch you.”
“You don’t need to sleep too?”
After a moment of thought, he pulled the chair over to the window and sat down again. “If you try to leave by the door, I’ll hear you move that dresser. If you try to leave by the window, you’ll have to climb over me. Either way, you’ll wake me, and I’ll stop you from leaving this room. So we can both sleep. Okay?”
I nodded and grabbed my hand-screen from the nightstand to reenable my home’s alarms. Then I climbed under the covers and snuggled into the soft pillows. It had been four days since I got into bed feeling relaxed enough to sleep. Tonight, I was safe.
Tonight, Hunter would watch over me. I wouldn’t kill anyone, and no one would kill me.
I emerged from the covers to tell him goodnight and caught him grinning at me. “What?”
“It’s kind of like we’re sleeping together.”
“Shut up and go to sleep.” I tried not to smile but failed colossally.
“Okay, okay. And don’t worry. Nothing bad’s going to happen.”
21
In the morning, I woke with a pit of dread growing in my stomach, but it dissipated with my first glance around the room.
The dresser and broken desk still sat against the door. Hunter sat in the chair under the window, his body sprawled out into almost a lying position, his mouth hanging open.
I grabbed a throw pillow from the floor and lobbed it at him. It hit him square in the face. True to his word about being able to watch over me even while sleeping, Hunter leapt to his feet, arms up in a ready stance. I cracked up laughing.
The tension fell from his face when he spotted the pillow on the floor beside him. “This is what I get for being your knight in shining armor.” He slumped back into the chair.
“I don’t need a knight in shining armor.” I pointed at my left arm. “I literally am in shining armor. But I did need someone to have my back last night, and you did that. Even knights need backup every once in a while.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “M
y mistake.”
A fist pounded on the door to my room. “I’ve told you a hundred times not to lock your door, Lena,” my mother called. “Your father and I have to head to the office. How are you feeling after last night?”
“Crap,” I muttered. It was a good thing I’d locked it. Otherwise, she would have asked why I had a dresser and a desk in front of my door, and that would have been harder to explain. I tumbled out of bed and ran into the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” Hunter called after me in a loud whisper.
I turned the shower on full blast. The sound of water battering tile filled the room. A few seconds later, my mother’s footsteps receded down the hall.
“She’s not going to expect me to unlock the door if she thinks I’m in the shower,” I said. “Like I said, I’m my own knight in shining armor.”
He gave an appreciative nod, and then pointed toward my bedroom door. “I should head out before she gets back. You want some help moving that furniture?”
“Sure.”
Hunter helped me move the dresser and desk—or what was left of it—back into their regular places. When we finished, he headed toward my window.
I stopped him by wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. “Thank you for hanging out with me overnight.”
“Anytime.” His voice came out low. It vibrated through his chest and into mine.
His arms clasped around my waist, and I leaned into his chest, inhaling the scent of him. Now familiar, the fresh soapy-minty smell that lived on his skin filled up my nose and my head. Reluctantly, I pulled back—just as his face came forward to where mine just was.
His face flushed deep red, and he released my waist so abruptly that my knees collapsed under me.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hunter gripped me by the forearm and pulled upward while I pushed off with one leg, sending me reeling into his chest. “Oh, God.” He stumbled away from me, one hand covering his eyes. As if not looking at the awkwardness of this moment could make it go away.
Despite trying my best to hold it in, laughter burst from my chest like soda no longer under pressure. It felt so good that I let it roll through until my whole body shook.
Hunter stared at me, a scowl curling his lips downward.
“I’m so sorry.” But as soon as I spoke, another wave of laughter came. When he didn’t laugh, I inhaled a long breath and held it until I composed myself. “Were you trying to kiss me?”
“Um . . .”
“It’s okay if you were.”
He grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his lips tightly together. “It’s okay. We don’t have—”
“Shut up.” I pressed my lips against his.
His lips were warm and soft. He didn’t press the moment, just held me while I enjoyed the feeling of closeness. When I opened my lips, he did too. And he tasted like he smelled—sweet and perfect, like peppermint hot chocolate at just the right temperature.
“You should go,” I whispered. My lips brushed against his with each word, and my spine tingled with heat that threatened to light my whole body on fire.
“I’ll see you later,” he whispered against my lips.
I nodded. When I realized I still clutched his shirt, I released my grip, each finger uncurling one at a time, extending this moment for as long as possible.
Hunter pulled away and climbed out the window. He waved from the branches of the tree outside before climbing down and out of view.
My heart still fluttered like crazy. My thoughts swam with both delight and guilt. Pleasure and heartache. I shook my head hard, then took advantage of the already running shower.
Forty minutes later, I joined Marcy and Allie in the kitchen. Marcy was putting clean dishes away, while Allie worked on a bowl of cereal at the table. I pulled up a chair next to Allie and set my hand-screen on the table in front of me.
My parents had already left for work, despite the fact that it was Saturday. Otherwise, they would have demanded Marcy turn the vid-screen off. My mother had this thing against watching it while eating. She found it undignified.
On the screen, the same emotionless blonde newswoman who had reported Harmony’s death sat behind her desk at the television station. Beside her face, a still image showed the man who’d attacked me last night entering the police station in handcuffs. His mouth, half open, was twisted in the midst of shouting something.
One of the few bonuses of being part of CyberCorp’s first family was that the press didn’t have the nerve to flood the front of our home like they’d done to the Millers. The entire town did its best to stay on the good side of Mr. and Mrs. CyberCorp.
Unfortunately, they still had to report the news, and in this case, they couldn’t keep my name out of it.
“A suspect was apprehended last night while trying to kill a third victim, Lena Hayes, daughter of CyberCorp founders Thomas and Marissa Hayes . . .”
Allie let out a choked gasp and stared at me open-mouthed.
“I’m fine.”
Her gaze scanned me from my hair down to my feet. She nodded when she’d satisfied herself that I was still in one piece, and then went back to her bowl of cereal with marshmallows.
She’d eaten most of the marshmallows already. Now, she squinted in concentration as she fished through her bowl with the spoon, trying to capture the few that remained. She scooped two out with a triumphant flourish and sucked them off the spoon.
“Is it good?” I asked her, laughing.
She fished out another marshmallow and thrust the spoon at me. “Last one. Want it?”
“No, but thank you. You eat it, little one.”
She scrunched up her nose at the nickname, then slurped down the last marshmallow. “Finished!” she announced to Marcy.
Marcy craned her neck to get a view of the bowl. “Eat the rest of it, Allie.”
“I’m full.”
Marcy gave her a stern glare.
“I’m gonna eat it,” Allie muttered.
My hand-screen buzzed, vibrating the kitchen table. I swiped it up and checked the display—a call from Claire. The last time I talked to her was that horrible day in the cafeteria—and then Harmony died.
My chest constricted. I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the memory of me twisting her arm, of her hating me only hours before she died.
I sent the call to voicemail and returned my attention to the vid-screen.
The newswoman was still talking about last night. “The suspect has been revealed as Adam Pollock.”
My mouth fell open.
“The Pollocks are an affluent family of philanthropists known for their anti-robotic stance. In recent years, they’ve provided a large amount of funds to assist CyberCorp competitors in non-robotic research and development, in hopes of displacing CyberCorp as the top tech company in the industry. In the past, however, there’s been no evidence of ill will between the Pollocks and the Hayeses.”
I had heard the name Adam Pollock before, but I wouldn’t have imagined he was the outspoken protester I kept encountering—and the man who’d attacked me last night.
If I squinted at the image of Adam and imagined him with darker hair and without the scruffy facial hair, his features almost matched those of his brother Philip. Apparently, although the two had similar values, Philip was the more reserved and deliberate of the two.
The image beside the woman’s face jumped into motion and became a video of Adam being hauled into the police station.
His voice filled the room. “I didn’t kill those kids. I’m innocent!” The video froze, once again leaving Adam’s mouth twisted.
“The police appear to agree with his statement of innocence,” the reporter continued. “Pollock was released just two hours ago. We join him now for a press conference.”
“They released him?” I asked Marcy.
She frowned. “It’s news to me too.”
How could they have released him? I’d had my doubts about his ability to pull off the crimes. Two murders
that required getting past insane security. I couldn’t see those being planned by a man who could barely string a sentence together.
But the fact that he was a Pollock made his guilt more likely. As a member of that family, he had the resources to get past any security he wanted to.
The image on the vid-screen changed, and an outdoor press conference replaced the news studio. Adam Pollock trudged up to a podium, urged along by a man in a perfectly tailored suit. The suited man stood too far from the camera for me to see his face clearly.
Reporters crowded in front of the podium. Pollock reached the microphone in the center and faced the group of about fifteen people. He glanced over at the guy I assumed was his lawyer. The man nodded his encouragement.
Pollock himself was the most astonishing thing about the scene. He’d cut his hair short, so it no longer brushed across his shoulders in a stringy mess. It looked neatly washed and combed out of his face. He, too, wore a perfectly tailored suit in deep gray. Between the hair and the suit, he looked more like a stockbroker than a lunatic protester.
The most shocking thing about his appearance was the injuries to his face. I cringed as he turned toward his audience and the camera. A swollen mess of red and purple covered the right side of his face, with the colored parts mostly centered around his eye, cheekbone, and nose. His left side hadn’t come out of the battle unscathed either, and a series of scrapes marred the area near the eye.
For a moment, I glanced down at the floor, too guilty to look at the damage I’d done. But my curiosity won out, and my attention returned to the screen.
“I want to apologize for my behavior over the past couple weeks.” Pollock’s voice boomed, amplified by the microphone. He stepped back and licked his lips, clearly nervous. “My family wants to assure the public that, although androids threaten our society as a whole, we do not condone violence against humans in the protesting of robotic development.”
A reporter in the crowd shouted, “Why did you attack Lena Hayes?”
Pollock glanced at the lawyer-type again, who nodded. “I offer my sincere apologies to Miss Hayes and her family. I’ve been medicated for psychological issues for a long time, and I briefly went off my meds. I was not in my right mind when I attacked Miss Hayes. That is not who I am or what my family represents.”