Imitation

by Heather Hildenbrand

  I try for haughty or at least impatient when I say, “No problem,” and walk away.

  Across the lobby, the elevator dings, and I hurry to catch it. Gus holds the door while Titus waits inside, his foot tapping. Once inside, I turn around and look for the two teens but the lobby is empty. They are already gone.

  The elevator ride is silent. I focus on who I am—her, not me—and when the doors open I smile widely, donning the mask.

  The first thing I notice is the music. I cannot see where it comes from but it is floaty and wistful in a way that makes my heart ache. Music in Twig City is rare, mostly children’s songs and lullabies. Nothing like this.

  I wander toward the sound, smiling and nodding at men and women in dark suits who do the same for me. No one approaches and I have the sense this is more Titus’s crowd than mine. No one here is my age.

  I am disappointed to realize after two laps around the apartment that the music is only being poured in through overhead speakers. Instead of turning back, I choose an empty hallway, taking in the sight of the expensive art mixed among fancy molding. Muted conversations float up from the party I’ve left behind. It’s an almost enjoyable atmosphere, being here but being apart somehow. The doors I pass are mostly closed but a few are cracked, inviting those who seek privacy. I am curious to find out what goes on in those rooms but too scared at what I’d find if I looked.

  Female laughter bubbles out of a room as I pass, light and airy and Authentic. Before I can turn toward the sound, someone grabs me from behind. I spin quickly, terror and surprise mingling. Any noise I could’ve made sticks in my throat at the sight of Linc. He is dressed in black slacks and a pressed white shirt. It is more formal than yesterday’s ensemble of denim and cotton. I suppose he is trying to blend in here.

  “What are you doing back here?” he demands.

  “I was … looking for the music,” I say. He is standing close enough that I catch the scent of something man-made, some sort of cologne on him. Mixed with the outdoorsy smell that seems to be his signature, it distracts me. I feel my face heat when I realize he’s begun to notice my reaction.

  He drops my elbow. “It’s not safe to wander alone.”

  “I’m not alone. There are people everywhere,” I say.

  “Exactly.”

  I pause, understanding his meaning. Someone here—even in this elite crowd—could have it out for me. Before I can form a response, the trilling laughter comes again from the room behind me, followed by my name.

  “Raven! There you are!”

  A petite blond appears in the doorway and I feel Linc move away from me. She is smiling brightly at me and completely ignoring him. I recognize her from the albums. Taylor. She is Raven’s—my—best friend.

  “Taylor,” I say. It comes out breathy because I am relieved to remember something this important when I am still reeling about the danger I must be in even now.

  She inspects me critically and I freeze. “You look … better than I expected. How’s your head? I didn’t expect you out so soon.”

  “My head’s fine. Sore,” I amend, knowing I should be feeling something from whatever injury I’ve sustained.

  “I should’ve known it wouldn’t keep you away from a good party,” she says. “Did Daniel come with you?”

  Daniel. I recall a face from the photos. A senator’s son. Titus’s right-hand man. The way Linc spoke of him, this boy is being groomed to take over Titus’s business someday. Linc didn’t mention a connection between Daniel and me so I’m not sure what to say to Taylor’s expectant expression. “Um …”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t talked to him yet,” she says. “The paparazzi have been driving him crazy from what I hear, trying to get the dish on what you two were doing together that night.”

  Paparazzi. I remember Linc saying the word when we paged through those albums. Men with cameras, always angling for gossip or secrets or something to sell. As if Raven’s private business is a commodity.

  I stare at Taylor, trying to understand what she’s not saying. Was I with this Daniel the night I—Raven—was injured? Is he special to me—to her?

  “I’ve been so busy with doctor appointments, I guess I haven’t had time,” I say with a careless shrug. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  She smiles and the way her lips curl is insinuating. “I bet you will. Come on, let’s make the rounds and then find the bottle the maid stashed for us.”

  She loops her slender arm through mine and I let her lead me toward the party. Linc falls back and soon I don’t see him anymore. We wander from gathering to gathering. Taylor does most of the talking, her tinkling laughter cutting through even the most serious conversations. Taylor knows everyone and everyone knows Taylor. She is a master at small talk and compliments and leaving everyone smiling in our wake. I wonder if I am usually just as talkative but she doesn’t seem to mind my silence.

  More than once, I feel eyes on me from across the room. I turn, expecting a glower from Titus or Gus’s unsmiling watchfulness. Instead, I find Linc studying me with a careful stare that seems to see everything all at once though he only looks at me. Despite his judgmental treatment, I feel safe with Linc watching.

  When we’ve done a full lap and spoken with everyone present at least once, Taylor leads me through a side door and into a dimly lit room containing rows and rows of coats. Small aisles span right and left, too narrow to walk through without my shoulders brushing the jackets hanging on either side.

  “Shut the door, will you?” Taylor goes to the nearest rack and begins searching pockets.

  I push the door until it latches and then wait while she continues patting down jackets. “What are you doing?”

  “I had the maid leave a stash for us. Should be right around … here!” She pulls her hand free from the pocket of a fur wrap, grinning triumphantly. From her fist dangles a clear glass bottle with blue lettering.

  She motions me over and pulls me down beside her. We sit on the carpet with our legs tucked under us. I try to read the label on the bottle but Taylor uncaps and upends it before I can make out anything beyond the word vodka. She takes a quick swig, grins, and holds it out for me. I take it, trying to seem sure, like I’ve done this a million times.

  I wrap my lips around the opening and tip it back. The moment the liquid hits my mouth, it burns. I wrench the bottle away and squeeze my eyes shut to block out the fire ripping a trail down my insides. I swallow and then cough hard enough to rack my shoulders.

  Taylor laughs. “Damn, Rav. Did hitting your head affect your ability to hold your liquor?”

  I grunt something that isn’t really an answer. She grabs the bottle and takes another swig. All too soon it is my turn again. Like before, I cough and sputter as the liquid cuts a molten path down my esophagus. By the third swallow, the burning lessens and I feel … looser. Taylor is laughing, though neither one of us has said anything remotely funny. For some reason, this makes me laugh too.

  When the door opens, we fall abruptly silent, but that just makes the whole thing funnier and sound erupts around my closed lips.

  I recognize Linc’s shoes before I see his face and I manage to shut up, although I can’t help the brilliant smile that remains. This relaxed version of me is elated to see him again. He appears around the aisle of coats, glaring when he spots Taylor beside me—and the bottle between us. Only then do I realize neither of us bothered to try and hide it.

  “Your father is looking for you,” Linc says.

  His voice is low and deeper than usual. His brows are drawn and I can’t tell if he’s angry because I don’t feel the least bit disturbed by his expression. Or by anything else, thanks to the drink. Then I realize who he means by “father” and the image of Titus wipes the smile from my face in an instant.

  I jump up and mumble something to Taylor about seeing her later.

  “Call me!” Taylor says as I hurry out. I can tell by the sound of her voice she is not the least bit disturbed by the interruption
and has every intention of continuing the party on her own.

  I follow Linc out the door and he whirls on me before I can leave the shadowy alcove that shields us from the rest of the party. “That was monumentally stupid disappearing like that,” he says.

  “I didn’t—I thought you were watching,” I say, stumbling over words that feel thick in my mouth.

  “It doesn’t matter. You should be more careful. You can’t rely on me to be everywhere, to see everything.”

  “Why not?” I ask, cocking my head in genuine puzzlement. “You’ll protect me. And it was just Taylor.”

  “How do you know? There could’ve been someone waiting for you in that room, and I wouldn’t have gotten there in time.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Now that I have, I am afraid—and angry with myself for being so stupid. I try to think of some flippant remark, some quick comeback to hide my fear or the fact that he is right, but my thoughts are cloudy.

  “And to top it off, you’re drinking?” He throws up his hands. “Do you want to die?”

  “No,” I whisper, but he ignores me and keeps on.

  “How am I supposed to protect you if you won’t even protect yourself? I can’t save an idiot. You’re already dead if you keep this up.”

  I step back, feeling as if I’ve been struck.

  Before I can answer, Gus appears. He seems oblivious to the tension between Linc and me as he says, “We’re leaving. Meet us downstairs in five.”

  I reach for the door behind me but Linc shakes his head and steps around me. “Wait here. I’ll get your things.”

  He disappears inside the coatroom before I can argue. The sound of his voice lingers in my ears, an accusing loop of his harsh words. Somehow I know that if Linc has given up protecting me, I don’t stand a chance. But more than that, I hate that I will never, ever earn his respect.

  It takes me all of three seconds to come to a decision. I head for the elevator with quick steps and a fixed stare. I hope my expression is determined and detached enough that no one will question me. And that I don’t run into Titus or Gus. I am sure there are other security officers here watching but none have approached me. I’m counting on them remaining far enough back they won’t notice my intention until it is too late.

  When I reach the foyer, I push the button that will call the elevator and glance around. A few partygoers wander this way but they are wrapped up in their own conversations. I sidestep and slip out the door into the stairwell. It is seventeen flights down but I do not go that way.

  It is three flights to the roof. Even so, I am winded when I reach the door marked “Exit” in glowing red letters. I pause to catch my breath—and curse myself for that third swig of vodka. So far, I’ve heard no sounds behind me, no indication I am being followed.

  I shove the door open. The chilled air sobers me and the tingly feeling in my fingertips and toes lessens. I scan side to side and spot a ladder extending up and over the edge of the roof. My shoes click loudly as I break into a run. For a fleeting moment, I believe I have escaped and it is exhilarating. The liquid fire in my belly burns through my veins, charging me with energy. I increase my speed.

  I’ve never actually allowed myself to imagine something like this. It’s too far-fetched, too impossible. And too dangerous. If I’m caught trying to leave, I will be terminated for sure. If I succeed in escaping, I have nowhere to go and will probably succumb to the elements or starvation anyway. My plan is crazy, ridiculous. Forbidden. But I don’t stop. I would much rather die on my own terms than according to the plans of someone like Titus Rogen.

  I am two steps from the edge when a hand closes over my wrist and wrenches me sideways.

  I scream and then my head hits the brick wall and I am abruptly silent. The pain is instant and overwhelming and I cannot see past the blackness that closes in like a widening funnel around my pupils. My knees buckle and the hand on my wrist is not enough to keep me upright. As I slide to the ground, the hand releases me. I hear a grunt and am not sure whether it belongs to me or my assailant.

  Someone yells. A door slams. Feet pound against concrete, the sound coming closer and closer until I feel someone standing directly over me. I blink but I can no longer see anything around the blackness.

  I hear another grunt—this time I know it’s not mine—and then the sound of someone gagging. It makes my stomach roil and I wonder if I’m capable of vomiting since it would require moving. I cannot make a single muscle work.

  A blur of movement enters my sight line. I blink furiously and through the darkness I see faces. Blurred, angry, contorted. Bleeding.

  Then everything goes black.

  Chapter Five

  When I wake, I am shivering. I blink, each meeting of my eyelids sending a shooting pain through my skull. Fabric rustles as someone leans in and drapes my coat over my shoulders. A familiar face blurs into focus and I relax at the sight of the hard jaw, the forehead creased with worry.

  “Linc,” I say, putting all of my relief into that one word so that it comes out on a cry. I don’t remember much but the little that replays in my mind is full of terror and the certainty that whoever attacked me meant to kill. I whip my head side to side, trying to locate the danger my brain insists still lurks.

  “It’s all right,” Linc says, scooting closer and putting an arm around me. I go still under his touch. “He won’t hurt you ever again.” He pulls me into his chest and rubs my arms and for a moment, I allow myself to forget about how close I came to dying or how furious Titus will be. Instead, I enjoy the feel of Linc’s arms around me and the knowledge that he protected me. I am safe.

  “That’s better. You’ve stopped shaking,” he says a few moments later. I don’t realize until he’s released me that the only reason he held me was for warmth. I bite back my disappointment because there is no room for affection in this life.

  “What happened?”

  “I saved your ass, that’s what happened,” he says, and instantly his concern melts into a heated glare. Accusing. And I remember the last thing he said to me before my failed escape attempt. “You have absolutely no concept of self-preservation, do you?”

  Exhaustion threatens, partly from the alcohol having receded and partly because I realize now how ill-begotten my plan was. “I wasn’t trying to get killed,” I say wearily.

  “Then what the hell were you doing going off alone? You had to know how dangerous it was.”

  Images assault me, broken, jagged, misshapen through my confused memory of what happened after I hit my head. I am fairly certain I remember Linc with his hands wrapped around my attacker’s throat, removing them only when another member of my security team pried them off, all the while someone in the background insisting that once the victim’s face turns purple, the need for pressure is moot.

  “I … I was trying to …” I stop and start only to stop again. I cannot tell him the full truth—that I meant to run away from a life that doesn’t belong to me in the first place. “I wanted to get away, I guess.”

  He makes a sound that is a cross between a snort and a growl and throws up his hands. He doesn’t argue and I have the sense that he has accepted my recklessness as par for the course. I don’t like the idea that he thinks I’ve given up on surviving.

  I wait for him to look at me. When he does, I hold steady even though I want to look away. “I don’t want to die,” I say with conviction.

  He regards me for a long moment and then gives a slow nod. “All right. Then stop lying and making stupid decisions. You’re lucky I found you in time. Next time, I might not.”

  I nod to show I agree to his terms.

  “You have to let me do my job. Stay where I can see you, where I can reach you if something happens. At all times.”

  I hesitate. Agreeing to this means I will not attempt escape again. At least not on his watch. He has no idea what I’m giving up when I say, “Deal.”

  We fall into silence again but this time it is comfortable, almost friendly.
I’m not sure how we came to be alone but I don’t ask just yet. I’m sure Gus and his men will arrive soon enough.

  I tip my head back against the bricks and close my eyes against the pounding that has receded to a dull thud against my temples. A breeze blows strands of hair across my face and all at once I am struck by a need to be upright, to fully soak in the wild freedom of standing in such an open space.

  I struggle to my feet slowly, ignoring Linc’s offered hand because I don’t want to feel the sting of him letting go again, and stare out at the twinkling lights of the city.

  The man who attacked me is nowhere in sight. I am tempted to ask what Linc has done with him, or how long I was unconscious, but I don’t want to break the spell of the view that makes me feel closer to freedom than I have in my entire existence.

  The air on the rooftop is cold and crisp as it blows across my cheeks. It is the best cure for my swirling thoughts. I love the wildness of being surrounded by so much sky. I breathe it in and pretend there is only this. No vodka in coat closets, no dinner parties, no murder attempts. Only open air and night sky forever.

  “You okay?” Linc asks.

  Instead of breaking the spell, Linc’s voice only amplifies it. I force my eyes open and look over at him. “I am now,” I assure him. I don’t add that it’s just as much for standing here as it is for him saving me.

  The lines along his forehead diminish. “That one was a little close,” he says. His tone is off-hand but I can hear the tension underneath. I cannot help the image that replays itself in my mind. It is clearer now—Linc fighting, killing that man. The deadened expression he wore while doing it.

  “Why did they choose you to protect me?” I ask.

  He grimaces and stares straight ahead. “Because I’m the best.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  He is quiet for a long time before he says, “It’s not about good or bad. It means I’m not afraid to die.”

  “Then I’m all wrong for this.” The words are out before I can stop them. As if to stem the flow, I clap my hand over my mouth and stare at him.