Imitation

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “I figured I’d dance and get it over with but that last one …” I shudder.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t get you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A few weeks ago, you’d have danced with that creeper and giggled the entire time his hands slid over your backside. Now, you act disgusted with this whole scene. Did that hit on your head really do that much damage?”

  “I …” My response dies in my mouth. I want so badly to tell him the truth, but I don’t dare. The truth will only bring him trouble. “Maybe. I do feel different.”

  I am drawn to someone behind him. A familiar face buried far back in the crowd. I stop dancing but continue to hold Obadiah’s hand. The pressure of it anchors me. It is the only thing assuring me I haven’t somehow been transported back to Twig City.

  Hers is a face I’ve seen a million times. Before I go to bed and moments after I wake each morning as we share our ritualistic smile. She is Anna, the occupant of the bunk beside my own. And although I can only assume it is her Authentic staring back at me, the way her eyes lock onto mine from across the room suggests something else. Something more meaningful.

  “Who is that?” I ask.

  “Who?” Obadiah twists around, arching his back as he searches for the one who’s caught my interest. “Oh, you mean Annalyn?” He turns back to me, his forehead wrinkling in thought. “I think her father’s a statesman. Benner is the last name. I don’t know her very well. Do you?”

  “I … don’t know.”

  The girl circles the outskirts of the crowd, still watching me. “Well, it looks like she knows you. Should we talk to her?”

  “Yes.”

  I don’t wait to see if Obadiah follows me through the crowd. A growing sense of urgency propels me forward. I deftly slip around the bodies that stand between us. When I’ve almost reached her, the girl suddenly spins on her heel and retreats. I increase my pace, almost running by the time the girl rounds the corner ahead of me.

  I catch sight of the ends of her hair trailing out behind her—the only evidence of the direction she’s gone.

  “She went into the ladies’ room,” Obadiah says from behind me. He is panting as if even this small amount of exercise has winded him. “I’ll have to wait here.”

  I hesitate. It’s clear this girl wants me to follow her. Alone. “Maybe this isn’t …”

  “You came this far. You might as well see what she wants,” he says. “Go on. I’ll be right here.”

  I take a deep breath and walk inside.

  The stalls are empty. I am confused and wondering if I somehow missed the girl’s quick exit. I am headed for the door when a hand closes over my shoulder and spins me around. I muffle a scream and come face to face with Anna. Or Annalyn.

  She holds a finger to her lips, shushing me. Gingerly, she reaches down and unhooks the brooch attached to the shoulder of my dress. It pins the gauze in place that hangs down my back like a one-sided cape—and also acts as a one-way radio transmitter for my security team. She sets it on the floor between us and stomps on it until it is crushed into pieces.

  “What are you doing?” I cannot help but feel panicked. Something about this girl—whichever version of herself I’ve just met—feels unpredictable.

  She doesn’t answer and I notice her arm, the place where her GPS should be. A wound, scabbed over and fresh at the edges, mars the delicate skin of her forearm. I fall silent and stare at her cut flesh. It is an anomaly I can’t explain for either version of the girl standing in front of me.

  The stomping ceases. She looks up at me, apparently satisfied with her handiwork and oblivious to my confusion. “Now we can talk.”

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “Who are you?” she fires back.

  “I am Raven,” I say, the words tasting uncertain in my mouth.

  Her hands are on her hips, the scab glaring at me. “Wrong answer. Try again. Who. Are. You?”

  I don’t answer. Every other Authentic I’ve met here has some small tell that gives them away as different. So far, I’ve seen nothing to suggest she isn’t the girl I nod at every morning. But that’s not possible. She was there when I left.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  She reaches up and pulls her hair away from her scalp, exposing the spot just behind her ear. There, in plain black ink, is the mark of a tree with tiny numbers stamped along the base of the trunk.

  I gasp. “Anna? It’s you. But how? You were …”

  “Still at home when you left?” She shrugs. “Not anymore.”

  “And Ida? Lonnie?” Hot tears brim at the edges of my lids before I can stop them and I almost choke on my words. “How are they?”

  “Ida’s … she’s having a hard time,” Anna says quietly.

  I nod and a tear slips out. I don’t bother to wipe it until it’s halfway down my cheek. I feel responsible, though it’s not as if I had a choice in leaving. “Lonnie does a good job distracting her, though. Some new music and movies came in just before I left.” She stops abruptly as if she’s changed her mind about whatever she wanted to say.

  Something about her expression makes me nervous. “When did you leave?”

  “Couple of days ago. Marla had a car waiting for me and they snuck me out a back door.”

  I know all too well the door she refers to. Memories of that door, of my last steps inside Twig City, make me nostalgic. My stomach twists. With homesickness, longing. Regret. I hate that I feel as if I’ve abandoned my friends.

  “Do you—I mean, how are you doing with your … role?” I ask. I am unsure what to call it or what is expected of Anna. I don’t imagine her circumstances are anything like my own, but I have no way of knowing.

  “My role is a lie.”

  Her words are twisted with disgust and I cannot disagree, though I am hesitant to voice my own misery just yet. My suspicions haven’t been alleviated at her finding me here. If anything, they’ve heightened. If Annalyn—the Authentic—was a staple at these sorts of functions, wouldn’t I have seen her by now?

  “Your arm …” I trail off, unsure how to finish. “Your GPS?”

  “Gone,” she says simply.

  I shake my head. None of this makes sense. “But … how are you here, Anna? How did you find me?”

  Something subtle changes and I know I’ve hit the mark. “I didn’t,” she admits. “Well, not on my own, at least. I had help.”

  “Who?” The knot in my stomach tightens.

  “Don’t get upset, okay, she won’t hurt you anymore. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She’s—”

  Anna is cut off as the bathroom door opens and a girl walks in. Her red hair hangs loose down her back and she smirks when she sees me, a satisfied, confident sort of smile.

  I scream. The sound is muffled by Anna’s hand clamping over my mouth. She yanks me backward against her chest and holds me by wrapping her free hand around my neck while my feet hop and jump and struggle to carry me away.

  “Relax, Raven,” the redhead says. “Or should I say, Ven. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  The sound of my real name sends a shock through me. I go still in Anna’s arms and for a moment, I am lost. I cannot remember how I got here or who I’m supposed to be.

  I don’t know who I am.

  But then she smiles and it all floods in again. This party. The night in the alley. Her words just now: I’m not here to hurt you.

  I don’t believe her. I can’t. Not after the marks she left the last time we met. I renew my struggle against Anna’s hold. I can feel her arm loosening. Adrenaline surges through me and I yank sideways and then I am free. I barrel into the redhead with my head down and my shoulder jutting out, the force of it knocking her aside as I tumble out the restroom door.

  The hallway is empty. Obadiah is nowhere in sight. My shoulders heave, the exertion and panic wreaking havoc on my bruised windpipe. But I will not be cornered by the redhead, not again.

  I am frantic to find Obadiah. I know
she has done something to him. That thought is enough to tempt me to turn around and fight. If not for me, then for him. But I am no match for her. My only option is escape. At least until Linc and the others come for me.

  I shove the stairwell door open and hurry through.

  I have only a split second to decide up or down before I hear the door opening behind me. Anna and her friend with the iron fists are chasing me. I race downward. I am faster heading down. And I am too afraid of being trapped on a rooftop to go upward. I hope Obadiah is down.

  My heels create an echoing thump against the stairs. The sound is drowned out by the masculine pounding of boots as the redhead—who has not bothered to dress for a party—gives chase. I reach a door and race through too fast to read the sign above.

  Inside, it is pitch-black and I dart sideways around some sort of exhaust system just as the door opens behind me. I crouch down, my heart thumping so loud I am sure it will give me away.

  When my vision adjusts enough to make out shapes, I continue left, darting farther inside what is apparently a boiler room. Exhaust steam rises up around me, sucked out massive piping capped with giant fans that carry it toward a ventilation shaft overhead. The booted footsteps have faded. The redhead has, for the moment, chosen a direction opposite of my hiding spot.

  I calculate the distance to the glowing exit sign.

  My escape plan is sidelined when far back, I hear voices. One of them is obviously male and annoyingly familiar and I cannot fight my curiosity. I hurry closer, careful to stay hidden behind the exhaust units. It isn’t until I’m almost upon them that I realize it is Daniel and the redhead. I inch closer until their strained conversation reaches me.

  “… Wasn’t the agreement,” Daniel says.

  “Obviously. Anna came on her own—”

  “Annalyn,” he interrupts. “I’ve told you over and over, Mel, you have to call them by their Authentic’s name. One slip-up is all it would take to bring this whole thing crashing down.”

  Daniel’s words are starkly similar to the stranger I heard with Titus yesterday. But Daniel can’t possibly be referring to the same thing. Can he?

  “Whatever,” the girl mutters. “Annalyn broke protocol. She got excited seeing a familiar face. I had to haul ass to get down here before she did any real damage.” Her tone is absent of the malicious twist she always uses with me. She sounds annoyed. And slightly defensive.

  “Are you saying you can’t handle one measly little product?”

  “Please,” she scoffs. “I handled it. Stop worrying.”

  “As long as you keep screwing it up, I’ll worry. Please tell me no one else saw you.”

  “No one else saw me?”

  “Melanie,” he growls. “This is serious.”

  Melanie. Her name is Melanie.

  She sighs. “There was a guy standing outside the bathroom when I got there. I handled it.”

  “What guy?”

  “Whitcomb, I think?”

  “Father or son?”

  “Son.”

  Daniel curses. “You can’t hurt him. All we need is his product coming in.”

  “I only knocked him out. I don’t even think he saw me.”

  “You better hope so. Where’d you stash him?”

  “In the coatroom. I still don’t understand why we need this chick. We’ve got plenty of others already stashed.”

  “And you don’t need to understand,” he snaps at her. “You only need to follow orders. And you can barely do that.”

  “Bite me.”

  He grins. “Plenty of time for that later, baby.”

  She sidles up to him and presses her body to his. “Promise?” she asks in a husky voice.

  “If you finish what you started with Raven, then yes.”

  Melanie scowls and steps back. “I’ll finish what I started all right,” she mutters.

  “No more trying to kill her,” Daniel says. “We want her alive. And besides, she’s only a product.”

  “I know that. I just … when I saw her, all I saw was the other Raven. I couldn’t help myself.” She shrinks under Daniel’s glare. “It won’t happen again,” she adds.

  “Where’s Raven now?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably slipped out.”

  “I need to go wipe the security feed. Make sure no one IDs either of us. No more screw-ups, Mel. I mean it. Next time I tell you to grab this girl, make it happen.”

  “It’s not my fault. That freaking security guy is like a ninja,” she says. “He keeps saving her ass.”

  Daniel nods. “Linc Crawford. I’ll speak to Gus.”

  “Can’t you get him reassigned?”

  “Not without tipping off Titus.”

  “What the hell good was it to force Titus to switch Gus for his product if he can’t help with stuff like this?”

  “Because, idiot, it gives us the inside track on Titus’s whereabouts. I made sure he was gone tonight, didn’t I? And now it’s all for nothing because you couldn’t control one stupid product.”

  “Don’t call me an idiot,” she snaps.

  “I’ll figure something out to deal with Crawford. Get the hell out of here and back to base. And no more calling me to social events. This was too risky.”

  “Yes, sir,” she says, her words full of sarcasm. She gives him an exaggerated salute. Then she presses a quick kiss to Daniel’s scowling mouth and slips away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two days later, I have examined every book, essay, and newspaper I can find in Rogen Tower. None of them mention what I’m looking for: Twig City. I wonder how many others from this world know its name or even that it exists. I am tempted to ask Gus. I’ve seen him only twice since the night I heard Daniel and the redhead—Melanie—say that he is an Imitation. A product, as they call it.

  Both times he is the same old Gus, grouchy and silent. His examiners would be proud of the way he’s integrated himself as his Authentic. He seems completely immersed in his role. Because of that, I can’t bring myself to give away what I know. About him. Or Senator Ryan. Or his son.

  One thing is clear. Titus has no idea it is Daniel trying to kill me. And I have no idea if he’ll even believe me if I tell him. Or if I want him to. The redhead’s words replay in my mind so many times, they are imprinted on the inside of my eyelids: or the others we’ve got stashed.

  I go back to what the stranger in the study said to Titus, about being disturbed by all of the disappearances. And I think he must mean Imitations are disappearing. Being taken. By Daniel, it looks like. The idea of Imitations being held against their will somewhere in this city gives me enough pause that I don’t tell Titus what I know. Not all of it. And then I remember the fresh wound on Anna’s arm. Her missing GPS. Her complete willingness to be aligned with Melanie.

  Deep down, I know my reticence is due to one thing. Would I be better off letting Daniel and Melanie have me? I don’t have an answer for that yet.

  The only reason I went forward with the story of my attack was for Obadiah. By the time I arrived at the coatroom to check on him, he’d already woken and notified security. The police were called—the first time I’d seen a legitimate police officer since arriving at Rogen Tower—and an official report made. Titus showed up and swept me away before I could give more than a preliminary statement, shushing me all the way to the car.

  Once inside, I gave him an edited version of events, careful to leave out all mention of Annalyn being Anna or the fact that Daniel was there, a veritable string-puller. When I mentioned Melanie, Titus’s face went red and he pressed his lips together so tightly they turned white. He hasn’t been home since. From Gus and the other security guards who watch me, I’ve gathered he is holed up inside Twig City. I can only guess he’s trying to ready his new product line more quickly than intended.

  The men are tight-lipped about everything. My exercise routine goes by the wayside. They are all on edge and I overhear a couple of them talking about the men who were with me
at the party that night. Both team leaders were fired and no one has heard from them since. The general consensus is that any one of them will be next.

  For their sakes, I want so badly to say it is Daniel who Titus wants. Daniel who works with him. Daniel who comes to dinner and hangs on his every word. Daniel who will someday run the empire he is secretly already trying to take over. Or crush.

  But I don’t. Because six words repeat over and over in my head.

  … Or the others we’ve got stashed.

  And I know if Imitations are in danger, there is absolutely no one else in the entire world who can help them—except maybe me.

  I close the book I’m holding and return it to the shelf with the others that contain essays on subterranean particles. It is a dusty shelf tucked away in the corner of the parlor. There is nothing helpful here, but I’ve been through everything else.

  “What are you looking for?”

  I spin and find Linc standing just inside the open door. His expression is one of open curiosity but I know it’s more than that. For the past two days, he’s kept his distance, watching with sharp eyes as I search through the tomes for answers. Now that I’ve come up empty, I realize I never expected much to begin with.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. And because I’ve never come right out and asked, I add, “How much do you know about the work done by RogenCorp?”

  “They conduct scientific research for private companies through grants and donations,” he says, eyeing me as if he thinks it’s a trick question. “Why?”

  “Just trying to understand more about what they do.”

  “Why don’t you ask your father?”

  I stare at him pointedly.

  “Yeah, okay,” he says. “But why the sudden interest?”

  I shrug. “Nothing better to do, I guess.”

  He folds his arms across his chest in challenge. “You’re lying.”

  “All right. I think the people after me have some connection to RogenCorp.”

  He straightens, instantly alert. “What makes you think that?”

  I return his gaze without a word. I can see the frustration set in. I hurry to speak again before he can accuse me of another lie. “Do you know a girl named Annalyn Benner?”