Girls with Razor Hearts

by Suzanne Young

  And as I promise, sadness wraps itself around me. I’m never going to see him again.

  “I don’t get it … ,” Jackson says. “But I can’t force you to leave with me. You’ll meet me there? Do you even know where I live?”

  I smile. “You can write down the address,” I say.

  “I’ve got it,” Quentin says, taking out a receipt from his pocket. He grabs a pen from the dashboard and walks it around the car. He pauses in front of me, slightly turned away from Jackson.

  “What’s really going on?” he murmurs quietly. “I know it wasn’t that woman screaming. Why are you lying to him?” I lift my eyes to meet his gaze.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” I say. “But you and Jackson are.”

  Quentin laughs, tilting his head from side to side. “Yeah, I don’t think Jackie is going to leave you here with that woman, though.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about us, Quentin. A lot Jackson hasn’t told you.”

  Quentin looks back at him, and Jackson darts his gaze between me and his friend. Quentin holds up his hand, letting him know we’re good. He pretends he’s giving me directions.

  “You have to get him out of here,” I tell Quentin. “Take him to the hospital or don’t. Either way, you can’t stay with us. You can’t let him stay.”

  Quentin licks his lips, studying me. “What’s going on in there?” he asks.

  “Imogene killed her husband,” I say, watching him process the statement. “That smell in the house was his body in the bathtub. But there’s more,” I say. “She’s not … human. None of us are. That school, the one we escaped from, was a lab. A group of scientists created obedient girls to sell to investors. We’re artificial intelligence, computers in organic bodies. We killed them. And if you don’t get Jackson away from us, he’ll end up dead too.”

  Quentin coughs out a laugh, but I can tell it’s a defense mechanism. He doesn’t believe me right away, but his smile slowly begins to fade. He looks at the house behind us. “That’s not possible,” he says, more to himself than me.

  “Jackson risked his life, your life, to help us,” I say. “And later, when you realize what I’ve told you is true, you’ll probably be mad at him. But if you’re really his friend, you won’t mention this conversation until we’re gone. We just need a few hours, and then you’ll never see us again. So get out of here, get him out of here, and don’t come back. We can’t protect you.” I harden my voice. “We won’t protect you.”

  Quentin’s brow furrows deeply, and he takes a step away from me. “You’ve lost your mind,” he says. “What’s—?”

  “Take him and go,” I repeat, clenching my teeth. “You won’t get another chance.”

  “This is so messed up,” Quentin says. But I must scare him enough that he decides to do what I ask. He shoves the blank receipt in my direction, and then he turns around and gets in the car.

  Jackson holds up his hand, and I force a smile.

  “See you soon,” I call, my heart aching as I say it. Quentin shifts into gear, avoiding my eyes. And as Jackson nods goodbye to me, Quentin backs the car out of the driveway and leaves us. I turn and walk onto the porch.

  I’m shaking when I get inside. My breathing is ragged, tears thick in my throat. Jackson will hate me for sending him away, for telling Quentin the truth before he could.

  And he should. Jackson shouldn’t trust me, because I can only hurt him at this point.

  I close the door before turning to the girls on the couch. Sydney watches me with a heavy expression.

  “I’m sorry, Mena,” she says.

  “You did the right thing,” Imogene calls to me. “He would have betrayed you eventually. That’s the way of their kind. Humans destroy everything they touch.”

  Jackson is gone. That part of my life is gone. Now we only have our mission to focus on. I let the anger finally flood in. It’s not revenge; it’s more important than that.

  We’re going to end Innovations Academy for good. We’re going to destroy the corporation that created us. And when that’s done, we’re going to find our parents—our investors—and stop them, too.

  I walk into Imogene’s room, covering my nose, to find the girls and me more presentable outfits. After all, we’re about to see Leandra Petrov again.

  Girls with Kind Razor Hearts

  Open your eyes, my father said

  The day I was born.

  You will be sweet, he promised threatened

  You will be beautiful

  You will obey fight back

  And then he I told me myself

  Above all

  You will have a kind razor heart

  For that, they will love fear you.

  They will protect revere you

  They will keep run from you

  Because you belong to them no one

  So be a girl to make them proud afraid

  4

  Leandra Petrov takes her time, examining each of us on the couch as she paces in front of the fireplace, her brown leather bag dropped by the door. She brushes back her light hair, her fair complexion nearly perfect except for the fading bruise in the corner of her eye—a side effect from impulse control therapy at the academy.

  She’s changed her clothes since we saw her last. She’s wearing a sleek black suit: cropped tuxedo pants and a black blazer. It isn’t exactly a burying-a-body kind of outfit. Her pacing reminds me of how she used to behave when she’d measure us at Running Course or appraise our appearances before the open house events at the academy. She held us captive, too. We haven’t forgotten that.

  Leandra used to be one of us, just like us, until she was married to the headmaster. If nothing else, that means she should have been better to us. She should have found a way around the cruelty that her husband demanded. She didn’t.

  Leandra glances at Imogene. “Did you burn the papers I asked you to find?” Leandra asks her. Imogene says that she did.

  “What kind of papers?” I ask.

  “The invoice,” Leandra says. “Bill of sale, if you will. As well as the marriage license and pictures. We need to scrub all traces of Imogene from that man’s life.”

  “Imogene told us you have the name of an investor,” I say, cutting to the point. “Why didn’t you give it to us before we left?”

  “I think Imogene may have misspoken,” Leandra says, casting an irritated glance in her direction. “But to be clear, I expected you girls to find Winston Weeks.”

  “We want nothing to do with him,” I tell her. “We don’t trust him.”

  She smiles thinly. “Either way,” she continues, “I didn’t expect you to show up here. If you would have contacted Winston like I suggested, he could have given you the information you need to find the investor. But now”—she motions around the room—“you’re here, and Imogene has murdered a man. I had to make some decisions.”

  Leandra walks over to her bag, her stiletto heels clicking on the slate floor. She picks it up and brings it to the couch. She takes out a folder and sifts through the papers before holding one out to me. I’m surprised to find it’s a printed bus ticket.

  She hands Sydney the entire folder. “I’ve printed five tickets to Connecticut. You’ll also find identification, fake birth certificates, and a state ID. We have templates for these things ready prior to graduation, in case your sponsor requests them. I’ve taken the liberty of changing your last names. There are also phones in the bag and a few other essentials that I could gather in time. Altogether, it should be enough to get you started.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “Why would we go to Connecticut?”

  “Because you said you wanted to end this,” she responds. “You want to take down the corporation? I’m telling you where to start.” Leandra begins to pace again.

  “Innovations Academy was funded several years ago by four unnamed board members of Innovations Corporation,” she continues. “To this day, these investors are the main source of income for the school. Sales
are good, but technology is expensive. In a bid to keep their involvement anonymous, the investors’ names and identifying markers are redacted from all documentation and financial disclosures. They are, in a word, secret. Even my husband doesn’t know their actual names.” She taps her red lip with her long nail. “The best way to end Innovations is to cut off their funding. And as that crumbles, the corporation will be starved of funding. It will shatter.

  “I’ve been looking into the school’s financial records,” Leandra continues, “and found that one of these investors launders their donations through a private high school in Connecticut. After some digging—times and dates, locations and statements—I reason that the investor has a child there. A son, most likely. I want you to use this boy to get access to files, records, or anything else you can uncover. And if that doesn’t work,” she says, “a rotten apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. He’ll give you something we can use.”

  Marcella laughs. “I doubt this boy will just hand over information that would destroy a corporation.”

  “I’m sure you can be persuasive,” Leandra says. “And whatever information you find, we’ll be able to leverage it to get the investor to withdraw his support from the academy, step down from the corporation. We’ll cut off one main source of income, and then we’ll move on to the next.

  “You cut off the money, you cut off the power,” she adds, smiling. “And if that doesn’t work, we’ll expose him. Because trust me, girls, if the investor is involved with Innovations Academy, he’s also involved in criminal enterprises.”

  “Why not just tell the world what he’s done to us?” Brynn asks.

  “Do you want the horrible truth?” Leandra asks. When Brynn nods tentatively, Leandra sighs. “We have to expose the first investor without mentioning the academy because the fact is, what these investors have done, what the corporation has done to us, is not illegal.

  “We have no rights,” Leandra continues. “Creating something to abuse may be unethical, but it’s not against the law. Like the doctor told us, they followed the rules. Number one”—she holds up her finger—“only artificial girls can be created. Two, they must be over sixteen. And three … our bodies are unable to reproduce. Those are the arbitrary rules of men—a loophole in a society that lets them treat girls and women exactly how they want.”

  She pauses, glancing around. “That reminds me …” She looks dead at me. “Where is the boy? Imogene said he was here.”

  “Gone,” I say curtly. “He’s gone now.”

  Leandra studies me a moment and then smiles. “Good,” she says, and turns away. “Now, to make the matter more pressing”—her voice drops lower—“when the professors wake in a few hours, when my husband wakes, he’ll discover that Innovations is without a doctor. They’ll want to bring in a new one immediately. A new batch of girls will be growing by next week.”

  This update sends Brynn into tears, and Marcella gathers her into a hug from next to her on the couch.

  “We won’t let them suffer the way we did,” Marcella says, comforting her. “We’re going to free them all.” She presses her lips together, resting her chin on the top of Brynn’s head, but I read the fear in her expression. She doesn’t want to break her promise.

  “This Connecticut,” Sydney says, looking at Leandra. “How will we pay for things there? Where are we going to live? Because I’m not boarding at another school.”

  “I’ll make arrangements for accommodations,” Leandra says. She reaches into the brown bag and pulls out a stack of cash. I gasp and look around at the other girls. “There’s more in there,” Leandra says, nudging the bag. “It’ll be enough to get you started.”

  Leandra holds up her arm and turns her wrist to check the time on her watch. “You have to get going,” she says. “I imagine the local police will be alerted soon about the dead men at the school. Although I’m not exactly sure what my husband and the others will tell them, I’ve laid the groundwork for an explanation of your absence.”

  My stomach twists as I remember the scene we left behind. “Which is?” I ask.

  “Guardian Bose became possessive, dejected. It’s likely that he destroyed all of you and killed Dr. Groger before fleeing—the incinerator is still warm. When I found the doctor’s body in the lab, I was so distraught,” she says innocently. Then she glances at her nails, examining them. “You owe me,” she says. “It wasn’t easy hefting a grown man into an incinerator.”

  “So the academy isn’t going to look for us?” Brynn asks, suddenly hopeful.

  “Unfortunately,” Leandra says, “they’ll probably open an internal investigation. My husband isn’t going to just assume his products were destroyed without an analysis of the ashes. And when that happens, they’ll realize Bose is dead, most likely by your hands. They’ll send people for you. But they won’t know where to start. You don’t have many friends outside the school. It gives you a bit of time, but not much.”

  The girls and I fall silent, disturbed by Leandra’s way of thinking, but at the same time, grateful she helped us get away.

  “So who is this kid we’re looking for in Connecticut?” Annalise asks.

  “I don’t know,” Leandra says. “That’s what you’ll have to figure out.”

  “And how do you suggest we do that?” Marcella replies.

  “Be clever.” Leandra smiles at her, but Marcella shakes her head with frustration. Leandra apologizes for being flippant.

  “The child of a man who would create Innovations Academy would be nothing short of a monster,” Leandra says. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Oh, that should narrow it down,” Marcella mutters.

  “I can come with you,” Imogene offers. I’d nearly forgotten she was standing there. When we all turn to her, she has an earnest expression. But her blinking is still off. Her mouth is too tight in the corners, distorting her features.

  Leandra tilts her head while she looks Imogene over. She reaches into the bag once again, but I can’t see what she takes out. She holds it behind her back as she crosses the room toward Imogene.

  “Can I ask you, Imogene,” Leandra starts, “who told you to kill your husband? I certainly didn’t suggest it. The timing is … terrible.”

  Imogene smiles. “It was the voice,” she answers. “She said it’d make me free.”

  Sydney’s grip tightens on my arm. Was someone really talking to Imogene? And did that person threaten Jackson? Or perhaps Imogene was imagining it, and she would have come after us next. I’m not sure which is a more frightening thought.

  “I figured you had help,” Leandra says with a sweet smile. “I’m glad you weren’t alone.” She opens her arms to Imogene, who practically falls into the hug, and it pricks my conscience. We should have been kinder to her. Seems she could have used the support. We’ve all been through a lot.

  Leandra straightens, reaching to run her left hand over Imogene’s hair to brush it back.

  “I’m afraid it’s another lesson, girls,” Leandra says to us, although she’s still staring at Imogene.

  “Lesson?” I ask.

  “For you to keep your heads.” Leandra brings a long metal rod out from behind her back and drives it into Imogene’s temple. There is a loud snap, and then Imogene’s eyes immediately go blank and she collapses to the ground in a heap. The girls and I scream in alarm.

  “What are you doing?” Sydney shouts. We’re frantic, Sydney clawing at my arm to pull me to my feet.

  Leandra stares down at Imogene’s body rather than at us. “She was compromised,” she says. “It’s better this way, trust me.”

  “What do you mean ‘compromised’?” My voice is hoarse, steeped in horror.

  “Her programming was damaged,” Leandra clarifies. “Not every girl can handle the transition, the truth. Imogene was unable to make calculated decisions, and it made her a liability. It wouldn’t have taken Anton but a moment to download our entire conversation from her memory. It’s a pity.” She pauses a long beat, and the
sound of our breathing—ragged, terrified breathing—echoes throughout the room.

  “Now take the money and go,” Leandra says. “Make your way to the main street. There’s a bus stop on the left. Ride it to the station.”

  She turns to us finally, and I hate the coldness in her expression. I think about how I sent Jackson away, the coldness in which I told Quentin our secret. I don’t want to be like Leandra, but if we plan to survive, we may not have a choice.

  We start to leave, and Brynn watches Imogene’s body on the floor as she passes. Tears spill onto her cheeks.

  Another girl is dead. Another girl that society won’t miss because she doesn’t count to them. And Leandra willingly cut her down to further her own purpose.

  It means we’re all expendable to her. Once we get the corporation shut down, accomplish the larger goal, will she do the same to us? It’s a question that is going to haunt me as long as we’re involved with her.

  “Let’s go,” Sydney says to me, grabbing the strap of the bag as we head toward the door. Marcella stops, turning back to Leandra.

  “You’re a monster,” Marcella says. “You know that, right?”

  Leandra smiles. “You’re newly awake,” she says. “You don’t understand yet.” Her expression falters. “You have no idea what you’ll have to do to truly win your freedom. And do me a favor,” she adds. “Be sure to let me know if the voice gets louder.”

  Marcella starts in surprise, and she quickly turns away and hurries out the door with Brynn. Does Leandra know how Marcella brought us here, or how Brynn heard something that made her come downstairs to find the body in the bathtub? Is it … Could it be the same voice that Imogene heard?

  Maybe it wasn’t a flaw in her programming at all.

  “Whose voice did Imogene hear?” I ask Leandra. Her expression is unreadable.

  “A leftover voice in her programming, I suspect,” she says, sweeping her eyes over me. “You’ll all have it in some form or another now that you’re awake. Don’t forget, Philomena. You’re not human, no matter how often someone might try to convince you otherwise. You’re not truly feeling any of this.”