“What’s your name?”
“What does it matter to you?”
“You are a telepath?” the beautiful blonde asked, looking at the bumbling man behind the raised desk.
“She doesn’t have a brain,” the man told the lead councilwoman. “I have nothing!”
“You are one of them, aren’t you?” the lead councilwoman asked, tilting her head as she looked at the blonde.
“You never told me your name.”
“You never told me yours.”
“Margo. And yours?”
“How is it possible?” the man named Gary asked. “Moira, she’s supposed to be dead!”
“Moira, is it?” Margo asked. “Before I kill you both, I would like a little information. I can make this quick, or we can do it the hard way.”
A teleporter appeared in the room behind them. Margo immediately sealed up the space they were in, allowing the strongman she had taken control of earlier to fight any incoming exemplars.
“Teleporter proof, huh?” she asked, looking at the walls, watching the bulges as the fight started up.
“You will not get away with this,” Moira said. “My sister…”
“Your sister?”
Moira swallowed hard.
“Answer my question, and we’ll make this quick. Where is Roman Martin?”
Gary and Moira exchanged glances.
“Ah, so you do know something. Well, in that case, go ahead and tell me what you know.”
“I’m sorry, Gary,” Moira said.
Gary started twitching and foaming at the mouth.
He fell forward, blood running out of his ears.
“So that’s how this is going to be?” Margo asked Moira.
“You will not get anything out of me.”
“We will see about that.” Margo playfully cracked her knuckles, no sound emitting from her hands as she did so.
Chapter Five: A Trip to North Lake
The trolley slowed to a stop and six older Centralian couples hobbled off, one of them complaining to his wife about the squeakiness of the brakes and how he planned to contact their local representative about it.
Roman looked over at Celia and smiled, the beautiful doll chuckling at the older man as he left the cabin.
“Sorry, Casper,” Roman said as he waved his hand over his pocket. Casper’s life left her body before she could say something witty.
He stood and straightened his black trench coat.
Coma was the first to step out, followed by Roman and Celia, the three of them weaving their way through the recently remodeled station.
They were in northern Centralia, at an area known for its retirement communities. This part of Centralia was one of the most active voting blocs, so everything here was always new. The politicians knew exactly who to pander to.
There were various support structures in place for the disabled, from ramps to moving walkways, as well as young exemplars with shining white smiles on their faces standing around a kiosk in the middle of the station, eager to help anyone who needed assistance getting home.
Roman didn’t like visiting the place; not only did it remind him that he would age one day himself, it was also a visual representation of the social discrepancies in Centralia. And while he sometimes liked to think Centralia was above this kind of stuff, every time he came here Roman saw just how new and perfect everything was and how helpful government officials were compared to the other areas of the city, which only accentuated the discrepancy.
The city was divided by a number of things, from exemplars and non-exemplars, the rich and the poor, the old and the young.
Roman couldn’t help but see this station through that lens.
He made his way along a cobblestone boulevard with cafés on either side to take advantage of the nice, warm weather in front of the lake.
North Lake was the reason this area existed, the ocean-like body of water separating Centralia from the Northern Alliance. There was a constant breeze, the temperatures predictable year-round, rain showers few and far between.
Roman and his dolls approached the fork and headed toward the right, to the non-exemplar communities.
“It’s so pretty here,” Celia said, admiring the outdoor cafés and the way the buildings were all pressed together. “I’d love to spend a day exploring.”
“It is something,” Roman replied.
“This is really where they live?” Coma asked him.
“They moved here a few years ago. Maybe five now? I don’t know. I don’t visit often. I know I should, but it’s just not my favorite place to be.”
“Where is your favorite place to be?” Celia asked.
“The bodega,” Roman said with a grin on his face.
“But you just quit your job…” she said, then realized he was teasing her.
“I wish you had lived here instead of your old apartment,” Coma said. “There’s so much more to do outside.”
The streets that weaved through the retirement community featured numerous restaurants and other ways to pass the time. From boutique shopping to cosplay cafés, to gambling and businesses that specialized in unique experiences, it would be hard to get bored in this place.
That was, if a person liked being social.
Roman had never been that social, aside from being able to turn his charm on around the opposite sex; the retirement communities around North Lake would be a literal last resort for him.
He hadn’t thought much about it, but if he did reach that age, Roman would want to travel, perhaps live somewhere toward the South where it was cooler.
“I want you to wait here,” he told Coma as they came to a bench.
The three had been walking for about twenty minutes now, and they had just arrived at a community called Sunset Sands, which featured two-story townhouses all with unobstructed views of North Lake.
“Will do,” Coma said as she took a seat.
“Let’s make this quick,” he told Celia, taking her hand.
“Is it weird that I’m excited to meet your parents?” she asked as they came to unit 4L.
“We’re about to find out if they’re my parents or not,” he said. “But I know what you mean, and no, it’s not weird.”
“Will you see them any differently if they aren’t?”
“I don’t know. I just want the truth at the moment. I have to know if it’s true. I have to know if Margo is my half-sister.”
“That would be a turn of events,” Celia said as he knocked on the door.
Roman heard some grumbling on the other side and a man eventually opened up, his bushy eyebrows raising.
“Roman?” his father asked. The man was framed by blue light reflecting off the lake coming from the giant living-room windows. He wore a sweater vest, his dark hair peppered with bits of gray. “Honey, Roman’s here. Roman is here with… Who are you?”
“Her name is Ava,” Roman said, and Celia nodded.
“Ava, huh? Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both. We weren’t expecting visitors, but I’m sure…”
“Roman?” his mom asked, coming to the door in her slippers. She wore a pair of spectacles, her eyes big and kind. “And who’s this?”
“Ava,” Celia said, extending her hand.
Roman’s mother took it and looked her over. “I am so glad to meet you. Such a beautiful girl,” she said genuinely. “It has been forever since you’ve stopped by, Roman. Forever!”
“Sorry. The last few weeks have been crazy.”
“A few weeks?” his father grumbled. “More like few months.”
“I’ve been swamped,” Roman said, waving his father’s concern away. “But I decided to stop by now, and I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner.”
“Well, please come in!” His mother slapped her husband in the gut to let him know he should step aside.
“Yes, come in,” Roman’s father said.
Roman and Celia entered the home, his mother nodding for them to take off their shoes. Celia slipped ou
t of her heels and followed his mother into the kitchen, Roman taking a second longer to untie the laces of his black boots.
“Not bad, not bad,” his father said under his breath as he watched Celia move away. “Where did you meet her?”
“I met Ava through work,” Roman lied.
“And you’re a couple now, right? Or are we not using those terms?” His father laughed. “I’m sorry, I won’t give you any shit. You know how young people are about defining relationships.”
“Yes, a couple. That’s fine.”
“I’m glad you brought her out here. You know, I can’t remember the last time we talked. Did I tell you that your mother and I were having the bedroom redone? The bathroom too. Your mother didn’t like the height of the ceiling in the bathroom, so she’s having it lowered. The contractor should be here in a little while. It’s a father-and-son team, out of the district a couple miles to the east, on the edge of the retirement block. Great people.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“But it isn’t cheap,” his father said as he placed a hand on Roman’s back, motioning him toward the kitchen. “Your mother and her whims. I swear it’s going to be the death of me, and if not me, my pocketbook. Six inches? Who wastes money on lowering the ceiling six inches? The townhouse is perfectly fine.”
“The townhouse is not fine,” his mother said as they entered the kitchen, Celia already seated at the bar.
“Please let me help,” Celia said to Roman’s mother.
“Absolutely not. I can still chop, and I will cut up some fruit and some cheeses for us.”
“Just let her help, Mom,” Roman said. “She likes to cook.”
“Is that so?”
Celia nodded, and Roman’s mother smiled at her.
“I really like your hair,” his mother finally said. “That red look so unique, so fresh.”
“Thank you.”
“And those purple eyes? There’s something very familiar about them.”
His mother’s smile cracked a little as she looked at Roman, but by this point, his father was already going on about renovation costs and one of the contractors they’d been using before they met the new team.
“Oh, stop it,” his mother hissed. “They don’t want to know about renovating.”
“I just want him to know how much it costs, because he gets this place when we die and that six inches is coming out of his goddamn inheritance.”
“Dad…”
His mother sighed. “Let’s not talk about death for one day. Is that all you ever think about? Death and money?”
“It’s better to talk about it and accept it than just assume it will never happen,” his father said, motioning Roman to the bar. Celia was already up and helping his mother prepare fruits and cheeses.
“How about instead of talking about death, you help us?” his mother asked.
“I don’t mind cutting,” his father said as he took a knife from her and began working on one of the melons she handed him.
“Anything I can do?” Roman asked.
“No. Just sit tight, sweetie. It’s such a nice surprise to see you visiting.”
“Yeah,” Roman said, looking at Celia and noticing concern in her eyes. “Look, I need to talk to you two about something important.”
“What’s that?” his father asked. “Is it money? Do you need something?”
“It’s not money. But I do need something.”
His father quit cutting the melon. “Well, go on.”
“I need to know the truth. I need to know if I was adopted.”
Roman saw his father’s throat quiver. His mother glanced at him, her breath suddenly short.
“Who told you that?” his father asked, setting the knife down.
“So it’s true?”
“Where did you hear this?” his mother asked.
“Does that matter? Is it true, or is it not true?”
“Let’s move to the dining room table,” his mother said solemnly as she stepped away from the kitchen. Roman, his father, and Celia followed behind her.
She took a seat on one end of the table, his father next to her, Celia and Roman sitting across from them. As soon as they were in their chairs, Roman felt Celia squeeze his leg.
His mother shook her head. “I don’t know where you heard this from, but…”
“No, we should tell the truth,” his father said suddenly. “Look, your mother and I couldn’t conceive. There—is that what you wanted to hear?”
“And?”
“And, we worked with an adoption agency that helps children from the Western Province find homes here in Centralia. You’ve heard of these agencies, correct?”
Roman nodded, remembering dealing with their visa paperwork back when he’d worked for the Centralian government.
“You weren’t even two years old when we adopted you. You were underfed and mistreated. It was horrible. But that doesn’t matter now. You are our son, Roman. I don’t know where this information came from, or why you are pursuing it, or if you’re trying to find your biological parents or something, but just know that regardless of what you do…” His father sniffed, clearly choking back a sob. “You are our son.”
“I’m not disputing that,” Roman finally said. “I just wanted to know the truth.”
“Does it help?” his mother asked. “Does it help to actually know whether you are adopted or not? Do you feel any different?”
“No, that’s not why…” Roman bit his lip. “I just need to confirm some things. And no, I’m not searching for my biological parents.”
“What are you trying to confirm?” his father asked him.
Roman was on the brink of telling them about his superpower when a message came to him from Ava.
Roman, where are you? I need to come to you right now.
“Hold on a second,” Roman told his parents as he replied to her.
“Hold on? This is important,” his mother started to say.
I’m at my parents’ home. Why?
Ava’s response came a moment later. Where exactly?
Sunset Sands, North Lake, Unit 4L. Is everything okay?
Meet me outside. Margo is back, and she killed my sister.
Chapter Six: Stories Collide
“You found me,” Roman said as he approached the bench where Coma sat.
“She was sort of a dead giveaway,” Ava said, her red hair a mess and eyes puffy from crying.
“Are you okay?” Celia came forward, concern on her face.
“Deactivate them,” Ava said harshly.
“Celia, please take a seat,” Roman said, and his doll obediently sat next to Coma.
After what he’d been through over the last month, Roman hated to take their life away. He hated to see them dead to the world yet again. But he wanted to respect Ava’s wish, especially after what they’d been through.
The two dolls slouched as Roman reabsorbed the power he’d given them. Ava stood and began pacing, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Tell me everything.”
“What more is there to say?” Ava asked, throwing her hands in the air, an inferno igniting behind her eyes. “Margo is back. She killed my sister.”
“What?” Roman shook his head. “I saw Margo die. She was dead. We both saw her body.”
“No, she did something.” Ava turned toward the cobblestone street, her back to him. “And this is partially your fault.”
“My fault? I didn’t do anything this time,” he started to say, the words leaving his lips before he could process why he was becoming so defensive.
It all made sense a moment later when Ava buried her head in her hand. “She’s using your doll, Roman.”
“My doll?”
“The last one you ordered. I don’t know how she did it—I don’t understand this power the two of you have—but she gave it her consciousness. All of it. Margo transferred everything to the doll.”
Roman gasped, the realization coming to him in that moment.
He had experimented with transferring consciousness some, but it wasn’t something he’d played with too deeply.
“How did she kill her?”
“She came to the lottery offices,” Ava said as she turned back to Roman. “She was looking for you.”
“For me?”
Ava nodded, tears of fire slowly trickling down her face. “That’s all we know, that and…”
“What?”
“My sister didn’t give anything up.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because we have people watching your apartment and the bodega you work at. No one has shown up yet. Plus we had a psychometrist sense through what was left of my sister’s body. Margo killed her by pressing the bones out of her one at a time. She started with her rib cage, keeping her organs pumping, her brain alive. How fucking terrible is that? She made her feel it; she forced my sister to claw her own eyes out and eat her own fingers. It was the most disturbing thing…” She started to sob again. “The fucking monster. The Lottery Council will be disbanded now, or what’s left of it. It hinged on my sister’s power, anyway.”
“What was her power? You never told me.”
“She was the strongest amplifier Centralia has ever seen. A Type 1, Class C and E, in words you may better understand. She was so strong that she could amplify a person’s dormant power, thus turning a non-exemplar into an exemplar. The whole Council hinged on her ability. All the other exemplars there were secondary. And they’re all dead as well. We suspect my sister actually killed one of the council members, the one named Gary, to prevent the telepath from speaking to Margo. But there’s no way to prove that.”
Silence stretched between the two; an older couple crossed the street to avoid walking near them, the woman pushing a small black dog in a stroller.
“I have some news as well,” Roman said, figuring he might as well come out with it. “It’s about Margo, too.”
“Do you know something?”
“Not about what she just did, or about her still being alive; it’s about her past. Margo is my half-sister.”
Ava’s eyes twitched. “Your what?”
“That’s right,” Roman said. “I quit my job at the bodega, as I’m assuming you’ve guessed by now. But I still worked last night, and the night before, and this guy came in both nights. He was just kind of weird the first night, asking a few questions, that sort of thing. He tried to attack me the second night. But I stopped him.”
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