Grip (The Slip Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

H
e can’t believe it. This entire time Benson thought all his father had was a harebrained plan to protect him from his enemies by
being
one of his enemies. But no, it was all far more complex. An hour with Wire has shown him that much.

Everything has been in place for years, more than seventeen to be exact, since Benson was born. Like clockwork, Michael Kelly has paid the fees and renewed his dud Death Match, well past the maximum five-year extension. The system only allowed it because of various complicated overrides that even Wire was impressed with. His father had also set up an automated program to attach the Death Match to a birth authorization in a hidden citizen profile he’d set up for Benson, complete with a unique retinal signature and birth records identical to Harrison’s.

The moment the Death Match died, Benson would’ve become an authorized and fully legal citizen of the Reorganized United States of America. The Death Match, a guy named Boris Decker, is apparently alive and in good health at the impressive age of one-hundred-and-one. The disease previously expected to cut his life shorter by almost two decades has long since been cured by medical advancements. According to his medical file, he could last another ten to twelve years, which isn’t particularly unusual anymore.

After thanking Wire—who provided a sweeping bow in response—and bidding him goodnight, the trio make their way back to the sleeping quarters, arguing about what to do next.

“It’s obvious,” Harrison says. “We find the guy and end him.”

“I agree,” Check says quickly. “It’s your only chance.”

Benson stops abruptly, glaring at his brother and friend. They stop. “What?” Check says. “It is. You’re a dead man walking and your Death Match is the only thing preventing you from freedom.”

Benson shakes his head, somewhat disgusted. “First of all, he’s not
my
Death Match. In fact, he’s not anyone’s Death Match. He’s just a guy trying to enjoy the last years of his life, years that must feel like a massive bonus to him. Secondly, there’s no such thing as freedom anymore. Third, do you really think Pop Con would let me exploit such a loophole? Dad
cheated
. They won’t let him get away with it.”

Harrison says, “That’s where you’re wrong, Bense. If there’s one useful thing I learned about the system in school, it’s that any deviation from procedure would cause it to self-destruct. Even if our father did manipulate things, if the system provides you with a valid birth authorization, then you’re legal. They won’t be able to change it without admitting they made a mistake. And if they made one mistake, then people will wonder whether they’ve made more mistakes. They’ll wonder whether the system is broken. Whether they’re all living on borrowed time from a clock that’s ready to implode at any moment.”

Benson’s somewhat impressed with his brother’s speech, but it still doesn’t change the fact that… “We can’t kill some random guy,
Harry
,” he says.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, Harry,” Benson says.

Harrison takes a deep breath and seems to make the decision to ignore the jab. “Not ‘we,’” Harrison says. “Me.”

“What?” Benson’s mind whirls. Harrison, the brother he’s only just met, is willing to risk his own life to save Benson’s? Potentially his soul, too, depending on what you believe.
Thou shalt not kill
, and all of that.

“I’ll do it alone if I have to,” Harrison says.

“No you won’t,” Check says. “I’ll help you.”

“No!” Benson blurts out. “My life is no more important than Boris Decker’s. It’s no more important than anyone’s. If we kill some innocent guy then we’re just like the Lifers.”

“Maybe we should be more like them,” Harrison says.

“You don’t really believe that,” Benson says.

“Maybe I do.”

“Then we have even less in common than I thought,” Benson says. With that, he whirls around and storms off. He needs to be alone.

Alone to think about his life versus an old man’s.

~~~

Janice is anxiously waiting for them to arrive. With Luce’s help, she’s set everything up. Well, Zoran helped too, but not much. He can be a bit lazy when he’s not off fighting dragons and saving princesses.

“The walls should be bluer,” Janice says. “My boys are boys. Not girls.”

Luce flashes Janice a smile. It’s a nice smile, one that Janice can’t help but return. Luce is nice to her. And nice to Benson, which is far more important. “We can fix that,” Luce says. “Holo—brighten color.”

The soft blue brightens to an electric blue. Like an ocean of fireworks. Like a sky full of fish. She giggles at the thought of fish swimming in the sky while fireworks burst underwater.

“Better?” Luce asks.

“Like—” She’s about to explain the images in her mind when the door opens and her sons’ friends pour in.

The two funny Mexicans. The smiley Asian. The big Canadian guy with the crooked nose. Well, it didn’t used to be crooked. Ever since he got that crooked nose he likes to frown at Harrison. Minda, the Indian girl who always carries the big gun. Destiny, with a smile that dazzles like white snow against her dark mountain skin. Her hair is a big poof on her head that Janice desperately wants to touch. But she knows that would be rude. Harrison told her so when she asked him. And last, her special guest of honor:

Jarrod. The nice man who saved their lives and took them in and gave them a new home where they can be together again.

The only one missing is Michael. Janice stomps her feet and tells the thought to go find another brain to torment. Because tonight isn’t about Michael. Or her. Or any of the people who just entered the redesigned gym.

Tonight is about her boys.

“It’s amazing, Janice,” Check says, taking her hand. She looks down at his pale fingers touching hers. They feel warm and nice. And weird. Hands aren’t for touching anymore. Not for a long time.

She nods and pulls her hand away, watching the others take in the room. They look at the fish-in-the-sky walls and the hover-balloons bouncing off the equipment and the snake-ribbons coiling and springing. But most of their attention is drawn to the enormous three-dimensional “17” projected into the center of the room. Within the image are photos of Benson and Harrison. Well, mostly photos of Harrison, because that’s all she had. For Benson the only photo is the one Luce took while he was sleeping. That one makes her laugh because he looks like a baby again. So peaceful. When he’s sleeping he could almost be a real person, not a Slip. When he wakes up he changes so much. She knows what that’s all about. It’s about life. It’s about experience. The things that take our perfection and twist it into something that hurts, something that makes a mother cry, something that leaves us empty inside. Or full. Or sad. Or happy. She’s not sure whether change is a good thing or a bad thing—just that it’s inevitable.

The nice man, Jarrod, says, “Your boys will love it.”

“I know,” she says, fighting the urge to run her hands along the fireworks-in-the-ocean walls. She knows that would look weird, and tonight she wants to be her old self. For her boys. As a gift to them. Is it possible? Zoran says, “No,” but she stopped listening to him weeks ago.

“They’re coming!” one of the Mexican boys says. Gonzo, she thinks. The funnier, less angry one.

Everyone runs and hides behind the equipment. Well, except for Simon—who stands in one of the corners with his meaty arms crossed—and her. She puts her hands over her face and hides right there in place. It’s easier and quicker than running to hide.

But she can’t help but to peek between two of her fingers, a single eye watching the door.

It opens and she practically squeals with excitement.

“Surprise!” everyone yells when Benson and Harrison enter. They’re very loud and excited as they jump from their hiding spots.

Janice, however, doesn’t make a single sound, just throws out her hands and watches her boys’ faces. Their mouths fly open in shock; their blue eyes widen, flashing with color that’s uncannily similar to the walls; and their lips curl into smiles so huge they seem to stretch from earlobe to earlobe.

Her boys are happy.

“Mother?” Harrison says, approaching her. “You did this?”

“Happy seventeenth birthday, son,” she says. He pulls her into a hug that she’s not sure is allowed anymore, but she doesn’t fight it, just claps her hands behind his back with glee. Because she said the words right, not stumbling on a single one. She even ignored Zoran’s shouts from her wrist.

When he releases her, Benson is there, still smiling. There’s a tear dripping down one of his cheeks. She reaches up to wipe it away, but stops with her hand hovering just shy of his skin. “Happy seventeenth birthday, Benson,” she says, the words tumbling like water from a fountain, crystal clear and sparkling.

Her beautiful, beautiful boy bites his lip, blinking away more unshed tears, and says, “I didn’t even know it was today. Thank you…Mom.”

Her heart vanishes and then reappears a hundred times bigger, practically bursting from her chest. With trembling fingers, she brushes away his tear and hugs him; his warmth is like being nestled in a cocoon of sunshine.

It’s the first time he’s called her Mom and meant it.

And she knows it’s not the last time.

~~~

Holding his mother the way he used to hug Janice, Benson realizes that he
can
think of her as his mother. She’s still Janice, but is also his mom. His childhood memories of her seem to mold together with the present, becoming a single image of a woman who loves her sons. She won’t be defined by whatever mental illness claws at her mind, but by the love that bonds her to her family.

And Benson loves her. Both the memory of the woman who raised him, but also the woman who now hugs him. The woman who planned a surprise birthday party for him and his brother.

The others are crowding around them now, wishing them happy birthday and offering them handshakes or hugs, and his mother slips off to the side. He watches her as she runs her fingers along the smooth metal walls that are full of holographs, talking to herself.

The party passes by swiftly, as good times usually do. There are a lot of jokes, a lot of laughs, a lot of forgetting.

It feels good, and Benson realizes that sometimes forgetting is necessary, even if only temporarily. His problems will be waiting for him when the fun is over, but for now he can shut the door in their faces.

When the cake arrives Benson is shocked. It’s huge and brightly lit by holo-candles that change color every time he blinks. He’s even more shocked when Harrison says, “Devil’s food! My favorite!” He sounds like a little boy, his wall of confidence torn down in a moment of unabashed truth.

Benson rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder and says, “It’s my favorite, too.”

“I did the letters,” Janice says.

Benson sees it right away, her spindly handwriting exactly the same as it always was, each letter’s curves grandly accentuated:

Happy 17
th
to my two boys

Benson and Harrison hug her from each side and Luce snaps a pic with a miniature holo-screen.

“Love you, Mom,” Harrison says. Benson kisses her on the forehead.

Together, they blow hard across the holo-candles and they flicker and then disappear, as if they never existed at all. Everyone cheers, even Simon.

The cake is even more delicious because of the company, and Benson goes back for seconds and then thirds, until the warm satisfaction in his belly begins to straddle the line that leads to feeling ill.

Harrison sits next to him, devouring what Benson thinks is at least his fourth piece. “Friends again?” he says around a mouthful of cake.

“We’re not going to kill that guy,” Benson says, licking sugar off his lips.

“I’m not going to lose my brother,” Harrison says, determination in his voice. By the way he says it, Benson can tell that Harrison is not the type to lose at anything. A winner his whole life. But if he’s going to join Benson’s world, he’s going to have to get used to losing some of the time. Or even most of the time.

Benson takes a break from the subject. “Why don’t you like being called ‘Harry’?” he asks.

Harrison stares straight ahead. Says nothing.

“It’s shorter and quicker to say. Yeah, it makes you sound like some freakishly hairy beast, but…”

A hint of a smile appears on Harrison’s lips. “Dad used to call me that sometimes,” he says. “I hated it then and I hate it even more now.”

“Oh,” is all Benson can think of to say.
Crap.
And then: “We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way.”

“I’ll find one,” Benson says. “Just give me time.”

“One week,” Harrison says, standing up. “Then I’ll do what I have to do.” He walks away, leaving Benson feeling like all the happiness has been sucked from the room.

Now he just feels ill.