Mechanical (17 page)

I laughed half-heartedly.

“Ugh. My brother is such a jerk,” Jessica
declared.

I sighed, feeling like I should contribute to
the conversation, but at the same time, found nothing more to say.
From what I’d heard, Jessica had pretty much summed it up.

The memories of talking with Michael pushed
their way to the surface of my mind, demanding my attention. When
we had talked and everything I thought he had actually been a
pretty good guy. A guy who liked me. A guy I could confide
in—apparently not the type to go for android girls. Or, on the
other hand, perhaps the type to go for
two
of them.

* * * *

I walked into my room and dumped my bag on
the floor, still feeling angry and hurt about Michael, and even
more upset about how I was handling it. As soon as I noticed Yvonne
sitting a few feet away on the comforter, I headed for the
door.

“Drew,” she said, standing up.

I kept walking.

“Drew, I want to talk to you.” She hurried
after me.

“Well, you lost that privilege when you went
after all the other various
wants
you have,” I snapped
without even turning around. My anger and irritation bubbled inside
of me and drove me to walk faster.

“Drew, it’s important.” Yvonne’s voice
sounded edgy, irritated, the tone she took on when she didn’t get
what she wanted.

“Maybe to you, but not to me.” I pushed open
two double doors and headed into the private cafeteria for the
creators.

Yvonne stopped short, a disgusted look
adorning her face as she looked around. I felt a surge of
irritation to find that she still looked beautiful with such an
unflattering expression. “Why are you even going here?”

“I’ve noticed that I really like chocolate,”
I decided to tell her. “It makes me feel good.”

“And fat,” Yvonne added, following me towards
the snack counter. “Ew,” she commented as I picked up a box of milk
chocolates. “Anyway, as I was saying, this is important to you too.
Maybe
only
to you,” she went on as if it could be nothing
important if I were interested in it.

“I doubt it,” I replied, popping a chocolate
into my mouth. Unfortunately, it was the kind with the filling, the
filling that I absolutely despised. I leaned over a garbage can and
spit out the syrupy, maple-flavored goo.

“I thought you liked them,” Yvonne stated,
staring at me as though I was insane.

“I don’t like the crème-filled ones.” I broke
another one in two to make sure there was nothing inside it and
popped it into my mouth. I looked up to see Yvonne watching me with
a strange expression.

“Okaaay. Whatever.”

I turned and walked away.

“Would you stop it?” Yvonne snapped, hurrying
to catch up to me and was about to grab my arm before I stopped her
with a steely glare. “I’m trying to tell you something.”

“I don’t really want to talk to
you
.
Especially now.”

“But listen, we’re actually ...”

“I don’t want to hear it, Yvonne,” I snapped,
spinning around to face her. By now, we were out of the cafeteria
and in the hallway, the walls on either side of us, holding us in,
trapping us. “If this is your way of sneaking back into our
friendship, it’s not going to work,” I told her. “Not right
now.”

Yvonne glared at me and I detected hurt
buried deep within her anger. “You’re making a big deal out of
nothing,” she retorted.

I didn’t reply and just turned away, although
I was seething inside.

“He’s just a boy,” she called after me. “A
human! Is he worth it?”

I kept walking. Yvonne would never admit she
was wrong. She would never say she was sorry. She would only make
excuses. Excuses I didn’t want to hear.

Her voice echoed throughout the hallway, but
I didn’t hear any more of what she had to say because as soon as I
turned the corner and was out of her sight, I started running.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Silence filled my ears like water, blocking
out the noise from the outside world. It was completely quiet and
still except for the double doors at the end of the hall swinging
slowly back and forth. I stared, wishing to catch a glimpse between
their swings, but seeing nothing as I watched them methodically
moving until they slowed to a stop.

I had just seen one of the other androids
bring someone in. The person had been grabbed by the creators
instantly and dragged, kicking and screaming through the doors at
the end of the hall. The android had left right away, thinking
nothing more about what he had done, but I still stood there,
reliving the human’s fear, the creators’ determination, the
android’s indifference.

What were they doing?
I felt like
screaming. I walked forward, hearing my feet echo loudly and my
pulse beat steadily to my footsteps, as if warning me of what
awaited behind the doors. I stopped in front of the opaque windows.
Whatever objects were stored behind it were distorted by the thick,
murky glass. I stood there for a moment, thinking. I pressed my
hand up against the window, feeling the cold of the glass seep
through my skin and to the metal of my hand.

They had always told us to never set foot
behind these doors. That what went on back there was none of our
business. And also, unlike the others things they would tell us,
they were firm and sometimes mean about it. The androids would make
up stories about the rooms behind these doors; where we came from,
how we were made, secrets to our lives, the way our bodies worked,
the truth about what we were. I knew most of the androids, if given
the chance, wouldn’t dare go past. We didn’t want to find that we
were just a simple pile of metal and artificial body parts. We’d
rather pretend that we were more. No one went back here. We all
knew it was forbidden.

But right now, I realized,
I didn’t
care
.

I looked up at my hands planted firmly
against the glass and pushed. The weight of the doors surprised me,
but didn’t stop my pace. I walked into the silent hallway, hearing
the doors swish behind me, whispering, hissing at me to go back to
where I was supposed to be. In front of me stretched out a long
corridor with multiple doors on both sides, and although the walls
and doors were painted a blinding white, the hallway seemed empty
and dark. I walked along slowly and cautiously, peering through the
windows.

Through one, I saw a long hallway of cells,
almost like you’d see in an insane asylum. Inside the cells were
people. They didn’t see me at first, but I noticed the girl who had
just been brought in. She was lying on the floor of her cell,
sobbing.

Just then, as if she could tell someone was
watching, she looked up. Her piercing gaze bore into me and I
stepped back from the window, alarmed. What was she doing there? My
hands were beginning to shake slightly and I stared down at them,
shocked.

I looked down the hallway and although every
muscle in my body urged me to turn and run, I forced myself to walk
to another door. I went towards its window, glancing around, as if
a creator might be lurking behind one of the doors. I turned back
and peered through the window, expecting to see more people, or
mechanical parts, wires, and metal slabs. But as my gaze shifted to
the center of the room, my breath caught in my throat and my chest
constricted in horror.

On a table, some sort of operating table,
laid a boy. A human boy. I had seen him being brought in earlier
that week. His arm, which was extended out across the table, was
sliced open from his shoulder down to his wrist exposing blood,
bones and ... wires?

I let out a strangled cry of horror, backing
quickly away from the door. I bumped into the wall behind me and
doubled over, moaning and burying my head in my hands.

There were no words going through my mind,
just unbridled revulsion to what I had seen. What had I expected to
find? I wasn’t sure ... but I knew this wasn’t it. Was he dead? I
couldn’t be sure.

Just then, I heard a door open and I looked
up, adrenaline forcing me to my feet. I saw a creator at the end of
the hallway—Glen.

He just stood there, staring at me for a
moment. “Drew.” It wasn’t a greeting, or a question, or even an
accusation. It was just ‘Drew’. A statement. “What are you doing
here?” His voice hardened.

“I ...” I couldn’t bring any words to my
mouth. I was too horrified.

“Leave.” His voice was glacial, his eyes
glaring into mine.

Immediately, I turned and ran, not wanting
anything more than to be as far away from these rooms as possible.
I had never run like that before in my life. I ran like my life
depended on it, shoving the double doors open and not looking back.
I heard them creak in protest and then start their swinging. My
bare feet made strange slapping sounds on the linoleum floor of the
hallway as I raced away.

I didn’t want to be on the other side of
those doors, ever. But hadn’t I once? The thought made me instantly
sick to my stomach. I remembered the boy lying on the table, his
arm cut open, the wires I had seen, the way he looked so helpless
and almost dead.

I ran into my room, throwing the door to the
bathroom open and made it just in time as I collapsed beside the
toilet seat and threw up.

I wished I had never gone back there. I
wished I had stopped after seeing the girl in her cell. I wished I
hadn’t seen that boy. But those were wishes just as unrealistic as
wishing for a normal life, to be away from the Institution. Wishing
for a soul. If I hadn’t gone back there, I would never have
forgiven myself. Curiosity would have haunted me forever.

“Knowledge is power
,” Yvonne used to
say to me in her usual mind set of “power is everything.” Yes,
maybe that was true. The more you knew the more powerful you were.
It made sense. But the other part of the saying was just as true.
Ignorance was definitely bliss.

I had been okay with the way I was living. I
had been okay with what I was. I had been okay with how I was
treated. I had been okay with my situation.

Until now.

Because when I had looked at the body, face
and arm of that boy lying on the table, a terrible reality dawned
on me.
They use them as templates.
Yvonne’s words rang
through my mind. I had never really thought about what that might
mean. I had pictured those people in the back room with Glen,
talking. How had I been so blind? From what I had seen of them
afterwards I knew something hadn’t gone well ... but I had always
thought of the creators taking information from them, draining
things from their brains, extracting things from their minds ...
not their bodies.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Are you puking?” Yvonne’s voice, edged with
surprise and disgust, startled me as I noticed her figure in the
doorway.

I hurriedly got up from my spot on the floor
and turned to face her. I wiped my mouth with a towel and flushed
the toilet.

“I told you that chocolate was a bad idea,”
Yvonne lectured me matter-of-factly.

I shook my head. “It wasn’t the
chocolate.”

“Lunch at school?”

I shook my head again.

“Whatever,” she went on. “I need to talk to
you.”

I groaned. “Again?” I left the bathroom. It
wasn’t exactly a comfortable room for two. I walked into the
bedroom and busied myself with picking out an outfit for the next
day. “I thought I already told you, I
don’t
want to
talk.”

“This is important,” she replied as if that
completely canceled out what I had just declared.

“Just leave me alone for a little while,” I
moaned. I hated to hurt Yvonne. Well, maybe it felt a
little
good but for the most part, it just made me feel bad. I didn’t like
fighting, but I needed time.
And an apology from Yvonne would
help a lot, too
, I admitted.

I heard Yvonne’s typical irritated sigh.
“
Listen
.”

I shook my head, wishing she would leave
before I ended up snapping at her.

“No, it’s impor—”

“Leave me alone,” I said louder this time and
turned to leave the room, but caught sight of Yvonne’s face. Was
that really hurt I saw conveyed in her eyes? I had to look twice to
be sure. But by the time I glanced again the hurt had changed to
anger. She glared at me until I shut the door as I left.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“His name is Jason Parker,” Glen had said
earlier that day, handing me the papers, Jason’s smiling eyes
staring up at me. Jason was in my grade and in a lot of my classes
so hopefully this assignment wouldn’t be too hard. But I had
purposefully doubled my workload. Not only did I have to trick
Jason, but the creators as well. I was running out of ideas. And
time.

The image of the boy lying on the table
popped into my head again and I thought about Jason. My plan was to
let them take him back and I would sneak over once they were gone.
They seemed to have taken the girl directly to a cell after they
brought her in. I was counting on that same behavior with Jason.
But if I was wrong he would end up like that boy on the operating
table. I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t stand to let that
happen.

What I had witnessed also brought up some
strange questions and I pushed the thoughts away for the moment. I
had more important matters than that at hand.

It was after school, I was out in the parking
lot, Jason was walking my way and I had to think up something to
say to him. He was walking closer, closer. He was walking by.
Think!
I told myself. “Uh ... Jason!” I called, determined
not to let him get away.

He stopped, looked around and then spotted
me. “Oh, hi, Drew. You need something?”

Think, think, think, think. “Uh ... is your
house really in that direction?” I asked, trying to sound
surprised.