The Girl Who Wasn't (22 page)

I wonder again who the
strange man is and how he has the power to speak to Titus that way.
I try not to think about what Titus said, but it’s inevitable. The
more I try to shut it out, the louder his words ring in my
ears:
I would kill the product myself
before I let that happen …

I’ve known all along he has brought me
here to be dangled as bait. To die, if need be. So it shouldn’t be
this shocking to hear him say he’d do it himself. Maybe it was the
absolute conviction of his words. Or the tone devoid of any emotion
that went with it. The GPS underneath my skin hums like a singing
grenade.

I feel as if I’m drowning and there is
no surface to search for, no oxygen left in any direction. I lie
there for a long time before I sleep. Part of me is determined to
survive this. If not for myself, then for Ida and Lonnie, for
Obadiah. For Linc. But another part wonders why it matters, why I
matter.

In this moment, I ache to be human—to
be Authentic and free and owned by no one.

When I do finally sleep, I dream that
my lungs are filling with water from a tube that is set on a slow
drip, and though I see it dangling before me, I can do nothing to
stop it.

Chapter Twelve

The following evening, Titus sends me
to a party alone. He says he trusts me. I know the truth. He trusts
that if I’m alone, someone will try to kill me. As proof, my only
escorts are Gus and two men I don’t know. I’m told Linc and others
are stationed nearby, watching. It is a small comfort until I learn
I will enter the party alone while my team waits in the building
across the street.

A doorman with a meaty hand pulls me
from the car and escorts me up the walk and through the doors. The
party is already in full swing. It is a celebration, one of many
being held in the city tonight because the election is over.
Senator Whitcomb has been re-elected and everyone is overjoyed. I’m
glad for his win if it means he won’t be replaced by his Imitation
counterpart.

I go without complaint because it means
I will see Obadiah. I crane my neck searching for him but I cannot
see past the two black-and-white tuxes blocking my path as they
surge closer. Daniel reaches me first. He turns to smirk at Caine
Rafferty who comes in second, which in this case is last. My
curbside escort lets go of my hand and drops back, leaving me
standing alone with them.

“
Hello, Raven,” Daniel says,
leaning in much closer than necessary. His breath hits my face. It
smells like stale alcohol and artificial mint. He plants a kiss on
my mouth that lingers too long. He tries prying my lips open with
his tongue but I keep them clamped shut. His hands roam the silky
fabric that covers my hips. When his fingertips inch underneath the
hem of my wrap, I step away. I discreetly wipe away the excess
wetness he’s left on my lower lip and try not to let my disgust
show in my expression.

Seeing his opening, Caine takes my hand
in his, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “The night was such a
waste until you arrived,” he says.

I roll my eyes, for once my reaction
matching perfectly with that of Authentic Raven. “Boys,” I say,
with a fair amount of disdain and boredom, “can you let me get in
the door before you pounce on me like a pair of
puppies?”

My chastising works. They both frown
and step back. I sweep past them and head for the dais where the
politicians are holding their meet-and-greet. I shake hands with a
few as I pass by, an Authentic smile pasted on my face. I search
faces, looking for Obadiah. I don’t see him, but I can still sense
the boys on my heels.

I sigh and slow my step, allowing them
to catch up. Even though Titus isn’t here, I don’t doubt for a
second he is watching in some capacity. If I break my role, he will
know. The music slows and the dance floor thickens with swaying
bodies.

“
Would you like to dance?” I
ask Caine. The lesser of two evils. Well, as long as we aren’t
stuck in a bathroom and my name is Taylor.

Daniel scowls and Caine gives him a
triumphant smile.

“
After you,” Caine says to
me, gesturing at me to lead the way.

“
I’ve got next,” Daniel
calls after us.

Caine is as much of a gentleman as I
expect. His only strike is when the music slows and he tries to
wedge his knee suggestively between my thighs. I go for disdainful
as I knock his leg aside and reposition myself. He grins but
doesn’t try it again.

I dance with Caine for a song and a
half before Daniel cuts in. Caine doesn’t look happy but he steps
aside and blends into the crowd. Daniel wastes no time or space as
he reaches for my arms and fits me snugly against him. The moment
our bodies connect, I am tense.

Daniel’s breath is on my face, his
mouth inches from mine. I keep my face downturned to discourage his
advances. “Where’s your bodyguard tonight?” he asks.

“
Shut up, Daniel,” I say,
weary of him already.

His jaw muscle tics, though his smile
remains frozen in place. To the rest of the crowd, he looks
pleasant enough, but I don’t miss the way he tightens his grip on
me. “You will speak to me with respect,” he says through closed
teeth.

“
I will dance with you in
front of this crowd. And that is all,” I say. I am not naïve enough
to think he will listen but my security detail—including Linc—is
hearing every word of this. I hope if Daniel tries anything without
my permission, someone will come running.

“
Then let’s make it count,
kitten,” he says and yanks me closer, daring me to resist. I don’t
and we finish the dance in silence. After that, a politician old
enough to be my grandfather holds me too tight with fat fingers as
his wife looks on, glaring. I try not to think about how familiar
he seems with me as he cracks inappropriate jokes about farm
animals. His hands remind me of the tiny sausages being served in
the buffet line. Red and thick and wanting to find their way inside
me.

He is repulsive in a way I’ve never
encountered, and I am rigid with disgust by the time Obadiah taps
him on the shoulder.

“
May I cut in?” Obadiah
asks.

The old man lets go, clearly
disappointed. He gets three steps before his wife grabs him and
drags him away.

Obadiah looks beautiful tonight in a
silk vest under his soft charcoal suit. He drapes one hand gently
around my hip. The other hand settles into mine, firm and
reassuring, and we begin to sway. I cling to him
gratefully.

“
I was looking for you,” I
say.

He snorts. “From the center of the
dance floor? Because I’ve been here for almost an hour and this is
the only place I’ve seen you.”

“
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
underneath her stiletto heel.

“
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 the cut. 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 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?”