“The government held you for ayear?”
I nodded. “In a nine-by-nine box. Until someone higher up in the food chair figured they could study me—and the others like me—better with ourcooperation.”
“Which government?” sheasked.
“I’m sorry?” I understood her question but it didn’t seem entirely relevant tome.
“I asked which government held you illegally for ayear?”
I swallowed and tried to keep the memories of that time at bay. “The American government. They were particularly interested in military applications of my ability. But I wasn’t created, I was born this way, and they quickly realized they couldn’t force it on anotherperson.”
The chair creaked again, and I glanced up to weigh how she was feeling. Still nothing. This woman had a poker face to rival my own. And I’d had over a hundred years ofpractice.
I tried to focus back on the story. “Anyway, I visit their scientists every year, as do others like me born around the world. They study us—we volunteer for this—and they tell us things we need toknow.”
Swivel. Swivel. “Like what?” She could have been asking what the weather looked likeoutside.
“Like the fact that I will probably go insane before I diehorrifically.”
The chair froze, and she sat up. “What? They told youthat?”
“My telomeres are elastic, but my brain isn’t. At some point, like a hard drive, it’s going to overload, and that will probably be an awfulexperience.”
She blinked and leaned toward me. Her hand jerked for a second like she might reach across the desk, but she didn’t. Instead she sat back again. “Okay. So who isSibyl?”
I swallowed heavy and loud. The nerves that had started to settle took up a new tune as if freshly plucked. “Did you read thatbook?”
“You meanFifty Shades of Grey?” A smile flitted across her face for a flash of asecond.
“Not that one. The otherone.”
Swivel, swivel. “No, I haven’t readit.”
I rubbed my knees again, shifting back and forth slightly, trying to calm myself. “Well, not all of it was lies. Some of the things were true. Obviously, my being somewhat death-challenged.”
That earned me a snort, and I took the confidence that came packaged with it. “Some of the more debaucherous activity actually happened. But the most important thing to me was thegirl.”
“Sibyl.” It wasn’t a question. More of a whisper, hovering in the air like anaccusation.
“Yes. She was an actress. I was infatuated with her and she with me. However, her brother James refused to let us be together, and she took her ownlife.”
"Do you regret that she died?" Izzyasked.
I considered her question. Even after so much time, I didn't have a clear answer. What puzzled me more was that my heart still sank like a coin in a well at the mention of Sibyl's name. "I was grieved to hear she’d died, of course. But it was her choice to take her own life. I regret that she felt alone in the world. I regret that she felt she had no other way. I regret that I played a part in thatisolation."
“Did you loveher?”
I looked down at my hands again, finally feeling the shame I deserved. “No, I didn’t love her. I was a young man—infatuated, in lust—but it was neverlove.”
Izzy stood up from behind the desk and came around to lean on the edge in front of me. She was so close I could smell the soap and shampoo she’d used to wash my scent from her body only hours ago. “And what does that have to do withme?”
I scanned her face, her hair, the curve of her neck. “Because you could be her twin. And I think you’re the reincarnation of her, sent here to give me another chance. Or maybe to punish me for myindulgences.”
She gripped the edge of the desk and rocked forward to stare at her feet. “Is thatit?”
“I think so. I don’t have manysecrets.”
She snorted. “But the ones you do have arewhoppers.”
