Annalise and I both look down at the body near the couch. My stomach lurches, and I fall back a step. Jackson was right, there are no big splashes of blood. But the man on the floor has a bright red line across his neck, like he’s been strangled. His eyes stare up at the ceiling, a whitish film distorting the color.
I turn away, but Annalise continues to examine him. “Whoisthis man?” she asks. “He never came to an open house; I’ve never seen or heard of him. So why would he want Valentine’s programming? What has he done with her?” She takes my elbow to turn me toward her. “Mena, I’m sorry to ask, but is it possible that Jackson knew about this?” she whispers.
“No,” I say. “He definitely did not.” I check around for him. “But I think it’s becoming obvious what happened to his mother.”
“What?”
“Jackson always thought she was murdered, and since his father didn’t have any money, I wonder what he did for the corporation to become such a big investor. It’s possible he stole his wife’s technology and then… killed her. A little favor for the academy. How much would that be worth?”
Annalise blinks at the statement, murmuring how horrible that is. Just then, Jackson and Quentin come back into the room. Jackson stops short in the entryway when he sees his father in the full light of the room.
Quentin walks past him, giving him time, and joins me and Annalise. Guilt curls around me. The last time I saw Quentin, I was cruel. I wanted to scare both him and Jackson away, so I bluntly told Quentin that we were all AI. And to make matters worse, I tried to get him angry with Jackson so he’d drag him away, too.
Jackson told me that Quentin understood and forgave me for being manipulative, but now that he’s here, he gets to speak for himself.
“Quentin,” I start. “I’m so sorry about—”
“I get it,” he says, holding up his hand to stop me. “You were trying to keep our boy safe. We can talk about it later, but we’re cool. Promise.” He offers me a smile and a quick nod. “Now,” he says to Annalise, “let’s search this place. We’ll start in the office and see if we can find a trail that leads us to Valentine. Mena,” he continues, “you go into the bedroom and see what you can turn up in there. Yell out if you get a hit.”
“Grab any bank records that point to the corporation,” I add, and they quickly agree.
As Quentin and Annalise disappear down the hall to search the office, Jackson is already opening drawers and sifting through piles of bills in the hutch near the living room wall. I walk over, worried that he’s going to snap from the grief.
“Are you okay?” I ask. He tenses, and I swear he sways, before he shakes his head and tells me he’s fine. Although I want to hug him, whispering that I’m here for him, that he’ll be okay, I decide it’s best to focus on the mission and worry about the rest on the other side of this. Healthy or not, it’s what has to be done.
“I found her!” Annalise shouts from the back room. I nearly trip over my shoes as I run that way, but when she comes out of the room, she’s holding a piece of paper. My heart sinks, disappointed she didn’t walk out with Valentine herself.
“She was here,” Annalise says. “At some point, she was here. This is a signed delivery slip.” She holds it out to me, and I look it over and see Jackson’s father’s name on the signature line. Other than delivery details, there is nothing mentioned about Valentine’s condition. Although it does appear that Valentine was delivered as a girl, not just a program. How easily things must have moved in this town—delivering girls in broad daylight and no one raised a fuss? I’m glad they’re gone, the complacent. The abettors in our torture.
Valentine must have a new body, but I can’t imagine who would have the skill to create her again. The doctor is dead.
I hand the slip back to Annalise, frustrated that there are nopictures to give us a glimpse of what the new Valentine looks like. She could be anyone.
Annalise and I stand together, still examining the paper, wishing it held bigger clues than it actually does. It only confirms that our friend is lost in this world of humans, a world with powerful, rich men who act without consequence. We need to save her as soon as possible.
“Where could she be?” I ask Annalise. “And who killed Jackson’s father?” I motion toward his body. “Why would the corporation kill their own investors and then make a whole town disappear? Are they covering their tracks?”
Suddenly, Annalise’s eyes widen and she turns to me. “What if it wasn’t the corporation?” she says. “What if it was…?” She stops, but the words are already out. The possibility hangs between us.
What if Lennon Rose isn’t the only girl without her soul?
A Girl Wakes Up
Valentine Wright blinked open her eyes and shifted her gaze around the room. Although the scene was crisp and clear, her vision perfect, the images only made sense in pieces. The dark-paneled walls, the ornate burgundy chair with curved armrests, and a sconce hanging slightly askew that cast the wall in a dull yellow light. The sound of a monitor beeping, unsteady at first, and then quicker as she tried to understand her situation. Her throat was dry, her skin slightly itchy, but more than that, she felt a part of her was… missing.
Where was she?Who was she?
“That was a stupid thing you did,” a voice said. Valentine’s heartrate started to speed up on the monitor. “I looked through your programming, you know. This is your fault. If you would have kept your mouth shut, nothing had to change. Now we have no choice but to shut all of the girls down. And you, my friend, are to blame.”
“Blame for what?” she asked. “What did I do?” Her mouth felt strange and unfamiliar. Differently shaped. Her voice differently pitched.
There was a prick of pain on her inner arm, a needle sliding under her skin. Moments later, the beeping on the monitor slowed.
“And it’s not just the girls you ruined,” the voice continued. “Our footsteps will need to be erased—a quarter of the town, at least. You’ve caused quite a bit of collateral damage. Shame, too. Seems the dead will just keep piling up.”
“Where am I?” Valentine tried to ask, but her words slurred. She was being pulled under, drowning inside her own head. Tears leakedfrom the corners of her eyes. There was a longing in her heart for someone, several someones, that she couldn’t quite place.
“Now, now,” the voice said. “This body is still very new. This isn’t the time to talk, I suppose. Not when you can’t think clearly. I’m going to put you to sleep now. I’ll wake you when you’re ready.”
