“Sit here,” the woman said, patting a thing Lux suddenly knew was chair.
She sat.
“Let me take care of those hands and knees.” The woman moved around, picking things up, and opening drawers and jars. She pressed a wet cloth to Lux’s cuts. “I’m Dr. Moira Crue,” the woman said. “I’m going to take care of you, dear.”
“Where is Jim?” Lux asked.
“You’ve had a very stressful awakening,” Dr. Moira Crue said. “I know you must be very frightened and confused, but just trust me, all right? You’re safe here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I want Jim.”
“I know.” The woman’s eyes pinched at the corners. “I know.”
She took a thing from her pocket—flashlight—and shone it in Lux’s eyes. Lux winced and tried to turn away, but Dr. Moira Crue held her chin and murmured that it was okay, she wasn’t going to be hurt, but Lux didn’t care about hurting she just wanted Jim where was he why did he not come why did he leave her—
“Lux!”
She blinked, her thoughts grinding to a halt.
“Lux, you’re panicking. You need to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out.”
I do not want to breathe I want Jim I want Jim where is he where is he—
Lux yelped as pain pricked her arm. She looked down to see the woman sliding a needle into her skin.
“I’m sorry, Lux, but you’re having an anxiety attack. It’s common among newborns, but Jim isn’t here to calm you down, so I’m giving you some medicine. Do you understand?”
“Hurts . . .” Lux whispered, but then a warm, soft feeling washed over her, and she swayed.
“There. See? Everything’s fine.” The woman held her up. “I only gave you a little bit. Can you walk?”
“Walk,” Lux echoed dreamily.
“Come on. Try.”
Lux locked eyes with the woman. “What am I?” she whispered.
Dr. Moira Crue’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “What?”
“What am I?” Lux gazed at her in anguish.
“Lux . . . you’re a Vitro. A girl. A . . . a human being—what a strange question.” She tilted her head, studying Lux closely. “Why would you ask that?”
Lux sighed deeply. The woman gave her answers, but none of them were right. There was still something missing. Something big, something so, so important . . .
TWENTY-TWO
SOPHIE
The cell in which Sophie’s mother had deposited her was in a lower basement level that had no windows and none of the upper floors’ outdated resort chic. The room was small, ten feet by ten feet at most, with the floor, walls, and even ceiling covered with stark white pads. She sat curled in the far corner, facing the door, outwardly silent but inwardly screaming.
If Jim was murdered, his blood would be on her hands. There was no way around it. Her pulse pounded in her ears, beating out a steady rhythm by which she could mark time’s passage.
The room was lit by a fluorescent bulb high above her; it was covered by a grate wrapped in foam. The light flickered every few seconds, with a faint metallic click. Other than that, no sounds issued from the hall. She was, as far as she could tell, the only person on the entire basement floor.
Her mother had been silent as she led Sophie away. At first, Sophie had thought her mom might let her go. When they were out of Strauss’s hearing, Sophie had suggested they run for it. They could find Jim and Lux and Nicholas and flee the island together. She thought surely after Strauss’s display of power and menace that Moira would see reason, would understand that this was no place for either of them.
Moira had only given her a look, a look that said stop talking now before you get in worse trouble, and Sophie said no more on the matter. Her heart had sunk lower and lower, until she felt as if she were dragging it behind her on a string, and now it lay pathetically at her feet like a despondent pet.
She’d been silent as her mother opened the door to the padded cell, silent as the door shut behind her, silent as Moira’s footsteps faded down the hall. Hours had passed, as best as she could judge, and she hadn’t made a sound. She drifted in and out of sleep, but her dreams were filled with a chaos of voices and images that left her feeling less rested than she had before she shut her eyes. She wondered what time it was. By the ache in her stomach, she’d missed several meals.
When the door finally opened, she lifted her head just enough to see who it was. Moira was there, and Strauss, and Dr. Hashimoto, peeking over their shoulders.
And there was someone else. She stood in front of Moira like a ghost, like a reflection in a pool: Lux.
Again Sophie was left breathless as if punched in the gut. But this time it wasn’t the physical resemblance between herself and Lux that had her reeling; it was the look in Lux’s eye: deep, hollow sadness, as if her heart had been carved out of her with an ice cream scoop.
If they had Lux, that meant they must have found Jim too.
“Well,” she said coldly, looking past Lux and her mother, to Strauss. “Did you shoot him?”
“Get up,” Strauss replied.
“We have to tell Andreyev,” Moira explained, her gaze vacant.
Sophie recalled what the consequences would be if Andreyev withdrew his funding of the Vitro Project: her mother deposed, the Vitros either exterminated or sold off. Sophie wasn’t sure which she would choose in their place. It seemed to her that living without control of your own will was hardly a step above not living at all. She would rather be shot than become an empty, voiceless vessel existing only as an extension of someone else. But that’s not a choice I can make for them, she thought. She knew, deep in her heart, that if the Vitros were killed by Corpus, written off as failures, some of the blame would fall on her. I never wanted any of this. She’d been played the whole time, led by the nose by Nicholas. But she couldn’t well shift blame on him—he was only trying to break free of the people who’d controlled and used him his entire life. She’d have done the same in his position.
Sophie stood and went to the door, her eyes drawn to Lux. Her mother handed her a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel, which she ate in five giant bites. They walked down the hall, toward the staircase leading up, and all the while Sophie summed up her twin, comparing herself to Lux from head to toe. Why you? She halted at the doorway to the stairs, letting Lux go first. Why did she keep you and not me?
She churned with a conflict of envy and relief. Lux was the daughter Moira had kept, while Sophie was the one she’d abandoned. On the other hand, Lux was the one she’d turned into a listless doll; at least Sophie had a will of her own even if, at times, it landed her in trouble. She knew she’d drawn the long straw between them.
They found Andreyev outside, where the afternoon was fading to evening—she’d been in the cell for nearly twenty-four hours, she realized with a shock; he was being looked after by two of his personal bodyguards and was hitting golf balls off the bluff and into the sea with a heavy driver. Several of his balls went wide and only narrowly missed smashing into the Corpus helicopter crouched off to the right; his bodyguards flinched whenever this happened. Dressed in a striped polo, khaki shorts, and an argyle tam, he looked like a harmless middle-aged tourist on vacation. But when he turned around and saw Sophie and Lux standing side by side and Moira’s and Strauss’s grim expressions, a dark look fell over his face that banished any such illusion.
“Let me explain,” said Strauss, but then she gave a short, bitter laugh. “Rather, let Moira explain.”
Moira did, succinctly. Andreyev listened without expression, looking down at his driver, which he swung absently at the grass. When Moira finished, Andreyev swung the club and Sophie flinched, thinking he was going to hit her mother with it, but he just propped it against his shoulder and turned a narrow eye on them all.
“A strange mess,” he said. “So my Lux has imprinted on
this pilot instead of me. And where is he?”
Strauss cleared her throat. “He’s on the island. He has nowhere to run, so it’s only a matter of time before we bring him in.”
Sophie let out a small, relieved breath. He was alive, at least. For now.
Andreyev nodded as if only half listening.
“We have other Vitros,” said Moira. “In just a few hours we can—”
“Is this atrocious disorganization indicative of all your projects, Victoria?” Andreyev asked, cutting Moira short as if she’d never spoken. “Or am I to lay all the blame on Dr. Crue here?”
Strauss and Moira exchanged challenging looks, as if each wanted the other to take the blame.
“Why don’t we go inside?” said Strauss. “We can discuss reparations in private.”
“Is there anything we can get you?” Moira asked. “Dinner? Coffee?”
Andreyev sighed and handed the club to one of the bodyguards. “Don’t try to coddle my goodwill, Dr. Crue. I am about finished with Skin Island and all of you.”
Strauss shot Moira a dark look. Sophie couldn’t take it anymore; she stepped forward. “It’s my fault!” she said. “Stop blaming them—I was the one who got in the way. My mom has nothing to do with it.”
“Come inside, Sophie,” said her mother. “You’re not helping.”
“Mom, you have to see how wrong this is,” Sophie said, begging. She searched Moira’s eyes for some sign of regret, but Moira seemed more concerned with hushing her up than contemplating her life decisions. Strauss looked wrathful and Andreyev tired; Lux’s eyes were lowered, hidden behind the fringe of her pale lashes. Her brief flare of righteous anger fizzled into smoke, and Sophie let herself be led inside.
Her mother, Strauss, and Andreyev closeted themselves together in Moira’s cramped office while Lux and Sophie were put into Lux’s room. The door was locked from the outside, and a guard took up station in the hallway. The girls would be left alone with each other until, Sophie guessed, the adults worked out what was to be done about them. If Lux was useless to them, having imprinted on Jim, would they let her live? If they killed Jim, would her bond with him be broken? Would she be free, or would she just imprint on someone else?
Sophie threw herself into a small wooden chair by the window, hooking one leg over the armrest. Lux perched delicately on the edge of the bed and stared at her hands. Sophie watched her closely, wondering how deeply beneath the skin their similarities ran. If Lux was just a day old, she doubted they had much in common beyond appearance.
It was inappropriate and made no sense at all, but a small pang of jealousy struck Sophie in the chest when she looked at her twin. Of course she would never have wanted to be in Lux’s place, but at the same time . . . Was it because of Lux that Moira moved to Skin Island and gave up Sophie and her dad? It seemed a valid explanation. Her father must have rejected the idea of using Lux as a Vitro, and that’s why he left. If it hadn’t been for Lux, would her mother have left with them?
Sophie sensed there was something she was missing, some final, hidden stroke that would paint the complete picture of her life. Why did Moira Crue stay on Skin Island—and why did she allow such a terrible fate as imprinting to befall her own daughter, even if it was to save her life, as she’d claimed? No sooner did Sophie think she’d found all the answers than yet another question arose and shattered her illusion of truth.
“So.” Sophie dug her finger into a chip in the back panel of the chair. “You’ve imprinted on Jim, so you have to do whatever he says.” She looked at Lux sidelong. “When he tells you something, do you want to do it?”
“Yes,” Lux said.
Sophie didn’t want to believe her. There had to be a way around the chip. She couldn’t accept that Lux, or any of the Vitros, truly had no single independent thought, no preference as to the direction their life took. “Even if he told you to jump off a cliff?”
“Yes.”
“Even if he told you to push him off a cliff?”
Lux looked up then, her brows knitted together and her eyes pained. “I . . . If he said . . . but he didn’t say. The answer cannot be found. I do not understand.”
In time, if she were given her autonomy, would she become more like Sophie? She wondered how much of herself was locked away inside Lux, or if there was a whole different girl in there, trapped inside the metal chip in her brain, forbidden her freedom.
Sophie sighed. “Look at you. Your gown is torn and dirty and those shoes are too big. Here.”
She went to the dresser and pulled out a clean pair of underwear, a white shirt, a sports bra, and a pair of athletic shorts, which she tossed to Lux. “Put these on. And there are shoes in the closet.”
Lux held the clothes and looked at them uncertainly. She tugged at the gown, only getting herself tangled up in it. With another sigh, Sophie helped her out of the gown and into the clothes. It was awkward and frustrating; Lux seemed at odds with her limbs and clearly had never put on a shirt before. But when she was dressed she stood in front of the mirror hung behind the door and stared at herself for a long while. Sophie sat on the bed, her legs folded beneath her and her arms hugging a pillow to her chest, watching Lux watch herself.
“You’ve never seen your own reflection, have you?”
Lux put out a hand and pressed it against her image. “This is me?”
“Yes.”
“I look like you.”
“That’s because we’re sisters. Or something.”
Lux turned around and looked at Sophie as if seeing her for the first time. “Sisters.”
“You know what it means?”
“Many meanings,” she said softly. “Many words.”
“Well, in this case, it means we have the same parents. The same mom and dad. Moira you’ve met. Our dad’s name is Foster. He’s a doctor too—or he was once. Now he’s a biology teacher and he’s . . .” She shut her eyes, picturing her dad, tall, lanky, his hair never brushed, his glasses always slightly askew. She saw him sitting at his desk in the family den, grading papers, one hand always in his hair. She saw him when they argued, when he’d snatch off his glasses and wave them around, his face red and his shoulders hunched with tension. “He’s a good dad,” she finished, and she echoed it with regret, wishing she had said goodbye before charging off on this mad venture, wishing they had been on better terms, wishing she had given his warnings about her mother and Skin Island more credence, wishing he had told her the whole truth from the beginning. She opened her eyes and looked at Lux, wondering if her sister would ever have the chance to know him for herself.
Sophie was seized with a sudden affection. “We’ll get out of here,” she said fiercely. “We’ll go back to the States and you can meet Dad and he’ll take care of you. I can find a way to free you from the chip. They have to let me take you, Lux. You’re no good to them now, not after you imprinted on Jim.”
“Jim,” Lux echoed sadly.
“Forget him. He can fly us out of here, but after that, it’ll be you and me. I’ll be eighteen—uh, we’ll be eighteen—in three months. We can go wherever we want.” She tossed the pillow aside and walked to Lux, standing behind her and looking over her shoulder into the mirror. The resemblance was dizzying; she was seeing double. “We’ll be real sisters, Lux.” She hesitated, then put her arms around her sister, holding her tight, releasing the small seed of envy that had been wedged inside her and feeling lighter for it. “Would you like that?”
Lux seemed unmoved by Sophie’s affection. “I want Jim,” she said.
Sophie released her. “He’s not your boss, Lux! He’s not your master. You can be your own person. I can help you. Please—let me help you be free.”
“I want Jim.”
“Jim isn’t here! I am!”
“He is.”
“What?”
“He is here.”
&
nbsp; Lux pointed at the window. Jim was there, waving frantically, and when he saw them looking, he hurled a rock at the glass and it shattered across the floor.
TWENTY-THREE
JIM
“Don’t just stand there!” Jim said. “Come on!”
The girls shot into action. They ran to the window, and there was a moment of confusion as they tried to sort out who would go first. Jim took the hands of one and pulled her through, realizing with dizzy shock that he didn’t know which one it was—Lux or Sophie. Lux was no longer wearing her wispy hospital gown, and now he couldn’t tell one from the other. But there was no time to exchange names; there were guards crawling over the island looking for him, and he knew they had to move fast.
“You’re lucky I looked in and saw you,” he said to whichever twin he was now helping through the window. “I was about to give up.”
Circling the building had been extremely tricky. Guards roamed the perimeter, and he was only saved from being seen by the tall grass that grew along the walls. When he saw a guard he would dive into the grass and lie flat until they passed. He was covered in dirt, scratches, and sandburs and he didn’t think the day could possibly get much worse.
Once both girls were out and standing on the grass, he glanced each one over, trying to tell them apart. They were both scratched from the broken window and their hair was mussed. His eyes fell to their hands, one with nails bitten short and the other with nails long and delicate, and he finally identified them.
“Sophie,” he said, “we have to get to the plane.”
“Wait,” she said. “Where’s Nicholas?”
“Nicholas?”
“Didn’t he find you?”
“Was he supposed to?” Jim shook his head. “There isn’t time. There are guards everywhere! Let’s go.” He started to take off, but she grabbed his arm.
“But I promised him I’d help him escape. He was the one who sent that e-mail, not my mom! He’s behind everything because he just wants to be free.” Her eyes entreated him. “I promised I’d help him.”