Deviation (9 page)

His tone is matter-of-fact to the point of cheerful as he speaks of his possible death. I try not to wince or give anything away in my expression, that there is a beautiful girl in Twig City, an exact replica of him in all of the ways that matter.

“Obadiah …” I begin.

“Don’t. Just be grateful and stop worrying,” he says.

“Okay.” I square my shoulders. “I’m grateful.”

“Thatta girl,” he says, smiling. “Now, let’s go see Morton.”

“Can you take us to him?” Linc asks Anna.

“Of course.” We all fall into step behind her. Over her shoulder she says, “He’s missed you, Ven. You too, Linc. He’s looking forward to seeing you both.”

“Me too,” I agree quietly.

Morton is a fascination for me. He has done the thing I want to do most: freed himself. However, instead of running away and enjoying his freedom, he stayed and searched for others like him, Imitations who’ve deviated from Twig City’s mental programming, and given them a home and a family. He says he leads a revolution, an uprising, but he is the most peaceful man I’ve ever met. I don’t understand how the two exist together, but it works for him somehow. I admire it and him, even if his imposing presence still makes me the tiniest bit nervous.

Anna takes us to the room Morton claimed for himself when Obadiah first brought them here. It’s a private room nearest the community kitchen. I am surprised to find his door shut when we arrive. Usually it is open in a welcoming gesture to all who pass by.

Anna sends me a curious look to indicate she is thinking the same thing. She knocks and, a moment later, it opens and Morton’s large body fills the frame. I’m excited to share with him what I’ve done. Stealing the remote tracker makes me feel like the version of Ven Morton wants. The version that will find a way for them to be free. My smile dies on my lips when I catch sight of him.

“Linc, Ven,” he says, a mixture of relief and sadness washing over his expression. “You’re here.”

For a moment, none of us speak. I know they are all staring at the same thing I am; Morton’s expansive cheeks are wet with tears. It shouldn’t be such a novelty, this display of emotion, but when a man as large as a bus shows the vulnerability of a child, it makes one pause.

Linc clears his throat and we all pretend not to notice as Morton wipes the heel of his palm over his eyes and down his large cheeks. “Didn’t Obadiah tell you we were coming?” Linc asks.

“It must’ve slipped my mind,” Morton says, blinking several times. “I’m glad you made it. Come in.” He swings the door wide, allowing us to pass through. Even so, he has to drop his arm and step back to give us room to maneuver by. Morton is breathtakingly huge in a way that a mountain is impressive next to a molehill. The fact that he is also the gentlest creature I’ve ever seen is an irony I can appreciate.

A weathered desk with a single wooden chair is shoved against one wall. A sagging sofa with rumpled cushions lines another. It’s the same setup as the room he left behind when Obadiah moved them from their first hideout—a condemned warehouse several blocks from here.

“Come in and sit,” Morton says, waving us toward the couch.

I sit wedged between Obadiah and Linc. Our hips are pressed together in order to fit into the space the cushions provide. I don’t mind their closeness. It helps me feel safe. I do my best to ignore the tingling on my left that is my body’s reaction to Linc’s contact. I will never stop loving the feeling of him against me.

Morton takes a seat on the wooden chair. It creaks under his weight but somehow holds together. Anna hovers near the door, looking uncertainly at Morton. His tears are gone but his lids are rimmed in red and he isn’t making eye contact with anyone. Instead, he stares at the desk with a far-off look.

The knees on his brown cargo pants are scuffed and worn. For some reason, this makes me keenly aware of my freshly pressed, custom-fitted skirt and blouse.

“Morton?” Anna prompts. She holds her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Oh, yes. My apologies. Today is … my apologies.” He blinks and then focuses on Anna. “Mon Cherie, would you get our guests some water, please?” he asks her.

She nods, clearly relieved when Morton regains his composure. “I’ll be right back,” she says before slipping out.

Morton turns back to the three of us, his attention settling on Obadiah. “How is everything?” he asks.

“Everything’s peachy,” Obadiah says brightly.

“No problems?” Morton asks.

“No problems. Well …. Maybe one.” Obadiah’s expression clouds. “It’s not really a problem, just a … complication.”

“Obadiah,” Linc says, his tone a warning.

Obadiah’s shoulders slump. “Remember how I told you the employees here won’t come down to these tunnels?”

“You told us they think it’s infested with rats,” Linc says. I cringe.

Obadiah nods. “Right. The plan was to spread a rumor about rodents and keep anyone from wandering too far down. And, well … the plan might’ve worked a little too well. My father is talking about selling the building.”

“Selling?” I repeat the word at the same time Linc says, “Shit.” Morton grunts his agreement to one or both.

“Sorry,” Obadiah says. “I thought it would help us stay off the radar.”

Linc sighs. “It’s not your fault. It was a good plan. Has he made any final decisions yet?” Linc asks.

“Not yet,” Obadiah says. “I heard him talking to his assistant yesterday about contacting a realtor to run some numbers.”

“Good. We’ve got time,” Linc says.

“For what?” Obadiah asks. “You want to move them again?”

Linc rubs a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.”

“I hope so,” Obadiah says, shaking his head. “Moving them gets riskier every time.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Obadiah,” Morton says. “Especially with the three of you involved now … I don’t like taking those kinds of chances.”

“Taking chances is kind of a requirement considering the circumstances,” Linc says.

“I don’t like putting anyone at unnecessary risk,” Morton says.

“Agreed.” Linc turns to Obadiah, thoughtful. “What if you buy it?”

“Me?”

“Do you have the means?”

Obadiah’s brow slants. For a moment, his purple scarf and indignant expression are so completely Uptown. “Are you asking if I can afford it?”

“I’m asking if you have access to the funds,” Linc says.

“I—Oh. Huh.” The haughtiness dissolves and it’s only unassuming Obadiah. “I don’t know. Never tried.”

This time it’s Linc’s brow that arches. “You’ve never tried to spend your old man’s money?”

“Not that much at once. Huh. Interesting proposal.”

“But won’t your dad be suspicious?” I ask. “I mean, why would you want to buy an old, rat-infested building?”

“Depends on what I want it for,” Obadiah says slowly. I can see the wheels turning.

“What will you tell him?” I ask.

Obadiah’s voice dips low, devilish and teasing. “How about a gentleman’s club?”

Linc smirks. “You mean a gentleman’s club for gentleman?”

I slap his knee. Obadiah feigns offense but it tapers off quickly. “Business would boom, you know. Plenty of closet politicians. But no. I’ll figure something out.”

“Good.” Linc nods once and I know that for now it’s settled.

The door opens and Anna returns with a tray of waters. She hands them out and takes her place against the wall near the door. “The others are anxious to see you when you’re done here,” she tells me.

“I’m anxious to see them too,” I say, thinking of the room full of Imitations on the other side of the kitchen. “How’s Lita?”

“She’s better. You’ve really helped her come out of her shell,” Anna tells me. “She spoke a few words at dinner last night. It was amazing.”

I smile. Lita is twelve, the youngest resident of Morton’s community. No one knows what happened to drive her to run from her Authentic assignment. She simply showed up five months ago, huddling at the edges of a barrel fire on the outskirts of town. She’d been starving and dehydrated to the point of fever then. Morton had found her and brought her underground.

She’d started by following me around during visits. The first few times, she’d hide or run when I tried speaking to her. Eventually, her bravery increased and she’d stand her ground. Two weeks ago, she said her first words. “Come back soon,” she’d whispered when I left.

Remembering it now gave me a thrill. A sense of belonging, of being needed. “I’m so glad she’s doing well,” I tell Anna. “I’ll be along in a bit.”

Anna nods and starts to pull the door shut. A small face appears around her shoulder and darts into the space between door and jamb. Anna pulls up short. “Lita, I said we’d be there in a minute,” she scolds.

“It’s all right.” I laugh and go to Lita, pulling her in for a hug.

The girl’s shoulders are stiff at first but quickly relax. I stroke her hair, squeezing one final time, and then straighten. “You look very well, Lita,” I tell her. The girl’s eyes shine back at me. Her light brown hair hangs limp over her thin shoulders but her cheeks are pink and healthy. She really does look much better than before. “And what’s this?” I ask, catching sight of the color as her hand retracts.

I snatch it in my own and study her nails. “Someone painted your nails?” I ask.

She nods, pleased with the soft blue but shy enough to yank her hand away a second later.

“I think it’s beautiful,” I tell her. “Maybe you can do mine sometime.”

Lita’s eyes sparkle and she nods vigorously. “Yes,” she whispers so low I know I’m the only one who hears it.

I smile. “Great. Can you wait for me in the main room with the others and I’ll be out soon?”

Lita nods again but it’s not quite as energetic this time. After another moment of coaxing, I convince her to go with Anna and close the door behind them. I slip in between the boys again and Linc hands me a water Anna left before patting my knee.

We sip our drinks and wait for Morton to rejoin the conversation. He is staring at the desk again, eyes brimming with moisture. A moment later, Anna returns, slipping inside without a word and hovering near the closed door.

“Morton?” I call gently when he doesn’t snap out of it.

At the sound of his name, he straightens and sniffles.

“Is everything okay?” I ask. “You seem … distracted.”

“I suppose I am. Today is …” Morton’s eyes dart to mine and then quickly away again. I’m struck with the distinct impression that my face has somehow caused him discomfort. He clears his throat. “Today is Raven’s birthday. I can’t help but worry a little extra for her today.”

I stare at Morton in surprise. Of all the things I might’ve expected, this was not one of them. There’s something about the way he spoke her name, the way his features transform at the thought of her in trouble. I wonder how I missed it before—maybe because I’m only now learning what love looks like on a person. It is an expression all its own. His is unmistakable.

“Did you say Raven?” Linc asks, his tone a mixture of disbelief and distaste. He is either oblivious or uncaring of Morton’s level of attachment. I suspect the first. “As in, Raven Rogen?”

“Yes,” Morton says.

“So you … miss her?” Linc asks. Disgust colors his words.