Torn (22 page)

“It can work. If Worsley won't help, I'll do it myself, or you can do it. It'll be painful. We'll have to burn off your fingerprint, replicate mine, and carve it onto your finger with the lasers. But what it amounts to is minor surgery, if done right. And you'll want anesthetics. Maybe at the very least we can steal some from Worsley's lab.” Cole raised his eyebrows. “It'll work,” Brent repeated.

“Hey,” Cole said, taking a breath, “it's worth a shot. It's all I've got. But…” He turned to Brent, his friend, who had always been his right-hand man in training for the FEUDS. “Don't you want to compete?” He thought he owed his friend the courtesy of asking.

Brent shook his head. “You know I'm no athlete. I'd never win,” he said. “And anyway, like I said, this is for Michelle.” He placed his thumb on the transparent plate that was angled just below the laser. “There. You have my print. Now let's get this thing out of here before someone sees you.” Brent wrapped the laser in his jacket. It was heavy, but not so heavy that one person couldn't carry it—at least until they got to the ladder that connected the elevator shaft to the mine exit. When they got there, Cole pulled himself up first, then bent back over the gap and reached down for the laser, which Brent handed up to him.

“Careful,” Brent called. “Don't drop it.”

“Are you coming?” Cole asked, once he had deposited it firmly on the ground next to him, his biceps burning from the effort.

Brent shook his head. “I've got to get back in there,” he said. “I'm going to find Michelle.”

 

 

As Cole walked home, he thought about Brent and Michelle, and felt a pang of jealousy shoot through his heart. Not for Michelle, but for how easy Michelle and Brent's relationship was. They liked each other, and they could be together—it was that simple. There wasn't anything in their way. Things would never be that easy with Davis.

And yet, maybe they could be, if he won the Olympiads. He felt the weight of the machine in his hands; it felt like a physical manifestation of hope. This was the most momentum he'd had in months. He couldn't wait to get the machine safely back to Braddock's barn. He was desperate to share the news with Mari. He knew she'd be thrilled that there was a real shot at him putting their training to the test. He quickened his pace, struggling only a little under the weight of the laser.

When he arrived at Mari's house, she was already up to meet the rising sun. She was bent over the garden, carefully tending the herbs. She lifted her head as he approached, and he didn't wait for her to say hello. He grabbed her, spinning her around, his body filled with elation. She laughed, and the sound of her laughter lit him up.

“I did it,” he gasped. “I've found a way to compete.”

“Cole!” She laughed again, jumping up and down, then hurtled her small frame into his arms. “I'm so happy for you.”

Alone in the barn a few minutes later, Cole felt himself coming down from his endorphin rush. For the first time, he found himself wondering what winning would mean, aside from being with Davis. It could mean freedom for him and his family, finally. It could mean a new life in a new territory—and winnings to share with Mari, who could improve her own life with her father. It occurred to him that even if he could relocate his family to a new, safer, more accepting territory, Davis might not want to join him. Joining him would mean abandoning the life she knew and loved in Columbus. And even if she
did
want to join him, he would still be taking her away from the family she adored. A life like that wouldn't be built on happiness. It could easily turn to anger, loneliness, and resentment. To see that happen to them would break his heart.

For the first time, Cole wondered if it would be better for both of them if he just let her go.

15

DAVIS

The gown Jan lent her was floor-length chiffon and fancier than anything Davis had worn since Terri and her father's wedding. It gathered at the waist with a jeweled belt that buckled in front in the shape of a butterfly, and the back was draped and almost fully exposed, a style Davis had always favored. Finally, the peach-colored silk swished in pleats against her ankles, and silver strappy shoes finished off the look. It was undeniably pretty, and there was once a time when Davis would have enjoyed this kind of attention. But as Jan's in-home stylists had blown Davis's hair out into long waves and applied subtle, natural-looking makeup, she'd felt increasing anxiety build. When they were done, Gina and Garth walked Davis over to a full-length mirror so she could admire herself. Davis forced a smile but focused on the reflection of the clock in the mirror. There were still roughly twenty minutes until the event started. Every minute that passed, in which she was being fussed over but couldn't just run straight to the gala and search for Dr. Hassman, felt like agony. Somehow, being in Durham and being inactive felt worse than when she was miles away, without the certainty of ever reaching the heralded city.

She hoped she could find the answers she needed that night. She couldn't while away time the way Mercer seemed inclined to do.
He
was home. He was the only person he knew, besides her, with Narxis. In Columbus, people were falling sick every day. The longer she had to wait, the surer she was that Fia or Vera or her father would be next. Durham was her one hope. The dress felt tight around her waist and chest, and she struggled to breathe steadily. A sheen of sweat appeared on her mirrored image.

“Gorgeous,” said Gina, the far more effusive of the two stylists, into the mirror.

Garth nodded in agreement. “It's certainly a transformation,” he allowed, mopping the sweat with a tissue, then applying power with a feather-soft makeup brush. “Is it hot in here? You're so wan, sweetheart,” he told her, squinting his brows. “You need to beef up a little.”

Davis saw the prominence of her cheekbones and rib cage in the mirror. Her months at TOR-N had not been good to her. Yet, despite her fragile look, she felt stronger than before. She'd been through hell and back. Knowing she'd survived made her less afraid of what was to come.

Gina and Garth had never seen anything close to the horror she had.

It felt wrong. All of it. The luxurious feel of the fabric against her skin. The smell of rose petals in the air. The soft, airy quality of Jan's bedroom, which boasted blue-tiled walls and white down comforters and white peonies in a tall vase at a window that overlooked a flowering courtyard.

At TOR-N, the courtyard had often held wagons full of the newly dead waiting to be carted off for refrigeration until the ferry could take them to the mainland. At TOR-N, there was no smell of roses in the air, only human decay. At TOR-N, Davis had been afraid to touch and be touched—except for Mercer, who steadily healed alongside her. She'd been too afraid of contracting the disease again. Thinking this, Davis shuddered, recoiling from the stylists' fingers.

“They're going to love you, sweetheart,” Gina assured her, mistaking her reaction for run-of-the-mill social anxiety.

Davis walked down the winding staircase, a luxurious descent from the top story of the three-floor apartment building, to meet Jan and Mercer below.

“Wow.” Mercer's eyes were huge, and he uttered the word involuntarily, his mouth agape. Davis blushed, her eyes trained on his.

“You clean up well,” Jan said, her mouth set in a grim line. “Sure took you long enough.”

“Easy,” Mercer told her.

“I was only kidding!” She broke out in a wide grin that looked false to Davis. If Davis didn't know better, she'd say Jan felt threatened. But Jan herself was the picture of health and beauty. She was naturally tall and rose several inches over Davis in her metallic heels. Her skin glowed with a subtle artificial shimmer, and her blonde hair cascaded in soft waves down her back. Her own dress of choice was lavender. It set off her creamy skin and dipped in a sweetheart neckline at her chest. She was curvaceous. Glamorous. Bombshell. Everything Davis wasn't, in her thinner state. Everything she'd never been as a petite, slender, muscular ballerina.

“You look great, Davis,” Mercer said, resting a palm against her back. He looked handsome himself in a black tux. His hair was newly cut, too. Davis couldn't help but notice how his checkered bowtie—his one nod to personal fashion—set off his eyes.

“Do you have.…” she asked, speaking of the vials of blood and their thumb drive medical records.

“Yep,” he broke in, patting his breast pocket.

“Then let's do it,” she said, excited to get moving.

 

 

The party was elaborate, and more sophisticated than anything she was used to. “It's sponsored by some major science foundations,” Jan whispered as they gave their names to a security guard and entered a vast foyer that lead to an even more expansive ballroom.

“This is amazing,” Davis whispered, straightening her shoulders. Even though the party was fancier than she was used to, there was something familiar about it, too. This was Davis's sweet spot; she was in her element in situations like this, and it felt comfortable and right to be there.

Everywhere she looked, beautiful people milled around. “Let's get you two a drink,” Jan said. “Sadie's parents don't care. Everyone looks the other way at these things. I think they figure the tipsier we are, the more likely we are to bid a portion of our trust funds.”

Davis smiled, but it was forced. Jan said these things so casually, even knowing what Mercer had been through. She acted like this kind of extravagance was no big deal. But Davis had seen the other side of it, and this kind of luxury now felt both familiar and repulsive at once. Still, they didn't know any better, and she had to keep reminding herself of that. A waiter passed by with a tray of effervescent cocktails, and she couldn't help but thrill at the luxury of it all.

The crowd was dazzling. Everywhere she turned, clusters of stunning teenagers milled about. Davis hadn't been in the company of healthy Priors in so long. It, too, felt an odd mix of familiar and uncomfortable. After spending so much time among the diseased at TOR-N, it was especially seductive to be back around perfection. Davis had thought Jan was tall, when she met her—and she was, at around five feet eight, Davis guessed—but she realized that the population of Durham as a whole seemed taller on average than that of Columbus. There were tall, willowy types and tall, curvaceous types like Jan, but most of the girls were pushing five feet ten, and the men were all over six feet. Davis felt minute by comparison. She followed Jan and Mercer over to a relatively secluded corner of the room and plopped down on a long leather sofa.

“Over there,” Jan said, sipping from her champagne flute. “That group. They're kind of a clique, but I'm close enough with Anais. They're all in the research scene, though—grew up together in that circuit, and I guess it's kind of a mafioso thing. Once you're in, you're in.”

“What do you mean, the research circuit? Is this like, a group of people?”

“Their parents all work at Duke-UNC Research Facilities. If anyone knows anything about Narxis, it's them. Or at least they can maybe get info for you. And they'll definitely be able to hook you up with Dr. Hassman. He doesn't have any kids, but he's friends with half their parents. You should introduce yourself. Say you know me. We're a nerdy group in Durham,” Jan added. “Intellect is prized over athleticism. That's how we differ from Columbus, I guess,” she said, sounding superior.

It was all Davis could do not to roll her eyes. She bit back a retort and looked toward Mercer, intending to ask him to talk to the research group with her, but he had already wandered off to another cluster of people and looked deep in conversation with a handsome, bespectacled Clark Kent type. Good. Maybe he was already making headway. It was a little weird that Jan wasn't offering to introduce Davis herself, but she figured the two of them had a lot of catching up to do with the group, so she straightened her dress and approached the group herself.

“… the high is incredible,” one of the guys was saying as Davis approached. She wended her way just past the group, to the bar, as though she was just there to order a drink. She leaned against the bar, angling her body toward the group. She caught the eye of one of the guys and smiled in what she hoped was an open, casual way. He returned the smile, leaning toward her and away from the group. His friend watched them curiously for a minute, then turned back to the group, his broad shoulders blocking them off from the rest of the circle.

“I thought I knew everyone in Durham,” the guy said, raising his glass to her. “I'm pleasantly surprised to find I was wrong.” He was lean, and his face was striking—all sharp angles and a well-defined jaw. Blue eyes made for a stark contrast against deep brown skin, and thick eyebrows accentuated his confident manner. He had the kind of silky way of speaking that Davis used to be accustomed to, but which she now loathed. Still, she flashed him a wide smile.

“Just visiting,” she told him. “I'm here with Jan.”

“Ah, Janet. Solid girl.” His forehead creased. “How do you guys know each other?”

“Mutual friends.” The guy nodded and surveyed her face, his eyes narrowing. For a second, Davis's heart seized. What if he recognized her somehow? Just as quickly, she dismissed the paranoid thought. Still, the guy openly analyzed her.

“You look familiar,” he remarked.

“People say that.” Davis flashed him a broad grin. “Accessible face, I guess.” The guy pursed his lips but merely nodded, trailing a finger from Davis's elbow to her wrist. “So,” she forged on, “Jan tells me your parents are some of the leading research scientists on Narxis. That's pretty awesome.” The words sounded canned, even to her.

He grinned, chucking her on the chin. “That's right,” he agreed. “I'm surprised Jan had to tell you. They're world-renowned. They travel all around the world on their private yacht conducting research at various ports,” he added.
Yacht-dropping.
That was something she hadn't missed from her old life. “Maybe you can join me sometime.” He gave Davis a long, simmering look. So he was a Grade A douchebag, but he was potentially a douchebag she could manipulate.