Torn (24 page)

“What are you talking about? Brent's been in my life since I was a kid. I already know everything there is to know. Right, buddy?” Cole cringed inwardly, struck again by his falsely jovial tone. He didn't have time for this, but he didn't have the heart to tell them that. If they were still willing to support him, the least he could do was play along.

“I'm a man of mystery, my friend,” Brent interjected. “There is more to me than meets the eye.”

Cole rolled his eyes, but sat down across from the two, keenly aware of Michelle's head resting on Brent's shoulder. “Shoot,” he said.

“Where was I born?” Brent asked.

“Trick question. Right here in the ol' Slants,” Cole replied.

“Errrrr!” buzzed Michelle. “Wrong.”

“I was born in Cleveland,” Brent said. “Moved to Columbus when I was three.”

“No way. Figured you were born and bred, just like me,” Cole said, trying to keep things light.

“Like I said…”

“More to you than meets the eye. Next. Shoot.” Cole was impatient. How long was this going to take? He wasn't even totally sure they were going to ask identifying questions, and he was certain he'd get all the basics right. The city thing, okay; that was weird that he didn't know it. He'd nail everything else. He
had
to get to Worsley's lab and get the fingerprint ironed out ASAP.…

“Favorite food.”

“You seriously think they're going to ask that?” Cole had a hard time tamping down his irritation. “Chicken cutlets. Fanciest guy I know.”

“Really?” Michelle broke in. “Babe, I thought you hated chicken?”

“Nope. That's turkey.”

“And that's weird,” Cole told them. “Turkey's a delicacy.” Turkeys were almost extinct. It was rare that they got any kind of fresh, nondehydrated meat in the Slants. In the culinary scene of Columbus, of course, it was different.

“Middle name.”

“Gareth. Boom.”

“
Gareth?
” Michelle looked amused. “You were basically born to be a nerd.”

“How did you not know that?” Cole asked Michelle. “That's our go-to when he's being lame. We blame it on nurture versus nature.” Michelle laughed awkwardly, but Brent's face fell.

“Way to pay attention,” Brent teased her. But his eyes had darkened, and he shifted on the bed, leaning slightly away from her. “All the important stuff, and you're just checked out.” Michelle moved toward him, placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off. “It's
fine,
” he said in her direction. Cole racked his brain for something to say to transition from the awkward moment, but it was Brent who spoke up first. “All right, dude, this one's definitely gonna come up. Also the easiest question of the bunch. My birthday.”

“May sixteenth. No. Wait. That's Hamilton's.” Cole paused, massaging his temples.

“Seriously? How can you not know?”

“I'm sorry! I get you two messed up. You're in the fall. Right? We had that belated celebration last November, which puts you at October. October sixteenth.”

“You're kidding me.” Brent seemed genuinely put off, and Cole was feeling more and more anxious. How could he not know these things? He was a terrible friend,
and
he was going to blow it at the Olympiads. They weren't going to let him past registration. He stood up, beginning to pace, his pulse quickening.

“That's not right?” Of course it wasn't right. He didn't need to hear Brent's firm no to figure that out. He began to sweat. His head was blank. He felt like he couldn't come up with any facts about his friend just then, even if someone asked him a question that was open-ended.

“Cole, save yourself the embarrassment,” Michelle said, straightening up. “I've got this. October eighth.” She looked around confidently, but Brent avoided her eyes. There was a brief beat in which no one said anything.

“Tenth,” Brent interrupted, breaking the silence. Brent stood up, moving toward the door. Cole watched him, wary. This situation was spiraling fast.

“Oh. I could have sworn it was the eighth,” Michelle said, scrambling. “Oh, never mind. That's my dad's birthday.”

“No one remembers mine,” Cole offered.

“Yours is December fifth,” Michelle said. There was another silence; she was right, and they all knew it. Cole cringed and looked away, avoiding Brent's eyes.

“I think I'm done,” Brent told them.

“What, you guys aren't going to join me for the hard part?” Cole tried.

“I guess I have a natural aversion to my friend having his skin burned off,” Brent said. “But you're the ironman.” There was an underlying bitterness behind his words that only someone who knew him well would pick up on. Cole didn't know what to say.

They exited the hideaway, out into the streets of the Slants. Brent and Michelle walked in front of him, Michelle whispering in Brent's ear as she clutched his hand tightly. Cole speculated that she was trying to make up for screwing up his birthday. It must have stung, the fact that she'd known Cole's but not Brent's. She huddled close to Brent, apparently bent on reassuring him, and Cole realized in a flash that theirs wasn't a relationship he wanted. There was nothing easy about Michelle and Brent—all of their interactions were forced, full of deliberate effort and built on the convenience of their relationship. They weren't what he and Davis had been—extraordinary. They couldn't see into each other's souls. Cole thought back to the last time he'd held Davis—the comfort he'd felt in her arms. He'd been unable—was still unable—to imagine a greater level of satisfaction. Everything he was doing was for her.

When Michelle and Brent turned down the path that led away from Worsley's lab and back toward their own houses, Cole pulled Brent into a hug.

“Thanks, man,” he told his friend. “You don't know how grateful I am.” There was so much more he wanted to say. He hoped Brent would realize exactly how full those words were—how much their friendship meant to him. How badly he wanted Brent to be happy. As he watched them walk off, and Brent looked back to give him a wave, he knew they'd be all right. Brent was more like a brother than a friend; there were few things in life that could destroy a bond like that.

 

 

“Cole.” Worsley's tone was guarded, and for the first time he didn't look happy to see Cole. A dark bruise blighted the left side of his face. He ushered Cole into the lab—Vera was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” Cole asked, looking around the room. “You didn't send her out…”

“She's asleep. I have a back room. Worsley jerked his head toward a curtain Cole had never noticed. “I don't want to bother her.”

“I'll keep my voice down,” Cole said, wondering why Worsley hadn't already asked him to do so. “Listen, man. I'm so sorry. I am. I've been in a bad place, but … I know it's no excuse. I know I have no right to ask, but I need your help. Brent found me a machine that will allow me to simulate fingerprints and take over his identity. You need to operate the machine.” He handed Worsley the laser, which he had carefully tucked into his pants, careful to polish it off on his shirt. Worsley took it, eyeing it skeptically.

“This looks dangerous,” Worsley said, eyeing the device. “I don't need to tell you that it's not meant to be used for this purpose. And I doubt I need to tell you how little I feel like helping you right now.”

Cole looked him in the eyes, abashed. “Listen, Tom,” he said. “I get why this is an enormous risk for you. I know that risking your own reputation might mean thwarting all the work you've done on developing the Narxis cure. And I know you hate me right now. But the Olympiads are my only hope. They're tomorrow. We've got to try this. You're the only person I know of who has experience manipulating lasers. And I'm truly sorry for hitting you, for losing control like that. The apology would have come anyway. I just needed to cool off. I know it's inconvenient timing”—he motioned to the device—“asking you for a favor at the same time I apologize. But I don't feel I have a choice. And I am truly sorry. I know you're trying to help Vera. I'll make it up to you any way I can.”

“Okay.” Worsley nodded, looking reluctant. “But only
—
and I mean
only
—because if there's any chance in hell Davis survives the disease and you can bring her back, she might have the antibodies I need to create a cure.”

“And save Vera,” Cole added, trying to keep his voice neutral. Despite what he'd said a minute before, he was still deeply worried for Davis's friend.

“Yes,” Worsley said brusquely. “Let's do it before I change my mind. I have local anesthetic, but it's going to be painful as it heals. We can burn away your fingerprint and carve Brent's into your skin. We need to take a mold of his first. And in a few days, after your finger heals, you'll regenerate new cells to replace your natural print. Just try not to let them know you're wounded. You don't want to raise eyebrows. Are you sure?” Cole nodded. Pursing his lips, Worsley readied the machine.

“Place your finger here,” he told Cole, after applying a numbing fluid to Cole's right index finger. Cole slid his finger under the machine and braced himself as Worsley lowered the laser to target his fingerprint. “Are you ready?” Cole nodded, gritting his teeth. Worsley flipped on the switch controlling the laser beam, and a sensation of excruciating pain flooded Cole's entire hand, despite the anesthetics. Worsley pinned his wrist down with his free hand so Cole couldn't move.

“Ten seconds. Stay strong.”

When Worsley was done, Cole was the closest he'd been in years to shedding tears, and his finger was raw and bloodied. But Worsley had succeeded. Cole's fingerprint had been stripped away, only to be reconfigured into a mold of Brent's print. It would last two days before Cole's own cells started to replace these faux cells. Cole gritted his teeth against the pain, but it was too much. When Worsley applied antiseptic to the wound, he cried out.

“Shhh!” Worsley hissed, glancing over his shoulder. It was too late.

“Cole.” The word was long and low, guttural. It sounded almost inhuman, but Cole recognized Vera's voice.

“What—” He looked at Worsley, who fidgeted, seeming uncomfortable.

“It's nothing,” he said.

Cole narrowed his eyes, snatching his half-bandaged finger away from Worsley's grasp. “What are you hiding?” he growled, standing up and shoving past Worsley, to the curtained area in the back room.

He pushed aside the curtain and found Vera moaning and thrashing in a puddle of her own sweat.

“Cole,” she muttered through white lips. Her belly was distended to the point that Cole thought she must be due at any time, but her skin was pale, almost blue, and her eyes were unfocused. Cole held a hand to her forehead—it was damp, feverish. “Cole,” she said again, thrashing in the bed. Cole's stomach dropped. He turned around to find Worsley behind him, watching. Worsley's expression was resigned.

“What is this?” Cole shouted. “She looks terrible. I apologized to you! I said I should have trusted you, and you said nothing! There's nothing in you to trust. You've turned into someone I don't even recognize.” His words were bitter, but this time he wasn't sorry at all.

“I didn't know she'd get so sick,” Worsley said, pleading. “I was certain it would work, Cole. I was
so sure.
I've never felt more sure of anything. I'm trying to fix it. I'm trying my best to make her better. But even so … the sacrifice is nothing compared to the lives we'll save. Don't you see? I'm sacrificing one to save millions. It's not always clear and easy, Cole. You can't just fight your way through life.”

“You need to do more,” Cole told him. “You can't just give up on her.”

“What do you suggest?” Worsley's face was hard. “Go ahead. Tell me how to make this better.”

Cole opened his mouth then closed it again. At a loss for words, he pushed past Worsley and ran from the room. Once he was free, he told himself, he'd get help for everyone. He just needed to win the Olympiads to get there.

 

 

Cole was so immersed in his panicked, frenzied thoughts that he forgot about taking precautions to stay safe. He just ran down the route he now knew by heart, heedless of his hood flapping down from his head. He was exposed, and he barely realized it. He barely even cared.

The horror of seeing Vera like that made him want to do something destructive. He was tired of trying so hard to keep it all together, and for what? To see all his plans fail, every single time. To watch everyone he loved get hurt, and to know there was nothing he could do about it.

When he heard the voice shouting his name, he almost didn't care. It was the cops; he knew it. Finally, it was all going to end, and there was some relief in that.

“Cole!” The voice said again. He whirled, facing it head-on.

“What,” he shouted. “Take me. Arrest me. That's what you want, just do it.”

The footsteps pounded around the corner and the owner of the voice came into view. Cole felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

Hamilton.

His brother's face was ashen. “It really is you,” he said. “I can't believe it.” He ran to Cole, wrapping him in a hug. When they pulled back, tears were streaming down both their cheeks. Hamilton cleared his throat, trying to pull it together.

“How did you…” Cole trailed off, speechless for one of the first times in his life.

“Worsley called me. But quick,” Hamilton said. “We need to get you off the streets. I was an idiot for shouting your name like that. I just … I couldn't believe it.” His words came out in a choked sob. “All this time, we've thought you were dead. I thought I'd killed you.”