Dead. Murdered by a madman under the guise of defending his country.
I’d never see her smile at me again. Never hear her voice. Never tell her that I loved her.
“I wonder what kind they are?” he said, snapping me out of the dark place.
I didn’t answer, because just then, something moved within my eyes. I actually felt my pupils contract. A thin layer slid open, accompanied by a subtle clicking that only I could hear.
Zoom: Activated.
Another click, and the planes enlarged to fill my field of vision, like I’d fired up a pair of high-tech binoculars. The images grew and grew in size, until I could capture enough detail to place them.
F/A-18 military jets.
A 3-D schematic of the jets burst to life before me, rotating to show me all sides.
Red letters blinked behind my eyes:
Presently unarmed—drill mode likely
“Not sure,” I murmured, turning away in relief. But as the weight drained from my limbs, a heavy certainty filled my heart. The planes served as a forceful reminder that this carefree beach time with Hunter was coming to an end. No matter how hard I tried to push reality away, it kept sweeping back over me, as surely as the tide rolled in.
And like the rhythmic cycle of the tide, two names repeated themselves, over and over again.
Richard Grady. Sarah. Names that had slipped from Mom’s lips not long before she’d died. I was most confused by Sarah.
“You always were so brave, Sarah. So brave,” she’d said. But she’d been talking to me, looking at me. Why would she mistake me for this unknown Sarah?
Abruptly, I started in the direction of our motel. “Let’s go.”
I could tell Hunter was confused by my sudden urge to leave, but at the moment, I wasn’t up to explaining everything. I needed to get away, to return to the relative safety of the motel room.
As we walked, we passed an amusement park across the street, a motionless Ferris wheel towering in the sky. As if mocking me with all the normalcy I would never have. Hunter had once taken me to a carnival. In those brief moments, I’d caught a glimpse of a real life. What it might feel like to actually be human.
Maybe that was another reason why I’d called him. He always made me feel as though I was more than just some fancy gadget created in a lab.
After one last longing glance, I looked away. I couldn’t live in the past, but I also couldn’t have a future until I learned everything I needed to know about my past.
Richard Grady. This Sarah person. The other Milas.
Maybe once I knew everything, I would finally be free to create a real life. Maybe even one that included Hunter.
We continued down the boardwalk, though I could sense Hunter’s concern in the way he kept sneaking quick glances at my profile. To the east, the waves rumbled toward the sand, mingling with the excited squeals of the few scattered children. From Hunter’s brief conversation with the woman selling ice cream earlier, we knew the crowds had dwindled considerably since summer. But there were still plenty of tourists and locals out sightseeing and soaking up the sun.
My gaze caught on two men up ahead. I quickly dismissed them. Not fit enough. No weapons.
Too many people here for comfort. But at least we didn’t look conspicuous amid a sea of other pedestrians. Plus, Virginia Beach had seemed like the perfect spot—I had such great memories of this place.
Even if those memories were programmed rather than real.
“So, is everything okay? You seem pretty tense.”
“I’m fine. Just a little headache,” I said with a carefree wave of my hand, even though carefree had long ago fled my capabilities. A shriek jerked my head to the right, before I realized it was just a young girl, fleeing an older boy and his two handfuls of wet sand.
My hand closed around my emerald pendant while something flashed in the back of my head. A man, and a woman, dancing along the shoreline. Gulls shrieking overhead, the roar-crash of waves—
Memory banks compromised, defragment.
Image recall.
The flicker of memory, gone. No—more like, stolen.
I shuddered, and Hunter was there in a flash. He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Maybe we should go back to the room—it’s going to be dark soon anyway. And we still need to talk.”
Talk. Right. I couldn’t tell you how much I was looking forward to that.
I mean, how did that conversation go, exactly? Thanks so much for coming and oh, by the way—I’m an android.
I must have stiffened, because Hunter sighed. “I’m here for you, okay? You have to know that.”
I allowed the unnecessary air to exit my nonhuman lungs in a huge exhalation. I peeked up at him, afraid of what I might find in his faded-denim eyes, but they were soft. Warm. Inviting.
Like he was just waiting for me to open up and let him in.
“Thank you.”
He lifted my hand and traced my knuckles with his thumb. Then he shrugged, a loose-limbed movement of his shoulders, and I was transported back to homeroom, where I’d seen him perform that motion for the first time.
Homeroom. I’d been in homeroom less than two weeks ago. Now, classrooms and blackboards and high school cafeterias seemed impossibly out of reach. Funny how torture and death could do that to you.
We rounded the final corner, to where the Sea Breeze Motel sat about half a block down. The lobby was tiny. Shabby, too, with faded green upholstered chairs and scarred wood floors. Rooms at the Sea Breeze came cheap for a reason—nothing looked to have been upgraded in decades. But at least it was clean.
The pulse of anxiety in my ears throbbed louder and louder the closer we came to the motel. Once we got to our room, I was supposed to magically conjure up a way to tell Hunter the truth. Right.
Why wasn’t there an android program to facilitate the important stuff?
The motel room mirror was still fogged with steam from my shower. I rubbed a small, blurry opening in the cloudy white and my face stared back at me. I lifted my hand, turned it this way and that, then traced my knuckles with my thumb. The way Hunter had earlier. I rubbed a bigger circle, my skin glistening under the harsh light. I looked up and down my figure, trying to see myself through Hunter’s eyes. I looked real enough—skin, muscle, curves—but would I feel real to him?
That thought made my face grow hot. My gaze floated upward and I was surprised to see a hint of pink blooming in my cheeks. We’d never even kissed. Why was I thinking of him touching me?
As I shoved the mortifying thoughts from my head and lifted the brush to my short, platinum blond hair—which I’d dyed from black just after Hunter arrived—my hand trembled. Another motel room,
