don’t think we belong here,” Jamie squeaked.
Sam moved close. “Is it alive?”
“ARE YOU CRAZY, SAM? GET AWAY FROM THAT!” She grabbed him by the arm, but Sam pulled away.
He couldn’t take his eyes away from the inert silhouette.
Something about it was familiar.
“Sam?” Jamie’s voice was tense, sharp. “It’s a dead body. If you touch it —if you get your fingerprints on it and someone finds it — I will say I never met you.”
Its chest was not moving. But it didn’t smell like a dead body. Dead bodies were supposed to smell, weren’t they?
Sam stood over the figure and pulled back the black cloth.
He gagged.
Jamie screamed.
A face stared back at Sam. A face he knew well.
His own.
15
H E DID EXIST.
He was here, all this time. In some kind of coma. Just the way Jamie said. BUT FOR FOURTEEN YEARS? How?
How could it have happened? How could he have survived? How could I not have found out? WHY DIDN’T THEY TELL ME? Sam felt detached, dizzy. He grabbed the side of the table. His fingers brushed against Kevin’s cheek.
It was cold. And smooth.
Silky smooth.
Sam pulled his arm back.
“Sam, what is going on?” Jamie asked. “Is he alive?”
“No,” Sam said.
“HE’S DEAD?”
“No.”
“WELL, THEN WHAT IS HE?”
Sam placed his hand on the cheek again. He scratched the skin with his fingernail. Deep.
It ripped cleanly. No blood.
BEEEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP !
On one of the rolling tables a monitor blinked with the words INITIATE EPITHELIAL SEALANT .
Epithelial — that was one of the words he’d seen on his dad’s computer. Sam knew that word. From biology.
It meant of or relating to the upper layer of skin. Something like that.
The cheek was epithelial, all right. It was just like skin. But it wasn’t skin. It was synthetic. It needed “sealant.”
“He’s … not a he,” Sam said.
“What does THAT mean?”
“He’s an it … ”
“Sam, this is too weird. We don’t belong here, Sam — ”
“He’s — ”
Kevin.
No. Not Kevin. How could this be Kevin? This was just a copy. A humanoid. A model of how Kevin would have looked had he lived.
Another of Mom and Dad’s secret projects.
A lifelike reconstruction of someone that never existed.
The kid I “absorbed.”
Why? What was the point?
To admire him? To pretend he was alive? To dream about what might have been?
It was sad.
It was sick.
Sam heard a new commotion. Above them. He instinctively looked up, but his head hurt too much.
The lights around him flashed and blurred. A thousand instruments, all waiting for something.
And then it hit him.
It suddenly made sense.
The body needs a brain.
The brain needs a soul.
The body is on the table.
The soul is in me. Crowding me.
But I can pass it on.
Into the transpatheter.
Which loads it into the brain.
And then —
KEVIN.
“No!” Sam cried out, clutching his head.
The voice was back. The feeling was back.
But — how — ?
“SAM!”
Jamie reached out to help him. Something was happening but Sam couldn’t focus, couldn’t pay attention, couldn’t move.
Sam sank to his knees. The other voice inside him was louder and more agitated than before (WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? THIS WILL KILL YOU) — and Sam didn’t know what it meant so he tried to talk to it mentally (Who are you? Are you Kevin?) but the voice was growing louder, deafening, stretching Sam’s mind until he thought his head was about to blow apart. (IT’S NOT GOING TO WORK! ITS NOT MEANT TO BE!)
“What?” Sam said aloud, his voice strangled and weak. “WHAT’S not going to work?”
“Sam!” Jamie was pulling him up now. “They’re coming!”
They?
Who?
“HELLLP … ME!” The words came out of Sam’s mouth — but they weren’t from him. The other voice — the other person — was speaking through Sam now.
“What do you want?” Sam answered.
Jamie thought he was talking to her. “To get you out of here!”
“YES … GET ME … OUT OF HERE!” cried
Sam moved close. “Is it alive?”
“ARE YOU CRAZY, SAM? GET AWAY FROM THAT!” She grabbed him by the arm, but Sam pulled away.
He couldn’t take his eyes away from the inert silhouette.
Something about it was familiar.
“Sam?” Jamie’s voice was tense, sharp. “It’s a dead body. If you touch it —if you get your fingerprints on it and someone finds it — I will say I never met you.”
Its chest was not moving. But it didn’t smell like a dead body. Dead bodies were supposed to smell, weren’t they?
Sam stood over the figure and pulled back the black cloth.
He gagged.
Jamie screamed.
A face stared back at Sam. A face he knew well.
His own.
15
H E DID EXIST.
He was here, all this time. In some kind of coma. Just the way Jamie said. BUT FOR FOURTEEN YEARS? How?
How could it have happened? How could he have survived? How could I not have found out? WHY DIDN’T THEY TELL ME? Sam felt detached, dizzy. He grabbed the side of the table. His fingers brushed against Kevin’s cheek.
It was cold. And smooth.
Silky smooth.
Sam pulled his arm back.
“Sam, what is going on?” Jamie asked. “Is he alive?”
“No,” Sam said.
“HE’S DEAD?”
“No.”
“WELL, THEN WHAT IS HE?”
Sam placed his hand on the cheek again. He scratched the skin with his fingernail. Deep.
It ripped cleanly. No blood.
BEEEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP !
On one of the rolling tables a monitor blinked with the words INITIATE EPITHELIAL SEALANT .
Epithelial — that was one of the words he’d seen on his dad’s computer. Sam knew that word. From biology.
It meant of or relating to the upper layer of skin. Something like that.
The cheek was epithelial, all right. It was just like skin. But it wasn’t skin. It was synthetic. It needed “sealant.”
“He’s … not a he,” Sam said.
“What does THAT mean?”
“He’s an it … ”
“Sam, this is too weird. We don’t belong here, Sam — ”
“He’s — ”
Kevin.
No. Not Kevin. How could this be Kevin? This was just a copy. A humanoid. A model of how Kevin would have looked had he lived.
Another of Mom and Dad’s secret projects.
A lifelike reconstruction of someone that never existed.
The kid I “absorbed.”
Why? What was the point?
To admire him? To pretend he was alive? To dream about what might have been?
It was sad.
It was sick.
Sam heard a new commotion. Above them. He instinctively looked up, but his head hurt too much.
The lights around him flashed and blurred. A thousand instruments, all waiting for something.
And then it hit him.
It suddenly made sense.
The body needs a brain.
The brain needs a soul.
The body is on the table.
The soul is in me. Crowding me.
But I can pass it on.
Into the transpatheter.
Which loads it into the brain.
And then —
KEVIN.
“No!” Sam cried out, clutching his head.
The voice was back. The feeling was back.
But — how — ?
“SAM!”
Jamie reached out to help him. Something was happening but Sam couldn’t focus, couldn’t pay attention, couldn’t move.
Sam sank to his knees. The other voice inside him was louder and more agitated than before (WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? THIS WILL KILL YOU) — and Sam didn’t know what it meant so he tried to talk to it mentally (Who are you? Are you Kevin?) but the voice was growing louder, deafening, stretching Sam’s mind until he thought his head was about to blow apart. (IT’S NOT GOING TO WORK! ITS NOT MEANT TO BE!)
“What?” Sam said aloud, his voice strangled and weak. “WHAT’S not going to work?”
“Sam!” Jamie was pulling him up now. “They’re coming!”
They?
Who?
“HELLLP … ME!” The words came out of Sam’s mouth — but they weren’t from him. The other voice — the other person — was speaking through Sam now.
“What do you want?” Sam answered.
Jamie thought he was talking to her. “To get you out of here!”
“YES … GET ME … OUT OF HERE!” cried
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