Deceived Page 3

Then I thought of my dad—the same man who had kept the truth of my own existence from me. Had my own dad cloned my brother?

  I shook my head. No. That would mean he was working with Sandra. I might be angry with him for having kept the truth from me, but he was not capable of working with Sandra Whitmeyer. Was he?

  The boy whimpered. His eyes were wide with fear. When he met my eyes, he seemed to be screaming for help. I knelt beside him and touched his arm. His skin was burning up.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I can’t move my legs.” His voice was small.

  I glanced the length of his body to his legs, which were covered with a white sweat-soaked sheet that clung to his skin, then back to his face. He had begun to shiver. And suddenly I was afraid for this child I’d never met, yet knew intimately. Everything about his face took me back to when my brother and I were this age.

  I had to do something. I texted Jonas: Where are you?

  Despite the early hour, he answered immediately: Busy. What do you want?

  I flinched at the harshness of his response. I started to text back, but stopped myself. I had yet to perfect a healing ability that would be beneficial to anyone, but it wouldn’t hurt for me to at least try to scan this boy’s body. I had found Seth’s sinus infections right after graduation, hadn’t I? He didn’t even feel bad, but I told him I thought he was developing an infection, and sure enough, the very next day he woke up with pain, swelling, and congestion from an acute sinus infection.

  Of course, I’d been unable to heal it. Maybe Jonas was right. Maybe I was useless. But I would try.

  I touched the boy’s hand again, remembering my brother like I’d seen him only yesterday. The child’s hand was warm as I concentrated on seeing beneath his skin. The blood that circulated through his body appeared disease-free. Neurons fired rapidly through his brain, but nothing too alarming. I followed the neural activity along the spinal cord. And that’s when I saw something that looked… off. Tiny specks along his spinal cord—so small that I didn’t think the most sensitive of MRIs would even pick them up.

  I narrowed my vision. This trail of tiny, evenly spaced specks led from the base of his spinal cord all the way into his brain. And for a reason I couldn’t explain—much like Seth’s sinus infection—I knew that this small boy, this boy who was a clone of my dead brother, had multiple cancerous tumors eating away at his central nervous system. That was why he couldn’t feel his legs. That was why his body was riddled with infection and fever.

  That was probably what was wrong with the other child as well. Had he been a clone of Boone, too? Jonas had whisked me away so quickly that I hadn’t seen him.

  I didn’t know how to heal this little boy, but I knew that Jonas could, if he knew exactly where to look for the tumors.

  My phone pinged. I dropped the child’s hand. The pilot was here and said he needed to make a quick turnaround.

  I touched the boy’s face. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you help.”

  When I moved to find help, I jumped at the sight of a little girl, maybe five or six years old, standing at the foot of the bed. She, too, was familiar. I studied her bright blue eyes. She was a clone of Addison. “Hi,” I said. “Do you know where I could get some paper and some markers… or crayons, maybe?”

  She nodded and ran to a shelf, returning with a basket of broken crayons and a piece of white paper. “Why did you jump when you saw me?” she asked in a small voice. “You know her, don’t you? That girl who looks like me and comes around and reads to us sometimes.”

  Addison? Interesting. The last time any of us had seen Addison, she was distraught over Lexi condemning Sandra to a vegetative state. “Addison reads to you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I lifted a brow at her good manners, then touched her arm, smiling. “Well, I only jumped because I didn’t expect you to be standing there when I turned.” I took the paper and crayons and sketched a picture of the clone’s spinal cord and brain in red crayon. Then with a black crayon, I drew the tumors exactly as I had seen them.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and snapped a picture of what I had drawn. Then I typed another quick message to Jonas: I’m with one of the clones in the school building. He’s sick like Tamati. Here is a picture that will help you heal them both. These clones have tumors so small that you’re not seeing them, but they’re there. They’re causing infection and paralysis. Please text me when you think he’ll be okay.

  I stuffed my phone in my pocket and took in the frightened face of the little boy. “You’re going to be okay,” I whispered. “I promise.” Then I turned to the little girl. “Can you sit with him until Mr. Jonas gets here?”

  She nodded, then climbed up on the bed beside him and held his hand. “It’s going to be okay,” her little voice said.

  I knelt beside her. “How often is Addison here?”

  “She visits us every day.”

  “Does Mr. Jonas visit every day too? Does he see Addison?”

  “Oh, no. She makes us swear we won’t tell him that she’s here.”

  “Are you ever scared of Addison?” I asked.

  “Why would I be scared of her? She’s our friend.”

  Leave her alone, Bree, Addison mindspoke to me.

  I stood and turned in a circle. Where are you? Show yourself.

  I pulled out my phone and started to text Jonas again when Addison appeared.

  Put the phone away, she mindspoke.

  Technically, Addison was just a kid. Ten years old, to be exact, and she looked it. Her hair hung down in stringy, dark strands. She wore a pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt. She had no hips, and she hadn’t started to develop a chest yet. But Sandra had created her and trained her to be a genius who was capable of getting around on her own and evading everyone looking for her. And when she spoke, it was difficult to remember that she was only a child.

  By the time you tell Jonas I’m here, I’ll be gone. If you cooperate, I can help you.

  Help me? What makes you think I need or want your help? And what on earth did she think she’d help me with?

  I know where the missing clones are.

  What missing clones? I asked.

  The ones that Jonas thinks died.

  I turned that over in my head. Jonas had said that two clones died previously, and now two more were sick. Where are they?

  Someone named Vance Carrington had an agreement with Sandra. He has them. And he’s scheduled to get more very soon.

  Vance Carrington? My heart skipped a beat. I knew Vance Carrington. This was not good news. Why haven’t you told Jonas this?

  Because I had to figure out where he was taking them. And now that I have, Jonas wouldn’t believe me if I told him. He and Lexi think I’m against all of you. So I’ve been hiding here on the island, snooping through Sandra’s stuff, and I found an agreement between her and Carrington.

  Are you against us? I didn’t know what it had done to her to see Lexi destroy Sandra right in front of her. I was nervous that Addison was angry at Lexi, and therefore all of us, for turning Sandra into a brain-dead vegetable.

  Addison smiled. Let’s just say that I’m helping you now because I care about these clones. And I can tell that you do as well. Jonas doesn’t deserve your help, but as long as you don’t tell him where I am, I’ll help you find the clones that disappeared from this island.

  If I could find the clones and prove that they were still alive, maybe I could prove myself useful to Jonas. And you think Vance Carrington has them? I asked.

  I know he does. This Carrington asshole has them at your dad’s biotechnology lab in Portland. You just need to get to Oregon. I’ll be in touch.

  Addison?

  No answer. She was gone.

  I clenched my fists. If what Addison claimed was true—if my dad was responsible not only for cloning my dead brother but for using his identical clones as a part of some experiment—I would bury him and Vance Carrington, w
hom I knew all too well.

  I heard Jonas’s voice in the hallway. I didn’t want to see him—didn’t want to see the relief on his face when he figured out I was leaving. I quickly said goodbye to the Addison and Boone look-alikes and exited through a door at the opposite end of the room. As I walked out of the building, I passed dozens more children, including several more boys who were identical to my brother, and my rage toward my dad started a slow burn beneath my skin.

  I followed the trail outside the main building to the small landing strip where my plane would be waiting for me. My phone pinged several times. I looked at the messages. All from Jonas: You were right. I found Tamati’s tumors and healed both him and Tane. How did you see them? Call me. Meet me in the kitchen for breakfast.

  I could almost hear the amazement in his text that little ol’ Bree had managed to be useful for once. Well, he could choke on it.

  I slid the phone back into my pocket. I didn’t have answers for him. I wasn’t sure how I could see the tumors that he’d missed, or how I could find infection before it was apparent to others. But something screwy was definitely going on.

  chapter four

  Jonas

  “Did she say where she was going, Aleigha?” I knelt in front of the little girl that looked like a younger Addison. She had a sweet, caring disposition, a stark contrast to the Addison who had been hiding from us ever since Sandra and John DeWeese were captured on Palmyra.

  “No, Mr. Jonas. But she was acting funny.”

  “Funny? How?”

  “She jumped when she saw me.”

  I bet she did, I thought.

  “And she called Tane ‘Boone.’”

  “Like she recognized him?”

  Aleigha nodded furiously. But that didn’t make sense. Who was Boone?

  I gave her a little hug, and she skipped off to be with her friends. As I watched her go, I once again marveled at what Bree had done. She had mapped out exactly how I could heal Tamati and Tane, and maybe any other clone who collapsed. And she had been right. Dr. Sallee had confirmed that Tamati was already showing signs of regained feeling in his legs and feet. Tane was resting peacefully and looked to make a full recovery. Their fevers had already broken.

  “I didn’t listen to her,” I whispered, closing my eyes. My mind was overtaken by a level of guilt I typically refused to let myself feel.

  Briana Howard had figured out how to identify the smallest of tumors. Tumors so tiny that even I couldn’t see them, that Dr. Sallee was unable to pick up on her ultra-sensitive MRI machines. And thanks to Bree, I had been able to save Tamati and Tane before it was too late.

  After dozens of texts went unanswered, I resorted to calling Bree. It rang and rang. I knew she had already landed at the San Francisco airport, which meant she was refusing to pick up. I left her another message: “Bree. Thank you. Thanks to you, Tamati and Tane will live. Their paralysis is gone.” I took a deep breath. “I wish you had at least allowed me the chance to say goodbye. I hate the way we left things.”

  I looked up at the ceiling. It was my own fault that she’d left so quickly this morning. I had pushed her away last night and said things I hadn’t meant. Bree was many things, but a pushover was not one of them. And she was not above holding grudges. I knew it would take a while before she and I could be friends again. And more than friends…? Who knew if that would ever be possible at this point?

  “I’m sorry,” I added finally, and hung up.

  I tapped my phone against my head in frustration. She had left me no choice but to push her away. She would have derailed her future by staying here. And she would have resented me for it eventually. I did this for her own good.

  And now, I had my own plane to catch. At least now I could travel to Costa Rica knowing I wasn’t losing more clones.

  chapter five

  Briana

  Sitting in a small coffee shop in downtown Portland, I massaged my temples while taking in the scent of a double mocha latte.

  The headache had started before I’d even reached the plane in Palmyra. After flying all day, I was in almost unbearable pain. I even considered checking myself into a hospital, but I couldn’t, as that would instantly alert my dad that I was in Portland. So I nearly overdosed on pain medicine instead, and now I’d been holed up in a motel on the outskirts of Portland with the curtains drawn for the better part of the week.

  The pain had started within minutes of leaving Tane, and I could only assume that I had strained myself a little too far in diagnosing him. My friends had felt similar side effects initially after using their own abilities.

  When I was finally able to lift my head again, I began my quest for information—information that would help me when I went to confront my dad. He had crossed a line when he’d used my deceased brother’s DNA to further his scientific agenda. I searched the internet for any and all articles written about him, his company Howard BioTech, and Vance Carrington, the lead scientist I had interned under last summer when my dad forced me to work at his company.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything I didn’t already know. My dad, a bioengineer, was the brain behind medical discoveries that had far outreached those of other world-renowned scientists, and he was one of the lead doctors—along with Peter Roslin, Sandra Whitmeyer, and John DeWeese—involved in the project that had led to the first-ever human clones genetically engineered to become supernatural healers. Little had he known that those clones, myself included, would also develop unnatural mind-controlling abilities.

  But there had been only seven of us initially. So how did Boone’s DNA fit into all of this? How had Sandra gotten hold of it? My mind raced. I thought back to the beginning of what I now knew, charting a timeline mentally.

  I had been sent to Wellington when I was eleven. Lexi had been hidden there by her dad. I had assumed that my dad had hidden me there as well, for whatever reason, not realizing the abilities we had. On the surface, it would seem that he cared about me, like Lexi’s dad had cared about her.

  But my dad had lied. Like everyone else I had come into contact with on that original team of doctors, he had kept secrets. And despite that team’s efforts to keep us safe, our lack of knowledge about our true identities left us vulnerable to International Intelligence Agency agents who wished us terminated.

  I might have believed my dad’s lies even now, if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes a clone of Boone in a laboratory that had until this past year been controlled by Sandra Whitmeyer. What could my dad say to explain that? How could he align with both Peter Roslin and Sandra Whitmeyer?

  Sandra Whitmeyer was evil. And somehow she’d gotten hold of my brother’s DNA—DNA only my dad would have had access to.

  I was determined to find out how.

  Since my internet search had come up empty, I’d moved on to more old-fashioned ways of gathering information. For the past three days I’d been following Vance Carrington, memorizing his habits. I knew that he worked out at a downtown Portland gym at five a.m. I knew that he stopped every single morning at a quaint coffee shop a block away from his gym. I knew that he then went to his parking garage to retrieve his ostentatious red Mercedes SL550 Roadster, which he drove to Howard BioTech.

  And this morning, I intended to learn more. I got to the coffee shop early, wearing a pretty dress that was several inches above my knees and was low-cut to show the slightest bit of cleavage, a feature I would enhance when Vance spotted me, though it pained me to encourage him in any way.

  I looked at my phone again. He was later than usual. The bell above the door rang. A young woman entered in a pencil skirt and matching jacket, with running shoes on her feet—a look I thought had gone out of style in the eighties. I had just about given up when the bell above the door rang again, and in walked Vance. He was handsome, tall, and built exactly the way I would imagine a twenty-five-year-old triathlete to be built. I pretended to flip through the latest issue of Portland Topps, a magazine filled with nothing but photos and articles about th
e who’s who of Portland sighted at the past month’s social and philanthropic events. It was usually only the people who were clawing their way to the top of the Portland business scene who appeared in the magazine; if you were already on top of that scene, you did everything you could to avoid being photographed. Vance was in the current issue four times already, and I was less than halfway through it.

  I felt his eyes on me. It took him all of five seconds to convince himself that it was me. I had grown up quite a bit in the last year since he’d seen me. And with my enhancements… well… a man like Vance couldn’t stop himself.

  “Briana Howard,” he said, standing directly in front of me now.

  I lifted my eyes and feigned a confused look. “Vance Carrington? Is that really you?” I smiled. He and I both knew that I knew exactly who he was.

  “When did you get back in town?”

  I stood and threw my arms around him in a flirtatious hug. “Just last night,” I lied.

  When I released him, his eyes drifted downward, landing on my chest. “I can’t believe your dad didn’t tell me you were in town.”

  I laid a hand on his forearm. “Actually…” I batted my eyelashes, “he doesn’t know. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Oh?” Vance lifted a brow. A sly grin played with the corners of his lips.

  “Please don’t tell him. To be honest, I was hoping to have a few days of fun before I told him or my mom that I was in town. You know, so that I could hit the bars first and see some friends. They’d lock me up inside that fortress they call home if they discovered me in town before I was ready.”

  He smiled, and I could almost hear the obnoxious thoughts forming in his head. “Well, in that case, you have to let me show you a good time. How about tonight?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. My dad would be furious with you if you took me out without telling him I was in town.”

  He moved in closer. “Then we’ll just have to let it be our little secret.”

  I forced a fake smile even as I threw up a little in my mouth. “Oh, you are bad, Vance.” I gnawed on my lower lip.