“You never even noticed me,” Ari said, slowly tracing the I in his name.
“I did,” I said, thinking back. “You were a cute little boy. I used to be so jealous of you because you were his son. You belonged to him in a way that I didn’t belong to anyone. I wanted to be perfect so Jeb would love me.”
Even as I said the words, I was just realizing them myself. Ari looked up at me, surprised. I rocked back on my heels, facing these painful truths. It was like Dr. Phil had apparated right into our dungeon.
“I knew I was a freak,” I said softly. “I had wings. I lived in a dog crate. But you were a regular little boy. You were Jeb’s real son. I kept thinking, If I’m strong enough, if I do everything he tells me, if I’m the best at everything, then maybe Jeb will love me too.” I looked down at my new boots, already dull with dirt. “I was so, so happy when he stole us from the lab.” My throat got tight, remembering. “I didn’t think it could last. I was afraid. But I was happy that I was going to die away from the lab. Not in a dog crate. And then it went on. No one found us. Jeb took care of us, taught us stuff, how to survive. It was almost like a normal life, like normal kids. And you know, Ari,” I said, “I was so happy to be gone, so happy to have Jeb, that I didn’t even think about the little boy he’d left behind. I guess I just thought you were with your mom or something.”
Ari nodded, and after a moment he swallowed and cleared his throat. “I don’t have a mom.”
“It’s not what it’s cracked up to be,” I said, and he smiled.
“I understand now,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid, like me. It wasn’t either of our faults.”
I pressed my lips together hard, determined not to make poignant tear streaks down my no doubt filthy face.
“I saw a Shakespeare movie on TV once,” I said. “The guy said something like, ‘Anyone who fights with me today is my brother.’ So—if you fight with me today...”
He smiled again and nodded, understanding. Then we hugged, of course, because the Hallmark moment wouldn’t be complete without it.
97
Not long after the Hallmark commercial, several Flyboys appeared in the dungeon and moved us—to somewhere even worse.
“This is great,” I said, radiating sincerity. “I love what you’ve done with the place. Really.”
The thing about sarcasm is that it’s lost on robots, like Flyboys, for example. But I could always hope that they had voice-activated recorders on them and that later they’d be playing my snide message back to Crazy Old Mom.
The Flyboys turned, rotors humming, and stalked away. No sense of humor.
Nudge, Angel, Total, Ari, and I surveyed our change of scenery.
“Let’s see,” I said. “High stone walls, lifeless span of grit, mutants marching around...I don’t know—I’m thinking it says ‘prison yard.’ How about you guys?”
“Prison yard sums it up,” Total agreed, then trotted off to pee on the wall.
“Prison yard is too good for this,” said Nudge. “Like, cheerless, joy-sucking plain of despair would be more like it.”
I looked at her in admiration. “Nice! You’ve been reading the dictionary again, haven’t you?”
Nudge blushed happily.
“Look! There I go,” Angel said, pointing. Twenty yards away, her clone rambled about with the others, looking more like Angel than Angel did. About two hundred beings were in what used to be the castle stable area, I guessed. No one was talking. Mostly they were shuffling in a large, clockwise circle, getting their “exercise.” They seemed so much like a mindless school of fish, or perhaps a flock of sheep, that I wanted to run through them, shouting, to see if they’d scatter.
“Do you see me?” Nudge asked, peering through the crowd.
“I still can’t believe I don’t have a clone,” Total huffed, trotting back.
“You’re unduplicatable,” I said.
“I doubt it,” he said. “I mean, maybe it wouldn’t talk, maybe it would just go arf, but still. Like, what, they couldn’t bother?”
“Arf?” I said.
“Oh, there I am!” said Nudge, up on her tiptoes. “I see the other me has hair issues too.”
“Why would they make clones of us?” I wondered out loud.
“You.” The metallic voice had no inflection. We spun to see a Flyboy behind us.