Burn (Pure #3)(74)

“Stand back, people,” Beckley says. “Let’s get her somewhere cool.” He shouts to the other guards. “Stay here. Crowd control. We’re moving her indoors. Make sure no one follows.”

Beckley leads Partridge away from the crowd, down the sloping lawn toward the building that Iralene promised she’d get him into and lead him through—the place she’s known all her life and never wanted to go back to.

Her eyes flit open. “See, Partridge? I’m good to my word. And you will be too, when the time comes to return the favor, right?”

“Of course, Iralene,” he says hesitantly. “Of course.”





PARTRIDGE





RISKS




Someone’s been here before them. The fake living room flickers over the cement walls. Iralene is holding Partridge’s hand, Beckley beside her. This is the home she’s known. He can tell that it scares her now. Partridge recognizes the fluffy white rug, the little panting dog, the massive sofas and armchairs and modern art hung on the walls, and the shiny kitchen where the image of Mimi once made muffins, over and over, telling Iralene—sitting at the piano across the room—to start the song again.

But this loop isn’t the one Partridge saw before. The image of Iralene walks into the room wearing a robe and slippers, then into the kitchen where she pours herself a glass of milk and grabs a plate of cookies.

“I hate this one,” the real Iralene says, gripping Partridge’s hand tighter. “Your father made it for my mother. A Mother’s Day gift.”

Her mother arrives from the image of a door that Partridge doesn’t remember being a real door. She too is wearing a robe, tightly cinched.

Mimi says, “How about some girl talk to go with your milk and cookies?”

The fake Iralene says brightly, “Okay!”

Partridge keeps walking. “The hallway is in that corner, right? The one that leads to the capsules?”

Iralene’s hand slips away from his. She walks to the image of her and her mother. “Sometimes I think he actually wanted us to be happy,” she says.

Partridge glances at Beckley, who says, “We don’t have much time here. If we stay too long, people will think you’re actually sick, and they’ll start to panic.”

Iralene steps inside of her own image. She knows her part and her lines. She lifts her hand in perfect sync with the image and twists a strand of hair. She and her image both say in unison, “There is this one boy at school. I think he’s really special.”

“Oh really!” Mimi says. “And does he think you’re special too?”

The image of Iralene dips her head down shyly. But the real Iralene reaches out to touch her mother’s face. Of course, it’s not there. Her hand slips through the air. “There are ones of me when I was even younger. My mother teaching me to sew. Her reading storybooks to me on the sofa.”

Partridge is chilled by the idea of watching your life instead of living it. “Did my father watch these?”

“He couldn’t just take us in and out of suspension every time he missed us. He had to have these little moments of us now and then. And my mother and I watched them, of course. They were fairy tale versions of our lives. We loved ourselves in them. Each time he’d bring a new one to us, we’d savor it together.”

This was happening when Partridge’s father was ignoring him and Sedge, when he’d sent them off to the academy, when, after Sedge was supposedly dead, his father didn’t even bother to let Partridge come home for the holidays. He’s weirdly jealous but also sickened. This was no way to love a family.

Iralene laughs at her mother’s image, which is saying how wonderful Iralene is, how any boy would be lucky to win her heart. “My mother would have never said that in real life. She’d have said, You have to make him fall in love with you. You have to be perfect, Iralene! If he’s a worthwhile man, you’ll have to trick him into loving you.” She turns to Partridge and Beckley as the images of her and her mother keep talking. “I’m not the kind of girl a boy would naturally fall in love with.”

Partridge isn’t sure what to say. She’s lovable—just the way she is—but he can’t love her.

Beckley’s the one who speaks up first. “Do you know how many men are in love with you? Your image has been plastered on every screen.”

“They love my image, then,” she says flatly.

Partridge shakes his head. “No, I don’t buy that. One real look at you and—”

“And what?” Iralene says, so eager that she cuts him off.

“They see through the image to you,” Partridge says. “The real you.” She walks to Partridge, grabs his arm, and pulls him close. He feels guilty every time he’s kind to her. He’s only giving her false hope, and he’s betraying Lyda. But what should he do? Be cruel instead?

“Let’s go,” she says. “This way.”

She leads him and Beckley down a hall. The doors on either side are marked with placards—numbered specimens and names. The air buzzes with electricity. Iralene pauses when she comes to the door where her name used to be. Her mother’s name is still there beneath the now-empty space—MIMI WILLUX.

“Does your mother still come here?”