Constance (Constance #1)(65)

“We simply don’t know. You have some time left. Six months? Perhaps longer with the proper medical care. Again, we’re in uncharted territory here, so it’s impossible to say with any degree of certainty. The good news is that medication can mask most of the symptoms until the end. The bad news is that the end will be swift and come with almost no warning.” Almost as an afterthought, Gaddis added, “I’m sorry.”

Con nodded. “Thanks.”

“With that in mind, there is a possible solution,” Gaddis said.

“What kind of solution?”

“We grow you a new clone. One that correctly matches the age of your last upload, thus eliminating the lag you’ve been experiencing. The other good news is that whatever Brooke Fenton inserted is not a part of your last upload. That means an uncorrupted copy of your consciousness still exists on the quantum servers at Palingenesis.”

That was the second time she’d been offered a clone. She was tempted to ask for one hundred million dollars on top of it. Somehow she didn’t think Gaddis would blink. He had danced around the precise nature of her aunt’s research, but he knew exactly what she’d been working on and wanted it for himself. Con could hear the greed in his voice. That wasn’t why she was going to turn him down, though.

“I’m guessing that means you can’t move this consciousness into a new clone,” she asked, knowing the answer.

“I’m afraid not. The damage is already done. All we’d be doing is moving your corrupted download from one body to another. The outcome would be the same.”

She knew it would sound absurd to explain it to anyone else. Maybe only Peter would understand. Even though it had only been a few days, so much had changed. She saw herself differently now, and the idea of starting this journey again felt terrible. And anyway, it wouldn’t be her starting over. It would be a different Con waking up thinking it was the day after Christmas with not one but two predecessors to obsess over.

No. She wouldn’t give up whatever was in her head, and she wouldn’t take a new clone. She would finish this journey on her own. There were still questions she needed to answer. Starting with why the original Con D’Arcy went to Laleh Askari for help. How did she know she was in danger? And what did that mean?

“I’m going to Charlottesville,” Con said.

Vernon Gaddis nodded with grave disappointment. “And how will you get there?”

“I’ll walk if I have to.”

Gaddis pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead as if it were in danger of cracking open. “You are the most stubborn woman. When I said you reminded me of your aunt, I didn’t mean for you to take it to heart.”

“But if you let me keep the car and stay out of my way, I’ll give you what you want when I’m done.”

Gaddis thought it over. “I want it in writing.”

“Well, I assume you brought the lawyer for a reason.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


The parking garage her original used on her clandestine visits to Charlottesville was on Water Street only a few blocks from the University of Virginia campus. Students wouldn’t return until the end of August, and the college town dozed contentedly in the June sunshine. Con parked and walked down to the sidewalk, where she looked up and down the street. It had felt important to come here. To retrace her original’s steps. See what she must have seen. Hear what she must have heard. But standing on the curb, it felt like a fool’s errand. She had no leads, not so much as a place to start. Nothing but this irrational certainty that if there was something here to find, she would be the one to find it.

That was the theory anyway. So, what now?

Well, the police had canvassed every business within a five-block radius but had stopped there. Understandable. At the time, Con D’Arcy had only been a missing person and not yet a murder victim. It wouldn’t have been a top priority, and now that Clarke had a suspect in custody, why would they bother looking any further? But their search had clearly assumed that her original parked here to be close to her destination. Con pulled up a map on her LFD. The next closest public garage was more than fifteen blocks away, and there wasn’t any overnight street parking without a resident sticker. What if her original hadn’t parked here because it was convenient but because it was the only alternative to getting towed? If so, the police had simply given up too soon.

Con created grids on her LFD’s map, expanding the search area by another five blocks. It was a daunting amount of ground to cover, but pleased to have a plan, she struck out toward the campus for no better reason than it looked pretty in that direction. She spent hours walking through neighborhoods of ancient, low-slung brick buildings, stopping at every business to ask if they had seen someone who looked, well, just like her. The question raised a few eyebrows, so as a cover, she invented a twin sister. It worked. Too well. A missing twin had a tragic allure that sparked people’s curiosity, and she’d had to improvise an entire backstory for her imaginary sibling just to satisfy the endless questions.

By early evening, her optimism had given way to the sinking realization that police work was tedious as hell. It would take a week to canvass the entire area, and even then, she would need dumb luck to stumble across anyone who remembered her original. If she hoped to find anything she needed to start thinking like a detective. Problem was, she was a musician, and there simply wasn’t a whole lot of overlap in the two skill sets. What did she hope to see that trained professionals had missed? Then she remembered something that Darius Clarke said to her at their first meeting in DC—that it wasn’t often that a detective got to interview a missing person while they were still missing. How it would help him understand Constance D’Arcy’s mindset.