Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(4)

“It’s all right,” I murmur when she breaks from coughing long enough to suck in another breath.

I continue to offer soft reassurances, like I used to do with Ida when she was worried for an Imitation that left to see Marla and never returned. It’s not so much the words themselves that matter. It’s the tone and the sentiment behind them. I consider stroking Melanie’s hand—another comfort I would offer Ida—but Melanie’s movements are too jerky. Not to mention, her hair and skin have a dull sheen of grime over it that I can’t bring myself to touch. I wonder how long it’s been since she bathed. Or been allowed out of this chair. Or this room. Or these bindings.

This is my fault.

When her shoulders are finally still, I bring the napkin away. It is stained red.

I grab the wine glass and hold it to her lips, tipping it slowly. She sips and swallows and makes a face. The alcohol must burn its way down her insides but it’s the only thing I have. Titus didn’t give me any water. When she’s finished, I set the glass aside.

Melanie slowly raises her head and regards me solemnly. For a moment, I feel connected. Just like the moment we shared the night she surrendered. There is a glimpse of tenderness, of lucidity. And I know she is still in there … somewhere. But then her eyes fill with venom and her lip curls.

“You. This is all because of you,” she says in a hoarse whisper that is frightening in its desperation. Her lips are crimson and sticky with blood and her eyes are wide and unfocused. She has never looked more like a monster. And because she is right, I have never felt more like a villain.

I can’t argue, but I’m not sure it would be prudent to agree, not with her lip curled that way and her arms now straining against her bindings. She watches me, waiting for something. “I …”

“Why are you here?” she screams, her voice breaking on the last word as it gives out from the effort.

Before I can think of an answer, she jerks her attention toward the door and then just as quickly to the reflective wall. “Why would you send her in here?” Melanie yells at the mirrored glass. “Why?”

There is no answer.

“I want to see Daniel! Bring me to Daniel!”

I rise to my feet and back up a step, the stained napkin hanging loosely in my hand. I don’t know what else to do or how to fix it. For me, for Titus, or for her.

Melanie strains away from me and the chair creaks. She continues to screech at the wall, “Of all of the people in the world, you send her? I’m not telling her shit!”

Again, there is no answer and I know there won’t be. She must know it too. Finally, she turns back to glare at me, her chest heaving with labored breaths.

“Melanie, I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

Her eyes are still full of unshed tears but they don’t look particularly sad. She is broken, most certainly, but she is also unhinged. There is an emptiness there I cannot reach. Hopelessness. And I know it is too late.

“I failed,” she says dully.

“No, you didn’t. You’re doing great,” I say, hoping Titus will think we’re both referring to her survival and nothing more.

She doesn’t seem to hear me as she goes on, “I failed them all. He knows I had them. It slipped out when he used that thing …” A tear slips down her cheek. “And Daniel. I failed him too. I—” She breaks off and lets out a sob and just as quickly as it ended, the burning anger returns. “You promised!” she screams, looking at me.

“I—” I stop, unsure what I can say that won’t incriminate me.

“You want them? Fine!” She is yelling and staring at the mirrored wall again. Without hesitation, she spouts an address in the depths of downtown. I know it because it’s the old address, the one where the Imitations were hidden when I found them. I go still, scared I’ll give away the truth: that the information is useless. They’ve been moved. Weeks ago. With Obadiah’s help. They are safe. For a little longer, they are safe.

Melanie goes on yelling, her eyes unfocused and head tipped toward the ceiling. Spittle forms at the edges of her mouth as her voice gains volume. “You never meant it, did you? I fell for it. Yeah, I did. And now it’s too late. And I’m finished. He’s finished. For nothing. All for nothing and no one.” She brings her gaze down to mine so abruptly, I scramble away and land on my backside. My palms go out to brace my fall and I grimace the moment they touch the dirt-coated floor.

“You,” she says, packing all kinds of meaning into the one word. “You can’t go back on it. You can still get Daniel. It was all for him, anyway. I don’t give a shit about the others.”

I shoot a glance at the shiny wall, my eyes wide as I try to think of a response that works for all the sets of ears tuning in. “Daniel?” I repeat.

It is not the answer Melanie wants. She screams unintelligibly and pulls against her bindings. A long, narrow cut on her arm breaks open. It oozes red and white trails down to her wrist before dripping into a pink puddle onto the floor. It pools over a dried spot of the same color, and I know this is not the first time she’s hurt herself in the midst of her own angst.

Pressure squeezes around my chest, like a bowtie pulled too tight. “Melanie,” I say, but she doesn’t hear me. She’s on full tilt, screaming and straining and pulling at the bindings, yanking her body this way and that until the chair begins to rock on its wobbly legs.