The Similars (The Similars #1)(71)

I try to focus on my classes for the rest of the day, but it feels like an eternity until Maude’s gentle knock sounds at my door that evening. “Come on in,” I say. Then, in case anyone is within earshot, “Thanks for coming by to study.” I close the door behind her, then take Pru’s chair and wedge it under the doorknob. “We don’t want anyone walking in on us.” It’s study hours. It’s not like I have other friends who would want to borrow my notes or cram for our upcoming calc exam, but still.

“Hand over the key,” Maude says.

I do, relinquishing it to Maude’s confident grip. I feel a slight pang at letting it go, like I’m letting Oliver go too.

Maude takes out her plum and sets it on the rug. She places Oliver’s key next to it.

“You’re the expert,” I say, “but I’m guessing we need to get on the server. Does the key have an internal tracker that runs on Wi-Fi?”

“Hopefully,” Maude answers. She fiddles with some commands on her plum until she finds a screen that looks promising. “Okay. I found the right setting. Now we need the code that connects it to our keys,” she says, concentrating as she hits a few buttons on the plum.

“Is it working?” I press.

“Give me a second.” She pauses. “I’m entering the Darkwood transmitter codes—done,” Maude says as the key begins to glow orange.

“That’s it? You did it?” I stare at the key and at the plum.

“Almost,” she says. “Now I need his passcode.” She holds up the plum to show me the screen. It says OLIVER WARD. Underneath is his birth date and four blank spaces for a four-digit passcode.

“Right,” I mutter. I knew this was coming. “How many tries do we get?”

“Not sure. It could shut us out if we miss too many times, so…let’s not. Figure you’ve got three at the most.”

I begin to pace. What would Oliver have used as his passcode? It must be something I’d know. Otherwise, he would have left me a clue. Did he? I take out his note.

Emma,

I’m sorry. The key is for you. It will explain everything. Especially about him.

Love always,

O

There aren’t any hints in here, are there? Only one four-letter word stands out…

“Can the digits be letters? Or only numbers?” I ask Maude tightly.

“Either,” she says. “It’s an alphanumeric system.”

I sigh. “What about ‘love’? L-o-v-e?”

She types in the letters. “Error message. Any other ideas?”

I rack my brain. What on earth would Oliver use as his passcode? I read the note again. There’s nothing. “W-i-l-l? Try that.”

Maude keys it in. “Nope.”

I think a moment. “‘Emma,’” I say quietly. “It’s four letters. It’s the first word in the note he left me. I didn’t think of it at first because it seemed, well, like nothing…”

Maude is already punching it in. “Bingo,” she says, a smile spreading over her face. “We’re in.” Maude presses a few buttons on her plum, and the key glows again, turning from orange to dark purple. A figure materializes over the key. It’s Oliver—his hologram, anyway.

Oliver’s hologram looks just like the one we met in the research lab. Same familiar face. Jovial, but strangely inhuman.

“Um,” I mutter, staring at him. “Hi?”

Maude rolls her eyes. “Hold on. I have to key in a few more commands. There,” she says finally. “Go,” she tells the hologram.

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “He can’t hear you. What makes you think he’s going to talk, anyway?”

But just like that, he does. “Hi, Emma.”





Underwood


I know this isn’t the real Oliver. It’s a hologram, a figment. And yet, hearing him say my name like that, like he used to—it’s disarming. Oliver’s body doesn’t move as he talks, only his mouth. I shake off the strangeness of it all. His message is what matters. Oliver, the real Oliver, recorded it, knowing, or hoping, that I’d hear it.

“Sorry to be so cryptic,” Oliver’s hologram continues. “But if you are listening to this, it means I’m not there to tell you what I have to say in person. I’m sorry about that.”

I look over at Maude. Is she as entranced as I am? Yes. My eyes flit back to Oliver’s, staring into them like they hold all the answers to my many questions. I hope they do.

“Back in the spring, I fell into one of my filmmaking wormholes,” Oliver explains. “I’d decided to make a documentary about all of Darkwood’s hidden gems. The places on campus most students know little about. Did you know that the Tower Room was once the hiding place of a wanted criminal? It was decades ago, but I digress.”

I exhale. This hologram—this flimsy version of Oliver—sounds like he did when he was narrating one of his films.

“That’s what brought me to the old science building by the lake. It’s been vacant for years. It took some digging to learn about what had happened there. Nearly twenty years ago, when the lab was a fully functioning research center, a couple of students set some laboratory animals loose, and the media got wind of the incident, stirring up negative press for the school. Darkwood’s students were painted as irresponsible and its administrators lax.”