The Similars (The Similars #1)(94)

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask as I look from this Oliver look-alike to Levi, and then to Gravelle, who appears to be enjoying this.

“Doing what, Emmaline?” Gravelle asks cordially.

“Torturing me.”

“Ah,” he answers. “I would call it entertainment. But semantics…”

“First, you showed me all those horrible memories. And now you bring in another apparition to remind me that my best friend is dead?”

“Emma,” Levi says quietly.

“What kind of trick is this?” I struggle to get out of my chair, but I can’t.

“It’s not a trick, Emma,” Levi offers.

“No, Em,” says the boy, and I startle. Is he talking to me? I look at him. “Levi’s right,” he says in a voice that sounds completely Oliverian. “It’s really me.”

I stare at this boy, certain I’m back in the virtual reality simulation again. I must be. The serrated knife slides into my chest.

“You aren’t Oliver.” My voice cracks. “Oliver died. You died!” I turn to Gravelle. “And you! You brainwashed him or tortured him. You did this. You drove him to suicide. Why would you do that? To your own son? Are you that heartless, Underwood?”

“Of course not,” Gravelle says. “I never would have wanted that, Emmaline. Which is why the dead boy in Oliver’s bed was not Oliver Ward—‘my son,’ as you call him. He was a clone, created for the sole purpose of assisting my grand plans. The real Oliver Ward is alive and well and standing in front of you.”

I stare at Gravelle, not comprehending. I look to Levi. Why do his eyes look so…hollow? So weary?

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the Oliver-clone looking at me, taking me in. He closes the gap between us, kneeling so his face is level with mine.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he says quietly, smiling at me, his eyes crinkling the way they used to, exactly the way I remember them. “But it’s really me.”

I stare at him, disbelieving. “No,” I say softly, shaking my head. Impossible. “The real Oliver would be yelling. Or fighting to get me out of this chair,” I insist. “You can’t be him. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Gravelle hobbles toward us. “I’ve given you the moon, Emmaline, and you’re complaining because it’s full of craters! Give Oliver a break. If he’s slightly more relaxed than usual, it’s because he’s on a low dose of pharmas. A few mood enhancers to guarantee that his time here at the compound is nothing short of delightful.”

I whip my head around to glare at Gravelle. “So you’ve been drugging him?” I turn back to this Oliver and take in each detail of his face, his hands, his body. Tears of confusion, exhaustion, and flat-out fear pool in my eyes. Can it be?

“My guess is the pharmas keep him docile,” Levi explains. “They make him more agreeable. Less prone to excitement. Without them, he might have attempted to escape.”

“Why would he try to escape, Levi?” Gravelle purrs. “I’ve given your original everything he could ever want. A library stocked with books. A room full of the most hi-tech cameras and editing equipment available. All Oliver’s wanted is at his disposal.”

“I’m sure Ollie’s really motivated to make films when he’s been practically lobotomized,” I mutter to myself.

“So you believe me, then?” Oliver says, his voice eerily calm.

“You died,” I insist. “You left me your key. That note…”

“I did write that note,” Oliver says, his voice drifting off. “But from the compound. I’ve been here since last summer.”

“Gravelle killed an innocent clone,” Levi explains. “He wanted you to think Oliver was dead. Not just you, of course. You, Jane, Booker, everyone. It was all a trick. We fell for it. Can we get up now?” Levi indicates the force field.

“Certainly.” Gravelle manifests a touch screen and presses a few buttons. I feel the force field around me dissolving. This time, when I try to stand, I can. As I stretch my legs, I notice the two guards stationed by the door tensing. I’m still trapped. There’d be no point in running; I’d never get away. Instead, I walk up to Oliver, desperate to make my brain understand what I’m seeing. It still makes no sense, none at all. Even under the influence of pharmas, the real Oliver would share more of an explanation… Wouldn’t he?

“You were gone,” I choke. “For almost a year.” The serrated knife twists in my chest.

“This isn’t a trick, Emma,” says Levi, who now stands next to me. “You know I’d be the first person to question this. All of it… Why my guardian did what he did. Why he made you all think Oliver was dead. Why he created us in the first place,” he says darkly.

“It was him all along,” I say. I turn, enraged, to Gravelle, feeling so angry I could rip off his face with my bare hands. “What did you do?”

“I simply righted some wrongs,” he says with a smile. “I enlisted my brother, Albert Seymour, to help me create the Similars so I could leave a legacy. Make those who betrayed me understand certain…things.”

I must look confused because Levi elaborates. “He wanted Jane and Booker to feel the pain of losing a son, just like he did all those years ago when he lost custody of Oliver. So he made them believe, for nearly a year, that Oliver had died. And then he sent me to rub it in their faces. I’m a pawn in this whole situation. We all are.”