Authors: Heather Sunseri
“Is the Wi-Fi back up?” I asked,
glancing at my clock. Did I even have time to run to the library?
“Don’t know, but Bree left her
computer so that I could finish the project we were working on. She’s got a
card that is working somehow.”
“Really? Do you think she’d mind if
I looked something up?” Who was I kidding? Of course she’d mind. But this was
the first chance I’d gotten to test my theory of the whereabouts of the
journals.
The fact that the Wi-Fi was still
down was more than a little worrisome. Not to mention the cell towers that seemed
to be going in and out of service.
“Yes, but she’s not here.” Dani
lifted the computer from the bed and handed it to me. “Password’s SWIM2016.”
I lifted a brow. “The next summer
Olympics?” Dani nodded. I sat the computer on my desk and booted it up.
Dani leaned into her dresser mirror.
“Okay, I think I’m ready. I’ll see you there?”
“I’m right behind you. I just gotta
check something on the internet.” I stood and gave my roommate a tight hug. “I
love you like a sister, you know that, right?”
She hugged me back, then held me at
arm’s length. “Hey. You okay?”
I gave a weak nod. “Yep. Now, go
on. Your date’s never going to be the same after he sees you.”
She gave me one last concerned look,
before grabbing a wristlet, big enough for a key and a tube of lipstick.
I turned my attention back to Bree’s
computer. I brought up the website and stared at the tiny starfish in the
bottom right-hand corner. I ran the pointer over the icon verifying there was
no underlying link. Then, using the knowledge my dad had taught me, I left the
pointer hovering over the starfish and pressed Ctrl + Alt + *.
As I my finger pushed down on the
asterisk, the pointer changed to a small hand, indicating a link was, in fact,
hidden beneath the small picture. I clicked on it, and suddenly the website of
pictures and personal facts disappeared, and in its place appeared a login
screen.
I stared at the gray screen. I
tried my name and Dad’s name every which way along with the password I found
inside the puzzle box. Nothing.
I absentmindedly rubbed the charm
and the key hanging around my neck. I was certain that the password was
correct. It was so difficult to obtain. It had to be right.
But what would Dad choose for a
username?
I rubbed the starfish back and
forth along my lips. That’s when it came to me. My father’s personal email
address—he only used it for communication with me.
[email protected], after
the nickname he gave me when I was a little girl.
I typed it into the username
field—mylittlestarfish. Then the password.
The screen faded to black in front
of me. A moment later, various icons flashed upon the screen—several PDF documents,
word documents, and an excel spreadsheet—all labeled.
I didn’t have time to look through
every document. I pulled up my online email account and emailed each of the
documents to myself so that I could pull them up on my phone later.
I double clicked on the PDF titled “Journals
1988-1994”—a six-hundred-twenty-four-page document. I glanced at my watch. I
didn’t have time. But I had found them. My father’s journals that everyone
wanted so badly.
Another PDF was titled “Journals
1995-2010”. And still another titled “Journals 2011-”. The third one had no end
date.
An excel spreadsheet titled “Survivors”
caught my eye. I double clicked. The columns were labeled: Name, Known aliases,
Last known address, Original, Genes manipulated, Known abilities.
What was this? Most of the names
were filled in. But many fields for address or known abilities were blank.
I looked up and stared at a picture
on a shelf above me of Gram, dad and me from when I first came to Wellington.
We’d changed my name. This was supposed to be a safe place for me. Dad always
said the name change was to protect me because he participated in controversial
medical research, but that wasn’t true.
He was hiding me. While searching
for others like me. Did he know about Jack?
I scrolled through the names.
There must be over a hundred names.
I found Jack. Last known address:
California. Known abilities: General healing, injuries, pain management.
Why were there so many listed here?
Including mine, Sarah Alexandra Roslin.
As I scrolled through the list, I
began to notice something in common—the last known address for several on the
list.
Wellington Boarding School.
Others were blank.
I recognized many of the names.
Lower classmen, mostly. Sixth, seventh and some eighth graders.
At the bottom of the spreadsheet
was a second tab: Test Group.
That tab brought up the same
information as the first, but only seven names were listed: Jack DeWeese, Sarah
Roslin, Kyle Jones, Briana Howard and three names I didn’t recognize.
I stared at the screen, paralyzed.
My heart beat wildly out-of-control. If I didn’t get a handle on my breathing
soon I would pass out.
Where are you?
Jack’s
thought startled me.
Jack.
I’m waiting.
I closed my mind off from him.
Think, Lexi. I closed the spreadsheet. Returned to the main page where I found
another icon titled, Letter to Lexi.
Jack, I’m sorry. I’ll have to
meet you at the gala.
What’s wrong?
Nothing.
I tried to keep my
thoughts controlled. Like nothing was wrong.
I’m just having trouble picking
out the right shoes.
I opened the letter. My hands
shook, and my palms turned into a cold, clammy mess. These would be the last
words my father had written to me.
Dearest Lexi:
If you are reading this letter,
I waited too long to tell you the truth and to get you out of Wellington. I’m
sorry. I wanted to explain your creation to you myself. However, I thought it
was best to wait until you were of an age to make your own important decisions.
I should have trusted you with the truth sooner.
I’m assuming that you know by
now that you are the nearly identical clone of Sandra Whitmeyer. I have just
gotten back in touch with Dr. John DeWeese, as you know, and I hope that he
will help you understand why I did what I did and the reality that you must
live with now.
If you are reading this, I am
most likely dead. My only regret is that I didn’t make you safe sooner. If I am
dead, you are in danger. Trust no one completely, Sarah.
Dr. Roger Wellington is the
mastermind behind The Program. This “program” is in the early stages of
development and was initially designed to teach you about who you are and the
talents you were given before you were born. I had hoped to find the others
like you before now. At the time I’m writing this letter, there are two other
original clones at Wellington with you. Kyle Jones and Briana Howard. And, of
course, you now know Jack DeWeese.
Though I never intended for
Sandra’s experiment to go as far as it did, I can’t change the outcome. I have
never regretted that you are my daughter. I love you, Sarah. But now, if you
are to live the life you were meant to live, you must stand strong and face the
facts laid out within this website.
Hidden in this website is my
research and all the evidence I have gathered to prove that Sandra Whitmeyer
had always intended for the cloned embryos to become actual human beings. She
was secretly funded by the International Intelligence Agency, and she planted
evidence to incriminate the rest of us in her plan. When the lab went up in
flames, so did her plan.
However, evidence shows that the
IIA did not stop. Neither did Sandra. Besides the original test group, the IIA
continued to clone and genetically alter embryos. You will find more
information regarding this in the files. Be careful who you share this
information with.
Wellington Boarding School was
supposed to be a safe haven for the clones we found over the years. And a
school where you could obtain the education you need to go on to college and
medical school, but also a school where you could learn the medical knowledge
necessary to enhance the powers you were given at birth.
I do not know how long
Wellington will be safe for you and the others. That is why I have equipped a
safe house for you. The key I sent you is the key to that house. Everything you
could need is secure within that house. If you have to run, RUN! You know where
this house is.
I’m sorry, Sarah. My hope was to
tell you everything by the time you turned eighteen, so that you would be ready
to face the reality of your gifts, and with the help of a college education and
medical school, you would use your gifts for good.
Your mother and I are very proud
of the woman you have become.
Love,
Dad
I stared at the computer screen.
The words blurred in front of me. I lost all feeling in my fingers and hands.
Trust no one
. A tear fell
from one eye, and I shoved it away with one violent swipe of my palm.
A safe house. Where?
And my mother? Dad was in contact
with my mother?
“Lexi.”
I jumped to my feet, knocking my
chair over. Jack stood in the doorway.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was low,
hesitant.
Trust no one
. I studied Jack’s
face while keeping my thoughts shut completely off from him. I felt his mind
knocking on the barrier I erected. I could trust him, couldn’t I? I didn’t know
anymore.
He stepped toward me. “What is it?
Why aren’t you dressed for the gala?”
“I…” I looked around the room. For
what? I had no idea.
Jack glanced at the computer. The
letter from Dad was still up on the screen. I quickly punched the “x” at the
top of the screen. Closed out of the letter and the website, then closed the
laptop.
“What’s got you so freaked out?” He
closed the distance between us. He placed his hands on either side of my face
and tilted my head back to look directly in my eyes. “Whatever it is… just tell
me. I can’t help you unless I know.”
The fear in his eyes sent a chill
down my spine. I searched my heart. My eyes darted back and forth between his.
My father’s words played over and over.
But then I saw it. His eyes
softened. What I thought was fear of me knowing the truth was fear for me. “You
love me,” I whispered.
“Unconditionally. I’ll do anything
for you. You must know that.”
I knew his words were true. He
already knew almost everything in the letter from Dad. Jack was willing to
sacrifice his life to help me escape. He was willing to sacrifice his own
safety in the miniscule hope that he might still save a young girl’s life.
Jack lowered his head closer, his
lips hovering over mine. His breath warmed against my face. I hungered for his
kiss, and when his lips pressed against mine, I felt the familiar tingling in
my stomach.
His hand roamed up the back of my
shirt. The warmth of his palm pressed against my bare skin, pushing my body
against his. I slid my fingers into his hair. Desire erupted between us.
When we were both out of breath, he
released me. But only a little. Our heads remained millimeters apart. Our
chests rose and fell at a heavy, synchronized rate.
“I love you,” I finally said.
“I know.” He smiled, but it didn’t
reach his eyes. “And I love you.”
How would I ever say good-bye to
him? But how could I possibly stay?
Jack and I stood in the corner of
the school’s atrium watching the crowd thicken for the art showing and gala.
His fingers roamed beneath my long
hair and massaged the nape of my neck. I wore a long, flowing dress. The fabric
formed a “v” in the back, giving Jack plenty of bare skin to touch. His lips
grazed my ear as he whispered to me. “I’m not going to stop touching you
tonight.”
I took in a sharp breath, committing
his scent to memory.
The gala was the type of event that
drew the school’s extensive supporters and trustees for a night of art,
cocktails and fun. A silent auction of the art at the end typically raised a
ton of money for the school and for the University of Kentucky Children’s
Hospital, a charity chosen by the students of Wellington.
Seth Whitmeyer sipped punch while
speaking with Dean Fisher and Coach Williams across from us.
Oh, what I would give to know
what they are talking about.
Jack grazed my neck with his
fingers as he brushed my hair to the side.
I’d like to know what you are
thinking. I wish I’d never taught you how to shut your thoughts off to me.
I looked back at him.
We
probably would not be standing here like this if you hadn’t.
Good point.
I won’t say good-bye to you
.
I closed my eyes briefly.
You don’t have to. It’s not
good-bye. It’s just see ya later.
I will find you when it’s safe.
Jack’s
hands squeezed my shoulders.
I will always find you.
You remember the username and
password?
Locked up tight inside my head.
I ran my fingers across my lips,
remembering the kiss from earlier. After the kiss, I’d shown Jack everything on
the site and made him memorize the password.
Dad had thought of everything, all
the way down to creating a secured message board inside the website. I assumed
he meant to use it eventually to communicate with me, but now, Jack and I would
use it.
I thought back to Dad’s warning to
trust no one.
Do you think Coach Williams was really hired by my dad to
protect me?