Slip (The Slip Trilogy Book 1) (29 page)

But first he needs answers.

He starts to speak the moment the door to his father’s office closes behind them. “Dad, I—”

“No,” his father says, sitting in the high-backed black-leather chair behind the desk. “Now it’s my turn, Son. Let me tell this story my way.”

Harrison’s not sure his father deserves even that right, but arguing will only slow things down, so he sits in one of three chairs across from him. His mother tips one of them over, recoiling slightly when it hits the floor, and then sits in the third one. “Slippery slippery Slip. Where’s. The. Slip?” she says.

“I don’t know,” his father says.

“Help him,” she says. “All I want is to help him.”

“I’m trying,” his father says.

“Slippery slippery Sl—”

“Janice—please.”

His mother frowns, bites on the back of her hand. Goes silent.

“Tell us everything,” Harrison says.

“I’m sorry, Son,” he says. “Maybe I should’ve told you before, but I was trying to protect you.”

There are a million angry responses in Harrison’s mouth, but he swallows them down in one big gulp.

“Everything I did was to protect this family,” his father continues, placing his hands on the desk, palms up. Begging to be believed. “Son, you have a brother.”

“Mom told me,” Harrison says, unimpressed by the revelation. “But I don’t
have
a brother. I
had
one. He was unauthorized. Your people killed him, right? Or did you do it yourself, like it was your duty?” Harrison knows he’s on the verge of losing control, but he doesn’t care. Because this man—
this
man—has lied to him from the beginning.

“No,” his father says, closing his eyes. “I lied to your mother.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” his mother says.

“Why? Why in the freaking world would you tell a mother her son was dead if HE WASN’T?” His father starts to respond, but Harrison throws his hands in the air and says, “No no no, wait, let me guess. To protect her, right? You’re all about protecting this family. You protected Mom all the way to a padded cell. You protected my brother to—let me make sure I have this right—either his death or to the city’s most wanted list. And you protected me how? To a life of meaningless accolades and complete and utter loneliness.” He bites his lip. He’s never admitted it to himself. After all, how could he be lonely with so many friends? How does that make any sense? But to him, it does.

His father’s eyes open and he’s surprised to see tears in them. He’s never seen his father cry. Never. Not when they took his mother away. Not when he was building a fence around the backyard of their new house and he accidentally hammered his own finger. Not when his own mother died a few years back.

And yet, Harrison is unmoved. Not today. Not anymore.

The next time he speaks, his father’s mouth is contorted, as if he’s in pain. “To protect your brother—to protect Benson—I had to let him go. I gave him a new identity, a new life. He couldn’t know who he was. Your mother couldn’t know he was alive or she’d never stop looking for him. You have to believe me—I did what I thought
was best
.”

“It’s your fault she’s been in the asylum all these years,” Harrison says.

“Ahhh—syyyy—lummm,” his mother says beside him.

“It’s your fault she’s like this. You drove her to madness with your lies. You alone.”

“I’m—I’m sorry,” his father says, tears streaming down his cheeks. “So sorry. For everything. I should’ve been honest. We should’ve run. Together. As a family.”

“Too late for that,” Harrison says.

“Is it?” his father says.

Harrison ignores the question. “You’ve killed so many kids.” He can’t hide the look of disgust on his face. “Kids just like Benson. How could you? You’re a monster.”

His eyes are closed again as he shakes his head. “I did what I could to give them a chance, but I had to keep this job. I had to keep my position.”

“It’s all you ever cared about,” Harrison says through gritted teeth. “The power. The fame. The Head of Pop Con this and then Head of Pop Con that.”

“No no no no no no!” his mother croons. “He did it for Benson. He did it. He did it for our son. Who’s not dead. Right? You lied. The liar lied. And I believed it. Stupid crazy woman believed it the whole time.”

“Wait…what?” Harrison says. “Mom, what do you mean he did it for Benson?”

But she ignores him, reaching across the desk to pat his father’s head, like he’s a dog. His eyes flash open in surprise

“Mom?”

His father answers instead. “I knew if they ever realized there was a Slip on the loose—an older one—that I’d be in the best position to protect him if I was still here.” He lifts a hand and touches Janice’s cheek. She smiles into his caress.

Harrison is stunned, his entire body numb. He can’t move. Can’t speak.

“I’ve done terrible things, Harrison. Although I’ve withheld leads, sent my Hunters on wild goose chases, sabotaged investigations…in the end I’ve had to allow them to fulfill their duties. On my behalf, my people have murdered hundreds of innocents. Innocents like Benson. And I looked the other way because if I didn’t—if I didn’t—I wouldn’t be sitting here when they found him. And then there would be someone else to hunt him down. Someone else who’d see his death as nothing more than a job, a chance for a promotion. And he’d have no chance. I was just trying to give him a chance. You have to believe me.”

He does believe him. He believes every word, as disgusting and as hard to swallow as some of them are. At least it’s the truth. At least this is his real father, not the great, wise, and eternally too busy leader of Pop Con.

A tremendous bulge of sadness balloons in Harrison’s chest. What kind of life are they living? And in what kind of world? “How did any of this even happen?” he says aloud, more to himself than to his father.

His father answers. “You mean, how could the Head of Pop Con have an illegal son?” he says.

Janice scoots back to her seat, frowning deeply. “We did everything we could,” she says. She would almost appear lucid if it wasn’t for the way she scratches her arms when she says it.

“You would’ve known all the tricks, right?” Harrison says. “Surely you of all people could’ve gotten a birth authorization for your kid. I mean, you got one for me, right?”

His father nods. “I got one for you. For Benson, I did all the right things, too. But sometimes, no matter what you do, you fail anyway. That’s life.”

“What happened?”

“I paid extra, through back channels, to get a high-quality Death Match that had just become available. The potential parents that were previously assigned to him had died in an accident, and this Death Match, this man, hadn’t yet been reassigned through the normal process. He was perfect. Eighty five years old with a terminal illness. All three doctors I consulted said he’d be dead in three months, which was crucial because Janice was already pregnant.”

“What?” His brother was…
unplanned
? “You didn’t try to get authorization
before
you knocked Mom up?”

His father cringes. Shakes his head. “There were…extenuating circumstances.”

Part of the puzzle clicks together. “So let me guess, the guy who was supposed to die didn’t die before Mom gave birth.”

“Exactly,” his father says, clasping his hands together. “A new treatment was developed for his condition. He survived. He’s still alive today. He’s one hundred and one years old.”

“A dud. A dud. Your brother got a dud,” his mother sings, the exact same words she spoke to him so long ago, when he thought she was just babbling nonsense.

“This is so screwed up,” Harrison says. “Just because some old dude refuses to kick the bucket, my brother deserves to die?” Everything he’s been taught in school, that he’s read in textbooks and that’s been hammered into his head since he was a kid, goes up in flames. So logical, so practical and…

So wrong.

Harrison raises a fist over his head, needing to smash it onto something—the desk, maybe—but stops when a red light flashes in the corner of the room.

What the hell?

“Someone’s breached the building,” his father says, alarm all over his face.

The office door opens.

Y
et another guard escorts them to the top floor. The guard doesn’t say anything, just stands in the corner, a gun clasped tightly between white-knuckled fingers. The whole thing freaks Benson out and he’s glad when the lifter comes to a stop and the doors open.

“Visitors for Mr. Kelly,” he announces to another guard waiting in front of what appears to be an office door. There’s an empty desk with an empty chair next to him.

Benson and Luce step out, side by side, and the lifter doors close, leaving them alone with the new guard, a solid-looking thirty-something who’s already wearing a scowl. “What’s your game?” he says.

“Game?” Benson parrots, his voice unnaturally high. Have they finally met the guard who will put an end to this, literally? His gun is thankfully still pointed at the floor, but that could change any second.

“Yeah. How’d you get out?” he asks.

“Umm…” Out of where?

Luce steps forward. “Listen, tough guy, you might think that just because you’ve got your big boy pants on that you’re a big shot now, but you’re not. You’re just a guy with an attitude problem. Now Mr. Kelly’s son is here to see him, so you better let him in.”

Benson blows out a breath as the guard’s face turns red. He waits for the gun to lift, for the hot bullets to rip through his flesh and bones.

Instead, the guard nods once and half-turns to the door. He opens it and steps aside.

There are people already inside, red lights flashing across their stunned expressions. He recognizes them. He recognizes all three of th—

He staggers back a step, his legs losing strength. His mouth falls open. Not because he sees his father, or Janice—who was always really his mother—although the shock of seeing them would be enough on their own—but because of the third person in the office.

The third person is him.

~~~

Not real not real not real not real not real not real not real not real not real not real not real not real not real not real.

“NOT REAL!” Janice screams.

~~~

Michael Kelly’s wife is screaming and he can’t believe his eyes, which are narrowed against the flashing red lights. His son…no, both his sons…are here.

After all he’s done to try to protect Benson, why would he come here of all places?

His hand goes to his mouth as he silently weeps.

~~~

It’s like looking in the mirror. Harrison doesn’t know when he rose to his feet or when he started moving toward the door, but suddenly he’s outside the office, his parents behind him, one of them screaming and the other weeping, a stunned guard to his left, a teenage girl to his right, and a teenage guy directly in front of him. The teenage guy in front of him is wearing Harrison’s face.

And he knows.

He knows.

The Slip is his identical twin. His brother.

Extenuating circumstances
, his father had said. Everything becomes clear, like a fog lifting. His parents obtained a birth authorization
before
they got pregnant. A single birth authorization, for a single child. And then they found out they were having twins. They didn’t panic. His father knew all the tricks and got another Death Match; a good one, one that would be dead in a few months at most.

But it didn’t work out the way they’d planned. The Death Match was a dud, refusing to die like he was supposed to.

By fate alone, Harrison was born first, so he received the birth authorization. Did he push his brother back so he could go first? Even as an infant he might’ve been the competitive one, always having to win. And winning the birth race meant he could have a normal life, while his twin brother suffered the consequences of being second.

If their positions were reversed, would he have survived this long?

~~~

“Benson?” Luce says from beside him.

He doesn’t look at her—can’t look at her—because his eyes are locked on the guy walking toward him. Even when his eyes start to burn, he doesn’t blink, afraid that everything might disappear.

His features are identical. Bright blue eyes, blond hair—the same golden color as Benson’s but neatly trimmed—small, moderately rounded nose, strong jaw with just the hint of a cleft in his chin, ears slightly too big for his head, and a dimple in his left cheek, evident even when he’s not smiling, like now. He’s the same height, but appears to be somewhat more muscular, as if he’s been lifting weights, his shirt tight against his skin.

“What is this?” the guard says, but Benson ignores him, too.

“Who…are…you?” Benson asks.

“I’m Harrison,” the guy says. He throws off a lopsided grin, the same type that Check used to always make fun of Benson for when he was nervous. “I’m your twin brother.”

“NOT REAL!” Janice screams behind his…his…
twin brother
? His father, face wet with tears, steps from behind his desk. The guard levels his gun on Benson. Luce takes a half-step toward the guy, but then stops, as if frozen with indecision.

A gun barrel aimed at his chest should freak him out, but Benson can’t focus on anything but the guy who introduced himself as Harrison. Because every mystery in his life from age zero to eight suddenly makes perfect sense. Why Janice couldn’t be his mother and stay overnight. Mornings and nights she took care of Harrison; days she looked after Benson. An even trade.

Harrison must’ve been deprived of his father’s time and attention for the first years of his life. A few minutes here, a half-hour there—that must be all the time his twin brother was able to spend with their father. Every other second was spent at work or at the home he shared with Benson.

Staring into his own eyes, Benson says, “I’m Benson,” and extends a shaky hand.

Harrison looks at it for a long moment, and then takes it, his blue eyes shining with moisture. “I wish I’d known about you sooner,” he says. “I’m so sorry—for everything.” He bites his lip and Benson can almost see the wheels turning in his head. Invisible thoughts he can’t even begin to guess at.

Benson doesn’t know what Harrison has to be sorry about—he’s never even seen him before—but he says, “It’s not your fault.”

“We have to go,” their father says, thundering through the door. “Janice, Harrison, Benson! We have to go NOW!”

His cheeks are still streaked with tears, but he’s not crying anymore, his words crackling like lightning bolts. He wheels on the guard. “Get that damn gun off my son and protect us!”

The guard, looking more stunned than ever, drops his arm, the weapon now pointed at the floor again. “From who?” he asks.

“Them!” Michael Kelly roars, pointing at the lifter, which has a glass window above it, a blue digital number counting up. Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine. Someone’s coming up. The someone who caused the flashing red lights? They’re trapped. They’re together, but trapped.

It’s happening too fast. Benson came here for answers, to sit and ask his father the questions that have been burning away his soul every minute since he crossed the river. And now he has a twin brother and even more questions?

He takes a deep breath and grabs Luce’s arm, pulling her toward the entrance to an offshoot to the right. “No!” his father says. “This way! You’ve got to get to the roof!”

“Harrison can fly,” Janice squeals, running from the office. No, not Janice—his mother. Benson’s mind is still trying to catch up to reality. Like the fact that he has a twin brother he never knew about.

Janice gives Benson a huge hug, which he returns weakly. This isn’t the gentle nanny he once knew.

“Benson,” Luce says. “Your father’s right. We’re out of time. It’s our only hope.” He glances at the numbers over the lifter door. Sixty-one. Sixty-two.

“C’mon, bro,” Harrison says, gesturing toward the hall.

Sixty-six. Sixty-seven. What happens when they get to one hundred, to their floor?

Benson nods once and ushers Luce forward. He hears the rest of his family running behind him, his father shouting to the guard to “Cover us!”

He stops when he reaches a heavy gray-metal door marked “Exit to Roof.” Luce smashes into the back of him. Then Harrison. Then Janice. A real pile-up. They all look back as there’s a
ding!
and the lifter doors open, with his father only partway down the hall. He’s holding a gun in each hand in front of him, although Benson has no idea where they came from.

Behind him, gunfire erupts.