Unravel Read online

  Ady’s expression didn’t change. “What was all that about the hyperdrives?”

  Elissa swallowed. “We’re not asking anyone to do anything. We’re not trying to make them. But Lin and I found out that it doesn’t hurt. It’s not dangerous. And if—if—other people wanted to try, and if it worked the same, we could have a functioning space force on Sekoia.” She realized she’d automatically looked away from him, and made herself look back up. “If Sekoia doesn’t recover, we’ll be refugees the rest of our lives. I’m completely not trying to make anyone do anything, but if they wanted to try, if they wanted to help rebuild Sekoia . . .”

  His expression still hadn’t changed, and faced with that, she ran out of willpower and had to stop.

  “Your sister forgot to ask where Zee came from.”

  The statement seemed to come from nowhere, and for a moment Elissa just looked at him, waiting for it to make sense. “What?”

  “When we told you about Jay and El and Cassiopeia getting attacked on the flyer, she asked if we all came on the flyer. And I said how we—us non-Spares—were already here. Which left Zee unaccounted for.”

  Elissa thought back. “Yes. I guess . . . I sort of got the impression you didn’t want Zee to have to talk about it . . . ?”

  Ady leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Yeah. Guess why.”

  “How would I know?” But the beginning of an idea came, creeping up around the edges of her mind, and she realized it would have been more accurate to say I don’t want to know.

  “Take a guess.” Ady’s face was bleak, merciless. Anger sparked through Elissa, jerking her spine upright, lifting her chin. She was over this kind of mind game. And whatever she’d done wrong, whatever awful hidden wounds she’d stamped all over, she didn’t deserve to be treated like the enemy.

  “I said I don’t know. If you want me to know, you tell me!”

  “Fine,” said Ady. “A month ago Zee was on a spaceship. In a spaceship. In one of those specially locked chambers, with wires poking through him and liquid all around him so he couldn’t even scream.”

  “No.” Elissa put her hands up—a stop sign, or a shield. “No, no. Don’t.”

  “Why not? That’s what you want to send him back to—”

  “I do not!” Although, from the moment he’d said Guess why, she’d kind of known, hearing it spelled out suddenly felt like more than she could bear. She closed her hands and brought them down to her sides, as if by doing so she could keep hold of her self-control, stop it from breaking.

  “As good as! I don’t know how he’s going to be able to get on a ship for relocation, even, and you come here with your glib ‘oh, it doesn’t hurt.’ Your twin escaped—you don’t have to deal with knowing she had to go through them doing that to her. I’ve got all these horrific images in my head—and for all I know the reality was even worse than what I’m imagining. You have no idea—”

  “I do have an idea!” Elissa shouted at him, self-control not so much breaking as exploding. “You think you’re the only one with mental images you can’t get rid of? I saw a Spare it had happened to! I saw a Spare who died of it!”

  Ady stared at her, whatever he’d been going to say halted in midsentence.

  Elissa’s hands were shaking, nails digging into her palms. She forced herself to speak quietly. “You don’t know what we’ve been through either. You’ve got the most basic details from the public newscasts or from whatever you’ve found out for yourself—you have no idea what it’s been like for me and Lin.” He didn’t look as if he was about to interrupt, but she didn’t pause, not wanting to give him the chance. “I know that works both ways, and I said I’m really sorry I freaked Zee out like that, but . . . look, we all must have different horrible experiences—I mean, Cassiopeia doesn’t even have her twin with her, and I can’t imagine what that must be like for her—it’s not fair for any of us to assume we’ve had it worse than anyone else—”

  Ady did interrupt now, but not with any of the angry responses she would have expected. “What did the Spare look like?”

  “What?”

  His face was haunted. “The Spare who died. You saw him . . . in th-the cell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he—did it look like it h-h—”

  “Hurt him?”

  Ady nodded, temporarily beyond speech, arms tight across his chest.

  For an instant Elissa considered . . . not lying, exactly, but prevaricating, an impulse born of both mercy and of cowardice, of a desire not to have to deal with Ady’s pain as well as her own. Then she opened her mouth and told him the truth. “Yes.”

  “Oh God.” The words were a choked sound. Ady screwed his eyes shut, his body rigid, as if by staying perfectly still he could ward off the pain.

  It looked like it was over quickly. I don’t think he knew much about it. The hopeful lies came into Elissa’s mind. She couldn’t say them. They—all the twins—had been lied to their whole lives. No matter how awful the truth was, it must be better than more lies. Mustn’t it? Oh God, it doesn’t feel better. And there’s nothing I can say to make it better.

  “I should have known.” Like Ady’s previous words, these, too, were almost inaudible.

  Not knowing whether he’d shake her off, Elissa reached out to put a hand on his folded arms. “How could you have known? If you and Zee never had a link—”

  Ady opened his eyes, like someone with a migraine forcing his eyes open to sunlight, his every muscle looking as if it were braced against pain. “That’s why. If we’d had a link, if I’d known . . .” He shut his eyes again. “I . . . I just feel so guilty.”

  “But it’s not your fault you don’t have a link.”

  When he looked at her once more, she could see her words had hardly registered. “But what if it is? I mean, wasn’t that the point of taking the Spares? That every pair of twins has some kind of psychic ability, and it’s just a question of taking the one with the strongest?”

  “But you said—Zee said—we’re not all the same. Zee doesn’t have telepathy. He’s empathic, you said so.”

  “With other people, yes. But I’m his twin—there ought to be more than that between him and me. Shouldn’t there? A proper link? Like you. And Samuel and Jay—they have one, and Sofia and El at least know they used to—”

  She wasn’t sure what he was getting at. He couldn’t think he was culpable for his lack of telepathy with Zee—it was so illogical, he couldn’t think it. But all the same, that was what he seemed to be saying. “Oh come on,” she said, trying for reason, “that’s six people out of all the hundreds of pairs of twins there must be. It’s not a representative sample, is it? And what about Cassiopeia?”

  “That’s what I’m scared of.” There was that look of being haunted back in his face again. “Her twin rejected her—wouldn’t meet, wouldn’t even try. She doesn’t talk about it, but once, just after we all got here, she said something. . . . I think her twin rejected her before. Back before any of us knew all this stuff. I think her twin found a way to kill the link for herself. And I—” His face creased again as if he’d been struck by a spasm of pain. “What if I did that to Zee? What if, all those times when I was a kid, when I had a nightmare and told myself it wasn’t real, when I found myself daydreaming and snapped out of it to go play or something—what if any of those times, what if I was actually in touch with Zee and I cut him off? What if I could have known? What if I could have helped him—somehow, like you helped Lin escape? What if it’s my fault he ended up on that ship?”

  A million arguments tumbled through Elissa’s head. I did try to cut off the link—I tried for three years and I could never do it. What makes you think you could have done it, when you don’t even remember trying to?

  But when she met his eyes, felt the tremor run through where her hand lay on his arm, she forgot all the arguments, she saw only how much he was hurting.

  “Ady,” she said, “isn’t it bad enough that they got away with torturing h
alf of us? Do we have to torture ourselves as well?” She let go of his arm, stepped forward, and put her arms around him.

  For a moment he stayed rigid. She’d thought he was shaking, but it was more as if he were vibrating, as if he held on to forces almost stronger than he could control. Then another tremor went through him, he dropped his head on her shoulder, and cried.

  Elissa had one shocked split second of wanting to pull away. She hadn’t expected him to cry—hadn’t known boys her own age did cry, not like this, not with such awful wrenching sobs that sounded as if they were physically hurting him.

  Then the thought came: This must have been eating at him for ages, ever since he found out about Zee. And he’s been in an unfamiliar place, without the family he actually grew up with, having to cope with the weirdness of Spares and the on-edge emotions of the other twins—and not even being able to make too much noise in case it means they’re discovered and attacked. . . .

  He hasn’t cried before. And the crying—okay, it did sound awful, but it also sounded like something he needed.

  Ady got himself together much sooner than Elissa thought she would have managed, dragging a crumpled tissue out of his jeans pocket, wiping his face, and thunderously blowing his nose. The tissue proved almost entirely inadequate and he fumbled for a dry corner, his face down, an embarrassed hunch to his shoulders, until Elissa found one in the pocket of her hoodie and handed it to him.

  “Thanks.” It was a mutter. He blew his nose again, then dropped both tissues on the floor. But as in the kitchen, the auto-clean wasn’t on, and they lay limp and motionless rather than being sucked efficiently away for disposal. He muttered again, what sounded like a swear word this time, bent to pick them up, Elissa’s arm slipping from his shoulders as he moved, and shoved them away in his jeans pocket.

  It seemed like now might be the time to leave him to recover—and, oh God, to let him go and talk to poor Zee who’s just in there waiting for him to come back—but now that the storm of anger and grief had passed, she couldn’t quite think how to do it.

  Ady pushed the tissues down out of sight in his pocket, then raised his gaze to hers. Battered and tearstained, he looked younger than he had before. An instant of nausea swam over Elissa. So much pain. How are we ever going to get over it?

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Oh, it completely doesn’t matter—”

  “For yelling at you, I mean. I shouldn’t have done it. I just . . . if something freaks Zee out, I . . . well, I already feel so bad about not being there for him. . . .”

  Elissa managed to smile, although, given the nausea and the sinking feeling of helplessness still dragging at her, it probably wasn’t her best effort. “Oh come on, you think I don’t understand that? Honestly, you don’t need to say sorry.”

  “You get the guilt too, huh?” His smile didn’t look much better than hers.

  Elissa laughed, surprising herself with a flash of genuine amusement. “Do I ever. When you think of what our lives have been like, compared to theirs . . . I mean, how could you not feel guilty?”

  “Yeah, okay.” His shoulders relaxed a little. “Jeez, therapy our whole lives, I bet.”

  “If there are any therapists who know how to handle us.” It was weird—but welcome—how the warmth of laughter took away that feeling of nausea.

  “God, yeah, you’re right. That’d be some special training, wouldn’t it?” As the rest of his body relaxed, he leaned against the wall, letting his head tip back to rest against it. “Look, Lissa . . .” His eyes met hers again. “Thanks, okay?”

  She hadn’t really done anything he needed to thank her for, unless it was just being with him while he cried. But she wasn’t going to argue. She smiled at him, the smile coming more easily than before. “Okay.” And then, because the word by itself seemed too bald, and because she didn’t have anything to add to it, she leaned forward to give him a brief, second hug.

  He responded similarly this time, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, putting his face down, not against her shoulder but against her head. She felt the warmth of his cheek through her hair. He was kind of sweaty, the sort of scent she associated with fear and stress—she’d smelled it on herself often enough during her and Lin’s escape—and for a moment pity drew her throat tight.

  Back along the corridor, the door hushed open. Elissa pulled away from Ady, feeling exposed. Years of concealing what you were feeling didn’t exactly make you comfortable being all emotional with people you’d only just met.

  Knowing her embarrassment was showing in her sudden stiffness, her awkward stance, she looked to see who’d come through the door.

  It was Cadan.

  His eyes met hers. His were expressionless, a look that had once been familiar to her but that she hadn’t seen for weeks. Why’s he looking at me like that now?

  Then, as one reason blinked across her brain, she felt heat—betraying, misleading heat—climb into her face.

  “Cadan,” she said. “I was explaining some stuff to Ady—what I meant about the hyperdrives—”

  Cadan nodded, a single movement of his head. “That’s what we assumed. Can you come into the main room now? Commander Dacre’s on her way.”

  “Of course,” she said, knowing it sounded too eager, too bright. “Um, all of us? Zee as well?”

  Cadan’s gaze moved to Ady. “If he’s able to?”

  “I expect,” said Ady. “You want me to find out? Bring him along if he’s up to it?”

  “That would be helpful, thanks.” Cadan’s voice was calm, courteous . . . a shade colder than usual?

  Ady ducked his head in a brief nod as the door sprang open in response to his hand on the sensor panel, sent a fleeting grin to Elissa, and disappeared into his and Zee’s room.

  “Cadan . . . ,” said Elissa again.

  He was already turning back to the doorway he’d come through. “You coming, Lis?”

  “I was . . . I really was just explaining to Ady . . .”

  His eyebrows rose a little. “Yes. Like I said, that’s what we assumed.”

  “He—there was some stuff about Spares that really upset him, so I hugged him. I mean, that’s why I was hugging him.”

  “Okay.”

  “Cadan . . .”

  “Lissa, I said okay. I mean it. I believe you. I could see he looked upset.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks, which had been cooling, flamed again. Here she was explaining herself, explaining something that didn’t even need explaining, and now it turned out Cadan didn’t even think it needed explaining either.

  And now he was smiling at her, a smile that, she thought, might be affectionate or might be simply amused. “It’s okay, Elissa. It’s not like it’s my favorite thing, seeing my girlfriend wrapped up in some other guy’s arms, but jeez, I don’t really have the right to demand you not touch other people, do I?”

  Yes. No. No, of course he didn’t. A million teen zines and pop psychology channels would have made sure she knew that, even if she couldn’t have worked it out for herself. But all the same . . . Okay, she didn’t want him to demand anything that extreme, but she wouldn’t have minded a bit more of a flash of jealousy.

  You said this was serious for you. You said it mattered. Why does it not matter enough for you to get jealous? Especially if you don’t know whether I feel the same way?

  Was it just that he was—oh, here it comes again—older, better at being self-contained? Then another thought seemed to appear from the blue. Was it that, serious or not, he was assuming that what was between them was already coded with its own expiration date?

  Even as the cold dropped into her stomach, she realized the thought wasn’t from the blue, it wasn’t from a clear, storm-free sky. The thunderclouds had been massing before, from the moment he’d said he couldn’t imagine them having gotten together during her previous life on Sekoia, gathering thicker when his parents showed they didn’t approve.

  No. This was crazy. She was being crazy. He’d n
ever wanted a girl to meet his parents before, he’d said so. He wouldn’t have said that if he was thinking of this as a temporary thing. She needed to hold on to what he’d actually said and stop getting in a whole panic about what he hadn’t—

  “Lissa?” He was watching her, and his expression had changed. “What’s wrong?”

  But there was no time now. She couldn’t ask him about it with Commander Dacre on her way, with everyone waiting in the next room—with Ady and Zee about to come out into the corridor. And—again—she didn’t want to be that girlfriend, the one who was always crying and needing reassurance and being so clingy the guy eventually dumped her out of pure impatience. . . .

  “Nothing.” She gave him the best smile she could manage. “It’s okay.”

  The smile must have been good enough, because he returned it, dropping a kiss on her hair as she went past him to open the door into the sitting room. But despite the little gesture of affection, the cold remained inside her, a weight she couldn’t shift. Is that what it is? Is he not expecting it to last?

  WHILE ELISSA had been gone, someone had moved the various couches and beanbags to the perimeter of the room, creating more of a meeting area than a sitting room. Lin sat, cross-legged, against the far wall, her eyes smudged with fatigue. When she was tired, the only color that remained in her face was the fake tan. She remained a version of Elissa herself, but a version left out to fade in the sun, a version in which the color had been washed out.

  With a flash of imagination so vivid it felt like memory, Elissa saw Lin in a hyperdrive cell, wired up and strapped down, lip bleeding beneath her teeth in a grimace of pain, energy being torn from her, as agonizing as if every nerve ending were being set on fire. Oh God, if I’d found Lin and they’d done that to her . . .

  There was a space on the floor next to Lin, and Elissa went quickly to sit next to her, pushing the image from her brain, blocking it out. Lin had escaped. She’d been through a hell of a lot, but, thank God, it had never been that.

  Lin flickered a look sideways as Elissa settled next to her. “Zee?”