Blood Ties

  Theo stared out of the window again.

  ‘It was weird,’ he said. ‘Being in the compound, I mean.’ He sighed. ‘I found out things. Not nice things – about who I was, where I come from.’

  ‘You mean about being a clone?’

  Theo nodded. He still hadn’t turned round.

  ‘For me it made sense of things.’ I picked a piece of bread out of the sandwich and rubbed it between my fingers. ‘For me, knowing I’d been made with Rebecca’s DNA explained why Mum and Dad were always comparing me to her.’

  Theo turned round at last. He walked towards me, his eyes burning.

  ‘But didn’t that make you feel weird? Like somehow you’d lost any idea of who you were any more?’

  ‘No way.’ I held his gaze. ‘I’m not like Rebecca at all. It’s like Elijah said, being a clone doesn’t make you a xerox copy. Rebecca was smart and sporty and confident and beautiful. And I’m . . . well . . . I’m just not those things. So finding out about being her clone; it’s like finding out we were twins instead of sisters. Weird. But not really that big a deal.’

  Theo leaned on the counter, facing me. He was frowning, his eyes deeply troubled. ‘D’you really mean that?’

  I nodded.

  His face was so close to mine, I could have reached over and kissed him.

  He looked as if he wanted to say something else.

  Don’t start babbling. Let him say it when he’s ready.

  He was still staring at me, examining my face. I could feel it reddening by the second. The tension built.

  Don’t start babbling.

  ‘Would you like another sandwich?’ I babbled. ‘There’s plenty more ham. And cheese. Though more ham, I think.’

  Theo looked down. ‘No thanks.’

  Then he turned away and went back to the window.

  Brilliant, Rachel. Just brilliant.

  71

  Theo

  I wanted to tell her about Elijah’s parents. My parents.

  They’re in my genes. They’re in my DNA. All that evil is in me.

  But I couldn’t.

  For one thing, I wasn’t sure she’d understand. I mean, what was all that about her sister being smart and sporty and confident and beautiful? What on earth did Rachel think she was?

  I couldn’t believe she really didn’t see it.

  But it was more than that. I couldn’t tell her just how bad my genetic parents had been. The truth was I was ashamed. Ashamed of being connected with them. Ashamed of all the hate and anger that was inside me.

  Several hours passed. Elijah came in to tell us Daniel was fine and sleeping. We each had to see the doctor as well. My examination took ages. I had my blood pressure taken and my lung capacity tested and masses of other stuff.

  When I came back downstairs Rachel was in the living room, her face pressed against the kitchen door.

  ‘What are—?’

  ‘Sssh.’ She beckoned me over. ‘Elijah’s talking on the phone,’ she whispered. ‘It’s something about tomorrow.’

  I stood next to her, my ear flat against the door.

  ‘It has to be tomorrow,’ Elijah insisted. ‘I have no security here. RAGE will be looking for us.’ There was a pause. ‘Hijo de . . . for God’s sake, Dr Munsen, it’s the same operation, just a slight change of. . . okay, okay, I know . . . I know . . . do you think I would be even considering this if there was an alternative? You’re the one who told me I’m on borrowed . . .’ Another pause. ‘Of course Apollo doesn’t know.’

  Elijah’s voice was low and intense. There was a desperation in it I’d never heard before. I glanced at Rachel. She looked as confused as I felt. What was Elijah talking about? ‘I’m on borrowed . . .’ meant ‘borrowed time’, didn’t it? And what operation was he talking about?

  ‘Yes. No. Very well. Nil by mouth. I know, Munsen. I know.’

  Footsteps sounded across the room.

  Rachel and I darted back from the door. I pulled her onto the sofa and wrapped my arms round her.

  I was only trying to stop Elijah from thinking we had overheard him. But once I was holding her, I didn’t want to let go. She felt good. All soft and curvy.

  Except . . . except her back was rigid. Her arms too – all tense and awkward by her sides. And it struck me – she was hating me holding her. Hating it.

  I twisted round. Elijah had crossed the room and was disappearing through the door out to the hallway. It didn’t look like he’d even noticed us.

  I sat back, my face reddening.

  ‘That was close.’ I pulled a cushion into my lap and pretended to be interested in the intricately embroidered pattern on the cover.

  Rachel looked away. ‘What does “nil by mouth” mean?’ She sounded embarrassed. ‘I’m sure I’ve heard someone say it before.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ A thought struck me. I put the cushion down and went over to the kitchen. ‘Keep a lookout. Okay?’

  I found the address book beside the torn loaf of bread on the counter. I thumbed quickly through to M.

  Dr Munsen

  Attending physician, Cardiothoracic surgery

  Transplant Programme Director

  Mercy Hospital

  Georgetown

  Washington D.C.

  Transplant programme?

  My hands shook. Why was Elijah phoning a doctor involved with a transplant programme? What did cardiothoracic surgeons transplant, anyway? And what did that have to do with me?

  ‘Theo.’ There was a warning note in Rachel’s voice. I put the card down, feeling numb, and walked back to her.

  She was sitting on the sofa, where I’d left her.

  ‘Elijah’s at the front door,’ she whispered. ‘Saying goodbye to that doctor. And I think I know what nil by mouth means. It’s for when you have an operation and you’re not allowed to eat or drink anything beforehand. My mum’s had to do it loads of times when she’s had her face-lifts and stuff.’

  I sat down beside her.

  ‘What is it?’ she said.

  I looked into her eyes. They were a mix of grey and blue and green. The colour of the sea. It felt like years since I’d seen the sea.

  ‘What does cardiothoracic mean?’ I said.

  ‘Cardio is something to do with the heart, I think.’ Rachel frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘That man Elijah was speaking to – Munsen – he’s a doctor. A heart doctor. He does . . . it says . . . he . . . he runs a transplant programme.’

  Rachel’s frown deepened. ‘Is that what they were talking about? Heart transplants? But why . . .?’

  ‘Elijah has a heart condition . . .’ My breath caught in my throat. I saw it, like a picture coming into focus. In that moment it all made sense. All the jigsaw pieces fitted together – Elijah being on borrowed time; Elijah having a heart condition and the references in his diary to Med. Exam. and Dr M.; Elijah planning an operation tomorrow; Elijah needing me for just one more day.

  ‘He wants my heart,’ I said.

  Rachel screwed up her face. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘My actual heart.’ My voice cracked. It was impossible to get my head round. That someone could actually imagine what Elijah was planning. And yet I knew it was true. ‘That’s what he wants. My healthy heart in place of his sick one.’

  She stared at me. ‘You mean . . .?’

  I nodded. ‘A heart transplant.’

  Rachel’s eyes widened. ‘But that means you . . . you’ll . . .’

  ‘I’ll die.’

  ‘No.’ Rachel sprang to her feet. ‘No. We have to find some way out of here. He can’t get away with this.’

  ‘Get away with what?’ Elijah said suspiciously.

  I whipped round. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. I stared at the dark rings under his eyes. The greying face.

  ‘You can’t take my heart,’ I said, as evenly as I could.

  ‘It’s murder.’ Rachel stood up.

  I pulled her back down. This was my fight.
>
  Elijah sighed.

  I suddenly realised I should have kept quiet. That would have given us – what had Rachel called it – the element of surprise?

  ‘I do not want to kill you, Theodore,’ Elijah said calmly. ‘I want you to be part of what I do here.’

  He was lying. I could see it in his eyes. It gave me that weird feeling I’d had before. I suddenly saw what it was – he looked exactly how I felt when I lied.

  ‘You have to let us go,’ I said.

  Elijah swore. ‘You are so stubborn, Theodore. I am trying to protect you. Keep you safe.’ He paused. ‘It is incredible. You are so like I was when I was your age. Reckless. Arrogant. Uncaring—’

  ‘I’m not those things,’ I shouted. I turned away, my head pounding with rage. ‘I’m not you.’

  The very hate in my heart told me I was lying.

  Rachel put her hand on my arm.

  ‘It is true that you are a genotype, not a phenotype. Yes,’ Elijah said in that vague way he had when he was focused on some scientific discussion. ‘But you are more like me than I had believed possible. And Daniel too.’

  Daniel. I wondered what Elijah had in store for him.

  I caught Rachel’s eye. I could see she was thinking the same thing.

  Whatever we did, however we got away, we had to take Daniel with us.

  ‘How long will we be here then?’ Rachel said politely.

  ‘Only until tomorrow.’ Elijah checked his watch. ‘It is nearly six o’clock, which means for you, Rachel, it is nearly eleven p.m. UK time. There are rooms upstairs where you may sleep. Please do not attempt to escape. The windows are all reinforced and I will be locking you in for the night.’

  ‘I’m not tired,’ Rachel said quickly.

  ‘Well I am,’ Elijah snapped. He raised the gun in his hand. ‘Upstairs please.’

  72

  Rachel

  I sat on my bed. I couldn’t see how we were going to escape. Elijah had locked me in. I knew that Daniel was on one side. Theo on the other. But we had no way of getting to each other.

  I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes. How could Elijah be planning to kill Theo? It wasn’t possible that anyone could . . . could do such a thing. Lewis’s smiling face flashed into my mind. There was this terrible, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I pulled the pillow down and hugged it, trying to feel less alone. When Theo had held me earlier I had wanted to believe it meant something to him. Even though I knew it was just his way of making Elijah think we hadn’t been listening to him.

  I wished I’d hugged him back. But it had all happened so fast. Anyway, what did it matter? Lewis was probably dead. Theo wasn’t into me at all. I was alone.

  More alone than I’d ever been in my life.

  I turned over. I couldn’t give up. Somehow we had to get away and make it to the Jefferson Memorial, wherever that was. Lewis had said if everything went wrong he would find me there. I had to try it, at least.

  I put the pillow I was holding under my head and lay back again, trying to work out how we could escape. As my pulse gradually slowed, my mind felt like fog. I couldn’t think. The tiredness that had been with me all day was weighing my whole body down. My eyes felt unbearably heavy. I yawned.

  The pillow was blissfully soft.

  Maybe if I just rested my eyes for ten minutes, then I would be able to see what I needed to do . . .

  73

  Theo

  Anger and adrenalin flooded through me. How dare Elijah do all this.

  I didn’t care what I had to do. He was going to pay. And I was going to get away.

  I looked round my room. Thick, reinforced glass windows with crisscrossing lines running through the panes. A bed with a flowery counterpane. A rickety-looking chest of drawers. A sink. No mirror. No glass.

  Glass would’ve been better.

  Still, I looked back at the chest of drawers. I strode over and pulled open the top drawer. It was made of cheap, thin wood. Nothing special. I ripped the front off. It was glued onto the sides of the drawer and came away easily in my hands.

  Quickly I held one end of the long flat plank in my fingers, rested the other end on the floor and stamped hard in the middle. The wood snapped with a satisfying splitting noise.

  I examined the jagged edge. It was sharp and splintery. It would do.

  I drew the wood across the inside of my arm, just above the wrist. It grazed the skin, but didn’t break it.

  I gritted my teeth and pressed down harder. Yes. A bead of blood bubbled to the surface. Again. Again. The graze deepened. A dribble of blood trickled down my arm.

  I realised I was holding my breath and let it out heavily. This was no good. I needed to be bleeding badly.

  I leaned back against the wall and braced my legs, wishing I had something sharper to use. Something quicker.

  Then I sawed at my arm again. But this time it was Elijah’s arm I was carving into. Harder. Harder. HARDER!

  ‘Aaaagh!’ I muffled a roar as the wood dug painfully across my already broken skin.

  I could feel I’d left splinters in my arm. The wound was sore. Do it again.

  I groaned and pressed down again, sawing into the bleeding gash.

  Yes. Blood – bright red – was seeping out of the wound.

  Again. My hand shook. I hesitated. The jagged line in my skin was already throbbing. I couldn’t hurt myself any more. You have to. I pressed gently on the wound. Ow!

  Do it. Do it now. Don’t think about it.

  I tried to summon Elijah’s face again. But it wouldn’t come. All the hate seemed to be seeping out of me along with my blood.

  Do it for Rachel. You know he’s only kept her alive to make you do what he tells you. Which means once you’re gone, he’ll have no more use for her.

  This time I let myself roar.

  ‘AAAAGGH!’Adrenalin flooded through me as I sawed through the open wound. ‘AAAGGH!’ Blood poured down my arm.

  I could hear movement outside. I raced to the door and banged against it.

  ‘Elijah. Elijah,’ I yelled. ‘Help me.’

  I looked down at my arm. At the blood. I felt sick.

  A key turned in the lock.

  Elijah appeared in the doorway, his face lined and anxious. ‘What?’

  I carefully held my hand over the wrist just below the cut. My arm was so covered in blood now it was impossible to see where the cut actually was.

  ‘I slit my wrist,’ I said hoarsely. ‘The blood’s pumping out. It hurts.’

  Elijah’s eyes widened. ‘Sit. Hold your arm in the air,’ he ordered. He rushed to the bed and started ripping at the sheet.

  My hands were still shaking and my cut arm was throbbing painfully. But this was my chance. I darted outside the room, slammed the door shut and turned the key.

  ‘NO!’ Elijah gave a great roar. ‘Open this now!’ He banged on the door with his fists.

  I raced next door. ‘Rachel?’ I yelled.

  No reply.

  I turned sideways and hurled myself at the door. It shook, but didn’t give way. I threw myself at it again, putting all my weight behind my shoulder.

  This time it burst open.

  Rachel was lying on the bed, fast asleep.

  For a second I stared at her incredulously. How could she be sleeping?

  I ran over and shook her shoulder. ‘Rachel? Rachel?’

  She opened her eyes and looked up at me blearily. ‘What . . . what’s . . .?’

  Then she registered the open door behind me. She sat bolt upright. ‘Theo. We’ve got to meet—’

  Bang. The thud of Elijah hurling himself against my door made us both jump.

  I pulled Rachel to her feet. ‘Get your shoes on,’ I said.

  I ran out into the corridor, raced to the next room and heaved myself at Daniel’s door. Ow. My shoulder was really bruised and my arm was hurting so badly now it was painful to move it.

  Boom. Elijah must be close to breaking that do
or down. He was yelling too. Spanish. It sounded like swearwords.

  ‘Theo.’ Rachel’s voice cut sharply across the yells. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Door. Daniel.’

  She pointed to the lock. ‘Try turning the key.’

  I stared down. The key was in the lock. I reached out with my uninjured arm and turned it.

  Rachel gasped. ‘Your arm!’ she shrieked.

  I looked down. My arm was drenched with blood all the way down to the hand.

  I stormed into Daniel’s room. He was asleep too, spread-eagled across the counterpane. I picked him up – ignoring the pain in my cut arm – and carried him outside.

  Thud. Snap. The frame of Elijah’s door splintered.

  Rachel appeared in the doorway of her room. She held out what looked like a pillowcase to me. ‘Wrap this round your arm,’ she said.

  ‘In a minute,’ I nodded. ‘Let’s get out of here first.’

  I pounded down the stairs, Daniel a dead weight in my arms. I was feeling faint now. I wasn’t sure I could carry him to the street, let alone any further. I stumbled to the front door, then stared stupidly at it. Locked. Of course.

  Rachel ran up, the pillowcase over her arm, a bunch of keys in her hand.

  ‘They were on the table,’ she panted.

  The sound of splintering wood echoed down the stairs.

  ‘Hurry,’ I urged. I rested against the wall, trying to shake Daniel awake. He didn’t even murmur.

  Rachel was turning keys, pulling bolts. ‘God, it’s like a bank safe.’ Sweat beaded on her forehead.

  Footsteps thundered along the landing.

  Rachel turned a final key. Pulled the door open.

  Footsteps on the stairs.

  Rachel sprinted outside. I lumbered after her. I had no idea which way to go. My cut arm was bleeding furiously now, the wetness soaking into Daniel’s T-shirt. The pain of it was all I could think about.

  Rachel hesitated for a fraction of a second, then turned left and raced along the pavement.

  Breathing heavily, my head spinning, I chased after her.

  74

  Rachel