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“She’s your mother. You have a right to know. An obligation.”
“Just because I’m her daughter doesn’t make me responsible for what she’s done,” Eve says. “Are you responsible for your parents?”
I let it sit, and a moment later I hear her sharp intake of breath. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Solo. I forgot. I’m so tired, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s just, she’s my mother. You think you know someone, know what someone’s capable of, and then—”
“Yeah, life’s full of surprises,” I say. I lie back, exhale loudly.
Then I rest the crook of my elbow on my eyes and pretend to fall asleep.
– 30 –
I open my eyes.
I see something. It’s a picture. It’s a picture I know. It was already in my brain before I ever saw it. Now the sight of that picture resonates.
It’s a girl.
The picture slowly cross-fades to a different picture. Same girl. This time she’s at poolside with another girl.
This picture in turn cross-fades to the original girl, and her name pops into my head.
Evening. Her name is Evening.
I’m sitting upright in a chair.
I’m staring at a monitor.
Why? When did I move to this chair? How did I get here? Where was I before?
I reach a tentative hand to my head. There’s a tight band, and I can feel wires, dozens of them trailing out and away.
Is this normal? I have thousands of images of people. None of them have a band with wires.
Yet another picture of Evening.
I love Evening.
How do I know that? It’s obvious. It’s true. I have to love her. She made me. I have the pictures in my head, moving and still, of Evening at a console making the decisions that would soon define me.
I see myself through her eyes, unformed, partial, incomplete. I see that she chose my hair and my face. I know that she sculpted my chest. That she had the vision to create perfect, muscular legs.
I am perfect. I’m Adam.
Perfect for Evening.
Mine is the face she will find impossible to resist. Mine is the skin she will long to touch. As I will long for hers.
She designed my body. She wants me to be her mate. Of course she does.
I haven’t been told this, but I know it. I can draw my own conclusions.
In fact, I realize, I haven’t been told anything. No one has spoken to me. I just … arrived … here in this chair. Came here from nowhere and nowhen.
I am wearing clothing, so I can’t see my perfect, Evening-sculpted legs or my artfully symmetrical biceps or my hard abdomen.
