37...

Everything had suddenly stopped making sense.

My whole life—every minute that I had existed was made up of a lie. I wasn't Lisa. I was a part of Geist. I was a subject, an experiment, a rat in a cage.

"How could I have not known? How could I have not seen it?" I wondered, too shocked to be angry just yet. "I mean, it was everywhere. The way my parents always seemed distant. The way that mom would look at me when she was angry, almost like I—like I wasn't even hers, and she didn't love me. She was just playing a role."

"Well...maybe it wasn't like that." Pam tried. "It's possible that she loved you just as much as anyone can love their child."

I held up the paper with my number at the top and stared at it. "No," I replied. "Because I wasn't her child."

"Lisa—"

"I'm not Lisa, I'm AE003174!" I read the numbers aloud and then shoved the paper in her face. She leaned away from me, pity filling her gaze.

I couldn't think, and I couldn't breathe, and I knew all Pam was trying to do was calm me down, but the more she talked the angrier I became. When suddenly it occurred to me that my parents weren't the only ones involved in Geist.

I felt my eyes widen until they stung. "You knew about this!" I tossed the paper at her. She flinched, silently staring at me. "You had to know about this!" I cried, kicking against the papers and sending them flying as I scrambled away from her.

"No I didn't!" her pity was suddenly replaced with anger.

"How could you not know?" I demanded. I didn't believe her. What I had just found out—that I was part of some sick experiment—was impossible. But what was even more impossible was that Pam hadn't known about it all along.

"I swear to you," she tried, holding out her hands in a gesture of sincerity. "I had no idea that you were part of this. James never told me who the other hosts were. I had no idea that your mom—"

"Meredith. She's not my mom. And James is not my father." I pressed my hands into my hair, fighting the urge to tear it all out.

"Lisa," Pam tried again, but fell silent at my glare.

"I-I have no idea who I am," the words were like needles in my throat. I had to say them, even though they hurt. I couldn't swallow them, or I'd bleed inside.

"Stop it, Lisa!" Pam reached out and grabbed my shoulders, giving me a forceful shake. "You are no different now than you were five minutes ago! You're freaking out because you were lied to? The only lie that is a danger to you now is the lie you're telling yourself—that you are somehow different because of this," she grabbed a handful of records, the paper crinkling loudly as she creased it in her grip. "What you know doesn't change who you are! There is freedom in truth, Lisa! Don't let it chain you up instead," she pleaded, desperately trying to hold it together as tightly as she held me.

"They lied to me," I cried angrily.

"I know!"

"Why?" I demanded. "What good has any of this ever done?"

She just shook her head.

The experiments, the research, the contracts—what had they even accomplished? Nothing. A big, stinking pile of nothing. No one was made better because of this. It had only ever brought misery.

Of course I couldn't know that for sure. I had no proof. But still I knew. Something inside of me knew for sure that the result of all this secrecy and deception was just more pain. Maybe, somewhere, someone had been helped by all this. It was possible. That's surely what Marley had been hoping for, and, possibly even my father. If he was ever human enough to hope.

They had created a spark that they hoped would catch flame—two freaks of nature that were supposed to teach them how to save the world. But that's not what would happen. Not with me, and not with Roy. Neither of us would be any good to anyone if I didn't find him and save him from James. But it wasn't that simple now.

"Oh god. Roy," tears filled my eyes and my jaw trembled. "He'll be crushed if he finds out. It will kill him. He can't know. He can't."

Aunt Pam let go of me, slowly shaking her head. "You can't lie to him, Lisa. You can't do what everyone else has done—to both of you. He has to know. You have to tell him."

"No," I shook my head. She watched me in silence. "No!" I gasped, holding my ribcage as I struggled to breathe. My heart felt like it had been tossed through a wood chipper and then siphoned back into my chest as a meaty pulp. But my pain was nothing compared to what Roy would feel once he realized that all this time, the one person he thought was normal, and safe, was not that at all. He'd think that I was like everyone else—and that I couldn't be trusted.

That I had known who I really was all along.

That he had been betrayed.

That I was just another test.

"He won't understand," I sobbed. "He'll think I lied to him." I braced my hand against the side of my head to combat the pounding inside my skull. Tears were dripping from my chin, rolling down my neck and soaking the collar of the white sweater I wore.

"Then don't lie to him now. Be honest with him, so that he knows how you feel about this—and him—and everything. He already knows it, deep down." Aunt Pam said.

"Knows what?" I asked miserably.

Pam slowly put her arms around me, holding me close. "That you love him," she answered.

What little emotion I had been holding back poured out of my mutilated, pulpy heart and into broken sobs when she said that.

"I can't hurt him. I promised I would never hurt him!" my voice felt and sounded painfully raw. I had never cried so hard in my life.

"It's okay, kiddo," Aunt Pam whispered, still holding me. It had been so long since I'd been held by an adult that the feeling was almost surreal. I couldn't help thinking how much Roy needed this too. The comfort and love of someone like Pam. Of a real mother.

I stifled my urge to keep sobbing, taking several deep breaths to ward off the knot in my throat. It was difficult—so difficult—but I managed to calm myself.

"This is stupid. We can't focus on me. We have to find Roy," I urged, getting carefully to my feet. I felt unsteady and beat up, but I couldn't give in to my weakness—not anymore. I had had my moment, and now it was over. It was time to get back to business.

"Where do we look now?" Aunt Pam asked, rising from the mess of wrinkled paperwork to stand next to me. We faced the file cabinet, our backs to the door.

"There is still another drawer." I bent to pick up the heavy piece of equipment from where Pam had dropped it earlier.

But a voice at our backs stopped us in our tracks.

"Don't you think you've defaced enough government property for one day?" someone asked sardonically.

We both flinched and began searching the sub-basement for any trace of movement.

Something caught my eye to the right of the door.

I turned, the equipment falling from my hands and crashing onto the floor as James stepped from one of the cubicles and into the main aisle. He was still wearing the clothes I had last seen him in; a flannel shirt and a pair of dark jeans. His graying hair was swept to the side, as though he'd just brushed it from his eyes. His glance shifted from Pam to me, and then to the papers scattered all over the floor.

"How did you two get in here?" he demanded. His hands were clenched into fists, and his eye twitched a little as I kicked one of the files away from me with my shoe.

"He's obviously not happy to see us," I pointed out to Pam. She sent me a wary look that warned me not to play games.

"Just what do you think you're doing here, Lisa?" James asked with ice in his voice.

I clenched my jaw, working it back and forth for a moment, trying not to scream at him. "Where is he?" I asked instead, my voice as calm as I could possibly make it under the circumstances.

James raised an eyebrow. "To whom are you referring?"

"Where is Roy?"

I watched him tilt his jaw upward, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know anyone by that name."

"What have you done to him? If you hurt him I swear I'll—"

He cut me off. "What? You'll do what Lisa"

I started to feel a strange, ice cold sensation at the back of my neck. But the cold quickly turned to heat, and my heart and head started to pound. I was getting so angry—angrier than I had ever been before.

This wasn't throwing my shoe at his head kind of angry, or screaming obscenities kind of angry, or even the kind of angry that made me wish someone didn't exist.

The anger I was feeling made me want to do something that would make James wish that he didn't exist—that he never had existed.

I didn't have to say a word to him. He could tell the general direction of my thoughts by the death-glare I was sending his way.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cellphone. "I won't tolerate this behavior from you any longer. I'm calling your mother to come and pick you up." He said, dialing her number.

"She is not my mother." I spat at him. "And you are not my father."

I watched as he slowly lowered his cellphone, his eyes never leaving mine. In that moment I knew that he knew. He knew I had found out about everything. And that he couldn't control me anymore.

With careful, deliberate motions, James placed his phone back in his pocket and let his arms fall against his sides. His shoulders were stiff as he stood there looking at me. "So. No more pretending." He said.

I lifted my chin. "No more pretending." I repeated.

His eyes shifted to Pam. "You brought her here? To expose all of my secrets? To take from me, like I took from you?" he asked, his voice deeper than I was used to.

"We came for Roy." Aunt Pam answered stiffly. "He is all we care about."

Her words held a double meaning that James clearly did not miss. After a moment he nodded, and a slow smile spread across his features. "Well you came for nothing then, because Roy is dead."

________________________________________________________

Earlier

He wouldn't answer me. And that was okay, because I was pretty sure I'd figured it out on my own.

When I had asked James what love is, I hadn't realized that I could figure it out on my own. I didn't think that I had the answers. But then I kept thinking about it, and all the things that it could be.

And I realized that the answer to my question was right in front of me the whole time.

Love was how I felt about Lisa.

It was the way I couldn't forget about her, even when I knew I would never see her again.

But somehow, it was even more than that. Love was all the good things that I couldn't stop thinking about. It was what hurt me and made me smile at the same time. It was the way I got stuck in silence because I didn't know how to say what I was thinking.

"I don't need you to tell me." I said to the empty room. I wasn't even sure if James was still listening. I couldn't tell if he was nearby anymore. I used to be able to sense him, but it was harder now. "I know what love is."

I heard a familiar suctioning noise as the door opened. The sudden sound and movement startled me and I took two steps back, preparing myself for some kind of punishment. It was James, as I had expected. He was holding something as he stepped closer to me.

"I want you to look at these." He said, holding out what looked like a stack of paper with pictures on them.

"What are they?" I asked curiously, tilting my head to the side to get a better look.

"Photographs." He answered.

"Oh," I had never seen photographs before. "What do they do?"

"Nothing. They're just pictures." He responded dryly.

I frowned, puzzled. "Why do you want me to look at them?"

"They are meant to cause a reaction."

"What reaction?" I was nervous. I didn't like tests. No, I hated tests. I didn't like being that boy again, the one with no name. I didn't want to go back to who I was before, when I didn't know anything. I had seen so much now. I was a different person.

James ignored my question and walked over to the bed. I watched as he laid the photographs out on the flat surface. There were five of them, and he had placed them all face down on the metal. "Come here." He ordered, waving me over.

I came to stand next to him, careful to leave plenty of space between us. Glancing down, I looked at the five white squares and bit my lip. "They all look the same." I said.

"Take off your shirt." James ordered.

I looked at him nervously, surprised. "What? Why?" I put my arms around myself, clutching at the fabric of my shirt. "I don't want to."

"It's part of the test, now do it." He said, pulling two small, round circles from his pocket. Hesitantly, I pulled my shirt off over my head, clutching it tightly in my hand as James peeled the backs off the circles and stuck them on my chest.

"What are those?" I glanced down at them fearfully.

"They'll measure your heart rate." James answered, annoyed. He crossed his arms. "I want you to take the first picture and turn it over." He said.

I poked at one of the circles. It was pinching my skin.

James grabbed my hand. "Don't touch those. Now do the test."

I stepped closer to the table and reached for one of the pictures. James grabbed my hand again. "Not that one. I said the first one." He snapped.

"Oh," I reached for the one he was pointing at, lifting it carefully from the metal bed and flipping it over. It was a picture of trees and a bright blue sky. They looked like the trees around Lisa's home. "I like this one," I said, touching the photograph and glancing at James.

"Don't talk. Just flip the next one over." He said, his eyes focused on a small gray box in his hand. He must have pulled it from his pocket when I wasn't looking.

I turned to the second photograph and flipped it over. This time it was a picture of James. I bent down to look closer. He looked younger, with darker hair and his eyes weren't so hard and cold. He was holding something in his arms, but it was covered in a white blanket and I couldn't see what it was. "What's that?" I asked, pointing the blanket in the picture.

He raised one eyebrow without looking up from the gray box. "That's you. As an infant." He replied.

I blinked and quickly looked back down at the image. That was me?

"But...you're holding me..." I was confused about this.

"Infants need to be held. Next picture," James brushed my words away with an urgent wave of his hand.

The next photograph was of Marley, Chris and Caleb standing in front of their house. They were all smiling. Chris had Caleb in his arms, and Marley was kissing the little boy on the cheek.

I started to chew my lip in thought. They looked so happy, the three of them together like that. A mother, a father and their child. A family.

"Next picture," James said, pushing the first three aside.

I flipped the next photograph over. This one was of something entirely different than the others, and the sight of it made me instantly sick. I took a step back, shutting my eyes. "What is that?" I asked, feeling my heartbeat start to race.

"It's a deer I hit with my car last year." James answered, glancing up from the box to peer at me. "The pictures were for my insurance claim, but it looks like they're useful for more than that."

"I don't like that one," I mumbled, my eyes still tightly shut. I was turned away from the photograph completely, fighting the urge to throw up.

"It wasn't dead yet when I took the picture." He told me. "It was still twitching."

I covered my ears. My stomach felt like it was crawling up my throat.

"There was blood all over the hood of the car. I was picking hair out of the grill for months."

"Stop it," I said through gritted teeth. Even though my eyes were closed, I could still see the deer in my head. Its glazed dark eyes, a torn ear, its tongue hanging out of its bloodied mouth. I didn't want to see that.

"It had a baby, too. I saw it hiding in the brush when I took the picture. Probably starved to death."

"Stop!" I shouted, doubling over as the mirror on the wall started to shake. I didn't want to hear anymore. I felt sad and sick and I wanted the test to be over now. But there was still one more photograph.

"Moving on." James said quietly, almost to himself. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back to the table. He didn't seem worried anymore that I would bring the walls down on him.

Isn't that the reason he'd put me in that concrete room?

I wondered what made him stop fearing me.

"I don't want to do this anymore," I mumbled, wiping moisture from my eyes. I wasn't crying, but I felt overwhelmed with disgust and sadness, for the deer, for me, and for James. How could he stand there and feel nothing while he told me these things about the animal in the picture? And why could he feel anger, but not sadness?

I looked up at him as though seeing him for the first time. This was the man I had struggled to please all of my life. He was the voice in my head that told me when I did bad things, and made me afraid to break rules. But he did bad things. And he broke rules.

"Next photograph." James repeated more forcefully, as though I had not heard him the first time.

Sighing, I turned back to the metal table, quickly flipping the picture of the deer back over so that I wouldn't have to look at it again.

Moving my hand to the right, I slowly lifted the last photograph up, turning it over. My eyes were closed the whole time. I didn't want to look at it, in case it was another hurt animal. "Look at the picture," I heard James say.

I heard James pick up the picture and turn toward me. Shaking my head, I placed one hand over my eyes to make sure I wouldn't see anything.

"Look at the picture!" James snapped, yanking my hand down.

I was afraid. The last one was horrible. I was scared that he would try and show me something else that would make me more upset so that I would do something, like shake the mirror again. Because that's what he wanted. That's what all these tests were about—making me do things that no one else could do.

"One look, and then the test is over." James told me, his voice suddenly calm.

I hesitated. Was he telling the truth? It felt like it. But I couldn't be sure anymore. I used to think I always knew when he was lying. Now I realized I could never be sure.

In spite of my doubt, I slowly opened my eyes. The photograph in James' hand wasn't of an injured animal, or the woods, or a smiling family. It was a picture of Lisa.

I reached out and took the picture from him, backing up as an overwhelming need for privacy took hold of me. I didn't want James in here now. I didn't want him to see what I was feeling, since I knew I was terrible at hiding my emotions. I tried to focus on the picture instead of how it made me feel.

Lisa was younger in the photograph. Her hair was