Now

"I found your trophy in the car. I know what you did," I say.

My eyes have adjusted enough to make out his features in the dark as he moves toward me. Scruffy as always. "Julia! Jesus, I've been so worried! Listen, my lawyers are—"

"Don't come closer." I hold up a hand. He stops, startled, on the other side of the long metal table that divides the space, and divides us.

I knew that seeing Andy would be emotional for me. But this is a tidal wave, pulling at the fragile edges of my control, rising, rushing between the first moment that I saw him and thought kind, and this moment when I know it's actually cruel. The chasm between that deception and this truth is sixteen months. My entire life, folded into Andy's fantasy. Andy's lie.

"Wait—trophy?" A flash of concern crosses his features.

"My husband's finger." Even though I'm physically stronger than ever, my emotions are screaming like nails down a perfect chalkboard. Tears stream down my cheeks. For the first time in my life, I feel both vulnerable and strong. "How could you? It was his ring finger, Andy, where he wore my promise to love him forever." I thump my chest with my palm. "A promise I intended to keep. And you—you just—"

"What finger?" he says, as if he can't conceive of a world in which I figured out what he did. He's counting on the trust he probably coded into me himself, but I've learned since then. Oh, I've learned.

"You must think I'm so fucking stupid," I say with a bitter laugh. "And now what? You're going to build more people whose lives you can ruin?" I gesture down the metal table at the half-assembled Synth, her real-looking breasts sloping out to the sides, the indents of her rib cage, and under the edge of skin where the finished section ends, wiring and synthetic organs spilling out. Her legs aren't attached; they're farther down the table, still mostly metal pieces, a mere draft of legs. That was me, once.

"Julia, I—" Andy holds both hands up, like he's saying calm down, but the time for calm has fucking passed, Andy.

"Tell me about Laura," I interrupt. "Why don't we start there." I don't even bother to wipe away my tears. Let them fall. Let it all fall, this house of cards and lies that Andy built.

"Laura?" He looks disoriented, like I've just turned him in circles blindfolded and pulled off the cloth.

"Your sister," I say, my voice cold, "whose death I was supposed to avenge."

His jaw goes slack, a light of understanding finally coming into his eyes. "Fuck."

Fuckis right, because we're finally alone, he and I, the truth like a time bomb in its last minutes of counting down.

"Is it just my appearance that's like Laura's," I say with a strange, hysterical sound that's half giggle, half gasp, "or more parts of me? My personality? Obviously we were both attractive to Josh—at least for a while. I guess neither of us could hold him, though, could we?"

"Julia," says Andy in a low, breathy voice, like he's begging me—for what? Understanding?

"Tell me the truth," I say, because I want to hear him confess it all. And then I want him on one knee, begging my forgiveness as fervently as Josh proposed. The thought of Andy abased gives me a surge of something heady and bitter like whiskey. It makes me thirsty.

"I don't know who told you what." His voice has taken on a nasal pitch. "But the truth is I always wanted happiness for you. I have the highest regard for you, Julia, and I—"

"Wrong!" I slam my hand on the table. "Made for happiness? Love? Bullshit. I was made to kill."

Andy's voice remains controlled, like he's doing internal calculations. Like he figures he can still manage this situation. "It's not that simple."

"I think it is."

"Julia—"

"Stop lying to me!" I shriek, just as he explodes.

"It didn't have to be this way!" He slams his hands on the table. The crashing sound is enormous. The Synth shakes. A metal cog jumps off the table, pinging on the floor. "I didn't program you to kill him just like that! Only if he did to you what he did to her. He had his chance at redemption with you, Julia, and he fucked that up."

"I know everything about it," I say coldly. "Three strikes and you're out. You thought it was okay to put me in that position? Julia can take three strikes, because she's just parts? Is that it?"

Andy leans forward, his eyes glistening. "I'm sorry that happened to you. I know what I did may seem unfair. But at the end of the day, Josh chose to hit you. He was the monster."

"Do you hear yourself?" I say, a wild laugh bubbling on my lips. "Do you hear how reductive that is? Josh is so much more than his mistakes. Who made you his judge? Three strikes? This isn't a fucking baseball game. This is a human life."

"Don't talk to me like his mistakes were nothing," shouts Andy, any veneer of control now stripped away. "It was his mistakes that killed Laura." He takes a shuddering breath and I see a glint of teeth. "I was in California when she texted. She said, Not worth it. That's it. Just those three words." His voice is ragged. "I called her and she didn't answer. Then I called 9-1-1 and got on a plane. By the time I landed, she'd slit her wrists. She was gone." His eyes are red, narrowed like he can't bear to take in the full world, and I recognize what's in them because it's the same thing that's in me: pain. Passed on like a horrific inheritance. "What if that was Annaleigh, huh? Wouldn't you do anything—anything—to get the guy who drove her to end her own life?"

I shake my head, teeth clenched, because I am not willing to take that leap with him. To let some kind of perverted empathy soften the wrong of what he did.

"You took your pain and gave it to me, Andy. I didn't ask for it. Why the fuck did you think the solution to dealing with a monster was to create another monster?" I hate how broken my voice sounds right now.

But I don't actually need him to answer that, because Deborah already did.

People in pain want someone to knock down.

For a while, I thought Andy loved me. I even thought he might be in love with me.

But Andy Wekstein has never seen me as a person. If I saw affection in his eyes, or warmth, it was merely because I was his cherished weapon. His beloved game piece.

A fucking domino girl after all.