Now

"Julia Walden, you're under arrest." Mitchell jerks his head at one of his deputies. "Handcuff her."

I feel my lips lift off my teeth. My muscles are coiled, tense. Strong. Five of the cops are Bloomington PD, and three wear the brown uniforms of Dover County. I'll start with Mitchell and—

"Andy Wekstein killed Josh," says a robotic voice.

Everyone turns at once. Two eyes are lighted within the metallic head of Lars, who's prone on the floor, his face turned toward us. A shiver worms up my spine. When he fell, his power source must have turned on.

How much did he hear?

"My name is Lars," says the Bot, slowly lifting his torso off the floor, "and I am a key witness to tonight's tragic events."

"What the hell—" breathes Mitchell, shock and revulsion mixing on his face.

I don't know what it means that I'm feeling those things, too. Shock that something metallic could be alive. Revulsion at the strange way Lars moves as he stands, first planting his hands on the floor, then spidering his legs out to the side, finally straightening up, hydraulics system sighing. At his full height, he's taller than Mitchell by nearly a head.

He tilts his head and looks down on us all. "Andy Wekstein killed Josh. He tried to kill this Synth, too, with a screwdriver. Then Andy Wekstein fell and hit his head." Lars tilts his head in the other direction. "I'm afraid that Andy Wekstein was never very athletic."

"What the—" says Mitchell again. He looks comically uncertain.

Lars swivels his head to face Mitchell. "I am a Bot. I cannot lie. Here. I will show you." And then, Andy's voice springs to life.

"Sure, yes, I killed Josh. And he fucking deserved it."

I gasp, looking toward Andy's body, before realizing that of course Lars is playing it from a speaker within him.

It plays on a loop, over and over. Every cop in the room remains frozen in place, like the voice has hypnotized them. "...And he fucking deserved it." Pause. "Sure, yes, I killed Josh, and he fucking—"

"Stop!" thunders Mitchell.

There's a shuffling sound of cops shifting their weight, roaming their gazes between me, Lars, Andy's body, and Mitchell. The room feels crowded with indecision.

As for me, I look at Lars.

A witness. But he's lying.

Except...maybe he's not.

Andy did fall—when I jumped on him. Andy did hit his head—when I smashed it into the floor.

I look and look at Lars, so intently that for a moment everything and everyone else in the room falls away, and it's just the two of us. A Bot and a Synth. Andy's first creation and his last.

What does Lars see when he looks at me? A more evolved version of himself? Or something more like a human? What did he feel as he watched Andy drive the screwdriver into my head? Does he feel empathy? Kinship?

"Sir?" the deputy with the handcuffs finally says, pulling my attention, and Lars's, whose head swivels.

"Goddamn it," says Mitchell, lowering his gun. A spur of victory bites into my heart as he jerks his head toward Lars. "Someone take that Bot in for questioning."

Lars's arms shoot up like he's saying I'll cooperate. "I will come."

Mitchell faces me as he holsters his gun. I wonder if he can see any difference in me. If he realizes how strong I've become. If he can feel the painful torrent of victorious love crashing through my chest, because Annaleigh is about to be safe forever, with me, her defender, the one who will love her best always.

Or if all Mitchell sees are parts, like he always has.

An officer takes my statement while Mitchell listens, his eyebrows like storm clouds above the wells of his eyes. I stick to the soul of simplicity. I suspected Andy had killed Josh. I came to talk to him about it. When Andy realized I knew the truth, he decided to end my existence. He was running around the table trying to catch me when he slipped and fell.

Mitchell has question after question.

I answer everything with a steady voice. I remind him of No Harm. Tell him to check with WekTech. I couldn't have killed Andy even if I wanted to. I'm the victim. Programmed by Andy, and weaker than him. A woman, a bereaved wife, a mother. I'm not even shaking. I feel sad, but strong. Steady. Vindicated. And I know I'll be okay.

Finally, I say, "Are we through yet?"

And then the sheriff says the words I've been longing to hear since this nightmare started. He says them grudgingly. He says them like they taste like shit in his mouth. But he says them.

"You're free to go."