Alternative

| Chapter Four

"Your next applicant is Elizabeth Kim," he says as he parks the car in the front parking lot. "She's twenty-three, a journalist, and has four appointments set for mem donation."

I look down at the tablet Joe hands me and glance at the face of the woman on the screen. She looks less like Emery than the last woman. But that isn't what catches my attention. It's the dates on her file. Almost a full week of donation appointments. Why?

"Who does this?" I ask Joe as he shuts off the car. "Four donations? Back to back?"

Joe shrugs. "I mean, I had those other girls picked, but when her application came in late last night, I knew I had to pick her. How easy will this be? Four nights, four appointments—"

I look down at the tablet again and scroll my fingers up the glass.

"That means you'll have four different sets of memories from the same person. Easy binding, yo. Em's going to be set for sure!"

I bite my lip. He is right. Normally, I would have to work hard to make sure mem-blocks match from different people, so I wouldn't confuse Em. There was a lot of deleting, syncing and reconnecting to make them look just right.

But if I have memories from one person and load each up in the right sequence? That's months, even years, of memories I can pull and save. I can fix Em before I know it.

A small laugh leaves me. I can't help my smile. "I think you did a good thing here, Joe," I say, looking into Joe's eyes. "Remind me to thank you later."

Joe, laughing, places his hands behind his head. "I like pizza. Deep dish. Lots of pepperoni."

I blink and shake my head, laughing louder. "You're dumb," I tell him.

"I won't settle for less."

|||

Elizabeth Kim. Age twenty-three. A journalist for our local broadcast news. I know that is what my tablet says, but walking up the steps of a clean, yet vintage building, says otherwise.

As I wait outside of room thirty-three, floor five, I stare at the smooth, red carpet bordered by wooden walls. From the outside, I expected to find a modern building, new and silver, like the rest of the city. Instead, I find myself within the halls pulled straight from The Shining. With my work bag and tablet close to my sides, I shift back, eyeing the halls on both ends.

Where were the dead twins?

The apartment door opens, fast, but not too fast. I don't have to move my whole face to see the beaming smile of a woman just an inch shorter than me. Her eyes, as bright as the sun, seem to devour me.

I gulp and face her fully. "Morning," I say to her, nodding once. "My name is Rayna Guzman. I'll be your Alt-life Agent."

"Oh, wonderful!" Her voice is smooth, soft, like silk. Yet, in the end, I hear her youth, like an eager child. As she moves aside to allow me room to enter, I side-step past her but watch her.

Joe wasn't kidding. She seems perfect already.

Her pale, slender hands shut the door once I'm inside her living room. She presses her bright, pink sweater closer around her waist. Her back is against the wall with one step. "I didn't think I'd see you so early. I thought I asked for night appointments."

Did she ask for night appointments?

Placing my bag and tablet on a small coffee table, I let my eyes scan her apartment. It's old, like the halls outside. The carpet beneath my shoes is just the same, too; red, dark, resembling an old murder scene.