Clash of Flesh and Metal by Alicia Ellis

Author:Alicia Ellis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Figmented Ink

19

I got rid of Jackson and Liv—who had managed to sleep through the whole thing with Pollock and the androids. Then it was time to get some answers.

Whatever was happening with these Model Ones clearly involved me. Jackson. Melody’s mom. Now, Philip Pollock. And the notes, all addressed to me.

Jackson and Pollock claimed innocence. Melody wouldn’t take my calls.

If I wanted to learn the truth, it was time to hear what Ron had to say. My stomach churned bile at the thought of giving him what he wanted, but he had me jammed into a corner.

The address Ron had given was half an hour away. Since it was Saturday morning, traffic should be light. I could just barely make it.

I pulled to a stop at the curb just outside the address. The brick ranch must have been built back before my parents were born. The red brick had been whitewashed for a slightly updated look, but the carport and gravel driveway gave away its age. A silver car occupied the carport.

The house’s front door opened, and Ron stepped out. My blood sped to a boil at the sight of him. It had been weeks, and maybe I’d thought he’d look different. He couldn’t possibly be the same spectacled boy with the kind face and helpful words. But there he was, looking just like he had the day we met.

His dark jeans and white button-down would have fit in with the other interns at CyberCorp. His black plastic glasses were just the right touch of nerd chic. But inside, his heart remained just as frigid as it was when he’d programmed me to commit murder.

Ron spotted me and froze in mid-motion of closing the door behind him. “I’d given up on you.” He opened the door fully and ushered me inside.

I imagined punching him right in his face. His teeth would go skittering across the porch, leaving his mouth a bloody hole. And still, it would be less than he deserved.

I propped a smile on my face. Its edges shook, but it would have to do. “Is this where you live?”

He hit a manual light switch on the wall, and the entryway lights came on to illuminate the small foyer and the family room it opened into. “You were expecting something state of the art?”

“Kind of.”

“This is my dad’s house.” He gestured toward a family room stocked with brown leather furniture and a matching wood-laminate coffee table.

The table’s surface hid under multiple stacks of paper piled over a foot high each. The sweet smell of cigar smoke clung to the air and seeped into my nose.

Despite the dull brown interior, though, colorful artwork hung on the walls. On the far wall hung an abstract painting of blues and greens, arranged in a way that suggested a city built of flowers. The painting to my right looked like a Picasso print. Its geometric shapes suggested a woman in bright turquoise.

“He has interesting taste.”

“He had shit taste.” He laughed. “But he was an artist.

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