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  Sandra was only a few feet from the moderator's table. YNN blowhard Rudy Bolger had somehow secured the spot that was usually intended for serious, neutral journalists. Sandra knew the order of the questions Bolger would ask. With foreign policy out of the way, it was time for the one that would make or break her husband's campaign.

  "Thank you, Mr. President." Bolger's intonation made him sound every bit the ratings hog he was. "We'll start with you for the next question. In the last two weeks, we've seen devastating otherworldly attacks in Treasure, Pennsylvania, and Chapel Hill, North Carolina, which seem to have shown that we are truly not alone. How would you handle encounters like this in the future as we deal with creatures from another realm?"

  Sandra watched President Blake shift ever so slightly behind the podium. She caught her husband's eye, which rewarded her with a twinkle.

  He's got him. He knows he has no chance.

  President Blake stood straight up to hide his fear. "Thank you, Rudy. The White House strongly condemns these otherworldly attacks as cowardly acts of terrorism. We also offer our condolences for the lives lost during these senseless and ruthless incidents."

  Blake seemed to collect his thoughts for a moment and looked straight ahead into the camera. "We have mobilized Ted Finley and a team of trained agents from the Department of Homeland Security to deal with the problem. Finley and the agents are tracking down the creatures as we speak. In the next four years, with Ted by my side, the White House will work to end these attacks by reaching out to these other worlds, thereby becoming the first Presidency to engage in diplomatic relations with another dimension."

  Bolger nodded with a wide expression for the camera. It wasn't focused on him, though. It was focused on Blake, who appeared visibly shaken by his effort to answer a complex question. Bolger pointed toward Sandra's husband with his fingers in the shape of a gun.

  "Senator Kable, same question."

  Sandra smiled in sync with her husband. It was time for the shark to eat.

  "My staff and I likewise offer our heartfelt condolences to the families who've been affected by this tragedy. As President, I won't rely entirely on a superhero for help. You know who should be a hero? The President of the United States of America."

  Despite the instructions that the audience should remain silent during the answers, several students expressed their fervor with a hearty whoop. Sandra kept her laugh to herself.

  "As President, I'll create a new governmental body to better understand the other worlds, and unlike my opponent, I'll share all the information with the public. We are the United States. We don't like getting pushed around."

  After all the questions had concluded, a production assistant led Sandra to the stage. As she shook hands and took pictures with the Blake family, Sandra felt self-conscious about her appearance. While she was in her early 20s, she'd been made up to look much closer to 40. She was told it was a voter thing. It was one of many things she'd been told to do of late. Sandra thought about the hidden tattoos on her hand and shoulder when she walked arm-in-arm with her husband to a private area.

  "How'd I do?"

  She smirked. "You know how you did."

  He returned the same look. "But I want to hear it from you."

  Her husband was powerful enough that he didn't truly need her. She had no clue why her opinion even mattered to him. While it could've been a kind gesture to a loved one, Sandra had a sneaking suspicion that not everything was as it seemed.

  She waited until they had reached a room with her husband's campaign staff to honor his request.

  "I think you beat the pants off him." She kissed him on the cheek. "Which gives me an idea for later."

  Her husband's face turned pink. When the members of his staff noticed his entry, they began cheering. None of them was louder than Terry, the slimy individual who ran the campaign. He snuck in between the two of them and placed his arm on both their shoulders. Sandra did her best to smile, even though all she could think about was getting his arm off her.

  "You killed it, Mr. Senator. The networks are saying he won it on the economy, but nobody cares about that right now. Everyone is scared about the attacks, and as far as they're concerned, you're the one who should be protecting the United States."

  Sandra beamed while her husband took on an almost bashful appearance.

  He made a fake sigh of relief. "Thanks, Terry. And thank you everyone for all your hard work. I couldn't have done this without your tireless research and preparation."

  When Terry took her arm of Sandra's shoulder to join in the applause, she took a step away from him and put her hands together as well.

  "Obviously, it's terrible that all this is happening. If I could take back those lives lost–"

  Her husband's voice broke. For all the acting lessons she'd taken during and after high school, his ability to fake believable emotions was miles ahead of hers.

  Terry offered a reassuring pat. "I know, sir. But if you become the leader of the free world as a result, maybe they'll all have been worth it."

  Sandra watched as the other people in the room gave a slow nod. She wondered if Terry and the others would stay with them even if they knew of the senator's atrocities. Her husband put his arm back around Terry's.

  "Thank you, my friend." He looked back toward the rest of the room. "You all deserve a celebration. I would join you, but I've heard my wife has her own celebration in mind."

  The staffers laughed, and after a few handshakes here and there, the Kables were off. Despite the staff's best efforts to keep which hotel they were staying in a secret, Sandra and her husband were mobbed as soon as they exited their vehicle. One photographer who seemed to want an extra-close photo really got on Sandra's nerves. She briefly ruminated on how easy it would be to snap his neck. Senator Kable seemed to sense her bloodlust, and he guided her away from the eager photographer.

  She'd been a nobody as a waitress; she wasn't sure if being a celebrity was better or worse. By the time they'd gotten through the mob, Sandra felt exhausted and collapsed on the hotel bed. She wiped at her makeup and facial prosthetics that made her look like the ideal first lady. It didn't take long for her to take herself back to her real face. She didn't care that she'd need an hour in the makeup chair the next morning before she left the room. Her shoulders relaxed and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Sandra walked into the bathroom and watched her husband perform the same ritual. He removed the toupee from his scalp, revealing scars on the left side of his head under a graying patch of thin hair. He frowned back at Sandra with a look like he knew the image before them still wasn't right. Kable reached behind his left ear and unpinned the fake skin from his face. As he peeled it off, the man looking back at them was much more genuine. He laid the half-mask down on the hotel bathroom counter.

  Some would call her husband's true face unfinished, but she knew this was the only version of him that looked complete. She'd known it the second he saved her from the school gymnasium; it'd been reaffirmed when the two of them blew up the police van the following day.

  Sandra put her hands around his waist. She kissed the back of his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  "I love seeing you." She ran her hands over the scars on the left side of his face. "I wish I could see you like this all the time."

  He smiled. The broken side of his mouth was unable to curl nearly as much as the side that still looked human.

  "Do you think the world would accept how I truly look?"

  She thought of her own disguise as she placed her face beside his. "After all this pretending is over, we can just kill all the people who don't."

  Kable put his hand around Sandra's back. He dipped her deep, sending all the blood rushing to her head like she'd had too much champagne. Sandra squealed with joy as he pulled her back upright.

  "You know just what to say to make a man happy."

  She grinned and gestured toward the bedroom. "I think it's time for that celebration now."r />
  He nodded and flipped off the light in the bathroom. The nightlight reflected off his mask. On the counter lay the face of the next potential President. As he carried her into bed, Sandra couldn't help but think that the title "First Lady" had a good ring to it.

  PART THREE

  Chapter 22

  Erica sat down on her bed next to Jennifer. As she looked around the room, she relived memories of everything that had happened there: secrets she'd told, conversations she'd had, and kisses she'd shared. As with all her other lives, however, most of her memories weren't really hers. Erica knew she was living in a borrowed life, and while she prided herself on her secrets, this was a time for the truth.

  "Are you okay?" Jennifer placed her hand on Erica's back.

  The small, circular path Jennifer's hand took matched one that the previous Erica had felt on hundreds of occasions. For the new Erica, it may have been the first time she'd experienced it.

  Erica knew her previous inhabitant had never appreciated Jennifer. The loyal friend had done everything in her power to keep the old Erica from self-destruction. While it didn't work, Jennifer could have been voted the least responsible for Erica's murder.

  Erica sighed. "In most missions, nobody knows who I am, and I treat my ‘family' as part of the mission." She ran the tops of her fingers against the soft bedspread. "It's not like that this time."

  Before Erica could tuck her chin and look at the carpet, Jennifer blocked the move with her free hand and offered a reassuring grasp.

  She knows me. At least, she knows parts of me.

  Jennifer peered into Erica's eyes. "You could always sneak away like I did. Maybe it'll only last a couple of days."

  Erica shook her head. "I don't know that for sure. Besides, losing me again would kill Mom and… Erica's parents."

  Most of Erica's missions had been shorter than this one. From previous experience, she knew that the more time she stayed, the more attached she'd become.

  Her throat started to close up. "I can't put them through that again."

  Jennifer shifted her position to face Erica with her entire body, crossing her legs over one another. "And telling them their daughter is dead is going to be better?"

  Erica looked away, spying the patched-over hole in the wall she'd caused when Redican had wiped her brain. She wondered what would have happened if her first use of unknown strength would have involved shoving her parents or some other act of violence.

  "I'm putting them in danger by being here." Erica sniffled. "Better to just rip the Band-Aid off and tell them the truth."

  Jennifer nodded and squeezed Erica's shoulders with a hug. "I'm here for you."

  The affection made Erica want to let out all her emotions. Her boyfriend/mission was hundreds of miles away. She was about to devastate her parents. A cocktail of sadness, fear and anticipation wreaked havoc with her hormones. But she knew she had to be strong, and she did her best to release the emotion as she'd learned to do in a previous life at the Academy in Japan.

  "Thanks, Jen." Erica returned the hug. She took a deep breath and pulled back. "I've been meaning to ask you about something else."

  Jennifer blinked. "So you heard?"

  "I'm just not sure why you're keeping it a secret."

  Jennifer stood up and walked to one of the windows. She wiped some dust off the blinds. "I don't know. Embarrassment. Not really understanding why I fought that girl."

  Erica felt ashamed. Here Jennifer was standing by her side. Who was supporting her?

  "You need to tell Dhiraj."

  "I know. I'm just waiting for the right time."

  "No such thing." Erica grabbed a pillow for her lap. "I think I'm about to prove that."

  They went downstairs shortly after they were sure Mr. and Mrs. LaPlante were home. Erica's father was sifting through some papers on the couch with a sports news recap show on in the background. Her mother unwrapped the plastic from a gourmet make-at-home pizza. Erica had nearly forgotten it was the cheat day on her mother's carb-free diet.

  "Hey guys." Erica's voice shook. "Can I talk to you in the family room about something?"

  Mrs. LaPlante gave Erica an odd look. Even after almost a year of the more polite version of her daughter, such etiquette caught her off guard. She glanced between Erica and Jennifer.

  "Really, honey, if you were going to be a lesbian, couldn't you have picked someone a little more flashy?"

  Erica's eyes grew wider, but not have as wide as Jennifer's. They took a step apart.

  Erica shook her head. "Mom. It's not about my sexuality." She glanced back at her friend. "And Jennifer is plenty flashy. Can you guys just come in here?"

  Mrs. LaPlante sat down next to her husband, who, after some prodding, finally switched off the TV and gave Erica his full attention.

  Erica had already practiced what she was going to say in her head, but sitting before the two people who had clothed her, fed her and put a roof of her head made the words seem wrong.

  "The last year has been amazing. You two are great parents." A nervous pain grew in her stomach. "You just aren't my parents."

  Mr. and Mrs. LaPlante's reactions were as different as steel and cotton. Her father's face grew stern and cold, while her mother's countenance surprised Erica. She almost looked relieved.

  Mr. LaPlante leaned forward and spoke quickly. "Erica. I can assure you that your mother and I... we have the birth certificates and everything."

  Mrs. LaPlante put her hand on her husband's chest. "I don't think that's what she means, dear."

  Erica looked into her mother's eyes.

  She knows. How does she know?

  Mrs. LaPlante sighed and her voice started to waver. "You're not my daughter, because somebody killed her, right?"

  The color went out of Mr. LaPlante's face. Erica wasn't sure how to respond. Jennifer tapped her friend on the shoulder, reminding her what she was there to do.

  "Yeah." Erica felt the pain grow within. "How did you know?"

  "You told me." Mrs. LaPlante touched her husband's leg. "Earlier this year. You said that you died."

  It all made sense now to Erica. In addition to busting a hole through the wall, the brainwashed version of new-Erica must have had visions about her body's death. Seeing something that grotesque in her mind must have been worth sharing.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to find out–"

  Mrs. LaPlante waved away Erica's words. "No, no. I should've known my own daughter. You acted so differently when you came back. We just wanted to believe."

  Mr. LaPlante remained silent, and Erica wished he would say something. She supposed that one positive reaction out of two wasn't so bad.

  He finally broke his silence. "If you're not her, why even come back here? Why give us that false hope?"

  Mr. LaPlante's words broke Erica's heart. She wanted to move across the room and hold him. But that likely wasn't going to be an option anymore.

  "The people who gave Ted his powers put my spirit into your daughter's body. I still have all of Erica's memories. I know she didn't express it, but she loved you deeply."

  Erica's father gave a single laugh. "Maybe you got the wrong memories."

  Erica looked back at Jennifer, because she couldn't look her father in the eye any longer. It hurt too much.

  Jennifer took the hint and spoke. "Erica did love you guys. This new one does, too. You should've seen how hard it was for her to tell you this."

  Mrs. LaPlante grabbed a tissue from the side table and dabbed her eyes. "What happened to my daughter?"

  Jennifer brushed her hand against her forehead. "A guy she was dating killed her. But, I made sure he went to prison."

  Jennifer and Erica took turns answering the rest of the questions surrounding the murder. Erica felt some relief over the top of the anxiety. The secrets were out, and her mission would have to adapt. After exhausting all their questions, Mrs. LaPlante cried softly while her husband remained stoic.

  He refused a tissue fr
om his wife. "Erica, if that's even what I should call you, what do you want from us?"

  Later that evening, Erica got what she needed. Mr. and Mrs. LaPlante agreed to emancipate her and give her a roof over her head as needed for the rest of the school year. While her father had asked what she wanted, Erica couldn't bare to request the truth. She wanted things to remain as they were, with her parents treating her like a daughter. That aspect of their relationship remained up in the air.

  Later that night, Erica felt drained as she lay down beneath the sheets of her bed. She could've slept right then and there, if she didn't have to make one more revelation of the truth. Erica pulled out her tablet and dialed up Ted for a video call.

  "Hey!" Ted seemed to have all the energy Erica lacked.

  "Hey. How's North Carolina?"

  Ted didn't appear to notice Erica's lack of verve. "Warm. And we haven't found the bad guys yet. How are things in–"

  "I told my parents who I really was."

  Ted's grin left him. His voice dropped an octave. "What?"

  Erica sighed. "Yoshi and I are going to investigate the attacks. And if I can't be out there with you, I can't be in Treasure."

  Ted leaned forward and rubbed at the back of his head. "Erica. We don't know how long this'll last. Maybe we'll stop ‘em by the end of October and there'll still be–"

  "Ted, I had to tell them at some point."

  Ted glared into Erica's eyes through the screen. As if she hadn't been made to feel bad enough already that day.

  He looked up at something off-screen before looking back at the screen. "I'm sure that was hard to do."

  Erica's nervousness diminished slightly. "It was."

  He leaned his temple down on his hand. Erica found his attempt to smile through his dissatisfaction incredibly cute. She mimicked his position and pretended for a moment that she was right beside him.