James didn't answer me because not only did he not want to answer me, he didn't know how. After all, I could never picture James down on his hands and knees, humbling himself fully to us, but on the other hand, I knew that he didn't live well with guilt. A few more months-even weeks-in his fault-ridden state of mind would have definitely brought around positive suicide.

By this point in James' strained conversation with me, the other adults had risen to their feet, observing James with tense hatred and displeasure in enormous quantities. Some of them, such as Mom and Syl, were naturally slightly more forgiving than Dad who, to be blunt, had hatred just rolling off of him in waves. His face was flushed, and he had clenched his jaw firmly into place.

Since catching the numerous mental threats that were flitting through his mind, I began to reluctantly fear for James' life. Whereas Dad would have killed 416 with hesitation just because of the good soldier morals that Dad constantly upheld, for 416 technically wasn't the enemy, Dad would murder James if the younger man so much as breathed wrong. James wouldn't even have time to blink if Dad truly wanted him dead. And, even though James disgusted me to an endless amount at that moment, I couldn't bear to see him die-there were too many unanswered questions that needed to be resolved. After the questions had been explained? Yeah, maybe I would let Dad kill the guy.

Morning was quickly approaching, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep, yet Lydecker's bleeding body remained frozen in the snow, while the words on James' tongue needed to be thawed before we could leave the area.

"He had a son," James began warily, shuffling his worn boot along in the frosty snow, as he stared down at his father's body. "I know he never, ever, wanted me in existence because I was just 'an accident', 'a slip-up'. Believe me, I've had that hanging over my head since I knew that he was my dad. Every time I tried to leave him, to go back home to Wisconsin where things were safe, he would toss that back into my face: 'You're nothing'. 'You're just a stupid accident'. 'How do you expect to survive in this world? Mistakes don't survive'." James sighed, running sore, callused fingers through his hair.

For the first time since he had come back, I noticed how jumpy his dark pupils were and how he would cough occasionally with a hacking jolt. Then, I remembered when we had still been dating, how he had told me that, when life would go crazy on him that he would turn to cigarettes for assistance. Now, watching him babble stupidly to himself and us, I wondered if Lydecker had been slipping James something "harder" than a few innocent tobacco leaves. After all, any torture was good torture. I cast a sidelined glance at James and waited for him to continue talking sanely.

"I've spent weeks alone in some damned prison, being fed food that even the guard dogs wouldn't eat just because I 'needed to be alive to finish the Seattle plant'. Personally," James mused, "I wouldn't be surprised if he would have killed me after that place was finished." Turning to me-the closest person to him-he said, "I told you, the night we tried to escape, that he wouldn't let me die. I leave, that Seattle plant goes out the window."

"I remember that," I acknowledged, keeping my voice low as if I feared that the ghosts who I had killed would arise and strangle me now that Alanza, who had been presumed to be weak, was back in power.

A flicker of emotion that resembled a smile passed by James' lips, then faded away as quickly as it had come. "I knew you would…Still," he continued, "I've never truly thought of myself as James Lydecker. It wasn't until everything came crashing down that I finally realized that because of a few damned genetics," he hissed, "nothing can remain the way it was. Me? I got stuck with a bunch of my father's genetics. And, because of that, I'm supposed to hate transgenics, treating them like slaves, or I'm the one who has my head on backwards-not the merciless directors." He laughed hoarsely in the back of his throat, kicking at a pile of snow that had gathered around Lydecker's frozen toe.

"What's your point?" Krit finally snapped, supporting the obstinate Dad beneath his shoulder.

James stiffened instinctively, before coughing sharply again into his hands. All of us waited rather impatiently as he ceased the annoying bark and straightened himself. "The point, Krit, is that my father never wanted me." James dabbed away at his eyes, which had developed tears from the powerful convulse. Sniffing while wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he continued, "My father never wanted me for anything besides doing his labor that all was for 'his children'. Despite what all of you want to believe, he viewed you as his children. So, 416 here was right when he said that he viewed Lydecker as a father. It was what everyone wanted you to accept. Father Lydecker…Yeah, that's basically how it worked.

"But above all, I was never once acknowledged as his son. In a sick, twisted sense, I was jealous of you, and how much attention you received from him. I wanted that attention. I wanted a father. I did, I really did. Yet, the funny thing is that I was forever ignored, while you were all praised like gods. My father may have had a son, but he refused to admit so."

Lazily, James kicked at Lydecker's frozen boot before moving closer to me. I caught Dad's instant stiffening out of the corner of my eye, but ignored it, knowing that when it came to James, I could handle myself. James continued to approach me until he stood directly in front of me, no farther than two feet away. For the longest time we stared at each other, trapped in wicked parodies of dances that shouldn't have been shared, and of hospital moments that should have been deleted upon viewing. Finally, I cleared my rusty throat, emitting warm steam into the frosty air, and spoke.

"I could kill you right now before you would even realize that you were dying."

"I know," he affirmed without any hesitation.

"And?"

"I doubt that you will."

"Quite presumptuous for someone who could possibly be looking their death in the face-aren't you?"

"If you had wanted to kill me, you would've already done so."

"Perhaps…" I mused. Again, we lapsed into harsh silence before he pulled some items out of his coat pocket.

"I figured you might want these back," he replied in a low undertone. His brown eyes, now pale with grief and loneliness darted up to mine, then back to the items in his hands that he offered me. "These, I know you'll definitely want back because it'll allow you to get out of here…extension to the soul…I know…and this…well…I guess it has some sort of meaning to you. You were wearing it when they brought you in."

Looking down at the materials that had been laid in my hand, I saw my motorcycle keys-along with the Californian apartment and Seattle apartment keys, as well-all still perfectly shiny, which almost caused me to start crying due to my brittle emotions. And, lying next to the brass keys was Dad's watch. The face had a hairline crack through it, but glowed with the modest indiglo that had been specially picked out for a night owl like Dad. Yet, what puzzled me the most was the blank face, filled completely with zeros. It took me a moment before I realized that the little timepiece was indicating that we had a new start at life. Not only me, but the rest of family. All I had to do was press the button and life would begin again.

I was about to thank James when he cleared his congested throat again, muttering something that I couldn't hear as he dropped a puddle of gold in my hand. The cold metal comforted my blistered skin, and I cupped alloy in my palm as he stumbled over his words. "I don't know if you'll want this back or not…" he muttered, obviously uncomfortable, "and I know that we'll never be 'like that' again, but…well…it's yours to do with what you want to," he said more to himself than me. James watched me observing the object, before turning away and crouching down next to Lydecker's body a few feet away. I looked up, meeting the blank eyes of my family who observed the sniffling man with confusion now, as if wondering why Donald Lydecker's son would be lamenting his father's hideous death.

Case met my eyes from a distance and gave a head nod, questioning what James had given me. He wasn't watching James cry alone-he was watching me. After a moment of hesitation, I opened my hand like a flower petal, and I saw that, lying tenderly against the folds of skin, was the ruby heart necklace.