Page 70 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

“One of my boys,” she agreed, motioning for Elliot to sit on the table. “He’s going to run some tests and figure out when the best time to extract the baby would be.” Once Elliot was seated on the table, Mrs. Peppercorn took his hand. “Would you like to know the sex? I know you said you think it’s a girl, but we could ask him, just to be sure.”

“Of course, it’s a girl,” the Creationist scoffed. “That’s what Mr. Price ordered.”

Elliot jerked his head in Alexander’s direction. “I knew it! I knew she was a girl.” As excited as he was, it felt like he might urinate at any moment. “Honey Davenport, I must insist you ease the pressure you’re placing on my bladder. Please and thank you.”

“Honey Davenport?” Mrs. Peppercorn said, her mouth hanging open. “Is that . . .”

Elliot nodded. “We’ve named her after you. Without your help, I may not have made it onto the boat, and then we never would have found each other.”

Mrs. Peppercorn wiped a tear from her eye. “That’s just about the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” She patted the operating table again. “Come on, then. Let’s meet our little Honey.”

Elliot’s eyes widened. “Now? You’re delivering her now?”

The Creationist was still staring at his charts as he shook his head. “Tomorrow. Right now we’re just going to have a look at her.” He looked up from his chart. “Come on, then.”

Elliot shared a look with Alexander before making his way to the table. Alexander was right behind, and when Elliot tried to hoist himself up, Alexander lifted him from behind and placed him on top.

The Creationist rolled his stool around until he was seated in front of Elliot. “Go ahead and lift your shirt for me.” Kicking his leg against the floor, the Creationist rolled his stool blindly across the room, putting his foot down and stopping the ride when only inches separated himself and a small table. There was a silver tubelike device resting on top; he grabbed it, then turned the stool around, kicked the floor, and rolled toward them, once again stopping inches before impact. It was as if he had every square inch of the room memorized. Considering he’d been Mother’s right-hand man since the beginning, he probably did.

Elliot lifted his shirt to expose his bump. He felt mortified that Mrs. Peppercorn and the Creationist could see his bloated belly, because he truly felt as big as a house. Thankfully, there was no judgment or shame in either of their eyes, though.

As it had before, color faded from Elliot’s skin, creating the familiar window to his womb. The Creationist brought the tubelike device to Elliot’s tummy and clicked a button on the end, causing blue light to pour from the tip. The lights ran up and down through the window, scanning Honey Davenport, top to toes.

“There’s our girl,” the Creationist said, his voice taking almost an affectionate tone. He looked up at Elliot, and for the first time Elliot could remember, he smiled. “She’s beautiful, Elliot.”

Elliot stared down at her, observing the look of peace radiating from her face. She had her eyes closed, the side of her face pressed against Elliot’s belly. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, she is.”

The creationist nodded toward Mrs. Peppercorn but kept his eyes on Elliot. “She’s right, you know. You’re all special to me. I’m proud of all my beaus,” he said, moving the device lower on Elliot’s abdomen. “But I think she’s my crowning glory. Broussard and I spent years developing the prototypes for hybrid children.” What little kindness may have been coating his face vanished, his demeanor growing colder by the second. “Years that were almost wasted after you killed your former master. We already had one automaton go rogue and kill his owner, the last thing we need is a media firestorm. We’d be shut down, and all of our hard work would have been for nothing. Thank God Broussard called me and told me to handle things. If word got out—”

“Handle things?” Elliot asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means, while Broussard was on her ill-fated voyage, I was in Dallas, trying to clean up your mess. Do you know how hard it is to stage a crime scene without leaving any evidence behind?” The Creationist's gaze hardened. “When Broussard called me, I knew there was only one way to salvage the situation. I created a lifeless clone of you, Elliot. It was a hack job, at best, but it was believable enough to throw off suspicion."

“I don’t understand. Why would you create a clone of me?”

The Creationist sighed, his shoulders slouching. “Because you needed to die with him. If you didn’t, it would have left our home open to a host of legal woes and criminal investigation. Legally speaking, you’re dead.”

Elliot’s mouth hung open. He hoped it meant what he thought it did. He hoped more than anything it meant his time in hiding could finally come to an end. Elliot didn’t want to leave Sugarplum Island, but he didn’t want to have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life. He wanted his family, friends, and freedom.

“Am I free?”

The Creationist’s head dipped up and down in a nod. “Yeah, Elliot. You’re free.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, but The Creationist’s attention turned once again to observe the baby.

“She’s healthy and strong. We should be able to deliver in the morning. The delivery is fairly straightforward. Your stomach is designed to open like a hatch, allowing us to unhook her from the support system I created for your womb.”

Elliot exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as relief washed over him. He clutched Alexander’s hand. Though he wanted to describe in great detail just how appreciative he was, “Thank you,” was all he could manage.

Mrs. Peppercorn smiled warmly, her earlier concerns apparently eased by the Creationist’s confident assessment. “We’ll be ready,” she assured them. “Get some rest tonight, Elliot. Lord knows it’ll be the last chance you have to rest for a while.”

Elliot blinked at her. “I require six hours of uninterrupted rest per night. It’s when I replenish my life force.” He looked at the Creationist. “Will she require the same? I know she’s half-human, half-automaton, but will she still need to charge herself?”

“She will, but it’s not nearly as long a process. By my calculations, she should only require an hour, at most. Don’t worry—I know the book Broussard gave you is filled with idioms, but I can go over everything with you, so there’s no confusion.” He glanced at Mrs. Peppercorn. “She’s right, though. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

Elliot nodded, warmth spreading through his chest as he envisioned the moment he could finally hold Honey Davenport in his arms. Staring down at his translucent stomach, Elliot pressed a kiss to his fingertip and rubbed it into his skin, right over her sleeping face.

Elliot was tired. He was tired, and he was cranky. Ever since waking to find Alexander not in his usual spot at Elliot’s side, Elliot’s mood had been absolutely dreadful. He should have been happy—he was meeting his daughter for the first time that morning—but without Alexander at his side, he felt like he was on his own again, the same way he was when he first boarded the bus to Georgia. To top things off, there was the sound of incessant laughter on the other side of the bedroom door, and Elliot didn’t care for it.

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