Surprise! I DIDN'T completely ditch you.
But going back to my room still didn't appeal to me, so I decided to do something potentially stupider than going outside. I decided to talk to its maker.
I figured the main level would be my best guess. It seemed like, when Morgan wasn't fixing a problem, she tried to be somewhere where she could keep an eye on things. I was right. She sat in a corner, where she always seemed to sit, reading. Something I could expect from a normal thirteen-year-old. Not something I expected from a sadistic thirteen-year-old.
For a few moments after approaching her, I merely stood awkwardly in front of her. I wondered if she even knew I was there, or if I could turn back without her ever knowing. But then I realized that was a completely ridiculous thought, and it was even more ridiculous that I felt scared to talk to her.
"Morgan?" I asked timidly.
"Yeah?" she responded, turning a page.
"All those times Gee and I went to your house...where were your parents?"
Her eyes froze and her lips seemed to tighten.
"That's none of your business," she murmured coldly.
"Hey, where you been?" Gerard asked once I walked in our room.
"And I talked to Morgan,"
He raised one eyebrow.
"Why is it not stranger that I went for a walk in a graveyard than that I talked to Morgan?"
"Because graveyards are normal for you. Morgan is not,"
"That's...circular reasoning- nevermind,"
I told him about the short and not-so-sweet "conversation" we had, and about meeting Mary.
"Why didn't we think of that before? I mean, dead parents...that's totally something that turns you into a bitch," I said.
"Whoa, Frankie, how do you know they're dead?"
"They're not dead,"
"I dunno...." I hesitated.
"What makes you think they're dead?" Gee pressed.
"Just the way she froze," I told him.
"She could just hate them," he said, being rational, as always. "Or maybe they hate her. You can't know they're dead."
"But," I argued. "Just because we don't know, doesn't mean they're not."
"True," he agreed. "But...we shouldn't assume things, babe."
I hate it when he shoves...knowledge...in my face. Or analytical thinking. Especially analytical thinking, because he's an artist...he doesn't get analytical thinking, he gets creative thinking. But anywho.
"Was Mary a duplicate?"
"I dunno, I didn't ask. Why?"
"I wanna meet a duplicate that's been here longer,"
"That would be helpful, wouldn't it...." I trailed off, suddenly wondering if anyone from outside was a duplicate.
But I wasn't going back outside.