The Mirror Man

by Jane Gilmartin

  “What do you think?” Miss Phillips asked with a grin.

  “I look like a completely different man,” he said.

  * * *

  Jeremiah swallowed three pills to help ease the swelling on his jaw and nodded sullenly as Scott went over his “ground rules” for his brief foray back into his life the next evening. The man seemed genuinely worried.

  “You are not to speak to anyone at ViMed at all,” Scott repeated for the third time. “Just get in, do your stint with the Meld and get out of the offices as quickly as you can.”

  “But what if someone talks to me?” Jeremiah asked. “Am I just supposed to pretend I don’t hear them or something? Ignore them?”

  “Keep it as brief as possible, Mr. Adams. And don’t, under any circumstances, say anything that might raise suspicion. Be succinct and then make an excuse to move on. We can’t have you starting any conversations that the clone will not remember.”

  “If I am taking his place for this publicity stunt,” Jeremiah said, “it seems to me there will be a lot the clone doesn’t remember.”

  “Leave that to us,” Scott said. “We’ll use the Meld for that. We’ll do a quick download after the broadcast. He will remember everything you do exactly as if he’d done it himself. There will be no discrepancy there. But you need to hold up your own end. You can’t do or say anything that might throw him off track. You can’t raise suspicions in anyone. Keep everything simple.”

  “So I’ll be taking the Meld twice? In one night?”

  “It’s necessary.”

  “I still don’t see how you’re going to pull this off,” Jeremiah said. “How do you propose to make the switch?”

  “Those details do not concern you.”

  “They sort of do. I mean, at least I ought to know where to be, what to do.” He was fishing for some indication that he’d have a chance to reach out to Diana.

  “Again, Mr. Adams, that doesn’t concern you. Leave that to me. You need only to do precisely as I ask of you. Nothing more, nothing less. Follow my direction and this will all go smoothly.”

  “So you’ll be there the whole time? How’s that going to work? I mean, as far as he’s aware, the clone has never even met you. And suddenly, you’re going to be hanging on him like you’re his best friend?”

  “I have already arranged to act as ViMed’s scientific liaison to this endeavor,” Scott said. “I’ll be overseeing everything. But there will be several ViMed executives milling around, as well. Almost your entire marketing team. That’s unavoidable, I’m afraid. You are not to talk with them any more than necessary. A few of them know all about this project, but the great majority do not.”

  That surprised Jeremiah. Who else in ViMed, he wondered, was involved in this?

  “And I suppose those details don’t concern me, either,” Jeremiah said.

  “They do not.” Scott scrutinized Jeremiah for a long moment, as though he were trying to decipher his thoughts. “Remember, Mr. Adams,” he said. “Right up until the moment you take the Meld, I will be right beside you. When you take the drug, I will be close by and I’ll be watching you.”

  “But you won’t be there for the actual demonstration?”

  “No one will be in the room with you when you take the Meld. No one but you and the doctor administering the drug. As usual, anyone else in the room would risk contaminating the connection. Even the film crew will be working remotely for that portion, and I will be watching from a monitor in another location along with the other spectators. You can be assured I will be paying attention.”

  Jeremiah considered trying to get a message across to the doctor under the Meld. Something silent and telepathic. He’d never been able to exert any control when he took the drug with Natalie, though, so he didn’t hold out much hope. Still, he thought, it might be his only chance.

  As he spoke, Scott’s left hand began to shake, just the slightest tremor that anyone else might have mistaken for simple fidgeting. Jeremiah knew better.

  “There’s no need to be so nervous,” Jeremiah said, allowing his gaze to linger on Scott’s hand briefly before meeting his eyes.

  Scott immediately tucked both his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket, his arms stiffening perceptibly in an effort to quell the spasm. It was a gesture no one else might have noticed. Jeremiah noticed.

  Chapter 27

  Day 148

  Jeremiah was still half-asleep and dressed in his underwear making coffee the next morning when he was startled by Brent coming through the front door without knocking.

  “What the hell, Brent? Why are you here so early?”

  “Good morning to you, too,” Brent called. He laid his laptop on the couch and came into the kitchen, stopping short as soon as he caught sight of Jeremiah. “Whoa,” he said, “you look exactly like him without the beard and the hair. That’s amazing.”

  “Well, not really, Brent. He’s my clone, after all.”

  “How’s the tooth?”

  “Still gone, thanks.” Jeremiah rubbed his jaw. It ached a little, but the swelling seemed to have gone down considerably. “So why are you here at this indecent hour? Did Mel throw you out or something?”

  “We’re supposed to monitor the clone for the whole day today,” Brent told him. “It goes on at nine, which gives us just enough time for breakfast.”

  “The whole day? What the hell for?”

  “Scott wants you to see as much of his day as possible in case there’s anything you’ll need to know once you take his place tonight. You’re to pay meticulous attention—his words, not mine. It’s pretty exciting, don’t you think?”

  “I’m all a-tingle,” Jeremiah said.

  “I thought you’d be glad to get a chance to go back home for a while.”

  “I’m not going home, Brent. I’m going to the office. I’m literally going up twelve floors in an elevator. And I’ve been duly cautioned not to speak to anyone. I don’t see why I have to watch him all day. I won’t be interacting much.”

  “I don’t know,” Brent said. “What if he spills mustard on his tie at lunch or something? You’d have to know that, right?”

  “Presumably he’d change his tie before he goes on live TV.”

  “Exactly. And we’d know which tie to get for you.”

  “I suppose,” Jeremiah said. “Fix yourself some breakfast. I’m still nursing my goddamn mouth.”

  Brent got eggs from the refrigerator and put bread in the toaster. “Any idea when we can get some bacon around here?”

  “I’ve lost six pounds, I’ll have you know. I got the green light to get a few things back on the menu. One of them, at your request, was beer.”

  “I don’t want beer for breakfast.”

  For several hours, they watched the clone at the ViMed office, and Jeremiah found himself scrutinizing the space more than he did his double, looking for a place to stash a note, if it came down to that. He studied the desk every time the clone was near it, memorizing the exact location of pens and paper, the precise position of the center drawer. If he got the chance to be in that office, to sit at that desk, seconds would count.

  As the clone went about his morning, Jeremiah found himself mesmerized by the windows. Even though they only offered a view of a parking lot and the backs of two other buildings in the compound, he fantasized about the chance to stand there for a moment, maybe open it and feel actual fresh air on his face. He entertained the ridiculous notion of jumping out, risking it all and running back home to protect his wife. But it was a twelve-story drop to the pavement. He wouldn’t get very far on two broken legs.

  There was more than the usual level of activity in the clone’s office all day. The place was on hyperdrive. The entire communications team worked to put the finishing touches on the Meld publicity stunt. The broadcast was scheduled for 7:00 p.m. and would take place in a ViMed c
onference room, where news crews had been busy for several hours setting up lighting and equipment. Before and after he took the drug, there was to be a panel discussion with officials from both ViMed and the FDA. Charles Scott, obviously, had been “selected” to represent the company. Jeremiah figured the FDA official would be someone handpicked by Scott.

  The whole event was one big sham.

  ViMed executives were buzzing about it. Big guns—people Jeremiah wouldn’t have guessed even knew his name—streamed in and out of the department, offering praise and shaking the clone’s hand.

  “This is an A-plus idea, Adams,” a portly VP with glasses told him. “If this little demonstration doesn’t convince people that Meld is safe for the public, I don’t know what will.”

  Jeremiah couldn’t stand that the clone looked so smug. Idiot, he thought, you won’t even be there.

  Three of the major cable networks had agreed to air the demonstration live, and online streaming sites on both sides of the issue were gearing up for record traffic. Jeremiah understood, with some concern, that much of the hype involved the ghoulish possibility of a live broadcast suicide. He had no doubt that there were people absolutely hoping to see someone freak out and knife himself in front of the cameras as soon as the Meld took effect. They’d be disappointed, though. Because Jeremiah was used to the drug. Sorry, he thought, you sickos will have to get your kicks somewhere else.

  Just after six o’clock, Charles Scott entered the lab carrying a garment bag in one hand.

  “It’s time to change into your work clothes, Mr. Adams,” he said.

  * * *

  They had to walk up a flight of stairs that was hidden behind a locked door before taking a freight elevator to the twelfth floor of the building. Jeremiah was nervous. As the car made its way up, he could feel his stomach fall. Charles Scott and Dr. Pike stood by without a word. Pike held a syringe securely in his right hand. Scott stared at his shoes. When the car stopped and the doors opened, Scott went out first, holding Jeremiah back with an outstretched arm, and surveyed the back hallway in both directions. Satisfied that there was no one in sight, he motioned for Pike and Jeremiah to follow him out. Some two hundred feet to the right was a door that Jeremiah recognized as a supply room. He’d been there only once or twice in over ten years. Typically, it was Brenda’s domain. Scott opened the door and ushered Jeremiah inside.

  “Lock the door,” Scott told him. “Dr. Pike and I will head off the clone and, once we have him secured, I will come back here and make the switch. Do not open this door unless you hear my voice. And be quiet. This should only take a minute or two.”

  A minute or two might be all the time he’d need, he thought.

  When they left, Jeremiah quickly locked the door and looked around. The room was narrow and stifling, without windows. A long table took up much of the floor space, and the walls were lined with shelves containing reams of printer paper, water jugs and a host of things Jeremiah had always taken for granted. Cardboard boxes were stacked up in one corner of the room. He tore at one and found only old printers and a mountain of ink cartridges. Finally, on a high shelf, he saw what he was looking for—spare telephones. He had to climb to reach one and winced when it fell to the floor in a clattering riot. Scrambling back down he picked the thing up and scanned the room for a phone jack so he could plug it in. He saw none. Damn technology, he thought. Much of what the office used now was wireless. He began pulling boxes away from the walls but still couldn’t find a jack.

  He heard footsteps in the hallway, coming to a stop just outside the door. He watched the doorknob wriggle and held his breath. It couldn’t be Pike and Scott, he thought. They wouldn’t have tried the door. And there was no way they could have accomplished their task so quickly.

  “Now, how did this door get locked?”

  Brenda. A fine time for her to fetch a box of pens, he thought. His first instinct was to find a place to hide, but the only obvious place was under the table where he’d be in full view as soon as she walked in. It would have looked absurd if she’d found him there. He took a step backward and braced himself, frantically trying to come up with some reasonable explanation as to why he would have locked himself in the supply room.

  She turned the knob a few more times and then he heard her footsteps retreat at a quick pace back down the hall. She’d gone to her desk for her keys, he figured, which would mean she’d likely be inside the supply room in about forty-five seconds. It wasn’t even enough time for him to slip out and hide somewhere else. He’d just have to let her come in and find him, he thought, and hope she hadn’t just walked by his clone out in the hallway. He tightened his lips and decided his best option was to simply pretend he was looking for something. The sound of her heels coming back toward the door made his heart jump. He ditched the phone he was still holding, turned his back to the door and started shifting boxes around on the shelves.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” It was Charles Scott’s voice, just on the other side of the door. “I’m looking for Jeremiah Adams. I’m Charles Scott from Engineering. I’m supposed to be involved in the broadcast tonight, but I’m afraid I’ve become quite turned around. Am I on the right floor?”

  “Oh, my, we all know who you are, Dr. Scott. You want the eighth floor,” Brenda told him. “Mr. Adams left just a few minutes ago. They needed him for a sound check or something. But you’d better hurry.”

  “I’m somewhat hopeless navigating this building,” Scott said. “Perhaps you could escort me?”

  “Sure,” she said, and Jeremiah could almost hear the smile in her voice. No doubt she was happy to suddenly find herself playing a crucial role in the whole production. “You just follow me. I’ll get you there in a jiffy.”

  Jeremiah started breathing again when he heard them leave. An instant later, Pike was at the door, knocking and calling out in a hushed but urgent tone.

  “Mr. Adams, open the door. We have to hurry.”

  Jeremiah opened it, and Pike nearly pounced on him in his effort to get him out of the room.

  “That was a little too close for comfort,” Jeremiah told him.

  “Yes, and if we don’t get you downstairs we’re going to have another close call.” Pike had him by the arm as he hurried down the hallway, back toward the freight elevator. The doctor leaned on the button. “We’ve got to get down there before they send out a search party.”

  “Where’s the clone?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Unconscious in a janitor’s closet where I left him,” Pike said.

  “A janitor’s closet? What if someone finds him? I thought you were supposed to take him downstairs to the lab.”

  “Yes, well, there was a glitch, as you know. Dr. Scott had to come and save you from being found out.”

  “Don’t act like this is my fault,” Jeremiah told him testily. “None of this was my idea.”

  The elevator door opened, and Pike pushed Jeremiah inside and started hitting the buttons on the panel. When it landed on the eighth floor, Charles Scott reached into the elevator and grabbed Jeremiah by the arm before the doors had even fully opened. He pulled him out into the empty back hallway. Pike stayed behind, presumably to retrieve the clone from the closet and hold up his end of the plan.

  “They’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Adams,” Scott whispered as he ushered Jeremiah through a doorway and into the main corridor. “Follow my lead and there won’t be any questions.”

  As soon as they walked through the door, Scott with a hand lightly on Jeremiah’s elbow, there was a rush of activity. Jeremiah thought it looked like a movie set. It was surreal to see ViMed’s hallways so chaotic. Camera and sound technicians were taping wires down along the walls, several people rushed back and forth hurrying papers and cell phones from one person to another, and a skinny blonde woman, whom Jeremiah instantly recognized as a prime-time news anchor for CNN, was noisily testing her microphone in a corner.
She looked much smaller in real life than she did on TV. A lunchroom had been transformed into a makeup area and, as they passed the doorway, Jeremiah caught a glimpse of a long-limbed young man in a bright blue smock bent over someone, applying powder with an artist’s brush.

  “I’ve found him,” Scott announced loudly to no one in particular. “He was hiding out in the back hallway. I think he has a case of the jitters.”

  “Get him in here!” The lanky makeup artist was patting an empty seat with one hand and waving to Scott with the other.

  Jeremiah went in and took a seat next to Natalie Young, who looked at him demurely and held out her hand.

  “I’m Dr. Natalie Young,” she said. “I’ll be taking the Meld with you tonight. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Adams.”

  Jeremiah shook her hand and said nothing. So much for telepathic messaging, he thought. But of more immediate concern to him was the question of what she would detect under the Meld. She was almost certain to discover his suspicions and his plan to warn Diana. He had to nip that in the bud.

  Leaning in close to her, speaking just above a whisper, he told her bluntly about his wife’s affair.

  “I know,” she told him. “I read the report. We’ll discuss it later.”

  “I just thought you should know before the Meld,” he said. “You know, in case you pick up on anything strange. I thought you should understand I’m sort of upset about everything. There’s bound to be something.”

  She nodded. “Noted,” she said. “I’ll look past it.”

  Jeremiah leaned back in his chair and tried to clear his mind of anything incriminating, focusing instead on the fact that someone was applying color to his cheeks.