The Book of Eva: Clone, Book One

by Paxton Summers

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Yes, in fact, I’ve already replaced most of the president’s advisors. Clones are useful for many things other than sex.” He leered and then had the audacity to wink.

  Eva’s face exploded with heat. Kill. The primary thought in her mind grew louder and louder, until she could almost hear it. But that would be the last thing she did. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote device.

  “Eva, you need to be a good girl.” He set it down on the desk in front of him.

  She nodded. For now, she would, but if the power should shift, he’d be the first she took out.

  “That’s my girl. Dante is going to take you back to your room and explain what is going to happen tomorrow night. If you do everything as you’re told, you live. Step out of line…” He picked up the remote. “And I fry your brains.”

  He tucked the device away and nodded at Dante. “Take her back to her room.”

  Dante stepped forward and unlocked her cuffs. She’d wanted to strike out, but the only person she could do it to was the only one she cared about. She resisted the urge, and while General Axis gloated over his victory, she plotted his death.

  7

  “Lullay, lullay, sweet baby mine. Moonlight drips down on you in your bed, sweet dreams to softly fill your head. Lullay, lullay, till night has set and sun doth rise. Lullay, lullay, sweet baby mine.

  The song often filled her dreams, rushing in and out, snagging buried memories and bringing them to the surface.

  Rolling over in her bed, Eva pulled the covers to her chin, fading back into the darkness of her room within the safety of the Institute. The lullaby echoed through her sleep, and while she’d dreamt, she’d remembered. The memories were not artificial, but etched so deep in her psyche they could not be forgotten, even after her reprogramming.

  Her earliest memories of me were of that song. Every morning she’d walked by my nursery on her way to work in the kitchen, and my mother’s soft singing always drew her to the door. Eva knew it would be a bad idea to look in, and she would be punished if caught, but could not stop. The music called to her.

  Though I was nothing more than a sick infant at the time, I remember the sound of my mother’s voice, the way it comforted me. For Eva, the song held no such comfort, and now that I’d heard her story, I could not smile and think back upon it with fondness, the way I did before.

  Eva’s story about when she dared to eavesdrop forever changed the way I viewed my parents and society. Before, I could’ve forgiven them.

  As usual, I’d been up half the night crying. My mother had tried everything to comfort me and walked the floor of my nursery, bouncing me in her arms and singing the lullaby. I was certain she was exhausted and out of patience, but that did not excuse what she did next.

  Unable to resist the temptation, Eva crept toward the room and peered in. She didn’t comprehend at that moment how big a mistake she’d made, but would soon. My mother held me in her arms, trying to get me to sleep. I was always a fussy infant, and she often swore nothing would sooth me but that song.

  Every now and then, I’d fall into a fit of coughs, and wail. My mother swayed and continued to sing. Eva had developed an intense hatred of me because of it, for she’d never been comforted in that way. The love in my mother’s voice held her captive in the spider’s web the song wove, and she’d been unable to walk away, to go about the tasks she’d been given. Not until a hand clamped down on her from behind did she truly understand she’d been snared.

  My father spun Eva around and slammed her into the hallway wall. A portrait of our family dropped straight to the floor like a guillotine blade. The glass smashed; its musical tinkling echoed through the upstairs. Her head hit hard, and fuzziness washed across her vision. His face faded in and out.

  When he leaned in, the sour stink of alcohol rolled out on his breath. I remembered that smell. It was as much a signature of my father as Dante’s green eyes defined him to Eva. I never knew what drove my father—a man who had everything—to drink, but he did, and excessively. Perhaps he was a different man when sober. I’d never seen that man.

  “What do you think you are doing?” he’d asked while he clamped tight on her.

  Bones cracked, and she flinched. The pain was almost more than she could stand. His touch she could not. Eva glanced down, breaking eye contact. Clones were not to look in the faces of their keepers, especially their eyes. Rule number two. She’d averted her eyes, but a second too late.

  “What were you looking at?” His hand slipped free of her shoulder and slid up to her throat, forcing her chin up and her gaze back to his. She’d tried to shake her head, and he clamped down, cutting off the air supply to her lungs.

  “I asked you a question. Answer me.” He squeezed harder, before finally releasing the chokehold.

  Eva drew in a breath, wheezing as though he’d partially collapsed her windpipe, and then coughed as her body resisted the intake. Any more pressure, and he would’ve certainly crushed her airway.

  He shoved her shoulders back into the wall and groped at her breast, twisting the mound of flesh so hard she’d wanted to scream. Instead, she’d bitten the inside of her lip.

  “What’s going on here?” My mother came out of the room, holding me in her arms. “I’m trying to get Olivia to sleep. Take your problem somewhere else.”

  The disappointment I felt in my mother when I learned what she’d done, nearly destroyed all I held dear. She hadn’t seen Eva but chose to look right through the abuse to my father and order him to take it elsewhere.

  Which he did.

  Caught between Herod and Ana, Eva had nowhere to escape. Her gaze darted from him to my mother, not certain what would come of her disobedience, only she lacked an ally. She had desperately wanted to get away, wanted my mother to see what he was doing, that he hurt her, but my mother refused to look.

  Eva needed her help, defense from the beast, and my mother ignored her, bouncing me up and down, pretending the situation did not exist. She did not see the hand on Eva’s breast or his body as he pressed her against the wall.

  My mother chose not to.

  “I’m sorry, Ana.” My father had said it with a smile, her denial all the permission he needed to continue the abuse.

  She nodded and ducked back into the nursery. He tightened his grip, and Eva stared at his chest. If she made eye contact, it would make everything worse. He released her breast and slid his palm down her arm and up again. “Let’s do as she asks.”

  His fingers dug into the tender flesh of her bicep. With a tug, he pulled Eva off the wall and started down the hall, dragging her along with him.

  As she focused on their destination, fear seized her by the throat, harder than he ever could. He wasn’t headed for the stairs or the kitchen. He was headed for his room. She’d pushed back on her heels, throwing her weight away from him, digging into the lacquered wood. The soles of her feet squeaked against the surface.

  At one point, she succeeded in stopping, only to have him yank hard enough to dislocate her shoulder. Eva stumbled, and he caught her around her waist to keep her upright as he guided her toward the door ahead, her deepest fears creeping up with every inch closer they traveled to his room.

  Herod’s hot breath was on her, his hand clamped over her mouth to strangle her screams so she wouldn’t disturb my mother further. Memories of the first time she’d been assaulted rushed back to her.

  No. No. No. Rule number three. She shook her head but uttered not a sound. To resist would be to violate the laws set forth in the Codex. It would make her punishment more severe. He would do what General Axis did, tear her up, make her bleed. She had no illusions about what would happen.

  The door was thrown open, and he shoved her inside. She spun around when she heard a loud slam, blocking any possible escape. “Now we won’t disturb Ana.”

  She shook her head and retreated a couple steps. He unbuckled his belt and pulled it free, snapping it like a whip. Fat
fingers clutched the strap of leather. Back and forth, the end licked the floor like a demon’s tongue, ready to bite, draw blood, bring pain.

  “Come here.”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to punish you for that.” My father advanced, cornering her. “What happens to clones who break the rules?”

  She shook her head, disobeying again for fear of a beating or worse—rape. At the moment, she could only think of getting away. No laws, no ingrained training, could overcome her panic.

  “Get over here. Now!”

  She jumped and then froze, unable to retreat farther. Still, she resisted the only way she could, by not moving any closer. “Please don’t.”

  “Did I give you permission to speak?” He didn’t let it deter him, but stepped forward and caught hold of her wrist, tugging her to him. Twisting her wrist behind her, he escorted her to the bed and shoved her face first into the feather-stuffed comforter. “Let me show you what happens to disobedient clones. You didn’t want to work in the kitchen.” He maintained control of her and yanked her pants down. The mattress springs creaked as he joined her on the bed. “Let’s work off your meals and shelter in other ways. You’re going to love this.”

  “Eva.”

  A hand stroked along her cheek. With a slap, she knocked it away. A cold sweat covered her body. Her T-shirt clung like a water-soaked washcloth to her torso. Strong hands clamped down on her wrists, and the weight of a man’s body pressed her into the mattress.

  “No,” she screamed, finding her courage and resisting with all she had. “No!”

  “Eva, it’s me.” The voice, not the one of her nightmares, but one she’d recognize anywhere. A pause hung there, waiting for her to draw away from the dream.

  She took a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air. The chill invaded through open windows. Regardless the temperatures outside, she always kept them that way. The room closed in otherwise. Somehow, by having them up, she felt free, that she’d never be trapped again. Ice sometimes formed on the sill and along the walls, slid under her door, and permeated the tile in the hall. Others complained. She cared not.

  When her eyes opened, Dante’s face was inches from hers. His strong thighs gripped her hips where he straddled her torso, and he leaned forward, cupping either side of her head in his hands, holding them in a vis-à-vis.

  “You’re safe.” His breath danced between them, a comforting distraction, a ghostly cloud of warmth.

  “Dante?” Her terror faded, replaced with something else. Security.

  He nodded and started to back away.

  “No.” She reached up and tugged on the waistband of his pajama bottoms, pulling him back down. His chest was bare, every chiseled muscle she’d memorized left exposed. The spice of his cologne clung to her clothes and bedding, as though he’d held her all night. His scent had haunted her from the moment they met.

  He continued to stare in her eyes, cradling her face between his palms, a look of longing frozen on his expression. “Eva,” he whispered.

  Even in the dark, the green of his eyes held a brilliant intensity. The power trapped her inside their depths. She contemplated what thoughts turned in his head. He wanted to stay where he was, but who he was demanded he shouldn’t. The rest she could not read.

  “Please don’t leave.”

  “Forgive me. What I’m about to do…” The pads of his thumbs traced small circles on her jaw. “Could get me executed on either side of this planet, for treason.”

  “Dante?” She’d no clue what he tried to tell her, but his tone frightened her. Too soft. Too urgent. Too much like he cared.

  “Don’t scream. This might hurt.” One of his hands went to her chest to hold her down. The other brought a large needle around which stuck her in the jugular. She opened her mouth to scream, and he lifted his hand off her chest and clamped it over her lips. “Trust me.”

  He pushed the plunger down and injected the contents straight into her bloodstream. She blinked the tears back. It burned. It burned so bad. He released her mouth and pulled the needle out, setting it on the nightstand.

  His face fuzzed in and out. “Why?” She shook her head and reached up, touching her face where it had started to go numb.

  “Because I’m going to set you free,” he whispered and leaned in, pressing his lips lightly to hers. “Sleep.”

  And so she did, uncertain if she’d really heard him or imagined it. His face faded to darkness, but it remained in her unconscious mind. In her dreams she had him with her, smiling and caressing her.

  In her dreams, he loved her.

  Two years earlier - Two days into Eva’s indoctrination into the UR’s clone conversion program.

  Dante’s hand gripped hers as they strolled the compound. Large stone walls encircled what would, under normal circumstances, be a small city. Past events had converted it to something more. The abandoned military compound that sat in the center of the war-mangled country had been refitted for the UR’s other needs. He pulled her toward a garden. Ice hung on bare branches. The skeletons of flowers and vegetable plants poked above the snow, wearing coats of ice, while the sky hung low and gray, creating a drama of its own.

  Their feet crunched on the crust as he led her toward an old iron bench someone had converted into a swing by adding chains and attaching it to a sturdy parallel branch of a massive oak. Dante sat and pulled her down beside him. He stared off in the distance for several minutes before turning toward her. “Do you have a name?”

  A name. No. She shook her head. Her i-dent number had been all she’d had. It pulsed from her chip, a visual registration that identified her on sight. No date of birth, for she wasn’t born in the traditional sense—because of this, she’d never deserved a name. The chip did display her date of origination. December 12, 2205, Lab H. Womb C2. 121205H-C2. The question made her heart ache. He shouldn’t need to ask. She reached up and touched her cheek.

  “No. Not that. That’s not who you are.”

  Nobody had ever bothered to call her anything more than clone, or see her as anything other than a production date, but Dante did. If she could pick a name, it would be something special, something that distinguished her from the others, made her somebody and not a number. Oh, how she desired to be more than she was, but was too afraid to claim what she wanted. “I have nothing.”

  He nodded and sat back, using one foot to rock them. “What do you think of Eva?”

  “Eva?” It sounded beautiful coming from his lips. A warmth curled around her and, for a moment, the winter’s chill faded. “Why Eva?”

  “Eva was my mother’s name. She was beautiful—like you.” He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. Even though it was cold out, he didn’t wear gloves. He liked to touch her, feel her skin under his fingers, and though she wasn’t used to it, she’d grown comfortable with it.

  She stared at her hands, too embarrassed to continue to look him in the eyes. He reached out and brought her face back to his. “You are beautiful.”

  For the first time in her life, she blushed. Eva wrung her hands together in her lap. He moved closer and kissed her, just brushing her lips softly. “Do you want to be Eva? I’d be honored if you took my mother’s name for your own.”

  “Yes.” For him, she would be anyone.

  Several hours after Dante knocked her out, the clock on her stand chimed. Eva’s head throbbed along with each note. She avoided opening her eyes. The pain would be too intense. When she inhaled the cool air, the smell of spice filled her nostrils. Next to her bed, a chair creaked, as if someone moved in it. He had drugged her, but for what purpose? She’d trusted him, and he’d betrayed her.

  “Eva, are you awake?” His voice rolled through her body in a sexy growl. Traitorous muscles in her stomach clenched in response. She still wanted him, hated him and, God help her, she loved him. She wanted to stroke her hands over his body and stab a knife through his heart. There were too many emotions, all conflicting with one another. Bu
t one above all others took precedence—rage.

  “Eva?” He shifted closer.

  Heat from the intense way her studied her, burned over her skin. Sometime during her unconscious state, she’d kicked the sheets and blankets free, leaving herself exposed, wearing nothing but her panties and T-shirt. His warm breath grazed her cheek, his scent grew stronger. She calculated her actions, the seconds it would take to launch an attack. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to hurt him bad.

  One. She tensed her muscles, preparing to spring.

  “I know you’re awake.”

  Two. She slowed her breathing and focused on the sound of his voice, the feel of his breath, the beating of his heart.

  “We need to talk.”

  He’d stood by the man who’d raped her and hadn’t said a word. Later, he’d instructed her as to what General Axis had wanted, how she was to act like a puppet and do as told. She had gone along before. They hadn’t needed to force her—not until she realized the real Michael Axis was here, giving the orders.

  Three. He’d drugged her—done something while she slept. The sharp pain in her head testified it wasn’t her imagination.

  She launched off the bed, landing in a deep stance.

  “Stop!”

  Jumping up, Eva spun around, throwing a roundhouse kick aimed for his head. Her anger had clouded any love she might have for him, fueling the need to inflict pain. But anger also slowed her down. Dante was faster. He caught her ankle and yanked, pulling her other foot out from under her. Her backside landed on the edge of the bed, leaving her legs dangling.

  She pulled her free leg back and kicked him in the stomach, sending him crashing back into the wall and the full-length mirror she’d used to practice. It cracked into a puzzle, dropping some, but not all of the pieces on the floor. Her image was distorted in the glass but she could still see the fury that had taken her over.

  With her ankle free of his grip, Eva jumped to her feet again.

  “Eva!” His commanding voice didn’t even slow her down. She launched forward, oblivious to the shards and her bare feet. She caught a fragment in the instep and slid across the floor, slicing the arch of her foot. Blood poured from underneath, coating the glass and the cold ceramic tiles, painting them with footprints and smears of bright red hemoglobin.