Replication

by Jill Williamson

  Dad stepped back from Abby, staring at the phone like it was infected with some kind of incurable disease. She wondered if his hesitation was more due to talking to a real live pastor than betraying any confidentiality agreement with his soon-to-be former employer.

  Abby dragged him to the armchair in the living room, pushed him down, and put the phone in his hand. “Just tell him, Dad.”

  Dad answered Pastor Scott’s questions as best as a paranoid molecular biologist who was involved in illegal activities could. Not that Abby had much experience in determining that. At first he tried to evade the truth, saying things like, “Well, that’s a teenager for you,” and “Well, I’m sure I don’t know,” and “That sounds more like your department than mine.” But he seemed to give in when he said, “Well, how would you act if you were a cloned teenager who was raised in an underground lab and had never seen the light of day?”

  Things were progressing now. Abby sat on the couch across from him, watching her dad’s expressions as he spoke to Pastor Scott. Maybe she should have taken him over there. This was really more of an in-person type of conversation, and the situation might even cause Dad to open up to the pastor. Abby—and God—knew that Dad had plenty of questions in the faith department. He was just too proud to ask.

  Dad clicked off the phone.

  “What’s Marty doing?” Abby asked.

  “Reading a Bible. And apparently asking questions after every other sentence. Seriously, Abby, I don’t think taking him there was the best plan. Are you trying to convert him or something?”

  “Dad!” Abby glared at her father, whose normal response to religion was, No, I don’t believe there is a God, but I’m really angry with the way he’s running things. Real logical. “I just wanted to take him to someone trustworthy who likes to help people. Do you have a better idea?”

  “No. It’s just typical that the first thing that happens over there is to hand the poor kid a Bible. Talk about shoving God down your throat.”

  “It’s my fault he’s asking them about God.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I prayed for our breakfast this morning.”

  Dad frowned.

  “You know I pray over my food, Dad.”

  “I didn’t know you did it all the time. I figured it was just to annoy me.”

  Abby exhaled a groan. “I pray because I want to talk to God. It has nothing to do with you … or Marty. I thanked God for our breakfast this morning and asked him to help me and Marty. Then Marty had a lot of questions, so I answered them as best as I could.”

  Dad let his head fall back against the armchair.

  “Dad, don’t you know why Mom was so mad about your experiments? Because she trusted God to take care of her life. If God wanted her to be with him, she was okay with that.”

  For a moment Dad didn’t say anything. He stared up at the ceiling, and Abby wondered if he had even heard her. Then he slowly, almost painfully moved his head from the back of the chair and looked straight at Abby. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Abby stared back for a long moment, then nodded. She didn’t blame him for thinking it was crazy. If you didn’t know God, how could you trust him? “The thing is, I believe that too,” Abby said softly. “I trust God with my life, so I try to share as much of it with him as I can. I thank him for every breath, every bite of food, every blessing. I want to spend my time on earth fulfilling the purpose God designed me for.”

  Dad slid to the edge of his armchair. “Wouldn’t you think it was unfair if your God allows you to live only until the end of the week?”

  Abby took a deep breath. “Life isn’t about how many days I live, but how I live the days I have.” She kicked herself when her dad leaned back in his chair; he wasn’t going to accept her fortune cookie answers. “Listen, Dad, you spent your marriage trying to find a cure for Mom and you missed out on what little life she had. You took her joy, Dad, and yours, trying to save her.” He looked a bit startled at what she was saying, but he appeared to be listening. And it had to be said. “Now you work for more people with that same philosophy. They want to take the lives of others because of their fear. They don’t understand, so they try to find a way to control things. But God will always get his way. No scientist can change that. The only way to really live is to give up your fear and trust God.” Abby’s eyes got misty. “Mom taught me that.”

  Dad’s face had a red tinge. Abby had pushed her luck way past her original bet. Another word would undoubtedly push Dad too far, and she wasn’t in the mood for a text fight. Not that she had her cell phone anyway. She stared at the reflection of the living room in the picture windows.

  Dad pushed himself out of the chair. “Go to bed, Abby, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Martyr lay on the couch with the Bible. He found this book-filled-with-smaller-books fascinating. And confusing. He read John, then Luke, and then went to the beginning and read the first few chapters of Genesis. He asked Pastor Scott dozens of questions until he and Aliza went to bed.

  Martyr continued to read. He couldn’t believe the doctors had kept this information from him. Everything in his heart told him it was truth. But Pastor Scott had said many people didn’t believe in this book. How could that be? If the Creator of Everything made the people, how could they deny that? How could they not want to know everything about their maker?

  Something clinked in the kitchen and Martyr sat up.

  “Sorry,” Pastor Scott whispered. “Just getting a drink.”

  “Pastor Scott, what is wife?” The Genesis chapter had told about Adam and his wife, Eve. Aliza had introduced herself to Abby and Martyr as Pastor Scott’s “wife.”

  Pastor Scott walked into the living room and took a seat in the recliner. “Wife is a woman who’s married.” He held up a finger. “Before you ask, let me explain.”

  Martyr smiled. After a long day of questioning, Pastor Scott had figured him out.

  “When a man finds a woman he loves, he asks her to marry him. If she agrees, they have a ceremony where their friends and family come to witness their vows before God. Then the woman will move in to her husband’s house—which is a facility where people live. Eventually the husband and wife may decide to start a family. Aliza and I are going to have a baby. I know you noticed her belly.”

  “She is pragment.”

  “Pregnant. It means our baby is growing inside her. She’s going to be a mother.”

  Martyr straightened. “How can a person be inside her?”

  Pastor Scott chuckled. “That’s a lesson for another day. But I told you so you’d understand where life comes from.”

  “Abby said the Creator of Everything makes life.”

  “And this is how he does it.”

  “It is the only way?”

  “Yes.”

  Martyr wanted to think this over. “Thank you for answering my questions.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m going to go back to bed now. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

  Martyr lay back down. “Yes, that is okay.”

  Pastor Scott disappeared down the dark hallway. Martyr heard a door close.

  So many new words confused his mind. Wife, married, pregnant, mother, family, love. Martyr suddenly wanted to ask Pastor Scott about love. He sat up again and reached for the thick black book. Maybe the Bible would say something about it.

  He searched the index in the back for the word love. He was thankful Abby had brought him to such a knowledgeable man. Pastor Scott had showed Martyr how to use the index, and it had been a very valuable lesson. Martyr read several of the suggested verses with great interest, but 1 Corinthians 13:4–8 held his attention more than any other.

  Love is patient, love is kind. It does not

  envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking,

  it is not easily angered, it keeps no

  record of wrongs. Love does not deli
ght in

  evil but rejoices with the truth. It always

  protects, always trusts, always hopes,

  always perseveres.

  Love never fails.

  Martyr read this again. Then he read it several more times.

  Abby had loved him. She had been kind when she could have beaten him with a stick. She’d given him socks to warm his feet. She’d shared her sleeping bag and her cell. She’d made him breakfast with bleeding eggs. She’d taught him about the Creator of Everything. She’d hid him from Dr. Goyer so he wouldn’t have to go back to the Farm, then fought for him so that Dr. Goyer removed the stinger and the tracker in his ear. She’d brought him to Pastor Scott’s house to keep him safe and to learn about the Creator of Everything.

  Plus, Abby said she never failed, which was exactly what the Corinthians chapter said about love.

  “Once I get a project, I never fail. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

  Abby was love, and Martyr had found her.

  He never wanted to go back to the Farm. He wanted to find his own house with large windows where he could see the sky and horses that ate trees. He wanted Abby to live with him and take care of him. And he wanted to take care of her. If he had socks, he would share them with her. If he knew how to cook eggs, he would cook them for Abby.

  “When a man finds a woman he loves, he asks her to marry him.” That was what Pastor Scott had said. But what would Abby say? Pastor Scott hadn’t been clear about what happened if the woman said no.

  Friday. Abby hadn’t wanted to come to school, but if the scientists were watching, they might be suspicious if she didn’t. She pulled Fahrenheit 451 out of her locker for AP English class and grabbed her government book as well, since the classrooms were close. She closed her locker and jumped when she saw JD leaning against the locker beside hers.

  “You scared me!”

  He grinned, but the joy didn’t reach his eyes. “You know what’s really scary? Prison.”

  Abby shifted the books in her hands until the right corners were flush. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She inched backward and turned toward class, deciding to play dumb. “I imagine that would be scary.”

  “Do you?” He strode beside her and handed her a book. Lupus and You. “I said I’d get it for you, didn’t I? Friends keep promises. And we’re friends, right?” His tone was odd. Taunting.

  “Thanks, JD. This will totally help our project.” And if the bill was still inside, it would be evidence for the police.

  “I hope you were able to work on it some last night. I was a little busy at the police station. They questioned me for hours after some girl accused me of breaking into her house and attacking her. They wouldn’t say who it was.”

  Abby turned down the west hallway and wove her way toward American Lit. A tinge of hope flooded her. If JD didn’t know she’d been the girl who’d spoken to the cops, maybe it would all go away.

  JD caught up and slipped his arm over her shoulder, walking alongside her like a boyfriend. “I had no clue what they were talking about.” He suddenly stepped into an alcove where the doors to the shop class cut into the wall, pulling Abby with him. “I tried to tell them that, but they didn’t believe me.” He spun around and pushed her up against the cool, cinderblock wall, his eyes inches from hers. “Why would you tell them that, Abby? Do you hate me that much? Am I so awful to be around? The other girls like me—all of them. Why don’t you?”

  Abby’s heart pounded in her ears. So much for hope. She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes at the pain of JD’s thumbs boring into the tender muscles of her rotator cuffs. If he murdered her, the mortician would find bruises there. Only I would think about gross anatomy at a time like this. She shook the tangent away. “He looked just like you, I swear.”

  “Just like me, huh?”

  Abby swallowed and looked over his shoulder to where Kylee stood watching.

  Are you okay? Kylee mouthed.

  “No,” Abby said answering both questions. Kylee vanished. Abby looked up into JD’s dark eyes. “I told them it wasn’t you. Because he was bald.”

  “They thought I was wearing a disguise.” His gaze boiled into hers, and heat seeped all the way to her toes. “Why do you have to be such a self-righteous little snob, huh? Why does everything have to be your way?” Then he kissed her. Hard. She dropped her books, reached up, and pushed at his face. He jerked back and flashed an angry grin. “Does he kiss just like me too, Abby?”

  “Stop it!” She stomped on his suede sneaker and tried to slap him.

  He dodged her assault easily, but his face flushed red and he kept her pinned.

  “Let go of me!”

  “Jason Dean!”

  JD stepped back instantly at the sound of his mother’s voice and swiped the back of his hand across his lips.

  Mrs. Kane stood behind him to the left, arms crossed, expression smoldering. “To class, Miss Goyer!”

  Abby didn’t have to be told twice. She crouched to gather her books and ran to Mr. Chung’s classroom without looking back. She slid into a desk in the back row—a place she never sat—buried her head into her arms, and burst into tears.

  When she arrived in calculus class, JD was already sitting in his assigned seat to the left of hers. Abby slid into her desk and scooted it a few inches to the right.

  “Abby—”

  “This self-righteous little snob doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  He slumped back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. “You deserved it. I was there for three hours with that man-hater detective, Jackson, ripping me a new—”

  “I said I don’t want to talk to you.”

  He growled to himself. “Mom said I’m not allowed to talk to you anyway. She said your dad is trying to cause trouble for my dad, and you only came over to snoop in Dad’s office.”

  Abby stared straight ahead, trying not to show that JD’s words had any meaning. Did Dr. Kane suspect her of something? Did that mean he didn’t believe the story she told the cops? Had he seen the footage of her snooping around the barn? Did he think she knew where Marty was?

  JD leaned across the aisle. “Abby, if you know something about my dad, please tell me. I know he and my mom are keeping something from me.”

  Abby looked at him then, not knowing what to say. Clearly he’d been raised by two maniacs. Was he telling the truth? Or had his parents put him up to this to see what she knew? She couldn’t trust him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you just take no for an answer and leave me alone?”

  He combed his fingers through his hair again. “Come on. Don’t think about it like that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s way too late for that apology, JD. No one deserves to be attacked.”

  “I didn’t attack you.”

  She turned her head toward him in slow motion and folded her arms.

  “Fine.” He sat back again and started scribbling the math problems on the board into his notebook. “Try to leave the cops out of it this time, will you?”

  Abby sighed. “Just—” She prayed she was doing the right thing. “Just go to work with your dad sometime and see what goes on at Jason Farms.”

  “They kill cows.”

  Abby let out a fake laugh. “They kill more than that.”

  [CHAPTER SIXTEEN]

  MARTYR SAT IN THE FRONT SEAT of Pastor Scott’s car, which he called a van. Pastor Scott had driven to Abby’s high school. The building was not a skyscraper, though. It was only two levels, very long, and the color of pancakes.

  “School is out, so they should be coming any minute,” Pastor Scott said.

  He’d parked his white van that said “Fishhook Community Church” on the side, next to a blue truck. Pastor Scott had explained the different types of vehicles to Martyr on the ride over, and Martyr was still amazed at how many kinds and colors there were. He especially liked the shiny, blue truck sitting beside the van. Pastor Scott said it belonged to JD Kane. For s
ome reason, Pastor Scott had hoped Martyr might recognize it.

  He did not.

  Two students left the high school facility together—two women. Martyr’s posture straightened. They looked so different from Abby. One had hair the color of corn, long and straight. The other’s hair was cut short like Aliza’s but was hot pink—like the inside of Abby’s sleeping bag—and stuck up all over in a way that fascinated him. He wanted to get out of the van to look closer, but he’d promised Pastor Scott he would stay inside.

  Suddenly people were everywhere. Boys and women of all shapes and sizes, wearing many colors. Several boys wore matching coats that were blue with white sleeves, but other than that, everyone looked different. And they all had hair.

  How could everyone be so unique?

  A tall boy approached the van. Martyr cocked his head to the side and examined him. He had a familiar gait, a familiar posture, a familiar shape. It came to him suddenly. It was the boy in the painting in Dr. Kane’s office. The Jason who had hair and did not live on the Farm.

  The Jason stopped at the blue truck. As he went to open the door, his eyes flashed toward Martyr’s. The Jason froze, his mouth hanging open like Baby’s did sometimes when he was having a frozen fit.

  “Unbelievable.” Pastor Scott’s voice shook slightly, making Martyr jump. “Marty, lock the door.”

  Martyr studied the door, unsure of where the locking device was.

  “The button thingy. Push it down!” Pastor Scott leaned over Martyr and swatted at the button, but the door swung open.

  “What the …?” The Jason leaned his face close to Martyr’s. “Are you the creep who’s been harassing Abby?”

  Martyr’s chest swelled. “What happened to Abby?”

  The Jason grabbed the front of the thick shirt that Pastor Scott had loaned Martyr and dragged him from the van. The cold air gripped Martyr as tightly as the Jason did.

  “Hey, now!” Pastor Scott yelled. “Let’s not do anything stupid.”

  The Jason squeezed Martyr’s shirt in his fist. “Why’d you go in her house?”

  Pastor Scott appeared at the Jason’s side. “JD, let him go. Let’s talk this out.”