by Sean Platt
“No.”
But hadn’t he? On Eden. Or maybe he’d only seen her. Either way, it couldn’t have been the real Alma. Just like the two Almas Sophie was pointing at now.
Ephraim wanted to rub his eyes. There were two Alma Couches across the room, but Sophie didn’t seem to notice or care. Seeing double didn’t bother her in the least.
“Alma is wonderful. You’d like her.”
“Sophie?”
“Yes?”
“Where is Alma Couch?”
Sophie pointed again. After she did, Ephraim pointed at the other Alma, beside her.
“Who is that, then?”
“Oh, that’s Alma. Would you like to meet her?”
“She’s Alma too?”
“Yes.”
“They’re both Alma Couch?” he asked.
Sophie nodded.
“Why are there two of them?”
A puzzled look crossed the clone’s face. She hadn’t considered it until Ephraim had asked; her brain accepted the doubling.
She seemed to make a decision. “She has a twin.”
“And they’re both named Alma?”
Sophie laughed. “Silly. No, but I don’t know which is which. I think the first one is probably Alma. That must be Laura.”
“Alma and Laura Couch?”
“They’re wonderful. When they were kids, they did twin movies.”
Knowing he was picking a scab that maybe shouldn’t be picked, Ephraim said, “Really? What movies were those?”
Her puzzled expression returned. Then she brightened again. “Oh, I don’t remember. You can ask them if you’ll let me introduce you.”
Now that’s curious.
If he followed Sophie’s suggestion, what would the Almas say? Were they as psychologically flexible as Sophie? Would they corroborate her mental invention and let her call them Alma and Laura, a pair Sophie claimed had done twin movies in their youth, or would they both insist that they were Alma and throw Sophie into a conundrum?
If that happened, how would Sophie recover? Ephraim thought he knew the answer, as someone whose reality had been challenged a lot. She’d probably forget the encounter, and later insist that there’d only been one Alma and that Ephraim was mistaken if he said there’d been two.
Don’t rock the boat. You might break her.
“No thanks,” he mumbled.
Ephraim, looking for the door, was drawing stares. He wasn’t dressed right. He needed to find Mercer or someone else in charge. Normally a person had to sign for deliveries. How could he acknowledge receipt of his Sophie? To whom should he justify his incongruous existence at this rich person’s ball, and how did he get out to end this absurdity?
“Come on.” Sophie tugged. “Alma will love you.”
Already it seemed like Sophie had forgotten the “twins” idea. She was acting like there was only one Alma — the one to Ephraim’s left.
“I’d rather go home.”
“But we just got here! You’re so shy!” Sophie slapped his arm for emphasis. “I’m not trying to hook you up with her, you know. She’s my friend.”
Ephraim wondered if the Sophie and Alma clones had ever met. The real Sophie hadn’t seemed to know the real Alma. Why would she? The real Alma was ancient.
Ephraim resisted the tug. Instead, he pulled her in the other direction, into a semi-private corner. She giggled as they hid behind a plant, then began touching him all over. He had to stop her, but not because it didn’t feel good. His body responded to this stranger like the traitor it was.
“Humor me,” he said.
Almost purring, “I’ll do anything you want.” A slim hand slid across his chest. Down his front. Brushing where it shouldn’t, in public.
Trying to ignore the innuendo, Ephraim said, “How did we meet?”
“At the reception.”
“What reception?”
She seemed confused. “For one of the awards. The Emmy?” But she didn’t sound sure. “I didn’t win, but a few of my friends did.”
“Why would I be at an Emmy reception in Hollywood?”
“You were there with a friend.” She was touching him, even during this interrogation, as though physically unable to stop.
But Ephraim took her hands and looked into her eyes. He needed to understand. He needed to try an experiment, test this strange thing, whatever it was.
“That’s not how it happened. We met at an oil change place.” He searched his mind for something ridiculous. “In Detroit.”
There was a tiny moment of confusion, but then Sophie’s eyes cleared. “Oh, that’s right. Now I remember.”
“I was working as a professional clown, presiding over the shop’s grand opening. You were watching your cousin’s kids, Zip and Zap.”
Sophie smiled fondly, adjusting her reality to his absurd story. “That’s right. I was so impressed by how you were with the children.”
Zip and Zap? A clown? Really?
“Sophie?” he said.
“Yes?”
“How long have we been together?”
She put a finger to her cheek, eyes distant. “Six months?”
“And you, you know, care about me?”
She saw his question as insecurity and leaned in, half-hugging him. Who wouldn’t be insecure? He was a promo clown who’d snagged a starlet.
“Oh, honey. You know I do.”
Tendrils of discomfort wrapped Ephraim like vines. He pulled gently away.
It was fascinating, what Eden had done with their clones. This woman had all of Sophie’s mannerisms, all her little quirks. He’d need to delve deeply to see how “Sophie” she was, but so far, she struck Ephraim as one hundred percent authentic.
Except for her youth, and her inexplicable affection for an average guy in sub-standard attire.
Sophie watched Ephraim pull away. She tried to move closer, but his glance held her at bay.
“What made you notice me?”
Ephraim waited for her to say the predictable things. Your sense of humor. Your entrepreneurial spirit. Your daring. Only a secure man can take life as an advertising clown.
“Your hands,” she said.
“My hands?”
She nodded, now looking down, taking one of his hands in hers, running her fingers along its contours. “You have nice, big hands.”
He considered a quip about how big clown hands were needed to tie clown balloons at every Jiffy Lube grand opening he’d overseen during his life in Detroit, but he shut it down. This was too weird, too disturbing. He could make her believe anything. Make her do anything.
“And you’re honest. Everyone knows that you can’t tell a lie.”
Except that he’d just told a whopper. But that shouldn’t count; he’d deliberately concocted something so outlandish that anyone would have known he was kidding. Except for Sophie. And now, he faced a dilemma. Should he come clean and tell her the oil change clown story was only a joke? Or was it kinder to her mind and pride to let her believe it?
Sophie moved into him again. She wrapped both arms around him at the waist and pressed her front against his. “I’ve missed you.”
Ephraim leaned into the lies, knowing she’d follow his lead. “I’ve only been gone a few minutes.”
She pressed into him harder. Pulled him harder from behind.
Her voice was a purr, “I’ve missed you anyway.”
She tried to kiss him. He looked up and away, pretending to see someone. She couldn’t kiss him without consent. Or a ladder.
“You said you wanted to get out of here,” Sophie said.
“I need to find Mercer. I need to talk to someone first.”
But did he? His senses were confused. He had his evidence. He could take it to Fiona, Hershel, or both.
“Talk to them later,” Sophie said, now running a slim-fingered hand across his chest.
“Someone may have something for me.”
He struggled for ways to express what he was feeling without offendi
ng her. Was there documentation for his purchase? An owner’s manual? A warranty? The more he left with, the more rope he’d have to hang Eden. He didn’t know who his friends were, but he knew his foes.
Neven was an enemy.
So was Connolly’s empire, if it had survived.
Sophie turned Ephraim by the arm. Her other hand cupped his crotch.
“I have something for you.”
Ephraim jumped. An involuntary sound of protest escaped.
It must’ve been loud because a handful of nearby partygoers turned to look at the couple mostly concealed behind the planter. Despite their awkward hiding spot, Ephraim felt fully exposed. He wasn’t dressed right, was radiating nerves, and was the only guest not partaking in hors d'oeuvres or cocktails.
Was he the only new buyer? The only one who didn’t know what to do or how to act? And why had Mercer told him Sophie would be delivered in a box, yet obviously told nobody else the same?
Everyone knew the drill except Ephraim. He was on the outside — as always, yet again. And everyone was staring.
He turned away, feeling a roomful of eyes on him. He’d been on TV as one man who’d survived Eden. Did they all recognize him? Did they know he was a spy, here to crash their party?
Ephraim’s heart kept pounding. His adrenaline was high, certain now that he was being watched, followed, tracked, and might be lucky to leave alive.
He moved from behind the planter. An older man and his twenty-something celebrity date watched him emerge, curious.
“Ephraim? Where are you going?” Sophie called, following.
“I told you. I need to find someone.”
“You don’t need anyone else. And neither do I.”
He was suddenly dragging a weight. She had his arm.
“Let me go. Sophie? Let me go.” His voice was firm. Dismissive, even. But she held him tight.
Ephraim moved into her. “Seriously. Let me go.”
“There’s a lounge over there.” She nodded. “It’s private.”
“I don’t need privacy.”
“In public, then.” Again, she tried to kiss him.
Ephraim practically spun her away. His heart wasn’t slowing; his eyes were everywhere, seeing all those stares — both real and imagined. The voice in his head was saying that all was well and that he was overreacting. But the voice wasn’t his.
“Ephraim!”
He ignored her, pushing through the crowd.
Sophie followed.
Ephraim brushed sides with guests, with waiters bearing drinks on silver trays. Someone behind stumbled and crashed. Heads turned. Ephraim refused to look back. Sophie’s clone was at his heels, yapping like a dog. She wasn’t taking a hint. The more rude he was, the more he tried to leave her behind, the closer she stayed.
“Baby, we can do it anywhere you want.” She gripped his hand. He shook her off.
“Give me a minute.”
“Take me somewhere,” Sophie said. “Take me anywhere.”
He pushed back. “Stay here. I’ll … I’ll find you when I’m done.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“I need you to leave me! I … I command it!”
He felt like an idiot. Sophie didn’t react, as if she hadn’t even heard.
He pushed on. Past more revelers. Past a who’s who of cinematic sex appeal. The world had become a fashion shoot. Everyone was handsome and beautiful, except for Ephraim.
He hit a wall, almost literally. Two couples parted, and Ephraim was suddenly confronted with a dead end. Again, no Mercer. No one in charge. Only celebrities, clients, and a wall.
The exit was to the left.
“Ephraim? Where are you going?”
He answered without words, moving through the door, not caring if she followed.
Through the outer club. Through to the other door, needing to reach the street.
This was too weird. Yes, he had his evidence. But he couldn’t shake the sense that this was Sophie Norris behind him, hot on his tail, wanting him.
It couldn’t be. But it was.
The second Ephraim stepped outside, his Doodad rang, as if emerging from the club had allowed the call to connect.
He answered without thinking, his world spinning away.
“Ephraim?” came a female voice, full in his ear.
And as Sophie emerged from the club behind him with the look of someone accidentally left behind, she said the same thing. “Ephraim?”
“Ephraim?” the woman on the phone repeated. “It’s Sophie. I got your message. Where are you? Are you still at that place you sent me the photo of?”
The clone pressed against Ephraim’s side and took his hand. She looked up at Ephraim. “Who is it?”
“Sophie,” Ephraim said. It was only a word, without logical meaning.
“Yes?” said the clone.
“Ephraim?” said the real Sophie. “Are you okay?”
Without a word, Ephraim hung up. He slipped the phone back into his pocket. The clone threaded her hands around his arm, sliding up close, and said, “Take me home.”
CHAPTER 31
FOUR OF THEM
“Mr. Todd?”
Ephraim couldn’t put the call on speaker with Sophie beside him. It would be a pointless precaution, perhaps. She’d shown no surprise at being led to a U-Haul behind the club instead of a valeted BMW under its awning, so maybe nothing would faze her.
But still, Ephraim flinched. This wasn’t the real Sophie Norris calling him this time; the new call was the head of the Committee for the Oversight of Genetics and Evolvable Machines. And although Hershel Wood’s power was less limited than it seemed. Most of the world’s politics, agriculture, and policy revolved around genetics in some way, and Wood held all the keys. He wasn’t just a bureaucrat. He could make all the trouble for Ephraim he cared to make.
With one hand on the wheel and another on his Doodad, Ephraim flicked his eyes toward the Sophie clone and answered Wood as casually as he could.
“Yes?”
“This is Hershel Wood. We need to meet.”
Ephraim wondered what he’d been thinking, sending Wood his intentions. It had felt sensible before entering the club, another line of insurance. But since Wood had waited to reply until after Ephraim received his illegal goods, contact now felt dangerous.
Wood pretended to be a friend, but Ephraim wasn’t in GEM’s employ. He was a suspect with them, same as with the FBI, Interpol, who knew who else. By Ephraim’s admission, Eden had burned because he’d left it, and his brother’s clone was dead by Ephraim’s hand.
It was easy to forget that he was in trouble. But he was. Heaps and heaps of trouble, even if he claimed he’d been double-dealt.
“It turned out to be nothing. The club was only a—”
“Not over the phone,” Wood interrupted. “This line might not be secure.”
“I have another phone I can use.” Ephraim was thinking of Sophie, beside him. She had a Doodad. He’d seen it when she’d gone into her purse for lipstick, then kissed air seductively in his direction.
“You might not be secure,” Wood said.
“What do you …?” Ephraim stopped without thinking, his hand straying to his MyLife’s controls. Was someone listening? It was maddening to think so, like a ghost he couldn’t see or fight.
“I can secure a private conversation. I just need you to—”
“It’s not a good time, Director Wood.”
“We need to talk soon. Very soon. There are other parties involved.”
Ephraim frowned. By “other parties,” did Wood mean Eden? Or Fiona? He wouldn’t be specific until they were face to face and the man could enact whatever precautions he had in mind, but Ephraim couldn’t allow that. Not now. Because as things stood, this all looked terrible. Yes, he had his evidence. But the details were an accusatory finger pointing in his direction.
Sophie smiled as Ephraim looked over. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she seemed to know him. Sh
e’d already changed the radio station to land on something he liked; she’d already rolled her window up without being asked because air flow in a car always gave Ephraim a headache.
“I’m not at home,” Ephraim told his Doodad.
“I know.”
“I’m headed to Fiona’s. I told her I was coming, so I have to show up.”
Might as well play them against each other.
“No, you’re not. And no, you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Just pull over. Pull to the side of the road.”
Ephraim looked at Sophie, who was no help.
His side mirror lit up. The car behind him had turned on its flashers; not the red and blue of the police, but GEM enforcers’ yellow and green.
“I can set up jamming equipment in the back of your truck,” Wood said. “I’d rather not go back to your place. It may be watched.”
“You’re behind me?”
“Just pull over, Mr. Todd.”
Panic crept in.
What now?
He couldn’t play Fiona and Wood against each other until he had Fiona in the loop, and he couldn’t bring her into the loop until he got Sophie home.
If he heeded Wood now, the Director would probably steal Sophie for himself, same as Fiona had stolen the MyLife.
Everyone, it seemed, wanted Ephraim’s help — but nobody wanted to help Ephraim.
The ball was temporarily in his court. For now, he held the ace. He had to keep it, then play for keeps at a time of his choosing, not Wood’s.
“No,” Ephraim said.
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t want to pull over.”
Wood cleared his throat, obviously annoyed. “I’m not asking.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“I thought we had an agreement.”
“We do. I’ll honor it. I have things to prove.” Ephraim looked over at Sophie, who suddenly struck him as innocent. She hadn’t asked to be created. What would they do with her, if Ephraim jumped into bed with GEM? “But I need to think before I show you what I have.”
“Do you have what I think you have?”
“Not over the phone,” Ephraim parroted. “This line might not be secure.”
And then he hung up, his heart hammering.
The Doodad buzzed immediately. He sent the call to voicemail.
