The Perfect Clone
M. L. Stephens
M. L. Stephens (2012)
* * *
Rating: *****
Tags: Science Fiction
Mature Situations
Sticking to codes of moral conduct is no longer an option. Laura’s tried that before and failed miserably. With a second chance at life, she’s determined to make society play by her rules for a change.
Richard has secretly cultivated Laura’s talents for years, waiting for the perfect moment to pull her into his tangled web. It’s difficult enough to clone a child using DNA from an ancient shroud, but convincing Laura to help him might prove to be the bigger challenge.
With her own agenda in mind, Laura takes on the cloning project and is plunged into a world filled with secret societies, deception, murder and…apparitions? As her perception on reality shifts, Laura begins to question everything. What if Richard’s quest to create a clone to save humanity, is instead, The Perfect Clone for destruction?
Author's note: The Community I’ve created offers surprises, splashes of humor, action, suspense, and unexpected plot twists. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed creating it. Welcome to the Community!
The Perfect Clone
Book One
M. L. Stephens
Copyright © 2012 M. L. Stephens
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transferred in any form without the prior written consent of the author, except for brief quotes for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, dates, incidents, and places, or any resemblances to persons living or deceased, is purely coincidental and a product of the author’s imagination.
Dedication
My feline ghost writer, Lucky, passed away during this adventure, so this is for him. Thank you for sitting on my keyboard, wrapping around my wrists, and insisting that I took the time to laugh. Your quirkiness is forever embedded in my heart.
Acknowledgements
If not for Terry Hill, this story would only exist in my head. I couldn’t possibly thank you enough for everything you’ve done. Your words of encouragement helped me to find my voice.
Karen Schroeder, you are the dearest and most tolerate friend. Thanks for keeping me focused.
To my mom who never stopped believing and my sister who acted as my critic. You both inspire me.
And last, but never least, I couldn’t possibly have done any of this without the love and support of my family. I love you guys!
Enjoy!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
A Recurring Nightmare
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Preview: The Perfect Clone 2
Prologue
The tangled hunk of automobile metal resembled macabre art that had been brutally lodged into an oak tree. Broken shards of glass sparkled against blue and red flashing police lights.
Lying on the asphalt, covered with a blue sheet, was the body of a man. How she knew that she wasn’t sure, she just knew, but wasn’t interested. Her focus was on someone else.
The EMT’s and police were too busy gaining control of the situation to notice the curious by-stander who’d slid past the barriers. Laura crept over to the paramedics as they rapidly worked to revive the female victim they’d pulled from the wreckage. Despite a deep revulsion to death, Laura was mesmerized.
Blood that once warmly circulated in the woman’s veins had brutally escaped, forming into puddles on the dark pavement.
Hues of death colored the victim’s skin; skin that had once been rosy. Dark red liquid gelled into a glue-like substance on the woman’s face. Hair that had been meticulously fashioned earlier in the evening was caked with hardened sludge. The woman’s crimson evening gown was ripped open in the front, allowing the paramedics to do their work.
Feeling strangely connected to the life-less figure, Laura knelt down. She had to get closer. She had to see the woman’s face. The EMT’s didn’t stop her.
“Clear,” The paramedic shouted to his comrades as the defibrillator came to life. The corpse’s upper body lifted against the assault of the paddles.
Curious fascination turned into raging disbelief. Recognition flooded her senses and slammed hard against her chest. She knew this woman!
What the hell? How was this possible? This was all wrong. The body of the female victim belonged to her! She couldn't be dead. Not yet—not like this. Laura screamed at her lifeless figure, trying to rouse it. The sound was frozen. She wasn’t finished with her life. She had to get back.
“Clear,” the paramedic shouted again as he pressed the paddles into her chest.
“Lady, don’t you dare die! I have a flawless record and I’ll be damned if you break it. Not tonight. Not on my watch. Breathe, damn you, breathe!”
Chapter 1
With fury in check, the seasoned soldier stalked into the empty chambers, waiting for the council members to acknowledge his presence. It wouldn’t take long. Looming against the darkened edges of the room, white fog materialized into faceless figures as they began to arrive.
Considering his irritation with the sovereign leaders, he was glad he’d left his weapons behind. He eyed the shadows taking shape, reminding himself to tread lightly. The current state of affairs was borderline fragile, teetering on the brink of a complete meltdown.
With jaws clinched, the sound of heavy footsteps ricocheted throughout the chamber as he paced. Patience was not his strong suit, but it was imperative that he wait until the council members materialized before casting questions at them.
“Why was this woman allowed to live? She’s the key component in his plan to overthrow us. Are you mad? You’ve given him exactly what he wanted.”
The oldest and wisest member of the govern ship stepped forward. His movements were fluid as his form finally shifted to its towering height. “It is not for you to question the reason. We were given specific instructions to return the woman to her life. If you have issues with authority, I would recommend you not exert them. This matter was given the direct attention from the Superior One. Orders were followed.”
“I will not stand by and watch this!” The soldier’s angry voice thundered against the room’s marble walls.
The elder was not ruffled by the strong rebuke. He’d dealt with the war champion’s irritation many times before. With a composure that is learned from centuries of being in authority, he responded, “Perhaps you should discuss this with the One who gave the orders. I, on the other hand, learned long ago that it is not for us to understand or question his wisdom, but to do as instructed.”
The warrior knew his friend was right, superior authority was not to be questioned, but none of this made sense. It was absurd to give the enemy exactly what they needed in order to win.
“You’ve become blood thirsty old friend. If He gave the order, I will not stand against it. He has my loyalty as always, even if it causes me great pain. I will prepare the troops for the impending war that you so hungrily seek.” The warrior turned on his heel and left without another word. There was much to be done.
Ca
rried on the backs of many human generations, the inevitable war was quickly approaching, and he would be the first on the field of battle to defend his charges.
A Recurring Nightmare
A colorful sphere gradually fills the dark void, becoming larger and more defined as it draws near. A pair of ancient hands, with long tainted fingernails, guides the sphere to its resting place. Surrounded by immense darkness, the defiled fingers unfold to fully disclose their prize—the Earth’s globe, hovering in suspension above decaying palms.
Red fluid oozes into the blue picturesque waters of the Earth, covering the planet with scarlet as it greedily devours everything it touches.
The sound of children’s voices chanting in the distance, sing a song that is barely discernible. Just as the song becomes audible the voices fall silent, cut off by eerie laughter echoing into the hollowness of the night.
With a resounding explosion, stars shatter like fireworks, violently flinging shards of light in every direction. Both the Earth’s sphere and the decrepit hands are destroyed in the chaos. As the flying sparks reach the edges of the surrounding darkness, they implode. The lights are sucked back to their origin, creating a black vacuum.
A single dove appears in the center of the newly created vortex, struggling against the suction of the vacuum as it fights for freedom. Finally breaking free, the creature takes flight in celebration of its escape. The dove’s white ruffled feathers are a stark contrast to the blackness that surrounds it.
The creature’s chest swells with delight as it coasts on the invisible winds of ecstasy, singing the story of a tumultuous past to all that will hear. Concerned only with its new found freedom, the dove doesn’t notice the blackness taking shape around it. Forming from the darkness, the hideous hands shoot forward, ensnaring the dove in its palms.
Attempts at escape are futile. The gentle creature falls to its side as convulsions overcome it. With painstakingly brutal force, the delicate bones snap, reforming, and shaping until the dove is transformed into a giant eagle, prepared to battle to the death for its freedom.
Jabbing elongated talons into the captor’s flesh, the eagle cries out as it tears and slashes with great fury. Attacking with its beak, it pierces and rips away at skin. Flapping wings create a windstorm of rage in the closed battle arena. Ear piercing screams fill the air. The dove’s magnificent song is now an eagle’s battle cry.
With great determination and strength, the relentless assault to escape continues. The animal’s beak splinters. Its formidable claws break off at the tips as it frantically burrows into the floors of its fleshly cell. Freedom becomes an illusion; imprisonment a reality.
Overcome by anguish and fatigue, the hostage ultimately surrenders to captivity. Bowing its head, the eagle folds torn wings and tucks its injured beak inside. The mighty eagle, having lost the strength to fight, once again becomes the subservient dove.
With the battle complete, the decrepit hands open, providing full view of the bloodied battle arena. Then, with swift precision, the ancient hands clamp down on the unsuspecting prey, crushing it completely.
An eerie cackle fills the cosmos, proclaiming victory.
********************
5 years later
Dammit! Laura’s fist slammed against the feather pillow. She really didn’t need this tonight. Correction—she’d never needed it. Yet there it was; the vivid details of a nightmare that continuously haunted her and chewed away at her soul.
The cracking ripples of thunder from a passing storm matched Laura’s mood. Much like a medieval leper lurking on a child’s playground, Laura felt morally unclean. The nasty nature of the dream, combined with the fact that she was becoming accustomed to it, grated against raw nerves.
Glancing toward the clock on her nightstand, Laura dragged herself out of bed. The day would come and go and she’d rather it not do so without her full participation.
Easing her feet into a favorite pair of slippers, Laura walked to the window, taking residence on the bay window’s seat cushions. She lifted the blinds. The coolness of the glass pane was a welcome treat as she pressed her forehead against it. Closing her eyes Laura listened to the increasing ravages of the approaching thunderstorm.
The dream began shortly after her car accident. The out of body death experience wasn’t something she would talk about… with anyone. Since the night of the wreck, she couldn’t escape the premonition, dream, vision, or whatever the heck else she thought to label it. It continuously replayed itself in her mind. Seeing the Earth fill with blood, then watching the dove’s helplessness at the hands of its executioner, left her with a feeling of impending doom; carving out a hollow cavity of sorrow where her heart should be.
The nightmarish image was on auto play, but she hadn’t been able to grasp the meaning of it. Was it a message of some sort? She didn’t know.
As was her nature, Laura had researched every aspect of the dream. Her research of dream definitions and symbolic meanings had led to an endless array of laughable explanations; none of which could be acknowledged as part truth.
Laura wished that the nightmare would go away, or that she could at least figure out what the song in the dream was. It seemed to sit just outside her range of memory. As insignificant as it was in the dream, Laura felt it was an important element to unlocking the mysteries behind the nightmare. She reminded herself to pay more attention to the song the next time the vision came. Not that she could control her dreams, but maybe if she tried. Who knew? It was worth a shot.
Feeling emotionally drained, Laura cast her eyes on the storm. The rain pelted against autumn grass while tree limbs bent in obedience to the wind.
Splashing through mud puddles, a solitary figure dashed to a mail box and lifted the flag to signal mail pickup. You’d think a person could wait until the weather let up before worrying about mail, but whatever, she thought. Everyone had their own screwed up priorities. Laura found people to be absurd in their relentless quest for domestic satisfaction.
A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky as thunder shook the townhouse. Soon, the sun would caress the horizon, casting new light on nature’s recent damage. Cleanup would take place and the visible world would be set right again. There was only one problem; it had happened. You could clean it up, hide it, never talk about it again, but the damage had still occurred. Something was changed and someone’s life had somehow been affected. Such was the unremitting cycle of life.
“Que Sera, Sera,” she thought aloud. The phrase was one she’d picked up somewhere along the line and used often.
Laura headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Hanging the silk robe on its door hook, she waited for the water to reach an acceptable temperature before slipping beneath the multiple showerheads. Leaning into the cascading water, she allowed it to wash away the remnants of the nightmare, while she attempted to get her daily agenda organized in her mind’s eye. Reaching for the jasmine scented soap, Laura methodically washed her body. Lazy eyes watched as the foam rapidly circled the drain.
The townhouse lights flickered, threatening to crack beneath the power of the storm. Opening the glass door, Laura reached for the oversized towel she kept on the newly installed towel rack. Reaching down to turn off the shower, a loud pop from a nearby electrical transformer rang in her ears.
Laura was transported into the dark. Waves of tension rippled throughout her wet body as she was instantly reminded of the dark void in the dream. The backup generator went to work, flooding the room with light. A mental pat on the back for including that upgrade during the recent remodel, she thought.
While still wrapped in the towel, Laura did a quick blow dry on her hair and twisted it into a bun. Not being one to fuss about sporting makeup at work, Laura half-heartedly threw on blush, mascara, and lip gloss. Someone had once jokingly told her that she was one of the few women in existence that could shower, dress, and walk out the door within fifteen minutes. A feat she was secretly, if not personally, proud of.
Backing the car out of the drive, Laura activated the windshield wipers and turned on the headlights. Glaring through the windshield, she noticed the domestic scene taking place across the street.
How sweet. Not really—it made her cringe.
A quick kiss, then the husband braved the elements as he ran to his truck. The young wife waved goodbye to her husband while the family dog sat at her feet. With arms wrapped tightly around her body to act as a shield against the wet wind, the love and adoration on the lady’s face stood in lovely contrast to the storm surrounding her.
Knots gathered in Laura’s stomach as the man drove away, waving proudly to his wife as he set out to earn their family fortune. The lady stood on the covered porch until the truck turned the corner, then lady and dog walked back inside to the safety and comfort of their textbook little life. It was the perfect domestic moment. All that was missing was the white picket fence. There was little doubt that they’d have one built before long, Laura thought.
Sooner or later though, every white picket fence rots from neglect or abandonment; a fact she knew all too well. That used to be her life, her metaphoric fence. Now a foreboding iron clad gate stood in its place, protecting against the ugliness of life, scaring away anyone who dared to enter.
When had she become so jaded? Oh yeah, that was easy; about the same time her husband was killed and she died. Yeah, that’d do it.
There was a time when she would’ve thought the couple scene to be adorable, but she found it difficult to relate to those emotions now. Laura couldn’t remember a time when she had actually enjoyed the simple pleasures of everyday life with someone she loved.
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