Surrogate

by David Bernstein

  Finished, feeling full, she put the bottle down and waited, keeping her nose pinched. She didn’t want to release her nostrils, afraid doing so would flood her mouth with the awful taste of piss and make her puke. No, not piss, but tea, she told herself. You drank a warm cup of tea.

  Releasing her nose, she continued to breathe through her mouth. She’d be okay. She’d done well. Her stomach was gurgling, the digestive juices swishing around. She continued with deep, slow breaths, trying not to inhale through her nose, which would activate her taste buds.

  Her throat burned, eyes watered. She thought she’d waited long enough, and inhaled through her nose. Her mouth flooded with a sour, salty taste. Her mind flooded with images of her drinking pee—of a toilet. Her stomach churned, and she felt nauseous.

  Now, hunched over on her hands and knees, taking in huge gulps of musty air, she fought against puking. But as she exhaled, a burp arose, sending with it the acrid, burning taste of urine and stomach acid. Her abdominal muscles tightened and up came the contents of her stomach.

  A frothy substance, mixed with chunks of solid matter, hit the floor with a splat. Rebecca felt the warm liquid splash onto the backs of her hands. Her stomach clenched again, sending more vomit onto the floor. With spittle dripping from her lips, she remained still, waiting for another round of vomiting.

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the runny, lumpy mess, but the stench was putrid. Turning her head away, she tried to calm down.

  Rebecca sat back against the wall after wiping her mouth with her forearm. Tired and needing to pass out, she was startled awake when she heard a rattling at the shack’s door. Holding her breath, she listened. As fast as the rattling had started, it stopped. The door opened, filling the gloomy room with overpowering light.

  “That was quite a sight,” her double said, standing in the doorway.

  “You…you were watching me?”

  The clone stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She was carrying a small plastic shopping bag and set it on the table. “Tomorrow’s lunch,” she said, then pulled out one of the old wooden chairs and sat.

  “Please don’t hurt Anna.”

  “You really are a stupid bitch. Do you think I’d hurt my own daughter?” She laughed, then focused her gaze on Rebecca.

  Rebecca didn’t answer.

  The double rose from the chair, approached Rebecca and sent a booted foot into her chest. Rebecca cringed as she saw it coming, trying to cover up, but the strike made its way through, crashing into her breastbone. Pain radiated inward and outward, like the waves of a stone thrown into the lake. She curled up, clutching her chest, reeling.

  “The next time I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

  Not wanting to give the clone any more satisfaction than she already had, Rebecca forced herself to sit up, fighting against the pain, hurting every time she took in a breath.

  “Why’d you drink your own piss?” The double took a seat again, crossing one leg over the other.

  Wincing as she inhaled, Rebecca said, “I didn’t know when I’d be given food or drink again. Didn’t want to dehydrate.”

  The clone laughed. “It’s only your first night in here and you’re preparing for the worst. I like that, but please…what type of person do you think I am?”

  “Do you want me to answer that?”

  “Please.”

  “I think you’re hurting. I think you’re confused and angry. I don’t blame you one bit. What they did to you was horrible. I can’t imagine how you feel.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “But this is no way to fix the problem. My husband and daughter—” Rebecca gasped, unable to finish talking as her double sprang from the chair toward her. She put up her hands to defend whatever attack was coming and closed her eyes.

  Rebecca’s head snapped back, smashing into the wall. She felt pressure on her throat just after having taken in a lungful of air. But now she couldn’t breathe. Opening her eyes, she saw the woman holding her by the neck, pinning her against the wall, squeezing hard. Her first instinct was to fight her attacker off, but that might only lead to further pain. Having a lungful of air, she decided to stay still.

  Rebecca could feel her attacker’s breath cascading over her face. Opening her eyes, she saw her double’s face—like looking into a mirror—inches from her own. “Don’t you ever call her your daughter again, or I’ll cut out your tongue and make you eat it. Got it?”

  Rebecca nodded, feeling as if her head were going to explode. She was trying hard not to panic, not to infuriate the woman, but her vision was starting to go, the white static creeping in. Just when she thought she might pass out, the pressure on her neck loosened and she drew in air, coughing. She heard the clearing of her double’s throat, then felt the warm sensation of phlegm on her face. Looking up, she saw the woman walk over to the table. Her double reached into the plastic bag and withdrew a red apple.

  “Catch,” she said, and lobbed the fruit to Rebecca.

  Rebecca reached up, her shoulder and chest screaming at her, and caught the apple.

  “Now, tell me about my daughter.”

  Rebecca placed the apple between her legs, and wiped the spit from her face.

  “Don’t make me ask you again,” her double warned.

  Rebecca explained how Anna’s favorite breakfast meal was pancakes. She liked orange juice, hated apple juice. She was allergic to penicillin. Her favorite color was purple, with pink a close second. This went on and on, Rebecca spewing out information on her own and answering questions when asked.

  As the sun set, the cabin’s interior grew dark. Rebecca’s double produced two thick red candles and lit them. Ominous shadows danced around the shack’s interior, creating crevices of absolute blackness, hiding the creepy crawlies nestled within.

  Rebecca felt as if she had been talking for hours, her captor having her stop and begin again, repeating everything she already said. The woman didn’t write a single thing down, as if she were trying to put it to memory. Talking about her daughter brought tears to her eyes.

  Sometime later, her double stood, informing Rebecca that their session was done for the night. “Brain’s overloaded. Need some time to absorb it all.” She picked up the bag, walked over to the door. Turning back toward Rebecca, she said, “Not sure when I’ll be back, so enjoy that apple.”

  Opening the door, the clone paused as moonlight fell over her. Looking past the woman, Rebecca could make out her Jeep Cherokee’s front end as well as the surrounding forest. Seeing those woods confirmed her suspicion that she was nowhere near civilization. She was alone. Marooned. Her tormentor spun around and went back over to the table. Bending down, the woman blew out each candle. “Wouldn’t want a fire now, would we?”

  Not thinking she had to answer, but not wanting to take a chance, Rebecca said, “No.”

  “See you soon.” Her double smiled, wiggled a few fingers, then exited the shack. Rebecca heard the rattling again, and realized she was being locked in.

  She was glad the woman was gone, but her relief quickly turned to dread of the dark and the things that came to life in it.

  She brought her legs in close, wrapping her arms around them. The smell of extinguished candles filled her nose, reminding her of better times. Times when the electricity went out, and with no television to watch, the family had played board games by candlelight.

  Rebecca closed her eyes, trying to imagine she was back at home during such a time, but the call of an owl startled her. She opened her eyes, the pleasant images of her home gone, replaced by horrid images of spiders and other bugs eyeing her juicy flesh. It wasn’t long before she thought she felt things bumping into her, crawling on her. She heard the high-pitched sound of a mosquito’s wings fluttering near her ear and swooshed it away, knowing it would be back. They always came back. And not before long, she heard multiple wings buzzing.

  Sitting there in the cabin, in the woods, she must be giving off the scent of all
scents, driving mosquitoes from all over. Feeling a sharp sting on her arm, she jumped, then swatted herself with her injured hand. White-hot pain exploded in her fingers. She screamed.

  Sitting there, tears streaming down her face, she heard more buzzing in her ears. She screamed again, needing the relief, but all it brought was more pain to her body.

  Rebecca would get no sleep until the sun came up.

  25

  Jane worked on her stomach with a razor blade, cutting deeper every other day, trying to create a large surgical scar identical to Rebecca’s. She wore long T-shirts around the house, showered when Tom was at work or busy doing something around the yard or in the basement. During sex, she either kept the lights off, or covered her midriff with a piece of lingerie. She worried about the scabbing coming apart in places and bleeding, so she always made sure to keep the cut protected with antibacterial ointment and a securely taped bandage.

  Jane worked hard at being Rebecca, forgoing her own personality to completely fool Tom and Anna. Pretending around Anna was agony—Jane hated that she couldn’t be herself and tell the girl how much she missed her and how happy she was to be a part of her life.

  She grew used to being called Mommy, loving it more than anything. Tom, of course, called her Rebecca, which took some time getting used to without her wanting to smash his face in.

  After the first week, she adapted quickly, and enjoyed playing housewife and stay-at-home mom. Rebecca had worked, but had quit her job after Anna was born, helping Tom with the paperwork and accounting part of his business. Jane was a fast learner, but with Tom’s business having grown a lot since Anna was born, he had hired an accountant to handle the business’s books.

  In the beginning, thinking about sex with Tom, allowing that baby-snatching bastard inside her was revolting. But the real Rebecca loved Tom and his thing. Jane had to hide her true self inside this new body, and become the man’s faithful and adoring wife. Relish the role, in fact. At first it was difficult, and with the lights off she found herself wanting to gouge his eyes out, disgusted as he pumped away at her. But having decided to be Rebecca, she was able to enjoy the sex. Tom was a good lover, making sure to spend his time on her, pleasing her to orgasm every time. Jane soon looked forward to making love, performing all the positions and doing all the things Tom liked, and adding a few new tricks she told Tom she’d read about, which he was all for.

  Compared to her old life with Ken, Jane had hit the lottery.

  She cooked, cleaned, and spent a lot of her time with Anna, getting to know the girl for herself and not just from what Rebecca had told her. Anna’s favorite breakfast food was pancakes and orange juice. For dinner it was spaghetti and meatballs, or macaroni and cheese.

  She kept at her stomach, making the wound appear more and more like Rebecca’s, knowing it needed to be as close to the woman’s as possible. Eventually she’d have to show it off or someone would see it. She wouldn’t be able to hide it forever. The pain was constant, but dull; nothing a few painkillers couldn’t take care of.

  Jane was in the upstairs bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat, bandaging herself up, when Anna walked in.

  Jane jumped up, holding her abdomen and cringing, the sudden movement tearing some of the scabs.

  “Mommy,” Anna began, but Jane cut her off.

  “What the hell are you doing in here, Anna?” She usually locked the door, but must have forgotten.

  Anna just stared at her with a surprised looked on her face, then took a step backward, scared. The little girl’s eyes were unblinking as they stared at Jane’s bruised and bleeding stomach.

  “Are you okay, Mommy?” she asked.

  “I’m fine, Anna. Now get the hell out of here before I spank your little ass.” Jane pointed at the doorway. Anna remained frozen, too shocked to move. “What’s wrong with you? Get out of here, now.”

  Anna spun around and bolted from the room. Jane could hear the girl’s cries as she ran down the hall.

  Jane went over to the door, slammed and locked it. Sitting back down, she cleaned the wound again, then rebandaged it.

  She found Anna facedown and crying on her bed. The little girl was sweet, and hadn’t meant anything by walking in on her, but Jane had come to find that Anna was careless, and undisciplined. She would have to remedy Anna’s shortcomings, but it would take more than a day.

  “You don’t come into a room without first knocking,” Jane said.

  Anna lifted up her head and looked at her mother. “I’m sorry, Mommy.” Then she put her face back into the pillow.

  “I forgive you. Just don’t do it again.”

  “Don’t be mad at me, Mommy,” Anna whined, the words muffled by the pillow.

  Jane sat next to the girl, took a breath, and rubbed Anna’s back. “Mommy’s not mad anymore. She just wants her little girl to act properly and follow the rules.”

  “You never told me to knock before,” Anna said, her face still buried in the pillow.

  “Well I’m telling you now. I want you to look at me, Anna.”

  The girl rolled over, facing Jane. Her eyes were puffy and her face was red.

  “Now you know to knock,” Jane said, forcing a smile and blinking rapidly, trying to keep herself from spanking the girl. Backtalk was another thing she and Anna would have to work on. When she told the little girl to do something, she wanted it done; no questions asked or snide remarks.

  Yes, Anna was a good kid, but needed some fine-tuning. She was still young and nothing would be too hard to correct. Soon enough, Anna would be Jane’s good little soldier girl, making Mommy proud.

  26

  One meal a day plus a bottle of water wasn’t enough. Rebecca always felt weak, and had lost a lot of weight. She lost track of the days, and wondered if she’d been locked up for weeks or even months.

  The room’s stench no longer bothered her, but it did bother Jane. Rebecca laughed. Her clone’s name was Jane. Tom and Jane, such simple names, like something from a nursery rhyme. They sounded good together. Tom and Rebecca? No, that didn’t sound as nice. She was going in and out of hysterics. Placing her uninjured hand into her mouth, she bit down, the pain mind-clearing. She had to do that numerous times a day to remind herself that she was alive and needed to stay that way. Her daughter was out there waiting for her. And how stupid she’d been, thinking Tom and Jane sounded better together. The tears came then, as she thought about that crazy bitch living with her loved ones, kissing Anna good night, Anna calling her Mommy. And Tom. Fucking and sucking him. Getting his love in bed and out. Anger flared up in her empty belly.

  Today, along with an apple, she’d been given a banana. She ate half, feeling almost stuffed afterward. She wanted to get to her feet, stand and stretch, but she was too tired. Tomorrow she’d exercise.

  Hunger and thirst never left her. She’d feel full after eating, but it was only temporary. She was dwindling down to a skeleton. Her clone was killing her in the slowest, cruelest way possible. On the post next to her was a picture of Anna, Jane’s arms wrapped around the child. This had been a mistake. Jane hoped to torture her with it, and it did bother Rebecca, but it also fueled her depleted body, making her want to fight that much more. Get her baby girl back.

  Jane was a certified lunatic who would fly off the handle for no reason. She often slashed Rebecca with knives and razors, or just beat on her with fists.

  Looking at her arms, chest and legs, she wondered how she was still alive and not dying from some disease. Her flesh was bright red, dotted with insect bites. They itched worse than anything. The spider bites were nasty, large, puss-filled and painful. She loathed those tiny—some not so tiny—eight-legged things crawling over her and injecting her with venom. Every time she felt something, or thought she felt something, she jumped and brushed at her legs or arms or hair. Sleeping at night was impossible.

  Her clothes were in tatters, as she had to rip pieces off to cover wounds or wipe her privates—which had become extremely tender and sore.
Jane had brought her no toiletries. She wondered how the woman could stand coming to see her. Maybe that’s why the visits became shorter and shorter, Jane spending much less time with her.

  Rebecca’s mouth was layered in slime, her hair a mangled, greasy mess. Her body stunk like an unwashed animal’s cage, where the feces and urine were allowed to build and fester. She thought she might be getting a yeast infection too—her crotch itching maddeningly—and her ass was so chafed it hurt to move. She had to use her fingers to eat with as well as clean herself with, backside too, when the clothes had run out. She now sat in nothing more than filthy panties and a sweat-soaked bra.

  She had dreams of being rescued by Tom, but those were few in occurrence. Most of the time it was her walking in on him as he made love to Jane. He’d look up at her, his face covered in sweat, and tell her that her clone was better in every way. That Jane, now using Rebecca’s name, was a stronger, sexier, more secure woman. Tom wanted that woman, not the Rebecca of old.

  Jane was also a much better mom. Anna loved her and was happier than she’d ever been. Sometimes Rebecca would see Anna in her dreams, telling her not to come back—that her new mommy was the best.

  “You’re a fake mommy, Mommy,” Anna would say. “You stole me from my real mommy. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

  Tom told Rebecca she could never be as good of a mother to Anna as her real mother. He told her to stay away, that she wasn’t wanted, and that coming home would only ruin their family.

  Rebecca would wake up, crying. She’d scream into the darkness, begging to be released from her nightmare. Night after night of this, as if a spell had been put on her, she began to lose her mind, finding pain the only grounding feeling.

  She’d been given new bandages only twice since arriving at the shack. Having used the last of them, the white material was now almost black, the tape peeling off, hanging like loose strings. Four of her fingernails had fallen off and her fingers were still plum purple and disfigured. The hand was almost useless due to the pain, but amazingly she’d been able to use it when she had to, grinding her teeth and fighting through the ache.