Looking at his watch, he saw that it was seven p.m. Rebecca would be home around eight.
Think, damn it. Think.
An idea came to him.
Tom ran back upstairs to the bedroom and began removing the drawers from the dresser. He began checking inside each empty slot, starting at the top and working his way down. No drugs. Instead, his eyes came upon something more shocking—a pregnancy test stick.
Picking it up, he stared at the plus sign, unable to breathe. He knew what the two intersecting lines meant. His mind searched for an answer, but was unable to come up with a plausible explanation. It couldn’t be his wife’s, but if not, then whose? Unless it was old, from years ago when they had been trying to conceive. Had she hidden it there for some personal reason? Why hide it from him? Studying the stick, Tom thought it looked new. He held it up to the light. Bringing it to his nose, he sniffed the pee-strip. A slight, but present, aroma of urine touched his olfactory receptors. He sat against a wall, stunned. What the hell was going on?
He had to take a step back. Look at everything that was going on. Anna was upset, saying that her mother hit her. He pushed his mind further away from the scene, wanting a bigger picture. Dr. Kotrich and Dr. Tuber, both involved with the Agency, were dead. Rebecca was different; had been for the last couple weeks. When was the last time he’d seen his wife naked? She was hiding something—her scar. Tom had never shown the slightest hint that the surgical mark bothered him. And in fact it never had. He’d traced his fingers over it, and had kissed it multiple times during sex, wanting to show her he was fine with it. Why would she hide it now?
Then Tom remembered Rebecca’s words when he’d asked her about hitting Anna. She’d said, “I would never hit my daughter,” not our daughter. A terrifying thought crossed his mind, but he quickly disregarded it, almost laughing. His wife, a clone? Somehow switched with the real thing? Could the Agency have swapped his wife with her double? For what reason? He shook his head. No, he couldn’t go there. That type of thinking was crazy, preposterous. He needed to deal with his wife. Talk to her directly and find out what the hell was going on.
A tiny thought, like an ant scratching at the back of his mind, came to him: Ask Rebecca to show you her stomach.
29
Rebecca awoke with a start. Something had bitten her arm. She jerked her hand back fast. The cuff around her wrist slid up and around her hand, pressing her thumb painfully into her palm. Her eyes widened. Without a second thought, she yanked and yanked, and then her hand popped free.
Relief like she’d never known flooded through her. Her weight loss. She’d grown too skinny for the bonds to properly hold her. With her free hand, she worked on the other cuff, collapsing her hand and thumb, squeezing the cuff up. She pulled, the metal slicing into her flesh, drawing blood. The pain was inspiring. She continued, pulled, her skin ripping, blood making it slicker, and then she was free.
* * *
Rebecca pulled the table over to one of the windows. She climbed up and used the bucket to smash out the glass. The four-foot-by-four-foot window was plenty large enough for her small frame to fit through.
She landed hard on the ground. Pain exploded throughout her body. She feared running into Jane, and was up in seconds.
She followed the tire tracks out of the woods and along the field, making it to the road. She knew where she was, and thought about going up to one of the houses she came to. She could get the police over to her house, but then realized involving the police could prove very bad for her and her family. She needed to take care of this on her own. Jane didn’t know she was free. Waiting inside the cabin was an option, but every second counted. She needed to get home.
30
Jane arrived home shortly before eight p.m. Tom was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from his second glass of scotch. Anna was upstairs in her room. Drinking alcohol probably wasn’t the best idea, but it was either that or go stir-fucking-crazy waiting around for his wife. Was she really his wife? He shook the thought away.
He heard the front door close. “I’m home,” Rebecca said, sounding cheerful. Since when did she announce herself? The sound of a paper bag ruffled; then he heard the heels of her shoes clacking against the tile floor, the sound amplifying as she came his way. Appearing in the entranceway of the kitchen, he saw that she was holding a black-and-white paper shopping bag in her right hand, with her purse slung over a shoulder.
“Tom?” she said, looking confused. “You look like shit.”
“Do I?” he asked, catching her stare with his.
“What’s wrong?” She put her hands on her hips as if annoyed, then asked, “What did Anna do now?”
He shook his head, slowly. “Anna? No, not Anna. Anna didn’t do anything wrong except be a kid. It’s you that has done something wrong.”
“Me?” she asked, taken aback.
“I want to know what the fuck has gotten into you.”
“How much have you had to drink?” She looked even more annoyed now.
Tom produced the pregnancy stick, holding it out in front of him. “Want to explain this?”
Jane’s face was unreadable for a moment, her eyes frozen on the item in question. Then she grinned, and let the paper bag fall to the floor. Something inside shattered.
“I have no idea how you found that, but—”
“I searched through your shit,” Tom said, cutting her off, “that’s how. You’ve been acting weird—hell, downright strange and scary at times. I thought maybe you were on drugs.” He took a step forward, then stopped when Jane pulled a handgun from her purse and pointed it directly at him.
“Who the hell are you?” Tom demanded.
“Your wife, silly,” she said, playfully.
“Bullshit,” Tom spat. “Where’s Rebecca?”
“Oh, Tom,” Jane said, sighing. “Why couldn’t you just have been a good boy and left well-enough alone?”
“There is no well-enough.”
“I didn’t want to have to kill you until tonight while you slept. It would’ve been less messy and quieter. Now I’ve got to rethink things.”
“Where’s Rebecca?”
“I want you to know everything, so sit down and listen.” Jane motioned with the gun for him to sit back down.
“Fuck you,” he said, coldly.
The gun went off and he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his left leg, just below the knee. He hobbled backward, falling into the chair.
“That’s better,” Jane said.
“You fucking bitch,” Tom said, holding his injured leg as blood oozed between his fingers.
“If you don’t shut up, I’m going to bring Anna down here and make her watch me kill you.” Jane grabbed a kitchen towel from the oven’s handle and tossed it to Tom. “Use that to stop the bleeding.”
Tom wrapped the towel around his leg. It wasn’t long enough to tie a knot with, so he held it in place.
“Daddy?” Anna called from upstairs.
“Stay in your room, sweetie.”
“I heard a loud, scary noise.”
“It’s okay. Daddy just dropped a pan. Go back in your room and play.”
Nothing happened, and Tom wondered if the girl was coming down the stairs, or had simply gone back to her room.
“Do as your father says, Anna,” Jane hollered. A second later the door to Anna’s room was slammed shut. “You see, all she needs is a little discipline. She knows who the boss is around here. The lawmaker.”
“You’re sick,” Tom told her.
“Let’s not get off track.”
“What do you want?”
“For you to listen.”
Jane talked about her life both before and after her death; how she woke up in the clone’s body and how she escaped the compound. She’d been reborn, given a second chance. Anna was hers, and those responsible for taking her needed to pay.
“We didn’t steal your baby,” Tom said. “We didn’t even know you were a walking, talking person. We wer
e told a clone would be made so—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Jane said, cutting Tom off. “You sound like your pathetic wife.”
Tom felt his heart leap inside his chest. The woman spoke about his wife in the present tense. Rebecca was still alive.
“Please,” Tom begged. “Tell me where my wife is.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “She’s locked away in a little shack in the middle of the woods where no one will find her. She’s a real fighter, that woman of yours. You wouldn’t recognize her if you saw her. She’s bone-thin and filthy.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but honestly we didn’t know. Please, leave us alone. Go, get out of here and be free. No one will come looking for you. We won’t say a thing.”
“Do you think I give a shit what you say? I’ve wanted you dead since I found out you stole my child. I put up with you and your wife. Put up with watching you sleep, eat, talk, and fuck. I had to become your wife to enjoy it, but now that I think back, it makes me sick.” She stopped pacing and walked toward him. “And now that I have what I want,” she said, patting her stomach, “I no longer need you, or your wife.” She raised the gun and shot Tom twice in the chest.
31
After packing some of Anna’s clothes into a small nylon bag, Jane dragged the kicking and screaming girl out of her room and down the stairs. Money wouldn’t be a problem for a while; she had the Hardwicks’ bank account, and would empty it tomorrow. Tom’s body wouldn’t be found for a couple of days, she imagined, maybe longer.
“You’re hurting me, Mommy,” Anna cried.
“Stop fighting me,” Jane screamed, “or I’ll beat the shit out of your little ass.” Her daughter was so undisciplined, a walking bag of trouble and annoyance.
Facing the door and pulling Anna with her, Jane felt a sharp pain on her wrist. Turning around, she saw the girl biting her, latched on like a piranha.
“You little bitch,” Jane growled, and slapped the Anna across the face.
The little girl screamed as she stumbled backward, but managed to stay upright. She cried, face red, mouth hanging open.
Jane was tired and fed up. Once she had the new baby, she might have to dump Anna if her behavior didn’t improve. Not only was her daughter a pain in the ass, she would be a bad influence on the new baby.
Looking at her hand, she saw it was bleeding. Some of the skin was missing, lodged somewhere in Anna’s teeth. Fury filled Jane’s mind, causing her to see only red. Anna hadn’t run away from her, just stood there crying like the little girl she was. Jane hated hearing that annoying sound—Anna’s high-pitched squeals rattled her brain, searing it like a red-hot blade. She couldn’t take anymore, and needed the girl to be quiet.
Jane cranked her arm back and backhanded Anna across the face, sending the girl into a wall with a loud, dull thud. The Sheetrock gave, indenting to the size of Anna’s body. The girl seemed to stick to the wall for a moment before slumping unconscious to the floor.
Jane screamed at the top of her lungs, then began punching herself in the sides. She had come so far, done the impossible, fooled them all, only to wind up with a daughter she hated.
Anna looked dead, lying unmoving on the floor like a discarded rag doll. Blood was smeared across her face, trickling from her nose. She had hit Anna before, but never as hard as she just had. She went to check on her, afraid of what she might find out, then paused, remembering she was with child—a child she would raise properly. She didn’t need Anna—a ruined mess. Biologically, Anna was hers, but the little girl was damaged goods, and always would be.
32
It had taken Rebecca over an hour to walk home. She headed along the side of the road, hiding in the weeds or woods when she heard a vehicle approaching. The sweatpants and T-shirt were relatively clean, but she wasn’t. Someone might stop if they saw her, especially a cop.
When she made it to the driveway of her house, she thought she’d collapse, but dug deep, finding the energy she needed. She knew Anna and Tom needed her. She’d thought about a plan, how to go about her business without involving her daughter. Anna couldn’t see two Rebeccas, couldn’t witness a murder or anything that might screw her up mentally. Rebecca had no doubt what she needed to do and didn’t want her daughter there to see it.
She scurried along the property, staying within the tree line. She crouched on the opposite side of the house. Her Jeep was parked out front, Tom’s truck next to it. She decided her best course of action, then moved.
* * *
Jane wiped at her tear-streaked face as she rushed to the Jeep and climbed inside. The waterworks flowed, the world blurring in front of her. This was good, though. She would need to appear distraught when the police arrived. She’d say she came home and found her husband shot. She thought of Anna. Maybe she should kill her too. The little girl was a bust. She could truly start over, kill the entire Hardwick family. Slate wiped clean. She looked down at her stomach. “Just me and you, kid,” she said.
The police would never suspect her. Once everything cleared, she could move on with her life.
Jane fluttered her eyelids and grabbed a tissue from the glove compartment. She dabbed her eyes and cleaned up her face. Pulling down the sun visor, Jane checked her face in the mirror and jumped when she saw herself sitting behind herself. Confused, she stared at the reflection.
Something metallic glinted.
Then she realized who was sitting there. Impossible, she thought, and then her neck was burning. She tried speaking, but couldn’t. The look-a-like face behind her grinned. A warm sensation, like hot maple syrup, was spreading over her chest. Bringing her hand to her neck, the skin was wet and sticky. Looking at her fingers, she saw they were covered in blood, her blood. She couldn’t breathe, and hadn’t realized the fact until now.
Rebecca, if it was really her, was no longer behind her. She was gone. Panic seized her. She attempted to open the door, and saw Rebecca standing there, pressed up against it. “You’re not going anywhere but to the grave.”
Jane had been so close to having it all. Everything she wanted.
Panic finally took hold as the need to breathe took precedence over everything. She clawed at her throat, gasping uselessly until the darkness came and took her away…again.
33
Rebecca had called 911. An ambulance arrived within fifteen minutes and Tom was taken to the hospital. He remained in ICU for over two weeks and was touch-and-go during that time. A bullet had nicked his heart, but surgeons were able to repair the damage. He’d been extremely lucky.
She’d made sure to drag Jane’s corpse to the woods and hide it until she was able to return and bury it properly.
Anna was okay, just scared. Although a little hesitant at first with her mother, she was back to her old self soon enough.
Rebecca had told the police she and her family had been held captive in their home for the past few months, and the madman had fled out of fear after shooting Tom. They didn’t know who he was or what he wanted.
Eventually, the case went cold.
The Hardwicks kept their secrets to themselves and slowly moved on with their lives.
About the Author
David Bernstein is originally from the small town of Salisbury Mills, New York. He now lives in New York City. He graduated from the University of Oneonta with a B.S. in English. His novels include Amongst the Dead, Tears of No Return, the Machines of the Dead trilogy, Damaged Souls, The Tree Man, and Witch Island.
Please drop him an email at [email protected]. Visit him at davidbernsteinauthor.blogspot.com and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/david.bernstein.3.
About the Publisher
DarkFuse is a leading independent publisher of modern fiction in the horror, suspense and thriller genres. As an independent company, it is focused on bringing to the masses the highest quality dark fiction, published as collectible limited hardcover, paperback and eBook editions.
To discover more titles published by DarkFuse, ple
ase visit its official site at www.darkfuse.com.
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