Last Days (Last Days Trilogy #1)

by Jacqueline Druga

  But still he laughed.

  “Look at us, Reg,” Marcus remarked.

  Reggie peered downward, her head shrouded in a veil.

  Marcus followed her eyes, and shrieked. “Ha! A manger.”

  “Marcus,” she whispered. “Oh, Marcus. Listen to him.”

  “Who?”

  A soothing male voice answered, “Me.”

  Marcus peered up to see a man standing there shadowed. Only his eyes were clear. They were translucent green eyes and Marcus knew them from somewhere.

  “You,” Marcus said. “Why are you here?”

  “It is not too late, Marcus. It is not too late.”

  Should he have recognized the man? Perhaps. Confused, he glanced at Reggie for an answer. When he looked back, the man was gone. “Reg, that was weird.”

  Reggie lifted her eyes, “He’s right.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Our only hope.”

  Marcus chuckled. “Not this again. Reg, this is my dream. I have to exercise a little...”

  “It’s not too late,” she whispered. “You and me, is this what we’re doing? Will the world know?”

  “Will the world know what?” Marcus questioned. “About this dream?”

  “No, I mean about him.”

  “The guy with the eyes.”

  “No, Marcus.” Reggie spoke desperately. “Him.” Nodding down at the manger, she reached inside for the bundle. Suddenly, the covers flung open and a demonic cry squealed out. Like a whipping rope, a long snake’s tongue shot out and snapped a stranglehold around Reggie’s throat.

  “Marcus!” she cried.

  The eerie, sadistic growl increased in volume. Wanting to help, Marcus tried to reach out, but froze.

  Marcus watched in horror as the tongue wrapped tighter around Reggie’s throat, her face turning bluer, her struggles more desperate. “Marcus!”

  “Marcus,” the voice snapped him from the dream.

  “Shit.” Marcus lifted his head and tried to shake off the dream. “Rose,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Rose asked.

  “Weird dream.” He sat up. “About Reggie.”

  “That is weird,” Rose said. “Reggie just arrived.”

  Without hesitation, Marcus flew from his office.

  Marcus looked forward to Reggie sharing in his work. Perhaps he’d tell her about the dream. His hands fumbled with the card key. Finally it worked the door unlocked. As he stepped inside, he was struck with the vision of Reggie standing by the window of the makeshift kitchen. She turned.

  “You’re here… and early.” He shut his door and rushed to her. “You look great.”

  “Thanks.” Reggie accepted a kiss on her cheek and held up her glass. “I stole some of your wine. I knew it’d be awhile till I could drink again. Surprised I’m here so fast? The flight left an hour before schedule.”

  “This is great. Reg, I was just dreaming of you.”

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  “Not as weird as the dream, but... we’ll leave that for another time.” He took the glass from her hand and set it down.

  “Oh, hey, no, wait.” Reggie reached for his hand. “Let me finish it.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Reg.” He grabbed her arms. “I have something to tell you, and something to give you.” He reached into his back pocket, and handed her an envelope. “For you.”

  “Oh, I have one for you... from my Dad.”

  “Open mine first.” Marcus said.

  “All right.” Reggie tore at the envelope. “Marcus?” She looked inside. “This is a check for five thousand dollars.”

  “I tried to get you more, but the institute insisted on only paying for your inconvenience,” he shrugged.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s for your time. We hired you and you came out. So we paid you for that. However, you’re not going to be the mother,” Marcus explained. “Well... surrogate.”

  “Oh.” Reggie’s face dropped. “Okay…” She blinked. “Did you get someone else? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. No.” Marcus reassured her. “In fact, I still want you to be a part. Hell, you are a part.”

  “I’m lost.”

  “See, we fertilized the egg and the cells divided. We planned to implant you with the egg Tuesday, but now...” Marcus paused. “You know what,” he smiled, “I’ll show you. Let’s go.” He took her hand and dragged her from his apartment.

  Five minutes later, he hesitated briefly in the hall before the lab. His words rambled as he opened the door, “This is our growth lab-slash-observatory. We had to improvise rather quickly. But it is extraordinary. The product, I mean.”

  “Marcus, my head is spinning.”

  “Sorry.” He pushed open the door. “Oh, look, Rose and John are on shift.”

  They stepped into the long room of the makeshift lab. The observation office they stood in contained computers, and video monitors. In the background a radio played. A long glass window separated them from the lab.

  “Rose, John. This is Reggie.” Marcus said, shuffling her through quickly.

  Rose swiveled her chair, stood up and extended her hand. “We’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to...”

  Marcus tugged on Reggie. “Enough niceties. This way.”

  “Hey!” Reggie felt her hand pulled from Rose.

  “Shh.” Marcus placed his code in the second door by the glass window. It buzzed open. With a rush, he brought her into the lab.

  “Marcus, you’re pulling me like a rag doll,” Reggie complained. “God...” She stopped abruptly and gawked.

  Marcus smiled. “Exactly.”

  Reggie was stunned by the ponderous glass case set in the middle of the room. A large vat of liquid bubbling noisily, lay eight feet long by five deep by three feet wide. A clutch of wires extended from one end.

  “I believe you’re burning in hell, Marcus.”

  “I don’t believe in hell. Come look. Don’t be scared.” Marcus shoved her closer. “Meet our clone.”

  Reggie peeked inside. It resembled a human being. But barely. The two-foot object seemed more like an ivory sculpture to Reggie. Its arms, legs, and face were molded, but not yet finished. “Is it alive?” she asked.

  “Very much so,” Marcus answered. “We haven’t a clue how it’s surviving. But it is. We created an artificial amniotic fluid for protection. But that’s about all it’s getting. It doesn’t move or twitch. As you can see, the eyes aren’t formed, but its heart beats steady. No placenta, no means of nutrition. It’s just growing... and at a rate of fifteen point two days per hour.”

  “Holy shit.” Reggie said, summoning the nerve to peer closer.

  “That was our first reaction. Imagine my surprise when four hours post-conception the embryo was already too big to implant. And, Reg,” Marcus leaned closer to her, “By all rights, it should have died. It had no means of protection or survival while we finished this larger womb. We had to place it in a sink.”

  “It’s almost frightening.”

  “Almost? No, Reg, it’s very frightening. There’s no explanation for it. None. This,” he waved his hand over the case, “should never have happened. It goes against everything we planned.”

  “Why does that surprise you?” Reggie asked.

  “Because it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. A fertilized egg was supposed to be implanted. Nine months later we’d have the baby. We don’t know why this is happening.”

  Reggie rolled her eyes. “Gees, I can tell you why.”

  “You know? Reg, you’re no scientist.”

  “I have common sense. And apparently you don’t. Or you would have thought of it.”

  “Thought of what?” Marcus asked.

  “Hello? Marcus. You clone an adult, you get an adult. Duh.”

  Marcus blinked, stunned. “Duh? Did you just say... duh to me?”

  “I did.”

  “Reg.” Marcus shook his head. “Clon
e an adult, get an adult. What kind of thinking is that?”

  “Logical.”

  “Not scientifically logical.”

  Smug, Reggie folded her arms. “Okay, Mr. Scientist, what’s your scientific explanation?”

  “I have none, but... do you think it’s possible? Now, don’t laugh, but do you think it’s possible that something... supernatural is going on?”

  Reggie paused. “Huh? What? Wait. That’s a Reggie way of thinking, Marcus.”

  “That’s why I’m asking you. You always have a weird angle on things. Do you…”

  “...think it’s something supernatural that’s causing this?”

  Marcus nodded.

  She shook her head. “No, I think science has surprised you. You went into unchartered territory and you made a discovery that you didn’t expect. Once again, clone an adult, get an adult.”

  Marcus smiled. “So by the ‘Reg’ theory, the clone will be finished when he’s an adult.”

  “Or the age of the person you cloned. How fast is it growing again?”

  “Fifteen point two days an hour or, one year every day.” Marcus’ eyes widened and he spun to the case. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “As if there isn’t enough controversy.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Reg,” Marcus looked at her in horror, “how old was Christ when he died?”

  “Thirty-two, supposedly.”

  “Exactly. At the rate of one year per day... thirty-two days from now is Christmas.”

  Reggie stared back at Marcus, equally stunned. She held up her hand and turned around.

  “Reg? Where you going?” Marcus tossed up his hands, exasperated, as he watched her depart the lab without a word.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Westing Biogenetic Institute

  Chicago, IL

  Marcus stood holding his tablet, watching a video of Rev. Bailey on a talk show. An interview Reggie told him about, said she’d love to show him to cheer him up, but didn’t record it. He had to remind her things were easy to find online. After a quick search he located it and eyes glued to the screen, Marcus watched, listened, and took notes.

  Rev. Bailey represented the flip side of the science-versus-religion coin, a view of Marcus’ project from outside of the laboratory window. A view Marcus rarely took in.

  Since Reggie left a month before, the December weather had been perfect, not just locally, but in the Northern Hemisphere worldwide. Gardens and crops, long since harvested, bloomed and flourished anew. In his closed laboratory world, Marcus gave this news only passing interest. Until he began to see them in a new light, the light shed by the eccentric little preacher man.

  Rev. Bailey did say some ridiculous things, even implied he was booking Marcus on his highly rated Sunday service show. But he listed their differences clearly. Rev. Bailey reiterated the undeniable world situation, the weird weather, then made his conclusion. The cause? One cause. The clone.

  “Unnatural” was the word Rev. Bailey used. Unnatural was the word Marcus repeated to himself frequently. Though the two men agreed on the word, they were worlds apart in their explanations. Rev. Bailey’s retreated into religion, Marcus into science.

  But deep down, Marcus was torn between the two more than he wanted to admit, as he furiously jotted down notes. Inside, he was fighting to stay on the side of science and eschew his heavy religious upbringing. But he was stuck. Truly stuck.

  The concept of God being behind the bizarre changes was wholly illogical. He suspected the explanation sat firmly between science and religion – or beside it, a third side to the coin.

  But what was it?

  Marcus sank deeply into thought as he watched the video. A shot of an audience member wearing a green and red shirt reminded Marcus what day it was.

  Pausing the tape, Marcus checked his watch. It was time. With a smile, Marcus picked up the phone and dialed the long awaited, and he hoped, perfectly timed phone call.

  Seville, Ohio

  Reggie answered on the second ring.

  “Merry Christmas,” Marcus said.

  “Marcus.” Reggie swung her feet from the coffee table. “Tell me you’re calling from home.”

  “Reg, I can’t be home. You know that.”

  Reggie frowned. “Still thinking that Jesus will be reborn on Christmas.”

  “Ha, ha, ha, funny. You know I have a gut feeling.” He paused. “Hey, guess what? I gave the clone a name.”

  “What?” Reggie asked. “Joe, Bill, Leo?”

  “Devante,” Marcus said. “It’s a derivative of the word, ‘Advent,’ meaning ‘the coming’. Speaking of coming... did you get your present yet?”

  “The UPS guy brought the box of gifts I’m supposed to hand out tomorrow.”

  “No,” Marcus said, “yours is separate. Should be there now. That’s why I called.”

  “Is it big?”

  “You could say that. It’ll fill your nights. You won’t be so lonely.”

  The doorbell rang. “Someone’s at the door. Maybe that’s it.”

  “Get it. I’ll stay on the phone.”

  Reggie stood up as the doorbell rang again. When she opened the door, she found a man, about thirty, nicely built, handsome, dark haired. “Yes?”

  “Hi, Ms. Reggie Stevens-Edmunds? Dr. Marcus Leon sent me.”

  Reggie’s mouth dropped open. “You? Oh my God, Marcus,” she giggled, “it’s the best gift. So original. I see what you mean by filling my nights.” She smiled and covered the phone. “Are you going to strip?” she asked the man.

  He chuckled good-naturedly. “No.”

  Reggie grinned. “Come on in.” She stepped back. “Marcus, he’s perfect. But why would you get me a man?”

  “A man?” Marcus snapped. “I didn’t get you a man. I got you a...”

  “Computer?” Reggie watched as the man pushed in a dolly with two boxes. “A computer, Marcus?”

  “Well, more than that. It’s a bunch of stuff to get you out of the dark ages. Computer, a tablet, smart phone.”

  “A smart phone? What’s it do? Answer itself?” Reggie laughed at her own joke.

  “That joke’s been told a million times, Reg. It’s easy. More with the times than the flip phone.”

  “Marcus, the flip phone is still in the box. I haven’t figured it out. The smart one better be smart.”

  “Well,” Marcus said. “Everything will be very easy after your set up and lessons. The guy is making a special trip to get you up and running, show you how to use them and get you situated with the Wi-Fi.”

  “I don’t have Wi-Fi.”

  “Yeah, you do. Your dad told me. He got it so Seth could play his video games.”

  “I have internet?” She looked at the computer guy. “Hey, I have internet.”

  “Imagine that,” Computer guy replied.

  Reggie returned to her call with Marcus. “How is this supposed to fill my nights?”

  “Wait until you discover the online slots. Plus. I’m always online. You can talk to me even when I’m working. And text. You need to learn to text, Reg.”

  Reggie watched the guy unload boxes “This is so great and expensive. I feel bad. I only got you a set of black T-shirts.”

  “Well, it’s my gift, too. I’d like being able to communicate with you anytime.”

  “Cool.” Reggie smiled. “Hey, Marcus? You think the computer guy can be my gift too?

  “Reg,” Marcus said calmly, “stop hitting on the computer delivery man.”

  “All right,” Reggie said continuing her survey of the man nonetheless, “I’ll stop. So, let’s talk. How’s what’s his face? Devante?”

  “Progressing. You’ll see for yourself when you get here next week. You are still coming, right?”

  “Yes. Our Christmas.”

  “Good. And speaking of Christmas, I have to go; everyone’s leaving for the holidays and I have to man the lab 24/7 for the next two days. I don’t want to miss it.” />
  “You really think it’s going to happen on Christmas?”

  “I feel strongly about it, yes,” Marcus answered.

  “You don’t think it has anything to do with what you cloned?”

  “It may. Or my fear of more controversy.”

  Reggie smiled. “That’s funny. Controversy never bothered you before.”

  “Reg, this is a scary kind of controversy. It’s not settling right with me. It even crossed my mind to abort the whole thing. But I just couldn’t.”

  “It’ll be all right, Marcus. I promise you.”

  “Yeah.” Marcus sighed. “I have to go. I’ll call you in a bit to see how you’re progressing.”

  Reggie laughed.

  “With the computer, Reg. Not the computer guy.”

  “Call me if it happens.”

  “You know I will.” Marcus paused. “Fingers crossed it will be nothing more than a quiet Christmas Eve.”

  Westing Biogenetic Institute - Chicago, Illinois

  Soft Christmas music played in the observatory lab that Christmas Eve night, praising voices singing Silent Night and Away in the Manger as Marcus munched on a bologna sandwich. He sat before a computer in the lab itself, away from the observing office, chuckling at Reggie’s crude attempts at texting. But he enjoyed it since, in a sense, he was sharing Christmas Eve with her.

  The Christmas songs began to get on his nerves. He stood up abruptly and paced over to the other computer that played the music. Before he reached it, he sensed a change outside. He opened the blind to see, not the usual, screaming protesters, but masses of people holding candles and singing. Marcus’ first instinct was to open the window and yell at them all to go home and spend Christmas with their families. He was almost nostalgic for his old nickname of ‘Heathen boy.’ Now, thanks to Rev. Bailey, Marcus was known by a new title: The Deliverer.

  The beep of the phone brought Marcus back for Reggie’s return text. In transit he paused to look at the large artificial womb that contained Devante.