by M A Gelsey
22: JAVI
Javi was unusually quiet at the lunch table that day. He’d barely paid attention in his morning classes — his thoughts kept returning to the woman from Starbucks. There was something haunting in the way she had stared at him, the tremulous softness of her voice when she’d said Javi looked just like him. For the last few hours, Javi found himself wondering over and over again who she was and how she’d known his original. She must have known him well to have such a strong reaction to seeing Javi.
The more he thought about it the more he found himself vacillating between curiosity and frustration. Why should he care about the people who’d known the original Javier? He was his own person! But even these reassurances were hollow. It seemed the lies he had told himself so many times before had fallen away, leaving only the ugly truth.
“D’you want to eat that?” Herman asked, pointing at Javi’s chocolate bar. Wordlessly, Javi pushed it towards him. “Thanks,” Herman said, unwrapping it with gusto and taking a large bite.
“Did you hear about Phoebe Mead?” Fred asked. “She and Zane Goldbrook got caught in the janitor’s closet yesterday.”
“What were they doing?” Herman asked, eyes wide.
Fred shrugged. “What d’you think? Anyway, they’re both suspended for the rest of the week.”
“Lucky them,” Herman muttered. Javi let out a humorless laugh and turned back to his chicken sandwich. He felt a prickle of annoyance when he noticed Fred and Herman exchanged concerned looks.
“Look,” Herman began, leaning forward. “About that woman this morning. You know what they say.”
Javi scowled at Herman’s expectant look. “What’s that?” he muttered, to speed the end of the conversation.
“Bitches be crazy,” said Herman, quirking an eyebrow.
“You’re an idiot, Herman,” said Fred with a snort.
Herman ignored this and leaned forward again. “Any idea who she was?”
“Nope,” Javi said shortly.
“Are you curious?” Herman asked. He seemed much more tentative than usual.
“Nope,” Javi lied.
“Really?” Herman said. “I’d wonder about that stuff if it were me. I’d probably have googled all about my original if I was a clone.”
“Good for you,” mumbled Javi. He was getting angrier by the minute, and he wasn’t even sure why.
“Have you ever? You do know his name, after all.” Herman never knew when to keep his mouth shut.
“No,” Javi said through gritted teeth.
“Never? Not even once?” Herman looked flabbergasted. “How is that possible?”
“Will you just shut the fuck up about it already,” Javi snapped. He found he was breathing heavily, and had to fight the urge to turn over their table and throw his chair at the wall. Suddenly, sitting became too much to bear. He stood up, feeling a savage pleasure at the startled looks on Herman and Fred’s faces.
“I’ll see you later,” he muttered, and stormed off without even bothering to throw away the remnants of his lunch.
There weren’t many places to hide in the school, so Javi headed for the library, thinking that even if Herman and Fred tried to find him they’d be unable to talk without the old librarian throwing them out for disrupting the silence she prized so much. He needn’t have worried; he spent the remainder of the lunch hour alone and uninterrupted, wishing he could silence his thoughts as easily. For most of the afternoon he continued to obsess about the woman while simultaneously trying to convince himself that he was indifferent to her. By the time he saw Herman and Fred again he felt more weary than angry, and he regretted his earlier behavior.
“Ready?” Herman asked nervously, as though expecting Javi to lash out again.
“Yeah,” Javi said. “Look, about before —”
“Don’t worry about it,” Fred cut in. Javi nodded gratefully and slammed his locker shut, falling into step behind the other two as they walked out to Fred’s car. Neither of them broached the subject of the mystery woman again, and they instead heard more about Fred and Violet’s budding relationship. He told them proudly that they’d tried sixty-nining the night before, but that it was something they liked more in theory than in practice.
“Whoa,” Herman said after Fred gave them a brief description. “What did she taste like?”
Fred laughed at the question, but Javi found he was curious too even though he’d never admit it. “So fucking good. But hard to describe, it’s different from anything else.”
“Whoa,” Herman said again.
Fred parked the car and they went over to their usual weeping willow tree. Herman was digging around in his backpack for the joints he’d stashed when they heard a female voice off to their left.
“Javier?”
All three of them whipped around to look at her; it was the woman he’d seen at Starbucks that morning. Javi stared up at her, dumbfounded. For all his wondering, he’d never expected to see her again, and certainly not here or so soon.
“Can I have a word?” she asked, shifting from one foot to the other. Without consciously making a decision to do so, Javi got to his feet. Herman and Fred looked similarly bewildered.
For a moment, Javi considered telling her to fuck off, but curiosity won out and instead he mumbled, “Let’s go over there.” She nodded and he led her to the empty picnic benches by the lake. They sat across from each other, and there was an awkward pause before either of them spoke.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Javi asked finally.
“I called your parents,” she said. “I wanted to apologize and they told me you go to the park a lot after school.”
“Oh.” His insides boiled with anger again. Now he’d have to talk to his parents about this too. The thought made him want to knock himself out with a large rock.
“I guess you’re probably wondering who I am,” the woman said.
“Yeah,” Javi admitted grudgingly. He wished he could honestly say he didn’t care.
“My name is Imogen Shaw.” Javi noticed she wasn’t meeting his eyes, instead staring down at the table or out at the lake. “Javier and I — we knew each other quite well.”
“Oh,” Javi said. He didn’t know how else to respond. Imogen bit her lip as though torn over whether or not to say more.
“He was my first boyfriend,” said Imogen quietly.
“Oh,” Javi said again. He cleared his throat. “It must have been hard for you when . . .” he trailed off. When he died, Javi thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud.
Imogen nodded. Javi noticed her eyes seemed overly bright, but none of the tears fell. Neither of them spoke for a moment, but then Imogen took a deep steadying breath and looked up at him for the first time.
“Anyway, this morning was just a shock. I knew about you, of course, but I guess it hadn’t occurred to me that we’d ever run into each other. Kind of stupid in hindsight.”
“I — it’s fine,” said Javi uncomfortably. He shifted in his seat. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”
“It was like seeing a ghost,” Imogen said.
Javi couldn’t help but frown at that. To his surprise, Imogen burst out laughing.
“What?” Javi asked, alarmed at her abrupt change in mood.
“I’m sorry,” Imogen said. “It’s just — that face you made. He used to make that face too when he was annoyed about something but didn’t want to admit it.”
“Huh,” was all Javi could say to that. She’s beautiful when she smiles. It was only then he noticed a diamond ring on her left hand. “Have you been married long?” he asked, without thinking.
Imogen looked surprised but answered him all the same. “Just over eight years. Theo and I met our last year of college. We’ve got two kids now — Bryony is seven and Poppy is three.” Talking about her children seemed to have cheered Imogen somewhat.
“That’s . . . nice.” Javi glanced back towards the tree to see what his friends were doing. This c
onversation was making him antsy, and he’d prefer to be getting high than walking on eggshells as he spoke to the former girlfriend of his original. Imogen followed his glance and looked at him shrewdly.
“Sorry,” she said, standing abruptly. “Your friends are waiting for you.”
“No, it’s okay,” said Javi, but he stood too.
Imogen held out her hand formally, and the two of them shook. “It was good to see you again,” Imogen said. “I mean — to meet you.” She blushed, and Javi found himself thinking it made her look adorable. She really was very pretty for someone twice his age.
“Nice to meet you too,” Javi said. She dropped his hand, nodded and set off, striding towards the parking lot. Javi watched her go filled with the strangest feeling that he’d like to see her again. After a moment he mentally shook himself and turned to head back to where Herman and Fred were waiting. When he ducked between two particularly low-hanging branches, pushing aside the curtain of leaves, both stared up at him expectantly.
“What?” Javi said flatly. He threw himself down on the ground and took the half-smoked joint from Fred, who exchanged a look with Herman.
“What was that about?” Herman asked, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which in a way, it was.
“She just wanted to apologize for this morning,” Javi said, blowing out the smoke he’d inhaled. “That’s all.”
Herman persisted. “But who was she? Or who is she I guess I should say.”
Javi handed the joint to Herman. “She knew my original,” he muttered. “The first Javier Vasquez. They . . . they used to date in high school.”
Fred blew out a low whistle and Herman began to cough, having been halfway through an inhale.
“No shit,” Herman said, continuing to sputter.
“I thought it might be something like that,” Fred said. “Didn’t I say?”
“Yeah,” Herman said. He turned to Javi, still wheezing slightly. “He did say that.”
“It’s no big deal,” Javi said. Both Herman and Fred looked like they wanted to keep discussing it, but before either of them could speak again, Javi changed the subject. Reluctantly, the other two let it drop and allowed the conversation to be steered back to the pros and cons of sixty-nine.
Alone in the shower later that night, Javi’s thoughts drifted back to Imogen Shaw unbidden. He tried for a moment to push them away, but eventually gave up and began stroking himself rhythmically while imagining her gorgeous mouth wrapped around his cock. Afterwards he felt unsettled and vaguely guilty, but he dismissed this, reminding himself that it really didn’t matter. It wasn’t as though he’d ever see her again.
23: EDGAR PRIME
The knock at the door was as gentle as a butcher’s knife. Edgar Prime woke in a fog, head pounding. He had almost managed to convince himself that he should just go back to sleep — the knock had been merely a dream — when it happened again, and louder. Edgar Prime groaned as he crawled out of bed and stumbled to open the door.
Outside he found Patrice Zhao, dressed in smart black trousers, a short-sleeved periwinkle blouse and sensible flats, one of which was tapping impatiently on the floor while she waited. For a second she took in his disheveled appearance — he realized too late he was dressed in nothing but his boxers — and then her lips twitched as though suppressing a smile.
“You might want to put some clothes on,” she said.
“Right,” he muttered, wishing she would go away and leave him in peace. “Can you give me a few minutes?”
“No more than five,” she said, checking the time on her phone. He grabbed his towel from the hook by the door and hurried down the hall to brush his teeth and have a quick shower, ignoring the throbbing in his head. It took close to ten minutes before Edgar Prime was dressed and ready to go. He found Patrice sitting cross-legged in the empty common room looking vastly out of place despite only being eight or nine years older than he was.
The minute she saw him she sprang to her feet, picked up a large faux-leather handbag and wheeled her suitcase into the hallway.
“Rough night?” she asked as they waited by the elevator. He was surprised to see the hint of a smile on her face.
“No, just a late one. Studying, you know,” Edgar Prime lied. In truth he’d had far too much sangria, and had only the blurriest memory of getting back to his dorm and passing out.
“Studying,” Patrice repeated. They wheeled their suitcases onto the elevator and Patrice jabbed the L button.
“That’s right,” Edgar Prime said. He glanced sideways at her and found himself slightly miffed by the ghost of a knowing smirk on her face. He had to stifle a wince at the soft ding of the elevator as it opened. It sounded much louder than usual for some reason. There was a car waiting outside. Once they were comfortably seated, Patrice dug around in her handbag and pulled out a bottle of coconut water.
“Drink this,” she said, handing it over to him. “It’ll help.”
“Thanks,” he said in as dignified a voice as he could manage. She was right though it did help, and by the time they’d reached JFK airport he was feeling marginally more alert. Fortunately for him, Dr. Midas only flew first class so they were able to avoid waiting in security lines and soon found themselves settled in the executive lounge.
Dr. Midas hadn’t arrived yet, and Edgar Prime curled himself into a wide arm chair for another nap. Patrice shook her head in amusement but did not comment, instead pulling out a tablet and beginning to read. Within seconds, Edgar Prime fell back into a deep sleep.
“Morning Patrice, morning Prime,” boomed Dr. Midas, causing Edgar Prime to jump so much he nearly fell out of his chair. It felt like he’d only been out for a few minutes, but the clock on the wall informed him that it had been just under an hour. He stretched his stiff legs out in front of him and rubbed his eyes.
“Good morning, Dr. Midas,” Patrice said.
“Morning,” mumbled Edgar Prime.
“Don’t worry, Prime,” said Dr. Midas with a good-natured expression on his face. “Plenty more time for you to sleep on the plane. Our presentation isn’t until tomorrow. We can have an early night tonight, and wake up refreshed and ready to go.”
Edgar Prime sighed, but did not comment. Dr. Midas looked downright ebullient and Edgar Prime knew nothing good would come of him voicing his distaste for the I.C.G. — it wasn’t as though his participation in it was optional. Patrice was quick to divert Dr. Midas’s attention, informing him that she’d been reading the other papers being presented at the conference this year and recounting what she believed to be the relative merit of each. Edgar Prime closed his eyes again, but before he could fall into another stupor Dr. Midas turned back to him.
“You ought to read those papers too, Prime,” Dr. Midas chided. “If you’re ever going to take over my lab you’ll need to be on top of all the research being done in the field.”
Take over the lab — it was Edgar Prime’s worst nightmare, but something that Dr. Midas had always assumed would be a foregone conclusion.
“Maybe I won’t be the one to take it over,” Edgar Prime said. “Maybe it’ll be Patrice instead, and I’ll do something different.”
Dr. Midas let out a great “Ha!” at that, guffawing as though Edgar Prime had made a great joke. “What else could you possibly want to do? You’re me, remember? What future could be more fitting for you than to take over my life’s work?”
“I don’t know,” Edgar Prime said more coldly than he meant to. “But it won’t be that.”
He expected Dr. Midas to be angry at his attitude, but he merely looked bemused. Patrice appeared poker-faced, and Edgar Prime wondered if she was offended by Dr. Midas’s reaction to the idea that she could one day take over his role as director of the illustrious Midas Labs. He realized he didn’t actually know Patrice at all despite the countless hours he’d spent in her company over the last few years. He was almost surprised that it had never before occurred to him to wonder about the person behind t
he lab coat.
“Don’t worry, Patrice,” said Dr. Midas in a stage whisper, “I had a rebellious streak when I was younger too, but I grew out of it, and so will Prime. He’ll come around.”
Patrice raised an eyebrow at Edgar Prime, but he merely shook his head in disgust and closed his eyes once more. The next forty minutes weren’t particularly restful — he was stuck listening to Dr. Midas hum contentedly while getting a neck massage in the adjacent chair. Just as Edgar Prime began to finally drift off, he was shaken awake once more by Patrice so they could board. He shuffled miserably after Patrice and Dr. Midas, reminding himself that soon he’d be able to enjoy close to eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
They were the first aboard, greeted by a smiling blonde flight attendant who immediately asked if they’d like anything to drink. Something in his face reminded Edgar Prime of Hugo, and he had to smile as he slid into the second row window seat and requested another coconut water. Patrice took the seat next to him and Dr. Midas settled himself across the aisle next to an attractive older man with salt and pepper hair, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. It took less than a minute before the man recognized Dr. Midas, and immediately engaged him in conversation, extending a hand to shake that Dr. Midas accepted with a benevolent smile. For all his talk of the work, Edgar Prime knew Dr. Midas also loved the fame, enjoyed nothing more than the awe and reverence of strangers. It eclipsed everything else, except perhaps the money.
The blonde flight attendant returned with Edgar Prime’s coconut water and a coffee for Patrice.
“My name is Elliott if you need anything else,” he told them with a warm smile. Edgar Prime suddenly found himself much less inclined to go right back to sleep. Patrice noticed his eyes on Elliott’s back as he brought drinks to the other first class passengers.
“He’s handsome,” Patrice said in an undertone. Edgar Prime looked at her in surprise; it was the first time he’d ever heard her talk about anything that didn’t directly pertain to Dr. Midas.
