Clone

by M A Gelsey

  “Good seeing you, Prime. As always.”

  The only answer Edgar Prime gave was to slam the lab door behind him as he stormed out into the hallway. He jabbed the elevator button and paced while he waited, trying to stop himself from punching the wall. Why couldn’t he have inherited Dr. Midas’s boundless confidence along with his bone structure? Where did his self-loathing come from, if not his original?

  The elevator dinged softly and Edgar Prime stopped pacing and stood right in front of the doors in his impatience. When they opened he nearly barreled into Patrice, who yelped in surprise.

  “Ed! You startled me,” she said unnecessarily.

  “Sorry,” Edgar Prime muttered.

  “It’s okay,” Patrice said, stepping off the elevator into the pristine hallway. Edgar Prime was about to get on when Patrice touched his arm gently. “You look upset.”

  “I’m not,” Edgar Prime said shortly. The elevator dinged again and the doors tried to close, but Edgar Prime flung his arm into their path and they re-opened.

  “If this is because Dr. Midas isn’t being as supportive of your history major as you’d like, you just have to give him time. He finds it difficult to imagine that his genetic copy would have different goals and ambitions than he did.”

  “How does he even know I want to major in history?” Edgar Prime snapped, thrown off by the change of topic.

  “He’s a smart man,” Patrice said.

  “Does it ever bother you?” Edgar Prime found himself asking. “Don’t you ever wonder where they all wind up? The clones you make.”

  “Sometimes. But why would it bother me? Unless you mean — the defective ones?” She said the last part in a hushed whisper, as though worried who might overhear and pass judgment on her.

  “That wasn’t what I — how many defective ones are there?” Edgar Prime was ashamed once again. He hadn’t even been thinking about them.

  “Far fewer here than at other labs. But even Dr. Midas isn’t perfect.”

  “And what happens to them?” Edgar Prime wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

  “It depends on whoever commissioned them. Sometimes they’re kept, even with their imperfections. Sometimes . . .” Patrice frowned, but did not finish her thought. Edgar Prime knew she must be alluding to the black market where defective clones were bought and sold for various purposes — everything from illegal medical experimentation to organ sale to trafficking. The horrors of humanity were boundless.

  The elevator dinged again in its agitation at being held open for so long, but Edgar Prime ignored it.

  “How can you do it then? What you and he do?” Was Edgar Prime hoping she’d have a comfortable answer for him, something to assuage his own guilt?

  Patrice answered immediately, as if she’d considered the question before. “It’s a kindness. We help people who are grieving find solace.”

  “Rich people,” Edgar Prime shot back.

  Patrice shrugged. “Cloning is expensive. At least here we do it right. Dr. Midas produces far fewer defective clones than any other lab. If we didn’t do it, it would still be done. Just not as well.”

  Edgar Prime regarded her coolly. She seemed concerned for him, and he stepped into the elevator to escape her probing eyes.

  “I’ve gotta go,” he lied.

  “Bye, Ed. Have a good night.”

  He didn’t answer. The elevator doors closed and he was carried downward, away from her, away from him. But Edgar Prime could not escape the questions that plagued him.

  Later that night, after downing most of a bottle of gin, Edgar Prime steeled himself and went to Hugo’s apartment. It was too unbearable to be such a failure at everything, and he judged the Celeste problem more easily fixed than the cloning conundrum. At Hugo’s he knocked and knocked, leaning heavily against the doorframe and contemplating laying down in the hallway for a little nap. Everything swam and blurred before him, and he was on the point of passing out when the door was jerked open, causing him to fall in a heap on the ground just over the threshold.

  Hugo stood above him, regarding him coldly. “I should write you up for this.”

  Edgar Prime struggled unsteadily to his feet, clutching the handle of the door to pull himself up. “That thing that happened. With Celeste. It was a mistake. Just a mistake.” His words slurred, and he thought he saw a flash of hurt in Hugo’s eyes before they hardened again.

  “It was shitty of you to leave like that, and not to call her after.” Hugo crossed his arms, indifferent to Edgar Prime’s imploring look.

  “But, you know I — you know she — it didn’t mean anything. It just happened.” Edgar Prime felt bile rising in his throat and fought to keep himself from vomiting all over Hugo’s floor. “She started it. If she hadn’t cornered me . . .”

  “Oh fuck you!” Celeste yelled from inside the apartment. Swaying more than ever, Edgar Prime watched in horror as Celeste stepped up behind Hugo. “You didn’t fall and slip on a banana, Prime. We had sex in my bathroom then you fucking ran away like a scared little boy. Fuck you.”

  He quailed under her glare. “I — I didn’t mean —”

  “You should go.” Hugo’s voice was soft. He didn’t even sound angry. Just sad.

  “But Hugo —”

  “No,” Hugo cut him off. “You should go. Now.”

  Edgar Prime looked from Hugo to Celeste, a solid wall of crossed arms and icy cold eyes that cruelly judged him without mercy. Edgar Prime staggered backwards and away down the hall. He heard the door slam but didn’t look back. He managed to make it to a bathroom before he collapsed next to the toilet to empty the contents of his stomach, wishing he were dead.

  39: ANNABEL

  Annabel laughed again — she couldn’t seem to stop laughing around Javi Vasquez. They were seated next to the window in a small cafe called Verona. It had a cozy fireplace across the room and was decorated with mismatched vintage furniture and Toulouse-Lautrec prints on the walls; the perfect blend of strange and familiar.

  “Okay, how about that lady over there?” Javi said in an undertone, jerking his head to the right towards a woman in her seventies with wispy bubblegum pink hair that looked like it was made out of cotton candy. She wore a hot pink tracksuit that bulged a bit in the belly and carried a fluffy white pomeranian in her handbag. They were playing a game that involved making up stories about other cafe patrons. Annabel had been reluctant at first, but it wasn’t long before her reservations melted away.

  “Can we steal that dog?” Annabel whispered, thinking she’d never seen a more tiny or adorable animal.

  “Why not? I’ll accidentally-on-purpose spill my coffee on the pink lady, and while she’s distracted by my charming apologies you can snag the bag.” They grinned at each other.

  “What should we name her?” Annabel asked.

  “Princess Pom-Pom?” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, you meant the woman! I thought you were asking about our dog.”

  “Our dog? You mean my dog, don’t you?” Annabel said playfully, but she felt her cheeks warm at the idea of the two of them caring for a dog together. The thought was strangely romantic, and it confused Annabel. She did not feel that way, not about Javi.

  Javi clutched his chest as though she’d stabbed him in the heart. “I see how it is, Annabel. You use me to help you steal her, then cast me aside the second she’s yours. That’s cold.” His laughter belied any hurt he might have felt, and soon enough, Annabel was laughing again too.

  “Not sure how I feel about the name Pom-Pom,” Annabel teased. “She’s more dignified than that.”

  “Princess Pom-Pom,” Javi corrected. “The ‘princess’ part’s essential.”

  Annabel regarded the pomeranian, whose owner was now lovingly feeding her a treat. “Yeah,” she said, fighting off another bout of laughter. “You’re right. It’s perfect.”

  After the coffee, they continued meandering around the city, until Javi suggested they go see the Museum of Natural History. He’d visited when
he was young, and he wanted to show her something. Annabel agreed, not wanting her afternoon of freedom to end. When they arrived, Annabel insisted they stop to examine all the fossils and artifacts instead of racing right to the room Javi wanted to see. He looked on, patiently bemused, as Annabel experienced her first museum. She’d done virtual tours of many of the exhibits, of course, but somehow seeing them in person was different. When they finally reached the entrance to Javi’s favorite room, her eyes were drawn upwards to a giant squid model above them. The passed underneath it to find themselves standing on the second level of the life-sized blue whale exhibit.

  Annabel gasped. The whale curved gracefully, suspended from the ceiling by heavy cables that were all but hidden from view by its massive bulk. They walked all the way around it, then went down to the bottom level and explored it from beneath.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Javi murmured beside her. They had both been speaking quietly since entering the blue whale exhibit, as though they were in some kind of temple.

  Annabel nodded. She read the plaque explaining that the blue whale was nearly extinct; before much longer, this scale model would be all that remained of what was once the largest animal ever to have lived. A resigned sense of gloom settled over Annabel, putting a damper on her previous glee. They stayed for a long while, walking around and around, studying the whale from all angles. Or at least, Annabel was studying it. More than once she’d caught Javi’s gaze turned towards her instead of the exhibit. It made her nervous, but not entirely in a bad way.

  When they finally left, it was growing dark outside. Annabel felt a bewildering mixture of emotions — simultaneous exhilaration and melancholy. The thought of going back to the hotel room to have a lonely dinner with Ms. Durant made her stomach clench painfully.

  “Hungry?” Annabel asked, surprised at her own daring.

  “Starving.” He grinned at her, an easy grin that made her heart beat faster.

  They got on the subway again and went to Chinatown, where they found a restaurant with a brick facade and wooden beams on its high ceiling. Amid the babble of talk and laughter, they drank jasmine tea from a clay pot and shared the most delicious array of dumplings Annabel had ever tasted: crab and eggplant, steamed lobster, crunchy vegetable and peanut, four mushroom, shrimp and snow pea leaf, and butternut squash with walnuts and ginger. Afterwards, they walked to Rice to Riches for cardamom ginger rice pudding. Annabel was skeptical, but was glad to be proved wrong when she gave into Javi’s insistence that it was much better than it sounded. It was spicy and creamy and just the right amount of sweet. The most glorious ending to a glorious dinner.

  They wandered along afterwards, finding themselves on a street lined with sex shops and bars in the west village. Incongruously, they turned a corner and came upon a tiny pet store with several fluffy puppies frolicking in the window. For a long moment, they couldn’t tear their eyes away and stood oohing and aahing while they watched the puppies at play.

  “I wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” Annabel said before she could stop herself.

  Javi glanced at her, then turned his eyes back to the pet store window. “Neither do I. Maybe we should just stay.”

  Annabel gave a humorless laugh. “My husband would go ballistic.”

  “You’re married?” Javi burst out. He gazed at her with incredulity etched all over his face.

  Annabel found it difficult to meet his eyes all of a sudden. “Yes.”

  “But you’re only — how can you be married already? Didn’t your parents flip out and try to stop you?”

  “I — it’s complicated.” Annabel wished she hadn’t mentioned Rex; he was casting a long, dark shadow over what had otherwise been a perfect day.

  “Complicated how?” Javi raised his eyebrows suspiciously.

  “It’s not important.”

  “How could you go the whole day without telling me you’re married? You’re not even wearing a ring.” His tone had turned accusatory.

  “It’s not like that. I took it off because I didn’t want to think about — the reason my parents didn’t object to the marriage is because I don’t have any. My husband was married to my original and had me cloned when she died of cancer. We got married on my eighteenth birthday.”

  “Shit,” Javi said. For a moment, he seemed unable to process what she had just told him. “You know that’s seriously fucked up, right?”

  “I mean — he didn’t raise me or anything, I had a caretaker named Ms. Durant. We didn’t meet until the day of the wedding.” She had no idea what was compelling her to defend Rex when she knew Javi was right. Perhaps she was downplaying it so that he wouldn’t think of her as tainted or weak. For one day, she had wanted to pretend she was a normal eighteen-year-old girl.

  Javi was still goggling at her. “But that doesn’t — that shouldn’t make it — how could you go along with that? With an old man you’d never even met before! Eugh!”

  Annabel’s eyes narrowed and she glared at him. “D’you think I wanted to go along with it? D’you think I had a choice?”

  “But you did!” Javi had inadvertently raised his voice, and they were drawing curious glances from other passerby. “You could have walked away instead of walking down the aisle.”

  “Why do you even care?” Annabel snarled back. “It’s not that simple. You just be grateful it was your parents who commissioned you and not some grieving ex-spouse. I’m going to go. I don’t want this whole day to be ruined by him.” She stuck her arm out in an attempt to hail a passing taxi.

  Just like that, all the inexplicable anger went out of Javi’s face. “Look, I’m sorry. I was just — surprised. You’re right, I shouldn’t judge you.”

  A cab drove up, but Annabel waved it on and dropped her arm. Even though neither of them mentioned Rex again, the mood had shifted. They spent another three hours walking together, talking about everything and nothing, but the previous pull Annabel had felt coming from Javi had been dampened. When he finally dropped her off in front of the hotel with a look that might have been pity, Annabel knew the earlier magic was gone and could never be recovered.

  She crept into the dimly lit hotel suite and darted into her room before Ms. Durant could wake up from where she’d been dozing on the couch with her tablet precariously perched next to her, clearly waiting up for Annabel. The prospect of being questioned about her whereabouts was not one Annabel cared to face at the moment (or ever), so she closed her door loudly enough to indicate to Ms. Durant that she was home safe and had no wish to talk. Annabel brushed her teeth and washed her face in the en suite bathroom like a zombie, then pulled on a nightgown and fell into the large, soft bed where she stared at the darkened ceiling for a long while before the tears finally came.

  40: JAVI

  When he arrived at the airport the following afternoon, Javi couldn’t help but look for her. Realistically, he knew it was a futile effort; the chances of running into one person amid the crowds at JFK were practically nonexistent. But that didn’t stop him from looking. Whenever he saw a flash of red in his peripheral vision, he’d whip around, hoping against hope that it was her hair. Disappointment followed like a mocking wraith, cackling silently at him for his stupidity.

  Javi barely noticed the many indignities of coach this time; he sat in the uncomfortable waiting area and allowed himself to be herded meekly to the twentieth row. Fortunately, his seat was on the aisle. Small mercies, he thought wryly. He felt more conflicted about Annabel than he should, considering he’d probably never see her again. The revelation that she was not only married but had been commissioned by her husband specifically for that purpose had been a punch in the gut. It made Javi’s difficulties with his family seem insignificant by comparison, and filled Javi with shame at all his feeble complaints about what he’d endured over the years. More than anything though, Javi wished he’d kissed her.

  There had been several times when the urge to touch her was overwhelming, but even at her most unguarded she still had
walls to keep him — and presumably everyone else — out. Not that he could blame her for that, considering . . . but it had been frustrating all the same. On the one hand, they’d undeniably had a great time together. No, he corrected himself, ‘great’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. On the other hand, he couldn’t read her well enough to know whether she saw him as a friend or something more. He knew he should have given it a try anyway, pride be damned, but his courage wasn’t quite up to the task. Coward.

  Just before takeoff, Javi’s phone buzzed with a text from Imogen that read: ‘Meet me tonight?’ He replied in the affirmative barely sparing a thought for the logistics — was her husband out of town? — then turned off his phone as instructed by a passing flight attendant. At least he had that to look forward to. Javi spent most of the flight reading a mediocre spy thriller, interrupted at regular intervals by intruding thoughts of Annabel and Imogen, sometimes together, sometimes apart. Once or twice Stella Castell put in an appearance too.

  By the time they landed in SFO, Javi was somehow both weary and on edge. He waited impatiently for his turn to deplane, striding down the narrow aisle and through the terminal. On his way outside, Javi stopped in a Duty-Free store to buy a pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter. He didn’t smoke tobacco, but thought this might be a good time to start.

  When he turned his phone back on, he received a text from Imogen telling him to meet her at a motel near the airport. Javi took this to mean her husband was home, and replied to say he’d be there in half an hour. In the cab, Javi felt a vague sense of guilt about the bewildering pull he’d felt towards Annabel over the weekend, but just as soon dismissed it. After all, Imogen was the one who was married, not him. He didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. And besides, who wouldn’t have been interested in Annabel with that red hair and unassuming beauty?

  Any thoughts of guilt were driven from his mind as soon as he arrived at the motel. Imogen was louder than usual, and he realized it was because for once her children weren’t playing in the backyard.