The Clone's Mother

by Cheri Gillard

  The door opened. Relief. “My floor.” And I disappeared before he could ask me another question.

  There ought to be a law prohibiting elevator chit-chat.

  Mack’s lab was down the hall, to the left then to the right. I made a beeline for it and ducked inside before I ran into one more person who wanted to visit and mention they saw me at the dinner. Or sitting on the bus bench.

  Inside the lab, one of Mack’s assistants sat hunched over a bunch of beakers, tubes, dishes, and other microbiology supplies.

  “Mack not in yet?” I asked him with a raised voice to carry through his concentration.

  He looked up from his experiment. “What’s that?”

  “Mack. Is he in yet?” Obviously he wasn’t.

  “Ah, nah. He’s not coming today. Took a personal day or something.”

  He dismissed me from his attention and returned to his beakers before I had a chance to ask any more questions.

  “Thanks.” He didn’t hear me.

  The disappointment was thick. I’d really wanted to see him. I needed some TLC. And it hurt he hadn’t told me he was taking the day off. I just didn’t know how to do this boyfriend thing very well. Was I expecting too much of him? Maybe I was too clingy. Was I going to suffocate him and scare him away? We needed to be together, but everything kept working against us. But I wasn’t going to give up.

  Chapter 35

  Carl told Ingrid not to disturb him and he locked himself in his office. He’d barely gotten behind his door before the floodgates of emotion opened. He threw on the switch to his stereo, cranking up an old Tom Waits album, hoping to drown out his sobs before they were heard by his secretary.

  The pain hit him like a tsunami crashing against a beach house. Deep sobs were waves ripping through his body, threatening to tear him to pieces.

  To have seen the little baby in the morgue—his precious daughter, lying still and lifeless, cold and broken—ripped loose the grief he’d never wanted to know again. Her head bruised. Her cold skin, the color of death. The young life he’d worked so diligently to bring back, to resurrect. Now, gone in an instant, without a chance to live the life she deserved.

  Carl crushed a throw pillow against his mouth, not only to muffle his howls, but to try to find some comfort, any consolation. His mind catapulted back to the day he’d never wanted to think of again, a day when he clasped another form—a lifeless one—to his face.

  Jackie’s car was over the edge, down the cliff. He had pulled in front of her. Just wanted to stop her. Her car careened off the mountain. He stood in shock outside his own vehicle watching. The light was almost gone. Paramedics used harnesses to belay down the cliff to her car.

  No one spoke to him yet, as everyone was intent on the challenge at hand. Carl waited, silent, shaking. They lowered a cage stretcher on ropes over the ledge of the road. The firemen were intense, working quickly, as though they still held out hope for Jackie, as if there was a chance to save her.

  Carl was in a vacuum. Time wasn’t passing. He was dazed, numb. The firemen and policemen swarmed over the roadside like ants on a disrupted anthill. A minute—or a week—later, the rescuers on the road’s edge began tugging up on the ropes, hand over hand, hauling with more difficulty now than when the empty stretcher had gone down.

  He kept staring, unable to process. A new commotion broke out, drawing more men to the ledge. Shouts shot back and forth among the rescuers. Police turned on giant, blinding spotlights, directing them over the ledge, down the cliff.

  Suddenly, two wire cages were hastily clipped to ropes and sent over the ledge.

  What has happened? Why more stretchers?

  The firemen hauling up the first ropes kept pulling them in. Others fed rope out to the new stretchers. Carl was confused, especially when the first stretcher emerged over the shoulder through the barricade. The barricade that Jackie’s car had smashed like a beer can.

  Jackie was papoosed in that stretcher. Her neck was encased in a giant collar, her body strapped down tightly.

  The heads, then shoulders, of two paramedics popped into sight at the eroded rim of the asphalt at the feet of the firemen who hoisted up the ropes. The firemen offered hands to help the paramedics up the last few feet. The instant their feet hit the asphalt, the paramedics unclipped from the safety ropes and dashed to the helicopter where others were loading Jackie. Once they were inside, the blades turned up to full speed. Everyone on the ground bent beneath the force as the craft lifted in a cloud of blinding dust.

  Carl staggered sideways in the powerful blast. Then he refocused, wondering at the sight of the firemen still working, and the policemen pacing back and forth on the road’s shoulder.

  Are they trying to retrieve the car now? he wondered. And what about the other stretchers? It made no sense.

  His thoughts remained jumbled. He didn’t know what to do. Then the men started tugging at the ropes, reeling them back in. It couldn’t be the car. What they pulled was too light.

  A cage came back up. There was someone in it. The blanket was strapped down over a body wrapped like a mummy. Was someone on the roadside when Jackie went off? Maybe they’d found a body on the hill, a murder victim, or a vagrant.

  The other cage followed. Carl’s feet were rooted to the asphalt. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t go over. Couldn’t ask about their identities. It was too extreme to imagine he might need to go over, to find out.

  A policeman talked to the firemen, then came over to Carl. His mouth was moving. Carl watched his lips. There was no sound. What was he saying? Why didn’t he speak? What are you telling me? Carl’s mind screamed. But his own voice wouldn’t make any sound either.

  Why can’t I hear you? What are you saying?

  The cop took his arm and pulled him toward the bodies. It surprised Carl that he followed. He thought his legs couldn’t move. They walked over and the officer reached down to the blanket over the first body.

  No! I don’t want to see!

  The cop ignored Carl, or Carl hadn’t spoken. The blanket came back.

  ***

  Bent over, sitting on a chair, Carl came to his senses in a small room. He saw the gray speckled tiles on the floor between his brown leather loafers. He realized he was in a hospital.

  Then he knew what was in the room with him, why he was sitting on a hard chair between two stretchers. It was time. He had to look, had to face what lay on those beds.

  With tears washing down his face, he lifted his head and looked onto the bodies of his children, his precious Zoe, his cherished Jack. They both were battered and bruised, broken. Their adored spirits, their exuberant vitality, snuffed out, extinguished. They were gone, lost.

  Carl bent over the gurneys, one arm extended over each body of his lost children, and his heart shattered into fragments and poured out of his body in sobs too great to endure. His life, his hope, his reason left him in great torrents. His broken heart spilled from his being.

  Then, taking each, one at a time, he held their lifeless forms to his face and howled with grief, their bodies limp rag dolls in his arms. He cried for them to come back to him, to not go away, to not let this be real. He yelled to the heavens, entreating any power that heard him to undo what was done and to return his babies to him. He promised undying homage to that power till the end of his days. If only.

  How long he grieved like that, he didn’t know. He found himself on the floor long after, curled in a ball. He looked up. A nurse stood over him, asking him things, things he couldn’t comprehend.

  Chaplains? Psychologists? What could they do? Could they bring back his precious children? Even God hadn’t done that. How could a hospital chaplain help?

  Then she talked of taking away his children. They needed to take them.

  “Get out,” he screamed. “Get out! Leave us!” He threw his disheveled head into his hands and more wails broke loose from his chest.

  She stood over him and didn’t leave.

  “Can I call someone to he
lp you? So you won’t be alone?”

  Carl went cold. He kept his head down. Thoughts came tumbling into his brain. Churning, turning. Fleeting ideas began to take form.

  If God wouldn’t do something, Carl would do it himself.

  There was someone he should call.

  He looked up at the nurse. “Yes. Call my brother-in-law. Jim Mackenzie. Dr. James Mackenzie. I need to talk to him, before he comes. I need to prepare him.”

  The nurse nodded, looking relieved to finally have something to do.

  She brought in a phone. Jim was on the line. Carl told him what to do, what to bring. Then he hung up and told the nurse he wanted to be alone with his children.

  She left, now that he was under control.

  Then Jim came. He brought his bag of tools. He wanted to know what Carl was doing, at a time like this? Jackie was in the Operating Room, she was having surger—

  “Don’t speak of her now,” Carl demanded. “Never speak of her to me again!” The vehemence in his voice stopped Jim. He must have known not to push.

  Carl realized Jim may not help him like he wanted. Nothing could get in the way of his purpose.

  “Go to the OR then, Jim. You should. Be there. I need to be here now. I’ll come later. When I’m ready.”

  “Are you sure?” Jim said, the tears coming now.

  “Yes. Go,” Carl told him. “I want a little more time, then I’ll come.”

  Jim took time to look at his niece and nephew, to stroke their faces, to kiss them, to say good-bye. Then he left and Carl, relieved at his departure, went to work.

  He used the supplies in Jim’s bag to collect the specimens. He drew blood from his children’s cold limbs. He scraped the inside of their cheeks. He gathered all the tissue samples required to do what he planned.

  Once finished, he packed away all his tubes and slides and specimens, kissed his beloved children good-bye, and left to return to the laboratory at his own hospital.

  He never went to the OR.

  Chapter 36

  Before I went to sleep, I tried calling Mack again. Voicemail. I worried why he would take a day off without mentioning anything to me about it. I hoped everything was okay. I hoped we would be okay. We’d only spoken once since Saturday night. After that, it was an excruciating game of phone tag. If we could just have some time together, surely I’d feel more connected to him.

  I wanted to hang up and not leave a message, but before I knew it, the beep sounded and his voicemail was recording my breathing. Not knowing what to say, I babbled on about the coffee cup I’d seen, then couldn’t find. I avoided mentioning how little we’d seen of each other because I didn’t want to sound like a whining nag. After I rambled on too long, and probably said something stupid, I hung up. I couldn’t even think straight now, I was so sleep deprived.

  But I was certain about one thing. I wouldn’t stay angry with Mack for abandoning me. I chose to forgive him. He obviously cared about his sister a great deal. Actually, his devotion was a good sign. He could be counted on. Dependable. Faithful.

  Once he was committed, that is. I still didn’t know where he stood with me.

  But me, I knew where I stood. I’d perfected the Mrs. Mackenzie signature. I’d accept a proposal faster than you could say I do. And though he’d done illegal cloning experiments, I would forgive him for that too. I couldn’t keep myself from loving him. Certain he’d had nothing to do with any kidnapping, now that we’d cleared the air about that, I could whole-heartedly give him my trust and love.

  I just wish I could see him a little more often. The last few horrible days hadn’t helped. Maybe I could get a different job with different hours. Transfer to Days. I’d heard there was an opening for a staff nurse in Geriatrics. I didn’t know what one did with Geriatrics really, but I guess if I could change a diaper on a baby, I could find a way to change a diaper on a three hundred pound seventy-five-year-old.

  I’d do it for Mack.

  While I contemplated the idea of a new job, trying to picture myself lifting and turning non-responsive stroke patients every two hours, I fell asleep.

  I dreamt I was changing an old lady’s diaper. She suddenly woke from her coma, looked up at me in surprise, and tried to speak. Instead of words, the sound of a bell came out of her open, toothless mouth. I turned a knob on her forehead, but the noise kept coming. I tried to put a giant pacifier in her mouth, but it wouldn’t stay in. I finally unplugged her from her life support machine and held up the end of the cord to show her, but she just kept looking at me, the ringing jingling right out of her open mouth.

  Then I woke up. My phone was ringing.

  “Hello?” I said, so groggy I didn’t know I wasn’t still with the little old lady from my dreams.

  “Leave it alone,” said a gravelly growl I could barely hear or understand.

  “Hello? What? I can’t hear you.”

  “Leave it alone, or you’ll be sorry.” The line went dead.

  Though my mind was foggier than a wet day in London, I knew that call had been some kind of threat.

  Leave it alone. What did that mean? Leave what alone? How could anyone know I’d seen the cup? I’d only told Millie and Mack. Maybe one of them told someone. Maybe it wasn’t that at all. Perhaps it was about the book I’d seen in Carl’s office. Maybe Lucy let it slip I’d been in there and Carl knew I was nosing around. Or asking Sheila too many questions.

  If people were going to bother to threaten me, I wished they’d be kind enough to be more specific. I didn’t know what I was supposed to leave alone. How was I supposed to know which action was going to make me sorry?

  I could ignore it and hope it was a wrong number, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way the call was meant for me. I could tell Lieutenant Fosdick, so he wouldn’t have to scold me again for not telling once he found out there’d been a threat. But if he knew, he’d ask more questions, and I’d have to eventually tell him about the cloning, and he’d find out about Mack, and Mack could lose his job, or worse, his license. Then he’d blame me. Then I’d lose him.

  No, I couldn’t tell Fosdick. I’d just have to be more careful. Keep my mouth shut. And stay away from dark alleys.

  It took an hour to get the call off my mind, and there was no way I could get any more sleep. I decided to give up trying, be practical, and make an ice cream sundae. Then it’d be time to get ready.

  After the ice cream, I showered, shaved my legs, and dressed to go to my doctor’s appointment. Just before I left, Charge Sarge called to tell me I got the night off. The census was still down, so it was my turn to give up a shift.

  That’d be okay. Maybe I’d get a chance to actually talk to, or even see, Mack. We really needed to spend some quality time together.

  I tried his phone again before I left, but still got no answer. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing. I’d check back when I got home from the appointment.

  In the freezing exam room at the doctor’s office, the nurse did the usual blood pressure, weight, pulse, temperature. She even had me tinkle in a cup.

  When the nurse left, I switched from my clothes into the paper gown and waited for Dr. Chen. She came in and got to business by doing a pelvic exam. She was checking for that hCG excreting tumor, I imagined. The flying monkeys in my belly bumped around a bit.

  She finished and snapped off her gloves. “You can sit up,” she said. “It’s what I thought.”

  “You found the tumor?” I said, bracing myself to hear I had three to six weeks left. What would I tell Ollie?

  “Kate, you don’t have a tumor. It’s a baby. You’re about eight weeks by exam.”

  “I told you, that can’t—”

  She put up her hand. “Kate, you’re pregnant. Tracy did a urine dip stick. I felt your uterus. I’m positive.”

  I couldn’t comprehend this. “They lied to me then. In all my physiology classes they said it took an egg and a sperm to make a baby.”

  “Are you having trouble remembering when
you last had intercourse?”

  “No,” I said resolutely. “I’m not having any trouble remembering at all. I remember perfectly. And there is nothing to remember!” I believe that last part came out in a scream.

  “Perhaps you’ve blocked it from your mind. Suppression.”

  “I wouldn’t forget that.”

  “Especially if it’s traumatic somehow.”

  “This is traumatic. I’d like to block this out.”

  “Perhaps a psychological evaluation would be helpful.”

  “I am feeling particularly close to insanity now.” My throat was so tight, I was ready for it to close down on me. This couldn’t be happening. A panic attack grabbed me. My breathing was fast and shallow. I couldn’t catch my breath.

  I burst into tears. I was really going bonkers.

  “A baby?” I gasped out.

  She put a paper bag up to my face.

  “What am I going to do with a baby?” I said into the sack.

  “You have options of what you can do.”

  “This can’t be happening. There is just no way. I can’t be.”

  “I know it’s very difficult. Especially when you’re not expecting it.”

  “Well, I’m expecting it now, aren’t I?”

  She gave a sympathetic smile. I took over holding the bag.

  “Why don’t you take some time and consider what you’d like to do. There are options for you. Why don’t you make an appointment to see me in a few days, and we’ll talk and see what you’re thinking.”

  She went over those options with me. Then I got a bundle of paperwork, staggered out of the office with my paper bag in case I started hyperventilating again, and lurched down the sidewalk in a state of shock. What had happened? Did I suppress something? Did something horrible happen and I’d buried it so deep I couldn’t even remember?

  I waited at the bus stop, then when the bus pulled over and opened its doors, I rose from the bench and wandered away in a daze. Like a ghost, I drifted through the streets, moving without a destination. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I meandered along. Faceless people passed me, but no one bothered with me. No one thought to ask if I was okay or about to go stark raving mad!