The Edger Collection

by David Beem

  Chapter Four

  I grab a spot on the sofa, and the cushion releases a long-drawn-out sigh. Freeze. Anyone hear that? Caleb’s stretched out on his back twirling the football he found in the garage. Fabio’s still tipping his face into the sun and sneaking the occasional peek at Mary in that bikini she found in the pool house. My shoulders relax. I put my feet up and admire the lush islands in the distance.

  Most of Fiji’s mountains are dormant or extinct volcanos, says Dad. And before Nostradamus, this summer mansion belonged to a dating mogul who created an app for vegetarian swingers.

  Really? Vegetarian swingers?

  Mm-hm. It’s called Never Met Herbivore.

  I roll my eyes, and my gaze is drawn to Mary. Her elbows are on the sides of the pool, her head’s tipped back. Her golden lashes are almost transparent in the dappling sunlight. My insides melt like a snowball on Tatooine. Man, I’ve got to get on top of this, how she makes me feel. But getting her back is like getting my lungs back.

  And yet she takes your breath away, says Dad.

  A flash of embarrassment heats my cheeks.

  You’re in love, he says. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

  I thumb a button on the floral shirt I found in the drawer of the master bedroom. How to explain I’m still not used to Dad being in my head all the time? It’s great, in one sense, but…

  I get it, he says. But humor me for a sec and take a word of advice from your old man. Time isn’t guaranteed. And you’re in love with a warrior. Her time is less guaranteed than most.

  You sure you’re talking about me and Mary and not you and Mom?

  I’ve said my piece.

  Mary’s head comes up. She catches me staring, smiles, and tiny winged creatures go full-on cage match in my stomach.

  I can’t lose her again, I say.

  I know, he replies. But nobody lives forever.

  “Ah, it’s a shame we gotta save the world.” Fabio turns his face from the sun. “Hey, Edge. Maybe when we’re done, you could just…I don’t know…make whoever owns this place kind of forget it’s his. You know?”

  The corner of my mouth pulls back. “We’re due for some R & R.”

  Fabio tips his head back on the pool ledge and shuts his eyes. “At least let’s try out his private movie theater before we go. I saw a popcorn machine.”

  “We’ve got too much work to do, little bro.” Caleb fingers the medallion chain around his neck. “Nostradamus has a supersuit, the Zarathustra serum, and InstaTron Tron. He’s run up the score, and there’s less than a minute left in the fourth quarter. How do we get back in the game?”

  “You could start by not benching your strongest player.” Mary lowers her eyebrows.

  “Mare.”

  “It’s fine,” she says. “But if you try anything like that with me again, I’m going to hurt you.”

  “You blew your dad’s head off,” says Caleb. “I put you in a cell to keep that from happening.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “And how’d that work out for you?”

  “You know,” I say, “I think what’s missing here is Mary’s side of the story. Which will probably explain everything. It will, right? Explain everything?”

  She frowns. “Isn’t it obvious? He was a clone.”

  “There it is!” I say, raising my eureka hand and turning to Fabio for support. “He was a clone!”

  Fabio raises his eureka hand also. “It was in front of us the whole time! Kinda makes you wonder how we missed it, huh? Ah, Caleb, come on. Look at this face.” He gestures with his hand to Mary. “Look into her clear-blue peepers, her silky, long…blonde hair—”

  “Easy, buddy,” I say.

  “Point is, this is a face you can trust. Mary, I feel like we’ve been best friends our whole lives, you know? Just like me and Edge.” She smiles on one side and splashes water at him, but Fabio ducks beneath the surface, pops up, and drags his hand over his bearded face.

  “Caleb,” I say. “You know Mary. She couldn’t hurt a fly, unless, you know, it was a…clone…fly… In which case, I think we’d all agree she’d make a remarkable shot.”

  Caleb shakes his head. “I’ve run too many pass fakes, Mare. Do better. Convince me.”

  She puts her palms on the ledge of the pool and pushes up as, from the Collective Unconscious, a bass guitar sets in on a sick porno beat. Water sloshes out, then in. Droplets trace irregular paths between her cleavage, across the sundry slopes of her bikini, and down her legs as she emerges from the pool soaking wet. The porno music swells.

  Nigel, cut it out.

  What? he replies. The male gaze ought always to be properly sound tracked. Carry on.

  “I don’t care if you’re unconvinced.” Mary rubs a towel into her hair, and the music disappears. “Because I was able to complete my mission.”

  “Which probably justifies everything,” agrees Fabio. “Wait, what mission was that again?”

  “The mission to find my parents.”

  “Your parents?” Caleb’s eyebrows rise. “You blew your dad’s brains out! What? Is your mom next?”

  “Edger, don’t you see?” She plops down next to me and sends all the usual flutters and stiffening developments through all the respective places. “When we got the mission to prevent my father’s assassination, it stood to reason Nostradamus was trying to flush me out. He would never in a million years let my real father spill the beans in front of the UN General Assembly.”

  “Totally,” sighs Fabio.

  “But that’s exactly what your dad was doing!” exclaims Caleb. “He was about to reveal the existence of Nostradamus’s cabal to the world. You stopped him from doing that by shooting him in the head!”

  “Oh, come on,” says Mary. “You know it’s never that simple. It was a quadruple fake.”

  “A quadruple!” exclaims Fabio, shaking his head in appreciation like this deserves the Most Obvious Point Ever Made Award.

  “You completed your mission,” I say. “Does that mean you know where your parents are?”

  Her gaze darts between me and Caleb. “They’re with the rebels.”

  “Right! On!” Fabio holds out a fist-bump fist, which he then bumps with his other fist. “Wait a minute. Would you call them…an alliance of rebels, perhaps?”

  Mary’s eyebrows lower. “Sure.”

  “Dude, it’s like Star Wars!” He faces me. “We’ve got to find the hidden rebel base!”

  Mary grins. “Exactly. Yes!”

  Fabio swoons under her praise. I shake my head.

  “After I got myself aboard Nostradamus’s ship,” she continues, “I learned their rebel leader is a woman he fears. She knows everything. She knows about Nostradamus, the Collective Unconscious, Tron-Tron, your dad, Indiana Tim. All the key players. And despite everything, all Nostradamus’s considerable advantages, this woman’s managed to stay one step ahead of him.”

  My stomach hardens like the inside of a broken cement mixer. “Mary, who is this person?”

  “Are you kidding?” she asks. “Edger, I’m talking about your mom.”

  Chapter Five

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” She shakes my elbow, and the light glinting off her finger triggers a memory. Mary at the end of my bed, in my boxers and Notre Dame shirt, spooning yogurt into her mouth from the container. On her finger is a gigantic diamond engagement ring. The same ring she’s wearing now. The one from our pretend marriage. Back when we had to maintain our cover.

  “I noticed that earlier,” I say, the hard drive in my brain crashing. “You elbowed that clone in the face. On the cruise ship. It sparkled.”

  “This is a chance to find your mom,” she says softly. “And my parents.”

  “Hey, buddy.” Fabio wings his leg over the ledge of the pool and crawls out on his stomach like evolution. My brain sparks with more loose connections.

  That ring’s gigantic. It’s like a gigantic Kaiburr crystal.

  “I like this.” Fabio stands in front of me
dripping wet, his arms folded over his mind-control-canceling medallion. “Clear goals. Find the rebels. Your mom, her parents. And maybe this Han Solo finally gets his Princess Leia. I mean, you know, along the way. While we’re stopping Nostradamus and all that bull-honkey.”

  The planes on the diamond grow overlarge in my vision. I’d forgotten how this made me feel, seeing her wear it. Like I can do literally anything. Go into battle for her. Wash the dishes. Fold laundry.

  “Caleb,” says Fabio, “I’m going to let you be my Chewbacca.”

  Eyeing Caleb, Mary rises to her feet. Fabio hurries to get out from in between them, nearly falling over in the process. My brain snaps back into focus.

  “Guys, guys,” I say. “Come on. We’ve been down this road already. Caleb, I trust Mary. Mary, I trust Caleb. Can’t you guys show a little faith in each other? For me?”

  “It’s not about faith in each other,” she replies, her laser focus remaining on Caleb. “It’s about compartmentalization.”

  “But there’s no need for that now,” I say. “We’ve got medallions.” I hold up mine, point to Fabio’s, Caleb’s—and the obvious crashes in.

  Caleb draws his gun from beneath a pillow and aims so fast, it might as well have teleported.

  Fabio nearly falls back into the pool in alarm.

  “Whoa-whoa-whoa!” I leap between them, palms out.

  “She’s not wearing a medallion, bro!” he exclaims, not lowering his gun.

  Fizzing streams of telekinetic energy course through my neural network. His fingers are pried loose from his firearm. I fly it inside the house.

  “Bro foul! Dick move!”

  “It’s okay.” Mary raises her arms in surrender. Her right hand slowly crosses to her left. Her fingers wrap around the ring. “I put it in here. Okay? Calm down. My cloaking device is right here. Edger. I need you to trust me. When I take this ring off, you’ll be able to read my mind, right? You’ll know I’m telling the truth?”

  She tugs on her ring—

  Dad’s psychic sense tenses. No! Nostradamus will know—

  —the ring slides up her finger—

  “Mary,” I yell, reaching for her. “Don’t!”

  The ring comes off, and I’m swept so naturally into her consciousness, it’s as if the psychic ground vanishes beneath my feet.

  The world is a violent pink. My skin aches head to toe like a raw burn. I’m hot, and the air is thick.

  Eyes open. Foggy. Wait. This isn’t fog. I’m inside a clear tube. My arm lifts, wrist bumps the top. Bone knocking on plastic reverberates like a wood-block strike inside my skull.

  I wipe fog off the plastic, squeak-squeak, peer through. Beakers, sinks, cables. Machines. I’m in a lab. My heart is pounding. I can’t catch a full breath. My chest hurts. The walls are too close. Need air!

  Push.

  The lid on my tube opens. Cold air rushes in. A sucking sound. Wait, that’s me gasping. I break out in honking goose bumps as I grab the sides of the tube and pull up, bare butt and legs squeaking on the foggy bottom. Tumble over the side. Elbows and knees strike the floor, pain, numbed as my gaze sweeps the room. Laptop. A large machine connected to the tube. Coatrack. Lab coats. A half-eaten turkey sandwich. My stomach rumbles.

  Voices.

  A mystic heat rises on my cheeks and neck. When did I get boobs? There’s hair down there? And why I am so tall?

  The voices grow louder. I cast around the room—coatrack. My legs are long, I’m across the room. Snatch the lab coat, punch my fists through the sleeves. Do the buttons. It doesn’t quite reach my knees.

  The voices are right outside the door. A man and a woman. Keys jingle.

  I race to the door. My bare feet make it easy to sneak. The latch clicks. I slide behind the door just in time. One set of footsteps grows softer as they march away, the other strides into the room. The man. I inch the door shut. He spots the empty tube, drops his clipboard, and bolts to the nearest computer. I’m his shadow. His fingers are tapping keys as I wrap him in a sleeper hold. He’s a scientist, not a fighter. I lower him carefully to the ground and size up his shoes. Way too big.

  Maybe the woman.

  I’m out the door and on her before she reaches the elevator. Less than a minute later, it’s me in the elevator, now in a lab coat, heels, and wearing a key card around my neck. Weird that old woman’s shoes fit me. I stick my finger behind the buttons on my lab coat and tug to loosen the pressure. Who knew boobs don’t fit clothes?

  Think, Blythe, think! How did you get here?

  Brain rewinds. The grown-ups had been pissed. I’d turned in that crap target, but it was their fault. They cloned Daddy! And then they told me I can’t ever see my real daddy again! Even Seuss—wait, no, I close my eyes. That wasn’t his real name. I called him Dr. Seuss because he’d rhyme for me. What a weirdo. But now he isn’t talking to me anymore. He won’t even look at me. He knows the grown-ups are going to do something bad to me, but what?

  The elevator dings, and I open my eyes. Sublevel Six. The metal doors part to an empty hallway. I tip my chin down, peer over the top of my glasses, exit the elevator. Table on my right. Clipboard. I pick it up, clutch it to my chest, and stride down the hallway. My training kicks in.

  Imagine all the world’s a movie, Seuss would say, be the star and you’ll be groovy!

  Heels clicking down the hallway. Not mine. Some grown-up in a lab coat approaching. Old lady, brown hair. “You’re wanted on Sublevel Four,” I say, my voice ringing with an adult’s authority. Confusion flashes over her features. “Problem with the machine,” I hurry to add, since I have no idea what the tube is or does. The old lady’s forehead crinkles. She’s not going for it.

  Come on, Blythe. Think!

  “What kind of problem?” she asks.

  I take a breath—hold—release. I clear my throat, lower my voice. “It’s, ah, the grown-up lady. Person, I mean. The girl—not a girl. She’s a woman! The woman inside it.” I give her the whoops-I-spilled-something grin. “Just blew up. Pa-choo. Kind of a mess.” The old lady’s face pales, and I nod to confirm whatever horrible thought she’s having. Her nose wrinkles. I step around her and hurry down the hall. Behind me, she mutters under her breath. I glance over my shoulder. She’s taking the corridor away from the elevator. Perfect. If that slacker’s not checking on the tube, I bought time to figure out what’s going on.

  Labs go by on my left and right. Monkeys in blinking mechanical caps. An old lady zipping up a onesie and turning invisible! A sheep with a leather cord around its butt? My mouth dries out. I stop walking for a sec, too amazed to think. My heart’s pounding so hard, it hurts. Oh, Blythe. What’ve you gotten yourself into?

  More memories crash in. Abstract, weird. Stars. Lots of stars, and I’m one of them—I’m a freaking star in freaking outer space! And I’m watching…someone’s life? She calls herself Blythe, which is my name. But this Blythe is a grown-up version of me. Whoa. So trippy. And she’s training against… Her name’s Kate. I’m not in space now. Kate and Blythe are on the mats, sparring. We’re at the compound where I used to train. Blythe’s foot trips Kate. Kate hits the mat. Blythe drops to her back and smashes her elbow into Kate’s stomach. Nice one! Kate rolls to her side and pukes like a sissy. Seuss claps his hands from the sidelines.

  And now my face is covered in black paint. I’m dressed in all black and scaling a wall. I’m slitting a throat, blood everywhere. My stomach clenches. But, no, this isn’t me. This is someone pretending to be me. I’m not a grown-up. I’m not a killer! I’m just a kid!

  The memories quicken. I press my hand against my stomach to stem the tide of nausea. Blythe is violent. Switchblades. Swords. AK-47s, sniper rifles, and brain matter… Bile squirts up my throat. I choke it back. She’s a serial killer!

  I can’t get air into my lungs fast enough. I’m hyperventilating. This grown woman isn’t me! How can she be? Laying a hand on the wall, the other still pressed to my stomach, I hurry to chase down the varying threads of m
emory invading my mind. I remember the cloning process. No, the other Blythe remembers it.

  More memories… They made me watch. Daddy! Don’t clone Daddy!

  I’m a little girl. Hard steel. Gun on the back of my head. A loud bang…followed by…outer space? I’m a star again.

  Fury erupts in my stomach, obliterating the nausea, focusing me. The other Blythe knows how to defeat Nostradamus. It’s locked in her head. I can use her.

  My gaze sweeps across the numbers over the labs. Twenty…twenty-one. The cloaking device will be in lab twenty-two. My clone knows it, so I know it too. I smile, for a second pleased with myself for the rhyme. Seuss would be proud.

  Fuck Dr. Seuss.

  Lab twenty-two. I open the door, go inside. An older man’s back is to me as I cross between two long countertops in the center of the room, my head down. There’s an open container. I check my six like adult Blythe would do. The man is still bent over his work. I peek inside. Individually wrapped microchips. A tiny switch embedded on one side, just like in the report adult Blythe read. Nostradamus will be sending these to China for mass production. Using my fingernail, I slide the switch to the other side and then drop the chip into the pocket of my lab coat. There. Now I’m hidden from Nostradamus. I concentrate and probe the memories of my newly printed mind… Edger Bonkovich. They want me to kill him? Never. If they want him dead, this is the guy I’ll die defending. Those jerks messed with the wrong little girl.

  My throat clenches back a sob. I choke it down and focus. First, save Edger Bonkovich. After that… My shoulders shake. Do my parents know that killer isn’t me?

  Chapter Six

  I jam the ring over Mary’s finger. She scans my face, the sunlight turning her eyebrows golden. She gives a curt nod and squeezes my hand.

  “I… I saw,” I stammer. “I saw everything!”

  “Saw what?” asks Fabio. “Hey. You’re panting there a little bit, buddy. She’s panting too. Oh-kay. This is awkward.”

  As I hold her hand and peer into her eyes, an indescribable calm washes over me. Everything makes sense. I can’t explain it.