Perfect Copy

by Judith Gaines

  “Then how do you explain Roman?”

  “Calm down. Why don’t you sit and tell me what you want.”

  “Negotiate? That’s novel. Too bad you didn’t have this attitude before I left.” He unzipped his jacket and tossed it to the floor, then shook out a vinyl lawn chair and sat. He crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap.

  “So, the doctor wants to know my problem.” His eyes recessed into folds as he forced a smile. “I don’t trust you, but for grins, I’ll tell you what I want. I want the boy.”

  “For what?”

  “For starters, to keep him from you. I know you killed Mathew the elder, so you must not be planning to make any more of us.”

  Edward paused, “There’s enough of you already.”

  “I guess supply and demand are balanced, then.” He smiled.

  “I have no need for any of you.” Edward settled back in his seat. He played out a few scenarios in his head and decided to play his best card. “Are the shakes under control? I fixed that in the kid.”

  “So he’s perfect?”

  “He might be, eventually.” Edward reached into his pocket and set two bottles of Tegretol on the cot. The anti-seizure pills would control the shakes and the intense mood swings, hopefully making him more pliable. “This should last you a while.”

  “You expect me to believe you’re going to help me?” Mathew leaned forward in his chair, his face square to Edward.

  Edward smiled, and in the clammy air, sweat crept up his neck. At the moment, he had two problems: personnel and documents. He could take care of one; perhaps Mathew could take care of the other. “We can exchange favors.”

  Chapter 12

  The hot shower restored Brina’s humor, and by the time she headed for the study, a drink sounded like a good idea. She had changed to sweat pants and an oversized braided wool sweater and even managed an upbeat hum.

  Her socks crackled over the rug, supercharging her with static as she descended the stairs. From the study doorway, the full force of the storm batted at the imposing picture window. The next noticeable aspect was Russ standing in a chair with a fireplace poker.

  “What the hell are you doing?” She looked from him to the bookcase to the poker, and then saw the connection. Along the decorative molding that joined the bookcase to the ceiling, a section gaped open.

  He stammered a beat, his arm still raised to hold the poker inside the hole, and then jumped to the floor.

  “Oh, don’t get all huffy.” He moved the chair over and stepped back up. “There’s something in there, but I can’t quite reach it.” He prodded with the poker, scraping the point across the boards and moving something across the hidden expanse.

  “I once saw Mathew up here messing around. At the time, I just thought he was getting a book down, but after what we found tonight, I reassessed my assumption.” He handed her the poker, then reached in and pulled out a carved box similar to hundreds sold at tourist traps along the highways.

  “Hasn’t there been enough excitement for one night?” Brina put the poker back with its set. They were all clean and evidently just for show, since the fireplace had gas logs.

  She collapsed onto the sofa and propped her feet on the coffee table with a thud. Russ stepped off the chair and scraped it back across the room.

  “Actually, I could handle more excitement. It’s the only way we find anything out around here.” Russ set the box on the table in front of her. “Who knows if Mathew is really dead or just off on another one of his crazy tangents? Edward is not going to tell us anything.” He pushed the box in her direction.

  Brina laughed and pushed it back. “I’m not opening it. The last box had a corpse in it.” She leaned back and wiped her pinkies at the corner of her eyes. “I think I’m getting punchy.”

  “Suit yourself. Whatever’s in here, Mathew thought it was important enough to hide it.”

  Brina dismissed his assumption with a shake of her head, sobering up. “I think the ranger was real. What motive would anyone have to show up and lie? Really, think about it. The snow has us socked in, and probably the police are waiting until the morning to come out here.”

  “You’re rationalizing.”

  “What I’m doing is playing devil’s advocate to your conspiracy theories.” She fiddled with the controls for the fireplace until flames curled over the genuine fake logs. “Let’s have that drink first and then open the box. If you’re right, then I’d like to be warm before I go into a full-blown panic.” She pulled the blue blanket over her legs and waited while Russ poured and handed her a glass of Bailey’s.

  He settled onto the sofa, his body sinking into the worn cushions, creating a valley that pulled them together. He’d changed into sweats, too, and his plaid flannel shirt hung open over a grey T-shirt.

  Brina moved over and gave him more room. She could smell the soap he’d used to wash up, and his face was shadowed with stubble that grew north from his jawbone.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “What?” she looked up. He was half turned, staring at her over his glass. She wiggled further into the sofa, putting a little more distance between them.

  “I’m just thinking about Roman. No matter how you look at it, this is Mathew’s fault: first, for creating Roman and second, for dying and leaving this mess.”

  “We don’t know for sure he’s dead; that’s just what the ranger said,” he countered. “Knowing Mathew’s sense of humor, he could be testing us right now to see how we would respond in a crisis.”

  “Testing us to see if we ratted him out?”

  “Maybe.” Russ gave the box a little push with his toe. “I wish I knew for sure. We could be in a panic for nothing. Or . . .” Russ paused with a slow inhalation that he let escape as he finished. “The situation could be worse than we think.”

  “What about Edward? Do you trust him?”

  Russ shrugged, “Sometimes. I don’t know. Edward is a tough nut. I’ve been here four years and I don’t even know where he’s from.”

  “Is this box the only thing you found in your snooping?” She picked it up, setting it on her lap.

  “I’ll tell you after you’re honest with me. I saw you come out of here after Edward took the computer.”

  Heat rose over her cheeks, and she looked down. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

  “I wanted to see if you’d tell me. In this house, everyone has an agenda, and I’m still waiting for yours. How am I to know you’re not Mathew’s mole? Maybe you’re reporting back to him right now.”

  “First, I’m not anyone’s mole and second, why ask now?”

  “Because I saw your face when we found the baby in the attic. I don’t believe you’d have anything to do with Mathew’s ideas.”

  She jerked the afghan from under Russ’ leg and moved to the chair. “Of course not! Roman is my only concern. The rest of you can take care of yourselves.” Brina rewrapped her legs in the faded yarn and settled the box on her thighs.

  “Well?” Russ asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Frankly, now that I’ve given it some thought, no.”

  Russ snorted. “Well, I can trust myself, and I can account for my whereabouts at the time Mathew supposedly died, and I know my motives for being here. That’s more than either of us knows about any of us, including the wonder kid.”

  “Then that means we all have at least one person in the house we can trust.”

  Brina shifted the box and lifted the lid, which sent photos springing over the sides and into her lap.

  Russ caught a handful as they fell to the floor. “Holy cow.” He did a quick shuffle and then held them out so she could see.

  They all looked like Mathew, but at different ages. “How long does it take for a photo to yellow?” he asked. “These look new.”

  Brina flipped one over, checking for clues as to when they were taken. “I think these were all shot within the past ye
ar. Look here.” She passed a photo to Russ, pointing to the television set in the background. “That’s news coverage from the tanker explosion in Nevada last April.”

  “You’re right. This has a note on the back. It says missing.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s good.” Russ stood up and poured another drink, larger than the last.

  “What does ‘missing’ mean?” Brina asked again.

  He shook his head.

  “We need to talk to Edward.”

  Russ took a long swallow, as though looking for reassurance in the coffee-colored liquid. “Wait until morning; I need time to think this through.”

  “I bet he already knows.” Brina pulled the blanket over her arms and gazed at the fake fire that managed to give off a little warmth, then over at Russ. He walked to the window and stared out at the storm.

  “How do we get out of this mess?”

  Russ set his empty glass on the desk. “Good question.”

  The silence prickled the hair on her arms. “How long were you planning to stay, you know, before all this happened?”

  “Not much longer. Mathew paid well, so I was going to live off that for a while.” Russ wandered to the bookcase and tapped a glass figurine sitting there. He picked it up, looked at the markings on the bottom, and put it back.

  “You were married once, weren’t you?” he asked. Automatically, Brina’s thumb rubbed where her ring used to fit. “You do that a lot.”

  She met his gaze and dropped her hands to her lap. “It was just three years.” She took a long, raw sip from her glass before continuing. “A drunk driver crossed the median, and I didn’t see him until it was too late. Michael died. Our son Josh didn’t make it, either.” She managed to get through the sentence.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no, it’s okay. I’m okay now.” She ran both hands through her hair and exhaled loudly. “Actually, I’m not.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine; it must have felt like your heart was ripped out.”

  “No, more like my gut. My heart was left behind so I could feel all of it.” She looked at Russ. “What’s your excuse for not sharing? See, I can change the subject too.”

  “I don’t have an excuse. I just don’t like to talk.”

  “What about Edward?”

  “He only talked to Mathew.”

  “So, we’re a bunch of misfits: You, me, and Roman. It reminds me of a song.”

  Russ laughed. “That would make me related to you two.” He smiled, looking relieved as the mood lightened. “I don’t think I’m up for that. Let’s agree on something right now. We decide Roman’s future, you and I. I think we both know Edward will terminate him as soon as he can.”

  “Deal.”

  Russ sat on the sofa, his shoulders relaxed as he sank back. “Just so you know something about me . . . yeah, I’m sharing,” he smiled. “I’m from Atlanta, and the cabin in West Virginia belongs to an uncle on my dad’s side.”

  “Just so you know,” she cocked her head as she weighed what to tell him. “When I was in here this afternoon, I didn’t find anything interesting.” Not quite the truth, but also, not quite a lie.

  Chapter 13

  In Edward’s mind, there were only a few things left on his list. He closed his bedroom door and thumbed the lock. Without turning on the light, he crossed the room and stared out the window.

  “I know you’re watching me,” he said to Mathew’s doppelganger below. “And I’m watching you.” Now that he knew where to look, he could make out the sliver of light coming from the direction of the garage. He pulled the heavy brocade drapes together and felt blindly for the desk lamp.

  A sallow splash of light ringed Mathew’s computer, which he turned on as he sat. All the information was there: account numbers, contacts—though few were of any use to him.

  Now it didn’t matter if Russ and Brina didn’t fall in line. Mathew number two was ready to move in and dispose of the problem for him. In the process, the kid would be off his hands, too, at least for a while. Edward massaged his fingers, working out the stiffness from the cold outside. Eventually he would have to do something about the lab rats, but that could wait.

  He did a quick calculation in his head, tabbing the name of anyone who might know what they’d been up to, but he didn’t come up with much.

  He sighed, his head shaking and a small grin creaseing his lips. He had Mathew’s fortune. And if that weren’t enough, he could simply disappear if need be to sidestep the legal storm that Roman’s DNA would stir.

  Edward opened the computer’s file explorer and browsed the list of folders and documents. Russ and Brina’s background checks were there. And there was his.

  “Cocky little ass,” Edward whispered as he double-clicked the file. The first page was a table of contents showing that the report was broken down by years, each one blocking off a segment of his life. A phrase in the initial summary caught his attention.

  “Carnes is singular in his focus. Tunnel vision is characteristic of his approach to his research, as well as pursuit of facts that only support his line of theory. Thus far it has not hampered his ability to produce results and may even attribute to his success.”

  The author also called his approach “manic” and his loyalties “shifting.”

  The psychobabble went on for several more pages. He smiled. At least Mathew knew what he was getting.

  Edward didn’t need to read Russ or Brina’s profile. He didn’t care anymore.

  Chapter 14

  The handrail creaked from the wall as Brina used it to pull herself up the stairs. She was sick of surprises. The images in the photos danced behind her eyes like Halloween goblins, with Roman’s face looking back at her and his spongy pink body folded like the one in the jar upstairs. Clone: that was a word she hadn’t let herself think until now; it was too easy to see Roman just like any other child. It also made him something she wasn’t sure she could handle.

  The Bailey’s dulled the anxiety, and she hardly noticed the floorboard sagging under her feet as she reached the landing. To her right, light glowed from under Edward’s door, but there was no motion or sound coming from the other side. Russ was already in his room with the box of pictures. His light was off.

  Roman’s room was warm, minus the drafts from earlier. She crossed and looked down at the yard below. Snowflakes, laden with ice, fell in heavy clumps past the glass. Her hand traced the cold metal of the window lock, confirming it was secured as far as it would go.

  “There’s no way we’ll get out of here tomorrow,” she whispered. “But there’s also no way anyone can get up here.” She looked over at Roman, motionless under the feather comforter. “We have a little time to figure this out.”

  The night table held the stack of photos from earlier. Roman had divided out the Mathew pictures and placed them on top. She supposed his fascination with his original kin was natural; Roman could very likely grow into Mathew’s obsessive personality. Nature or nurture—even Brina couldn’t guess which would win out in this case. Perhaps her nurture would be enough for him.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. Without thinking, she let her hand trace the line of his brow. His face was so like Mathew’s but somehow still unique. “You know so much more than you can tell me, don’t you?”

  She left him and stepped through the bath to her own room, leaving the door open just enough to see his outline in the bed.

  After the conversation with Russ, she was willing to believe this was a test of some sort, although that didn’t explain the park ranger. He had the badge, the Jeep, and the air of someone in charge. But, he didn’t come back as he said he would. Even with the phone dead, the ranger could have driven back. Isn’t that what they do—drive dangerous, remote roads to protect the citizenry?

  Edward’s name pounded in her head. He was in charge, and in a way always had been, even when Mathew was around. That didn’t take much time for he
r to figure out. She dropped her clothes on the chair and pulled a green flannel nightshirt over her head.

  She pulled her hair loose from the collar of her nightshirt and tried to focus on the ranger’s face. His features hadn’t seemed remarkable at the time. All that came to mind were his hands. They shook while he spoke. His face was not unattractive, but it had a bland quality, nothing remarkable, nothing familiar. Brina rubbed her face, steadying the mental back-and-forth.

  Roman sounded a small, whiffly snore through the intercom, reminding her of what was at stake. All of a sudden, he’s talking, he’s aware of who’s around him, and he’s asking questions. It was doubtful to her that Mathew’s death was the catalyst for Roman’s sudden improvement, but something about him, inside his little head, was changing, and Roman’s little head rarely gave clues as to what was in it.

  Brina tossed the extra pillow to the foot of her bed and climbed in. She tucked the other pillow behind her back, which sent Mathew’s appointment book flopping to the floor.

  She picked it up and ran her hand over the cover. The raised relief of his initials and the coarse texture of the leather drew her in until the pages flipped open almost on their own, crisp, with a few notes jotted here and there in Mathew’s handwriting. Everything was neat and uniform until Monday. Two days ago. Every other day had at least some minor notation.

  She held the book by the back and front covers and flipped it upside down, letting the pages sway back and forth. The black silk bookmarker dangled loose, but nothing else fell out. The leather cover puckered a V along the spine, and the hard edges of the book began to slip loose. Bending it backward, she slid it out of the flaps and came up with a folded piece of stationery she flattened, flipping it from side to side.

  It was blank with the exception of the letterhead with a stamp at the top indicating it was from a local hotel chain.