Replication

by Jill Williamson

  Allam stared at her, his lips fighting a smile. “We picked up a runaway. What’s fluff about that? We’ve called your dad at both numbers you gave us. No answer. Your boyfriend’s dad is on the way.”

  Martyr stiffened. The men in uniform had used the term boyfriend in reference to him, which seemed to indicate he belonged to Abby. He didn’t mind that, but he did not have a father, unless the uniformed man meant the Creator of Everything. And Martyr was pretty certain the Creator did not have a cell phone.

  “Dr. Kane is not Marty’s dad. You’re making a huge mistake.”

  Martyr agreed. He did not want anyone to think Dr. Kane was his father.

  “It’s really not my call, miss,” Allam said.

  Abby growled, and Martyr wished he could hold her hand. The metal restraints were very uncomfortable.

  Voices drifted down the hallway from the front of the police station. Runstrom entered the room with Dr. Kane beside him. Dr. Elliot trailed along a few paces behind. Martyr swallowed the lump that had formed and looked down at his feet. It was over now, and there was no way to fight it. Nothing mattered anymore. At least he would be able to see Baby. He hoped Baby was okay.

  “No!” Abby jumped to her feet and sprinted toward the men.

  What was she doing?

  Before she got more than a few feet, Allam grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back out of the way. “None of that now.”

  Abby reached over Allam’s shoulder and clawed at Dr. Kane, a violent sneer on her face that shocked Martyr. She managed to grab a handful of Dr. Kane’s brown-and-gray hair, which jerked his head sideways, but Dr. Kane did not cry out. He did not get angry or fight back. He simply followed Runstrom to the place where Martyr sat.

  Martyr glanced at the familiar faces he’d hoped never to see again. Dr. Elliot looked blank, his face void of any emotion. Dr. Kane, however, beamed, a tear glistening in his eye.

  “I’m so relieved. I’d thought I lost you, son.” Dr. Kane bent down and wrapped his long arms around Martyr. The embrace felt strange and cold, although to the others it had probably looked kind.

  “You … aren’t angry?” Martyr asked, certain that leaving the facility would merit at least a dozen marks.

  “Beyond so,” Dr. Kane said. “But you are my son.”

  Martyr frowned. “I’m not your—”

  “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

  Martyr couldn’t stand the deception. “Because you want my kidneys.”

  “Ah.” Dr. Kane placed his hand on Martyr’s head and rubbed it. “You’ve missed too many doses of your medication, I’m afraid.”

  What is he talking about?

  “Marty isn’t on any medication!” Abby struggled against Allam’s hold, her orange curls shaking wildly with each move. “Dr. Kane’s a liar. He wants Marty’s kidneys. He’ll say anything to get his investment.”

  Dr. Kane turned to Abby. “I understand your father has dropped the charges against my son. When he heard about JD’s mental illness, he was very understanding. No one knows about JD’s condition, Officer Runstrom. We didn’t want people to treat him differently because of it. Normally it’s very manageable, as long as he takes his medication.”

  “He’s lying!” Abby said. “There were never any charges against JD, because it was Marty who broke into our house. If you get in touch with my dad, he’ll back that up.”

  “Actually, miss,” Runstrom said, “your father called earlier today to say there was never an intruder. Just a high school romance gone bad. We haven’t been able to reach him this evening, though.”

  Abby’s face paled. She stopped struggling against Allam, but still glared at Dr. Kane. “What did you do to my dad?”

  Dr. Kane backed away and Dr. Elliot took his place in front of Martyr; his cold expression froze Martyr’s every muscle.

  Dr. Elliot set a small case on Runstrom’s desk and opened it, removing a syringe. Marty jumped up and turned in a circle, the urge to run, to hide, crowding out every thought. He dove past Dr. Elliot and rolled under Runstrom’s desk.

  “Leave him alone,” Abby screamed.

  The desk wasn’t safe. Martyr popped up on the other side and ran to the far wall of the room, forced to crouch in the corner.

  Runstrom followed him, watching with a puzzled expression. “It’ll be for your own good, kid.”

  “Dr. Elliot’s injections are never good.” What if the needle was the first step toward expiration? “He cannot take my kidneys. Abby says you need two kidneys to live, and I don’t want to die for that purpose.”

  Dr. Kane looked over Runstrom’s shoulder, peering down on Martyr. “Like I said, he’s been off his meds for several days. He always gets delusional without them. Kidneys.” Dr. Kane shook his head.

  Dr. Elliot crouched down beside Martyr.

  Having nowhere to go, Martyr rolled onto his side and curled into a ball. He couldn’t cover his head with his arms, so he turned his face into the hard floor and tensed, waiting for the pain. He could not escape.

  “Make them stop! You’re supposed to protect the innocent!”

  Abby’s screaming only made Martyr’s heart beat faster.

  Dr. Kane’s voice came soft and soothing from above. “I know you like Miss Goyer, son, but there’s a reason we don’t allow you to date.” His tone changed as he spoke to someone else. “In the past he’s told stories to his friends, trying to get them to help him run away. If they don’t help, he gets violent. It’s quite sad.”

  “He’s lying.” Abby’s voice sounded weak, like she had a cold. “He’s a liar.”

  Footsteps shuffled, and Martyr could hear Abby’s continued protests. But they won’t matter. Even the outside world is filled with wrong things. A sharp pinch preceded the needle plunging into his shoulder. Martyr gritted his teeth as a familiar grogginess flooded his vision.

  Abby’s sobbing voice sounded far away. “Pray, Marty. God will help you.”

  Pray.

  Yes, Marty could pray. He could call on the Creator of Everything to help.

  Hello, Creator? Please help me to …

  “You’re making a huge mistake.” Abby’s voice had gone hoarse. “Dr. Kane is a murderer.” Allam held Abby back as Runstrom and the “doctor” carried Marty’s limp form out of the station. Abby protested, screamed, and cried, but it changed nothing.

  Marty was gone.

  Dr. Kane stopped in front of her on his way out. For an old guy he was still oddly handsome. Even at three times Marty and JD’s age he looked so much like them. Talk about creepy. But handsome or not, he didn’t look healthy. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale and moist. “You look like you could use a transplant, Dr. Kane.”

  He smiled coldly, as if she too were suffering the mythical delusions he claimed of his son. “Can we offer you a ride home, Miss Goyer?”

  She spit in his face.

  Dr. Kane removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the saliva from his eye.

  “You’re an evil, horrible man,” Abby said. “I know about the lupus and the transplants. I know you’re dying, and I am sorry for that, but I won’t let you hurt Marty and the others anymore.”

  Dr. Kane’s expression twitched, but he walked out of the room without another word. Once he was gone, Allam let go of Abby. She took this opportunity to beat on his chest.

  “How could you let that monster take him? You’re supposed to protect people. What good are you if you can’t even do that? What good are you?”

  Allam played the punching bag until Abby exhausted herself. He met her eyes, looking tired, and gave a half smile, as if not at all wounded by her tirade.

  Her cheeks warmed. She scowled and stepped away, folding her arms, wanting to hide herself somehow. Her fit certainly hadn’t helped matters. She’d acted like a lovesick adolescent. They probably believed every word Dr. Kane had spoon-fed them.

  She approached Runstrom, since he appeared to be the man in charge. In her calmest tone, she asked, “Will you at
least look and see if there is an underground lab at the Jason Farms barn? I know that’s where Dr. Kane will go next.” Let them listen this time, or at least do it to keep me quiet.

  “I’ve seen JD Kane play football more times than I can count,” Runstrom said. “I’m not going to harass that man because his son fed you some wild story.”

  “Would you like a ride home?” Allam asked. “We don’t have to keep you here until we reach your father. You’ve done nothing wrong, so—”

  “Marty didn’t do anything wrong either.”

  Allam blew out a long breath. “Would you like a ride or are you going to attack me again? If I charged you with assault of a police officer, you could stay a while.”

  Clearly these men would not help without evidence. She would go home—no, she’d go to Kylee’s place. Dr. Kane would probably come looking for her at home, especially if he already had done something to her dad. The mere thought made her queasy. She’d research as much as she could at Kylee’s, meet Jim tomorrow morning, and hope they found something at the storage unit. She prayed Dr. Kane wouldn’t be ready to operate yet, another thought that made her stomach roil.

  “A ride to the high school, please,” Abby said, pulling her gloves out of her bomber jacket pocket. “I left my car there this afternoon.”

  Allam drove Abby to the high school and parked the squad car beside her BMW. He gave a low whistle. “Nice wheels.”

  “My dad is a molecular biologist. He makes serious cash, but he works for a crazy, psychotic man who cloned himself fifty-five times. Maybe you heard me mention him? Marty is one of those clones and you gave him up for dead.” Abby knew how bizarre and desperate she sounded. “Look, Officer Allam, could you at least do me a favor and check on us over the next few days? I know you don’t believe me, but the thing is, I know too much and so does my dad. I’m afraid Dr. Kane already got my dad and that’s why you can’t reach him. If you can’t find us, please check for a basement lab under the barn at Jason Farms. They have an elevator on the west end behind a vault door. You’ll probably need a specialist to break into it.”

  Allam did look sympathetic. “Look, miss. Guys are good at sweet-talking girls to get what they want, take my word for it. I was guilty of it at your age. I’m sure that boy just wanted your help to get away from his dad. Don’t you worry about the stories he told you.”

  Abby’s temperature simmered. “Will you or will you not check on me?”

  “I’ll check on you, sure. You take care, now.”

  Abby faked a smile. “Thanks.”

  Her car was freezing inside. She started the engine and cranked up the heat, her moist breath billowing out in front. She waited, shivering in the cold, while the heater warmed the car’s interior. She called her dad, but there was still no answer. When the temperature was bearable, she gripped the frigid steering wheel, wiped away a tear, and pulled out of the parking lot.

  To his credit, Allam didn’t drive away until Abby did. She turned onto the main road, grateful few cars were out around ten thirty at night. She passed Dawson Road and the Salmon Laundromat, headed toward Kylee’s apartment.

  God, please don’t let Marty die. Please let Dad be okay.

  A pair of headlights gleamed in her rearview mirror.

  “Yikes. Turn off the brights, buddy.” But the headlights drew closer. Abby hunched forward so the glare wouldn’t reach her eyes.

  Her car jolted. What on earth? Did that vehicle just hit me? She sped up a bit, but the roads were icy and she didn’t want to push her luck. The other vehicle surged forward and rammed her again. This time her car skidded a bit. Heat flooded Abby’s body as she fought to control the BMW. She should have asked Officer Allam to escort her to Kylee’s place.

  A sharp corner loomed ahead, and Abby was going way too fast. She lifted her foot off the gas, but the speedometer still hovered over the fifty. She turned the wheel a bit and tapped the breaks just as the vehicle rammed her bumper again.

  The BMW skidded sideways on the icy highway. Abby slammed on the breaks and wrenched the wheel to stay on the road, but only managed to spin herself in a half-circle. She screamed, facing the blinding headlights a second before her car burst backward through a mound of snow that edged the road. The car scraped into the forest, crunching past several trees and colliding to a sharp stop. Abby’s head smacked against the side airbag and she lost consciousness.

  [CHAPTER TWENTY]

  ABBY FELT HERSELF FALL into an icy blanket that cushioned her body. She wanted to get up, but everything hurt, her shoulder especially. Even more alarming, she heard voices.

  “Is she dead?”

  “Naw, she’s still breathin’.”

  “Let’s get her in the van before someone calls 911.”

  Abby needed to open her eyes, but they weren’t cooperating. Why was she on the ground? How had she gotten out of the car? Who was talking?

  That vehicle … Was I really run off the road?

  She felt pressure under her arms. Though the searing cold of the ground vanished as she was lifted up, pain tore at her shoulder. Where am I? Her feet dragged over crunchy snow, then suddenly slid faster over a smooth, hard surface.

  “Hold her while I open the van.”

  She suddenly crashed against icy pavement. The fresh pain coursing through her shoulder brought a wave of nausea. She gasped and wheezed on the blacktop, her eyes blinking wildly, trying to focus.

  “Oh, come on, Johnson! Why’d you drop her?”

  “Thought you said to open the van.”

  “I said hold her while I open the van, you numbskull.”

  Abby squinted, trying to see her surroundings. As thoughts cleared her foggy mind—or maybe it was simply the cold—she realized she lay on pavement. As there were no flashing lights of an ambulance or a cop car, these men must be her pursuers, not rescuers. She had to get away.

  As the two men fought, she rolled onto her front, steering clear of her left shoulder, and struggled to her knees. She stilled and groaned as the dizzy fog swept over her again and willed it to subside, but her traitorous body slumped back to the ground.

  “Hurry up with the door. She’s comin’ to.”

  A vehicle door creaked open. A pair of boots stepped into Abby’s vision. She focused in on the lettering on the heel. Timberland. Whoever it was had huge feet. His boots scraped over the icy pavement, her own labored breathing the only competing sound.

  Just like before, someone grabbed under her arms from behind and sent her shoulder screaming. She moaned a protest and kicked in a feeble attempt at escape. Her feet barely left the ground.

  God, help me, please.

  The men were quick. Another one grabbed her floundering legs, and together they tossed her into the back of a van and slammed the door. She blinked in the pitch blackness, struggling to sit, and softly squeezed her shoulder with her right hand, feeling for damage. Probably dislocated. The men had likely pulled her out of the wreckage by her arm. Abby groaned. Her car. She hadn’t seen the condition of the BMW. Was it totaled?

  A bitter laugh escaped her lips, echoing softly in the metal darkness. Here she was worrying about her car when she’d been kidnapped.

  Two doors slammed shut. The engine rumbled to life, vibrating the darkness around her. She prayed as the van moved, probably taking her to her death. Perhaps they’d throw her into Lake Praydor. It was frozen over, but if they cut a hole and shoved her through … She stopped herself, angry that her irrational fear—and too many episodes of crime dramas—had distracted her prayer. She focused on God again and prayed for safety, and that his ultimate plan would prevail. Because she definitely had no idea what to do.

  A short drive later, the van stopped. Abby tensed as the cab doors opened and closed. She listened closely as two sets of boots crunched their way to the back of the van. With effort, she got to her feet in a squat position, ready for a fight. Why didn’t I make more of an effort to find Sarah Palin’s kickboxing class? That skill would be handy right now.r />
  The back doors opened but all Abby could see was a single beam of light piercing the darkness. Abby shrank back and shielded her eyes, blinking until she could see two dark silhouettes. One of them hoisted himself into the back, rocking the van with his movement. Abby could just make out his bearded face and the now familiar boots.

  “Don’t give us no trouble now, pretty lady,” the man said as he closed in.

  Drawing on her fear, Abby sprang past him and leaped out of the van, tumbling headfirst into the snow. An unbidden cry accompanied the impact to her left side, and the pain only intensified as she scrambled to her feet. Regardless, she ran, taking in her surroundings as she went. She was in the middle of a forest.

  “Get her!”

  Abby veered around the van, intending to find the road and follow it out. Instead, she plowed right into a man’s open arms. His body odor overwhelmed her as he wrapped his arms tightly around her torso, squeezing the tender area around her rotator cuff. Abby fought back a gag but not the sharp moan.

  “I got her, Johnson.”

  The back doors slammed shut and the crunch of snow drew closer. Abby stomped down on her captor’s foot. He didn’t budge.

  Johnson appeared beside them, flashlight clenched between his teeth. He bent down and grabbed Abby’s ankles, pulling them together and tucking them under his arm so she was carried between the two men. Abby jerked her legs, hoping to free one and get in a good kick. As she twisted, she caught a glimpse of the foul-smelling man and noticed he was heavyset and bald. If I ever escape, these men will rot in jail.

  A car sped past on the distant highway, and she risked a piercing scream in a sliver of hope the driver might hear. Who knows? Someone could be driving the winter highway in the middle of the night with his windows rolled down. This was Alaska, after all.

  The men carried Abby through a forest so dark she couldn’t see where they were headed. After an interminable amount of minutes, Johnson suddenly dropped her feet and crouched. Abby stood on her own legs and stopped struggling in an attempt to see what he was doing. A hinge squeaked as Johnson opened a door in the ground. A storm cellar or something.