Orphan Black Classified Clone Reports

by Delphine Cormier

  And we managed to escape. Sorry, I’m rambling. Still not used to this diary thing. Also I’m exhausted. The boat trip from the middle of nowhere back to Toronto is kinda tiring.

  All right, focus, Cos. In order. First of all, that monster? His name is Yanis, and he was a genetic experiment by PTW gone wrong. And now he’s dead. PTW tried to get me to kill him. Handed me a gun and everything, but I refused. They may own the patent on me and the other members of clone club, but that doesn’t mean I say, “How high?” when they say “Jump.” That doesn’t mean I kill someone. Not ever. So he shot him. Bastard.

  Oh, and he’s not P.T. Westmorland. Don’t know his real name, but he’s not 170. He’s just another con artist, like Leekie—shit, with no offense to my sestra, like Sarah. Except he’s pulled his con on a ton of people who all believe it, starting with the people of Revival. He says he’s helping them, but he’s just helping himself. He’s trying to extend his life. Maybe he thinks he will live to be 170, who knows?

  But Yanis was a liability. Too many people are asking questions about what’s going on. And the mask was falling off. Charlotte and I managed to escape. I grew up on houseboats, so stealing a boat and heading south was easy enough to do. And by “easy,” I mean, “terrifying and insane and nearly got us killed,” but at least I knew where to point the boat and how to steer

  Now we’re back home. Charlotte is away from “PTW,” Rachel, and Susan. Maybe she can grow up to be a real girl. And I’m back with my sestras and we can beat these fuckers once and for all. Because we can’t let them win. It isn’t just that “PTW” has pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes, using Neolution as a front for prolonging his own miserable life. It’s that he’s using Kira. The bastards are going to harvest Kira’s eggs. Make a whole new set of clones who will have LIN28A. And then use that to make “PTW,” whoever he really is, as immortal as he’s pretending to be. We cannot let that happen. And we won’t.

  -M.K. sacrificed herself to save the rest of her sisters. She was dying from the same illness that has claimed so many of the Ledas and is currently ravaging Cosima, but she still was very brave in distracting Ferdinand, which she paid the ultimate price for.

  -We must ensure she did not do so in vain.

  FROM: Alison

  TO: sestras@googlegroups.com

  RE: My Retreat!

  Dear Sestras,

  I hope this e-mail gets to all of you. I know Scott said it would work and it is easier than typing out all your e-mail addresses, but still . . . well, never mind. The old Alison would have fussed over it, and probably complained that everyone else didn’t just keep track of everyone’s e-mail in a spreadsheet or something, but I’m the new Alison! I am following the philosophy of que sera sera. I always used to think that that was an irresponsible philosophy, what will be will be, but it’s actually very liberating!

  I was in such a dark place before. I felt like I lost everything. I lost my position as school board trustee, I ruined my mother’s business, I lost our drug-dealing business—okay, that was no loss, but still—and I saw my husband be arrested in front of our kids. And then the final kick in the tush, I got squeezed out of the Fall Fun Fair.

  What’s worse, I didn’t feel like I was contributing anything to our cause, that I was a burden on all of you. Helena had to keep us hidden in the woods, and then Rachel and her goons tried to use the dead bodies in our garage against all of you. And there’s the fact that we had two dead bodies in our garage . . .

  The last thing Rachel said to me after I gave her Leekie’s head was for me not to take myself so seriously. As usual, Rachel got it entirely wrong. I’m not taking myself seriously enough. It’s time that stopped.

  So I went to visit the kids in Florida and then I came here to this retreat. And, Lord love a duck, it has been amazing. First, and most important, I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol. Not that the temptations haven’t been there—this retreat actually has plenty of wine floating around, as the owner is a stockholder in a winery in Mendocino—but I’ve been focused on me. On experiencing the moment. And on living deep.

  Speaking of that, I got a tattoo! I know, it’s not my usual thing, but this is all part of the new Alison! This whole place follows the philosophy of Carl Jung and it’s all about individuation. I’m finding the best me I can find. And the best me doesn’t drink, plays the keyboards, and simply is. Oh, and I cut my hair. Donnie will probably poop a brick when he sees it, but I like it. Besides, why should Rachel be the only sestra with short hair?

  Speak to you all soon. I love you all. Alison XOXO

  UNIQUE OPENING BY LOCAL ARTIST

  Felix Dawkins puts on a show in his loft with themed art exhibit

  By: Howard Frank

  The last time we saw Felix Dawkins was two years ago when his “Visions of Judgment” exhibit opened at the Mehu Gallery. He’s been in and out of the scene ever since, but he’s come back in a big way with his new exhibit, which is currently showing at Dawkins’s loft (aka Gallerie Rimbaud) on King Street.

  The opening Saturday night was an impressive piece of performance art to go with his impressive paintings. The exhibit, which Dawkins said is called Sestra, is a series of studies of different versions of Dawkins’s foster sister, Sarah Manning. One has her with short hair and an eye patch, one has her with dreads, and so on.

  The performance came from the subject herself. Manning did a series of quick changes, performing as each interpretation of herself from each of the paintings. Most impressively, she even destroyed one of the works—the one with the eye patch—which this reviewer found both impressive and appalling. Finally, Manning was herself, and Dawkins dedicated the paintings to her, her daughter, their foster mother, and Dawkins’s biological sister, an attorney from the States who apparently provided the hors d’oeuvres.

  Several members of the local scene attended, but the true VIP at the show was Ezra Lue, who flew in from Geneva just for this opening.

  All the paintings were purchased by evening’s end with four exceptions: the eye patch painting, which is unsellable, the one of Manning in her true form, and also the two deviations from the theme, to wit, the portrait of Manning’s daughter and foster mother. Dawkins explained later that those two were not for sale. Dawkins said he has since received tremendous interest in his work and plans to pursue his art further possibly in New York City and beyond.

  Dearest Fee,

  Good luck Fee, so proud of you!

  Can’t wait for you to become a famous artist! Glad we could help inspire your vision. ;)

  —Love, A

  OFFICE OF THE MEDICAL EXAMINER

  Preliminary report on case H34209, two deceased, likely both homicide. White male named Ferdinand Chevalier and white female Siobhan Sadler. Sadler’s daughter (identified as Sarah Manning) found both victims. Gun shot wounds on both bodies, position of both bodies relative to each other and ballistics on weapons found in both victims’ hands all indicate that Chevalier shot Sadler in the chest and Sadler shot Chevalier in the throat.

  IN LOVING MEMORY - Siobhan Sadler

  Loving mother, friend, and fighter to the end.

  Irish toast: “May God grant you always . . . A sunbeam to warm you, a moonbeam to charm you, a sheltering angel, so nothing can harm you.”

  PTW is a fraud!!!! Scott and Hell-Wizard have worked diligently to learn his true identity—someone who died in such a way that could have been falsified in the late 1960s. Regardless, he is not a 170-year-old, but simply an old man who fronted the work of smarter women than him in order to prolong his own miserable life.

  From the diary of Delphine Cormier; Toronto, Ontario

  Siobhan is dead.

  For the past several weeks, she and I have worked in secret, having clandestine meetings while I was travelling on Neolution’s behalf. More recently, we colluded with Rachel Duncan and Ferdinand Chevalier to finally bring down Neolution. Felix and Adele were able to gather some intelligence, I supplied some more, but it was Rachel who
brought it all together.

  Among us, we have managed to assemble enough to finally bring Neolution’s mendacity to light. Ferdinand wanted to blackmail them, but instead, we have released the information to the public. Every aspect of this project has been designed to keep itself secret, from Coady’s covert Project Castor to keeping the Leda sisters naïve to the various IVF clinics run by Dyad being used as a cover to implant clones.

  The way to stop them is the same way you get rid of ants that hide under a rock: simply lift the rock and expose them to sunlight, and they will scurry.

  I had thought that working with Ferdinand would be the most difficult aspect, but in truth it was working with Rachel. Especially since we were forced to let her spend time with Kira. But in truth, I believe that is why we were able to turn her to our side in the end. The other Ledas are her competition, mirrors of the life she could never have. In Kira, I believe she finally was able to see hope.

  Would that I could find such hope myself. Siobhan is yet another corpse to add to the appallingly large pile of them. I should have found another way, but once Ferdinand realized we would not be blackmailing the Neolution board—in other words, once he realized we would not be making him rich—he turned on us. Siobhan sacrificed herself to stop him, and now we have lost a great ally and a great enemy.

  I am so tired of sacrifice. I am un médicin. My job is to heal, to preserve life. I have already lost too many loved ones. This needs to stop.

  Dear Ethan and Ferdinand:

  You’re both gone. Dead. We will never get a chance to reconcile and I’m at a loss. Neither of you will ever get to read this, never get to hear what I have to say to you both, but I’m going to write it anyway because I’m rather drunk and it feels like the closest thing to telling you to your faces.

  As I sit here in this hotel room, making full use of the minibar, I find myself thinking about you both. The only men who ever cared about me. The only people who ever loved me. Or is just that you were the only ones I loved back?

  Susan never loved me, of course. She never loved anyone. She was my mother, but she only saw me as part of her grand experiment to save the human race from itself. But you two did, you both saw me and it got you both killed.

  There was a time that I thought that Aldous loved me, but he was merely following orders, as he always did. He was the charming face of Neolution, the man who could sell it to the public, give the “Freaky Leekies” someone to worship and to emulate. I thought that the man claiming to be P.T. Westmorland loved me, but he was also using me, the same as Susan. In fact, he was worse, he used all of us. And yet when they were alive, Aldous and PT were the two I tried most to please. What a waste.

  Aldous was my mentor, my father figure after Ethan and Susan allegedly died. I tried so hard to show him that I was an asset, that I was more than just another Leda, that I was capable of making a contribution without being naïve. I proved myself to him as an asset, but he never saw me as anything other than a part of the experiment. I wasn’t a person, I was a clone.

  As for the fraud “P.T. Westmorland,” he has proven himself a finer con artist than even Sarah. I desperately wanted to please him, I devoted myself completely to his cause. He made me feel special, “The chosen one.” But all of it was a sham. He pretended to trust me, pretended to love me, all the while using my eye to spy on me, to bring me under his heel. Nothing has ever felt better than to rip him out of my head.

  Speaking of heels, there’s you, Ferdinand. What was it you said? You’d gladly have lived under my heel forever? Ideally one of the spiked ones, no doubt. You did care enough to help me. You came running back to me even after you felt I’d betrayed you. You felt so betrayed by my devotion to Neolution that you killed M.K. Yet you took me back again and again.

  And Ethan, my father, you always showed me love and affection. Yet in the end, you let me down too, didn’t you? Ethan, you didn’t love me enough to tell me that you faked your death, to take me with you when you went into hiding after the fire. No, you left me with Aldous and his puppet masters in Neolution. And then when I finally got you back, you took your own life. Leaving me alone, again.

  As for you, Ferdinand, I gave you every opportunity to take advantage of our freedom from Neolution and run away. I’d forgiven your excesses, you’d forgiven my temporary defection to Neolution, but you didn’t love me enough to overcome your endless greed. Your greed was your end. What a fool to reject me and instead walk into the lion’s den of the Neolution board with the blank disk I gave you. I hope Siobhan killed you swiftly.

  How sad is my life? I sought out love from those who couldn’t give it. I received love from two men, but they didn’t really ever want to know me.

  The last image I have of you, Ethan, is disappointment. The last image I have of you, Ferdinand, is anger. You thought you loved me, but you both died thinking of me in anything but a loving light.

  Meanwhile, I sit here in a hotel room having saved Kira from Neolution and delivered her back to her mother, helping to free us all. The Leda program was unforgivable, but hopefully this gesture, this list, redeems something. Sarah and her band of Sestras are free, but will I ever be? I see their love for one another and I hope to someday find someone that shows me even half of that love. I am unforgivable, but I can try, at least for now, to live for myself and not for others.

  Yours in love and anger,

  Rachel Duncan

  Helena is at a convent. Bring her in alive by any means necessary. She will need to give birth immediately, either induced or Caesarean section. Gracie is a security threat and should be eliminated.

  -Coady

  TRANSCRIPT OF VOICEMAIL LEFT BY VIRGINIA COADY ON ENCRYPTED MAILBOX OF DEPUTY DIRECTOR DAVID BENCHMAN (INACTIVE)

  I have no idea why I’m leaving this message. I know that Project Castor has been disavowed and I know that you can’t even admit that you know who I am. Still, a long time ago, you said to call this number in case I needed to reach you right away. And the voicemail box still seems to be working, though I wonder who is even listening to it. Probably some intern in your office.

  But I need to get this out to someone, and it’s not like I have friends or family I can call. It’s been all about the work. It’s always been about the work. And now the work is going to shit.

  After you disavowed me, David, I had thought everything was lost. Then I got rescued by P.T. Westmorland. At least that’s what we call him. His real name is John. He was our beard. Susan and I were using him as cover, since it’s not like women were allowed to be scientists back when we started. Hell, we’re barely allowed to be now in the oh-so-enlightened twenty-first century.

  Susan and I had a falling out ages ago, so when John got me out of the institution she trapped me in, I wasn’t thrilled to see her there. But she seemed willing to bury the hatchet, so I was willing to put up with her naïve idiocy.

  Besides, it’s always better to keep your options open. Castor and Leda. Nature and nurture. Science and weaponry.

  God, I thought that we were starting over. Getting a fresh start, and using the Ledas to get it right this time. But no. I’ve got bodies dropping all around me. John killed Susan for trying to kill him, Gracie was killed because she lied about finding Helena, and both Mark and Ira are dead, too. The last of my boys. I had to kill Mark myself.

  It’s funny, when the compound burned and most of the remaining Castors died and you disavowed me, I didn’t feel anything. But losing both Mark and Ira—the last two—for some reason that one really hurt. Maybe I didn’t feel anything after Dierden blew it all up because I knew Mark and Ira, at least, were still out there.

  For many years, I’ve wanted Susan the hell away from all of this. I always thought that if we could just get rid of her and her doddering fool of a husband, the project could work. We could stop the out-of-control freight train of extinction that we are all riding.

  But it wasn’t her, it wasn’t Ethan, it was John. The man whose money and whose gender allowe
d two brilliant women to do their work without the patronizing looks and the obnoxious comments and the dismissive memos. It was John that was in our way.

  And now, he’s ruining all of it. He’s started to believe his own myth, and it’s already taken down Susan and the last of my boys. I’m sure I’m next. Once Helena’s twins are born, I suspect that I will become just as expandable as everyone else.

  David, or whichever intern is listening to this voicemail, I’m sorry we weren’t able to make the project work. I’m sorry that John’s ego got in the way. If it hadn’t been for that, we might have been able to make a better world.

  Or maybe not. After all, if it wasn’t for John, we wouldn’t have been able to even start in the first place.

  Goodbye.

  (END RECORDING)

  From the diary of Delphine Cormier, Toronto, Ontario

  After all this, we somehow contrived to have a happy ending.

  It is not completely happy, of course. Siobhan is dead, as are M.K., Susan Duncan, Kendall Malone, Paul Dierden, Katja Obinger, Dr. Coady, Ira, Mark, Gracie, and so many others. There are times when, despite everything, I even miss Aldous. Miss our conversations in French, miss our lengthy chats about evolution, philosophy, and food.

  But there is something else that is dead, and that is Neolution. The man who claimed to be the 170-year-old P.T. Westmorland was, in fact, a normal old man named John who used the Duncans, Aldous, Coady, everyone to prolong his own miserable life.

  And there has been life. Despite the best efforts of Helena to kill herself, she survived and gave birth to twin boys. Deux cousins de Kira!

  Most of all, vous êtes un famille. We no longer have Siobhan, who sacrificed herself to save all of her daughters, but we have the family she died to save. Helena lives with her boys in the Hendrix garage, Alison and Donnie Hendrix struggle to work and make a better home for themselves and their children, Sarah is living with Kira in Siobhan’s old house, Felix is in New York living the life of a great artist, plus we have our support in Art, Scott, and Hell-Wizard.