9 Tales From Elsewhere 4

by 9 Tales From Elsewhere

  "We tapped your phone and checked you out. A precaution of course," she added when Greg's face twisted in shock and violation. "As a not entirely ethical operation, we must check our clients."

  "I didn't consent to that! You have no right...who the Hell do you think you are?"

  "We are Duplicator's Inc. We help people get justice if they are willing to help themselves. Please don't ask another question about our operation or the meeting will adjourn."

  She said this as plainly and politely as she had said good morning. It was as if Siri had told him to shove it where the sun don't shine.

  "What am I supposed to say?"

  No sigh, no show of emotion. "You have been wronged. You seek justice against those who wronged you."

  "Ok."

  "We can give you that justice."

  The image of the guy in the Bulls hat stepping out of his car and running away, gun aimed high, came to his mind and brought with it the anger he had been hording for weeks. "You can get the guy arrested?"

  "We cannot guarantee that, but we can say for a fact that his life will never be the same. That is our only promise."

  Greg noticed she hadn't moved once since she sat down. In that same amount of time he had fidgeted a hundred different ways in the leather chair.

  "Say I'm interested in getting even with this guy, what are you going to do to him? More importantly, what am I going to have to do for you?"

  "From you we want nothing but your cooperation. To the man in question, we are simply going to ruin his reputation."

  "Yes, but how?"

  "Mr. Walker, that falls under a question about our operation."

  Greg stood abruptly and went to the door. "Good riddance."

  He reached for the knob just as the woman stood and flipped a switch behind her desk. Greg gaped as the entire wall behind her began to rise.

  A vast room spread from where the wall used to be, instantly tripling the size of the office. Inside was all white and chrome. Computers lined the walls and the centerpiece was a huge glass pod filled with green-blue water. Connected to the sides were coils of wires and a thick black tube was attached to the top. Everything snaked back to a central control panel.

  The woman gestured to the room. "Mr. Walker, if you want to know what we do and have your justice, you need to bring us a sample of DNA from the man who did you wrong. Anything will work, hair, skin, body fluids. We are more than capable of extracting the DNA we need, but it is imperative that you bring the sample. We will take it from there."

  "You're...you're..."

  "We're very good at what we do." The robot smile, somehow colder and more confident in the light of the laboratory. She flipped the switch and the lights went out as the wall began to descend. "Now off you go. We'll be waiting."

  -Daughter-

  Greg went home after the meeting and slept there for the first time in weeks. He hated not being by Aubrey's side, but hated even more being trapped in the hospital room, surrounded by silence.

  The next morning, he felt the urge to call Bud Alton and chew him out. He'd even dialed the number but could never bring himself to press send. He was too afraid that if he asked Buddy about getting Duped, Buddy might confirm everything that he had seen. He would rather it stay a prank, or better yet a stress induced hallucination.

  After a quick breakfast of toast and strawberry jam, which he hardly ate any of, Greg began to wander through the house, wondering how he could possible get the man's DNA.

  He roamed the halls as if he had become a ghostly visitor in his own home and was doomed to look for something that might bring him peace. As he went into his study for the fifth time that day, he glanced up and saw something he had completely forgotten about. The sight of it hanging from the lamp post on his desk filled him with rage and excitement. Mostly though, he felt like fate had come down and bonked him on the forehead.

  He ran to the kitchen, grabbed a plastic bag and a pair of thick green rubber gloves from beneath the sink. With gloved hands he sealed the red bandana in the bag.

  ><><

  The lab was simply a working piece of high tech art. It took only a few seconds in some sort of machine that looked like a hydraulic blender for Mother to reach her verdict.

  The computer had come to life and started running numbers across the screen while a box in the corner flashed with hundreds of pictures, each one going by before Greg could make it out. Once the bandana stopped spinning, the numbers stopped, the pictures froze, and a big red X filled the screen.

  "No viable DNA," Mother said. "If there ever was, you contaminated it."

  "So what now?" Greg yelled. "I don't know this guy, I can't find him. What do I do?"

  Mother took the bandana from the machine and sat it on the desk between them. Her face showed no emotion, but when she spoke her voice sounded somewhat lighter. "How badly do you want this Greg? What we do here is extreme and potentially very expensive. If you don't think the crime is worth the punishment I advise you to leave it now. You won't be charged if you do."

  Greg leaned back in his chair.

  An image of Aubrey wriggled free from the dark depths of his imagination. She was lying still and silent, eyes closed just as she had been the last time he saw her. Except instead of a hospital room, he saw her laying in a bed of dirt. The first shovelful of earth fell over her corpse, and Greg saw the guy in the Bulls hat hefting the second.

  "What else can I do?" he asked again.

  Mother nodded curtly. She typed something, then swiveled the screen of her computer around for him to see. It was a picture of a license plate. "We found this in your cell phone and ran it through the DMV. It usually doesn't work, but this one actually came up with a match."

  She clicked a few more keys and the picture changed. A young man appeared on the screen. Greg felt a surge of heat course through his veins.

  Mother continued. "His name is Shawn Irving. Police records say he's clean except for a minor possession charge when he was 14. You can see he's also suspected of hit and run, but they haven't been able to find him."

  "That's him," Greg said.

  "Some police chatter we attained says they suspect he's hiding out with an unknown friend, or may be out of town all together. However," she pointed at a line of text at the bottom of the screen, "this is his last known address."

  Greg read the address, memorized it to the letter. It was only a few blocks from the bank where they had first smashed into each other.

  He was on his feet before he knew it.

  At the door, Mother said, "You may be lucky, the house may be empty and filled with what you need."

  He held on to that hope all the way to the ground floor.

  Once outside, Greg hailed a cab. When they reached the address, he had the driver circle the block, then drop him at the top of the street. It was a rough neighborhood, one the cab driver had been hesitant to stop at. The houses on the block were old and pretty worn down. Grass stretched up in odd patches around broken down cars and abandoned toys. Greg didn't see anybody around, but he sensed he was being watched.

  He crossed the street and came to the next to last house on the left. It was the right address.

  Greg checked his pocket casually to make sure the rubber gloves were still there. They were. So he stepped onto the porch, feeling as if he had a big neon sign on his back that said Snitch! At the door, he did the only thing he could think of.

  He knocked.

  The sound was extremely loud and seemed to echo down the entire street. Greg knew immediately it was the wrong thing to do. What if the guy answered the door? What could he possibly do? Snatch a dread and run?

  After a long minute, he breathed again. Nobody answered and there was no sign of movement. Taking a chance, he tried the knob. It twisted easily in his hand. The door swung open on loose, quiet hinges.

  Inside was an open living room, dark and smelling faintly of smoke. He walked on his toes across the room and entered a hallway. On both sides were doors
and he went to the closest one on the left.

  Inside was a crib in the corner with a wooden chair next to it. Luckily both were empty. On the table by the door was a framed picture. Greg took his phone out, made sure it was on silent mode, and clicked it so the light would fall on the picture.

  Shawn Irving was looking up at him, wearing an Atlanta hat this time and grinning in spite of himself. His dreads were barely peeking out from under the brim and he looked skinnier, but it was the same guy. Definitely the right house.

  Across the hall, Greg leaned into the second room. There was a bed, a dresser and mirror combo, tee shirts and jeans hanging in the closest over a dozen pair of sneakers. Two different necklaces were draped over the corner of the mirror.

  And on the edge of the headboard by the window was exactly what Greg was looking for. As soon as he saw it, his heart started to race and he ran to it. Nearly forgetting his gloves, he slipped them on and picked up the red and black Bulls hat and placed it inside the plastic lined backpack on his shoulder. Once it was zipped, he pumped his fists and silently cheered.

  At the same moment he heard the thump of car doors.

  There was a chink in the window blinds and he glanced through it. His blood ran suddenly cold.

  Outside, a young woman with red hair stepped out of a black sedan. Next to her was a girl that looked about three years old, and a guy with a mohawk wearing a white tank top that just barely concealed the bulge of a pistol in his belt.

  He didn't bother keeping it hidden when he noticed the front door was open.

  Greg cursed under his breath and ran further down the hall. There were no other bedrooms and no back door to be seen, but there was a kitchen with a double window over the sink. It was cracked slightly and just wide enough for him to climb through. He pushed it all the way up and climbed into the sink. Behind him was the sound of angry footsteps and the creak of the first bedroom door.

  He threw his backpack out first, then lunged through himself. He scraped his shin on the windowsill and felt his back throb angrily when he landed, but he made it through.

  A side road behind the house took him away from the yard and around the corner. He didn't look back.

  ><><

  Mother was surprised to see him back so soon. He practically burst into her office, gasping for breath and holding his backpack in his hand. She took it while he took advantage of the water cooler.

  Mother unzipped the bag and pulled out the smashed hat. "This looks much more promising, Greg. Good work."

  Greg muttered some response that was blown away by his rapid breathing, but she wasn't listening. She was busy tossing the hat into the hydro-blender and starting the DNA extraction cycle.

  Again the screen activated, flashing numbers and pictures while the hat spun in the machine. It took longer this time and when the whir of the blender began to slow and the numbers stopped, both Greg and Mother watched as a final image loaded.

  Shawn Irving appeared in the box along with a smiling emoji next to a big thumbs up and a double underlined 100.

  "Congratulations Greg, we're in business." She grabbed a blank card, wrote a time and date on it, and passed it to Greg. "Come back in one week and we'll update you on all that we've done and whether or not it was successful."

  Greg jerked his head away from the image on the screen. "That's it?"

  "Yes. You've done your part, we take over from here."

  "So you're going to clone him now? Just like that? And then what? Release him into the wild," he laughed nervously.

  "More or less. As I said, we'll brief you in a week. If it works, we'll discuss your fee." She extended the card again.

  Greg took it stiffly. "Alright. Thank you, I guess."

  "No need for thanks, you did the hard part Greg. This is all you." The robot smile turned her lips.

  "Bye then." Greg left the room and Mother shut the door behind him. He felt oddly empty inside, like he had been waiting for some grand unveiling of a master plan, or that he would at least get to watch the cloning.

  He stepped into the elevator and absently checked his phone. The screen blinked to life and showed him nine missed calls, a voicemail, and a text message.

  "Aubrey!" he yelled.

  ><><

  Melanie's voicemail was terrifying. Her voice was choked with tears and Greg could only gather that she needed him at the hospital. She began to weep just before the message ended.

  On the way to Aubrey's room, Greg's heart migrated to his throat and beat roughly there. All he could think were "what ifs."

  As soon as he reached her room he burst through the door, saw Melanie at the foot of the bed crying and felt tears coming to his own eyes.

  Aubrey looked up from her mother's embrace just as Greg threw his arms around them both.

  She said "Don't cry Daddy, its ok."

  -Family-

  It was a sunny day, the sky an October grey and dotted with clouds. Aubrey was eight days removed from the hospital and Greg was delighted that she had embraced life again as if nothing had happened. Perhaps in her mind nothing had.

  The doctors said she might experience short term memory loss in the future, but other than that she seemed perfectly fine. She was still into acting and dancing and singing. She was Aubrey as she had been before.

  Life was back to normal.

  Until Greg received a text message and two winking, laughing emojis summoned him back to the unmarked office of Duplicators Inc.

  Mother was waiting for him in the lobby. It was the first time he'd ever seen her outside of her office and she looked different to him. Younger, more energetic. Prettier even.

  "Welcome back, Mr. Walker," she said.

  "Hi, look I'm having second thoughts about all this."

  Mother silenced him and led him to the elevator. On the third floor, she led him down the hall, past her office to the end where room 302 was located. It was a small, dimly lit room with nothing but a chair, desk, and small monitor inside. He sat at her command.

  The monitor blinked to life.

  "Mr. Walker, we're pleased to inform you that your endeavors with us have proven successful. The DNA you provided was more than enough for us to work with and the last week has been devoted to providing you with your justice."

  Greg's palms had gone cold and now felt as if they were melting. "So where's the clone?"

  Mother's face twisted into a beautifully hideous smile. "Disposed of," she said.

  "What did you do?" Greg's voice had taken on his professional tone, though inside he felt more like a criminal than a lawyer.

  "Exactly what we always do. You asked for justice and now you have it. Mr. Irving has been taken care of." Her tone was even and completely unfettered.

  "I didn't ask for anything. I just came here, I don't even know what this is!"

  "But you did ask, Mr. Walker. You came to us and agreed to work with us. And you provided the DNA we needed to clone Mr. Irving. You knew what you were doing, Greg. And this," she gestured to the monitor, which was a blank screen with a play button imposed over it, "is your review. For your pleasure," she added.

  She pressed a button and a video began to play. It showed Irving walking into a convenient store with a pistol. He wore no mask, and his face was crystal clear in the video. He looked exactly like the man with the Bulls hat, though something about him just didn't seem normal. Greg watched the strange man go to the counter, shot twice into the ceiling and robbed the clerk at gunpoint.

  Relief swept through Greg when the Irving Clone left the store with the cash and didn't fire the gun again.

  The video changed and a second scene played out. The Irving Clone was carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder and walking towards a dilapidated house. A gun was clearly tucked into his waistband, and he was wearing his Bulls hat.

  A group of guys on the porch watched him approach. One in front stepped up and started talking, though the video didn't have audio. Irving dropped the bag at the leader's feet and walked away
while he opened the bag. It was full of money, or so Greg thought.

  The leader started digging and then started yelling. He tossed wads of newspaper and rolled up socks to the ground and kicked the duffel bag. Three of his goons drew guns, but their target was already gone.

  Greg breathed relief again. Not good, but still no deaths.

  Mother noted his reaction. "Don't worry Mr. Walker, there's more. Mr. Irving was a busy man. It was fairly easy to burn his bridges. As you surely know, reputation is very important."

  The screen skipped to another video. Irving was nowhere to be seen, but it took less than a second for Greg to figure out where the video was recorded.

  Suddenly a blue SUV barreled on screen into the front yard of the same house Greg had broken into to steal the hat. The SUV crashed into a parked black sedan, and three men stepped out. They were all carrying machine guns and Greg saw they were the same goons from the last video.

  A cold hand wrapped around Greg's heart.

  From inside the house, another man came out and Greg recognized him as the man with the mohawk that nearly caught him. He carried the same pistol and a blast of white escaped its barrel. He shot at the three goons and hit one in the shoulder, but he was outnumbered and out armed. He crumpled to the porch floor moments later, still shooting all the way down. Once he went limp, the two uninjured goons ran inside.

  With no sound, Greg could have easily pretended nothing else happened. All he could see was the injured goon outside by the SUV, cradling his arm with his back to the house.

  A second later, the goon flinched and closed his eyes. His head fell. The other two returned then and together they drove off. The video faded to black.

  But when Greg blinked he still saw the house. He saw the dead body on the porch and knew something worse was inside. He kept seeing the injured goon jump as if at the sound of an unexpected gunshot. Two of them.

  He turned to Mother. "How can you do this? That man is dead by your hand, and you're just standing there. Watching it!"

  "Not my hand, Mr. Walker. Yours."

  She couldn't be human. No human could stand so tall and so still and keep their voice so level in this moment.