by M. D. Waters
He leads me out of the room and down a dark stone hallway. Our soft-soled shoes shuffle over concrete. Everyone we pass looks at me with surprise, gasping or cursing or making the sign of the cross over their chest. It does not give me a good feeling. I already wish I had stayed home.
We turn a corner and I shoulder into a tall man who surprises me by taking me roughly by the upper arms and forcing me to look into his familiar eyes. There is no sign I ever broke his nose. I am glad of this.
“Foster,” I say and smile. “Hey.”
Foster returns my smile. “Hey yourself, Emma Wade.”
Noah pulls me away from Foster. “Birmingham, look, we both know—”
Foster holds a hand up. “No, man, you look. She isn’t like the rest. We’re missing something—”
“We aren’t getting into this again. She isn’t Emma.”
I turn a glare on him because he is going too far. First he tells me I am not his wife; now he is saying I am not Emma? Where does he get off? “You are really starting to piss me off.”
Foster folds his arms and nods toward me, though he never takes his eyes off Noah. “Sounds like Emma to me.”
Noah glares between the two of us and I feel something deep set in my bones, like this is not the first time he has looked at Foster and me the same way. Finally, he tugs on me. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Foster walks on my other side, forgoing his previous engagement. My stomach twists in nervous knots the longer we wind through hallways. I cannot believe I am about to get some real answers.
We finally reach the end of a hallway, and Noah enters first, his gaze directed to the back left corner of the room.
I follow him in, though every bone in my body now vibrates with shock. Every muscle feels weak and my equilibrium is dangerously off-kilter. I recognize the medical vid screens inside to my left, though I cannot believe my eyes. The only reason I continue forward is to read what my mind denies to be true, and even then, it is through tear-blurred vision.
PATIENT 1: EMMA WADE. The entire left side of the screen is a slowly spinning body that is no more than an outline with streaming medical data. No different from what I recall seeing before.
It is the right side I have never seen before.
PATIENT 2: ADRIENNE TUCKER.
My knees give out and I slump to the floor, barely cognizant of the hands stopping me from landing too hard. Patient 2, Adrienne, is an enlarged visual of a fetus. The black-and-white ultrasound image flashes with color with the baby’s movements and a tiny heartbeat.
I cannot tear my focus from this image and am only distantly aware of the cold chill of tile seeping through my pants to my knees and shins.
Noah kneels beside me and follows my gaze. Then he points into the corner. “Over there. Proof that you aren’t Emma Wade. Meet my wife and our daughter.”
I reluctantly shift my gaze from the screen and follow his finger. I stifle a cry behind the back of my hand. Breathing becomes difficult and I desperately want to rip my gaze away from Her, but I cannot. Her hazel eyes bore into mine, and I can almost see Her in the white room again. Long, dark hair, tilted grin . . .
Only She is not smiling. There is no light of amusement in Her eyes.
She floats.
She stares unblinking in a full bodysuit of solid white. She is also very pregnant. Probably nearing the end of Her third trimester.
“I found her like this,” Noah says. “Brain-dead but alive. Barely. Another half hour and she might have been. She sent Foster through the teleporter, and by the time I got to the compound with a backup team, she was lying in a pile of dead bodies.”
A hoarse sob breaks free of my chest and I realize a thin film of tears coats my cheeks. I cannot hear anything he tells me. The body floating in a tank screams at me in a pitch only I can hear. The screams echo in my ears, bouncing off every available surface, looking for a way to escape.
I take a deep, shuddering breath. My throat and chest are tight, trying to reject the needed oxygen. Already, the edges of the room grow hazy and gray. “No.”
Noah nods. “Yes. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I didn’t think you’d believe me otherwise.”
I push my hands through my hair, pulling the strands taut. “I thought—I thought this place was a memory.”
Foster kneels on my other side. “What do you mean? We haven’t even been in this place a year. Emma’s never been here.”
Noah sighs beside me. “Is this what you were talking about in the studio? You said you remembered floating in water. You mentioned Adrienne.”
Foster’s attention snaps to Noah. “What are you talking about?”
Noah shakes his head. “I wish I knew.” He touches my back so lightly, it is almost as if his hand is merely a brush of wind. “You have to tell me what you know.”
I close my eyes. “Behind us is a row of hospital beds with curtains separating them. Cabinets of medical supplies on the wall. Sonya. Is she here? She is almost always here. Almost always with one of Dr. Travista’s books. She sleeps on the bed to the far right.”
“That’s right,” Sonya says from behind me. “I do. How did you know?”
I open my eyes and twist around. Sonya watches me with dark, narrowed eyes. Seeing her and the beds and the cabinets and the same light blue walls I have been staring at for months . . .
“No,” I moan, and my chest shudders with another sob. “This is not happening.”
Foster glances between the other two. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head sharply from side to side, trying to stabilize my thoughts. “You tried to kill me here,” I whisper hoarsely to Noah. I point straight ahead. “The tank used to be there. You turned off the life support and Sonya stopped you.”
Foster glares at Noah. “Is that true?” He jerks his head up to Sonya for confirmation. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Sonya says.
Noah lets me go and drops hard to the floor. He stares at me with wide eyes.
“They were only nightmares at first,” I say to no one in particular. “Not once did I think they were real. Over time I believed them to be a bad memory.” Another sob breaks through. “I still have these dreams. Almost every night.”
I stand and turn to face Her. I came here for answers, only to come away with more questions. I have been seeing this place through Her eyes.
I draw close and search for something to explain everything. We are identical down to the dark freckle on the left side of our necks. But there are differences, too. One being the luckenbooth on Her left hand. She also has a long scar down the side of Her right cheek. If there are other scars, I cannot see them through the suit covering nearly Her entire body.
I lay my hands on the tank. The glass is room temperature and vibrates against my palms. “Who am I?” I ask.
“Not who,” Sonya says. “What.”
I spin around, heat surging like a deadly tidal wave inside me. “Do not give me vague answers. Tell me what you know.”
Sonya does not flinch and delivers the message without hesitation. “You’re a clone. The first successful intelligent human clone in history, from what we can tell.”
I look to Noah for verification, but he remains on the floor, his face buried in his hands.
Foster, on the other hand, glances between me and the tank behind me with a slack jaw. “Someone want to explain how Emma’s clone has been seeing through Emma’s body?”
They all look to me for the answer, but my body is weightless and the edges of my vision grow dark. The darkness closes in and soon the room will disappear. Maybe it will dissolve this strange new world with it, because nothing makes sense.
I am a clone?
Not real.
Not Noah’s wife.
Not Emma Wade.
Her memories.
Her family.
Her friends.
Her life.
Not mine.
Never mine.
CHAPTER 39
I wake with a start to a sharp smell burning my entire nasal cavity. I blink until all the faces come into focus. When they do, it is only one face: Sonya’s. I have never seen her this close and notice the tiny scar marring the right side of her upper lip. Another by her left eye. Other than that, she has perfect dark skin.
“What happened?” I ask.
“You passed out.”
The curtains are pulled around us, hiding Emma and Her child and the screens with their glaring truths. I have no idea if Noah and Foster are still here. Not that I want to see them. I do not want to see anyone. I just want to go home.
To more lies? I chide myself.
My stomach twists angrily. Why not go back? I may as well go back to my life as Declan’s wife. At least with him, I have some semblance of acceptance. He wants me. I should accept what he offers, because Emma Wade’s life is already spoken for.
But that would not be the case if Declan had not made this happen in the first place.
“I think I am going to be sick,” I say and swing my feet over the side of the hospital bed.
Sonya hands me a small bucket and sits beside me. “You really didn’t know?”
“Know what? That I am a fake? No. I did not know that.” My voice catches on the end and I blink away burning tears. “I do not understand any of this.”
Sonya sighs and takes my wrist. Two fingers hold over my pulse and she counts the beats with the watch on her other wrist. “You shouldn’t exist,” she finally says. “Cloning humans, while successful, proved to be a huge failure a hundred years ago.”
“That does not make sense,” I say.
She leans back into her hands and watches me carefully with her dark espresso eyes. “Cloning the human body is easy. Any scientist worth his salt can do that. But cloning the mind—the personality or soul of the person—that is the part that’s impossible. You can’t clone life experience or the learning process, so clones came out with the intelligence level of a newborn. By the time you teach an adult how to be an adult, they’re already well into middle age. So cloning ended before it really began.”
“I had to relearn everything,” I say. “It did not take me long.”
She leans forward and grasps the edge of the bed. Kicks her feet out, watching them absently. “I know you’re probably opposed to the idea, but I’d like to run some tests.”
“No way.” I jump off the bed. “I am done with tests.”
Sonya moves to stand in my path and throws her hands up. “Just listen for a second. We have just as many questions as you. Like how you knew about this place. We only moved into it after the raid failed, and Emma—” She stops and swallows hard. “Don’t you want to know?”
I push past her. “I am not a lab rat.” I reach the curtain and swing at the loose fabric until I find the opening and dart through it.
Right into Noah.
I bounce off his chest and he grabs my arms to keep me upright.
“Let me go,” I say.
“Emma—”
I jerk against his hold and scowl. “I am not Emma, remember? Let me go.”
My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I cannot find a good place to focus. I do not want to look at him or Emma or the screen showing their child. I do not want to look at the familiar scuff marks on the floor or the row of hospital beds or cabinets. I want out of this room and away from these people.
“Not until we figure this out,” he says.
I glare up at him. “Say what you mean. You want me to stay until I have been properly studied.”
His grip tightens and he shakes me once, good and hard. His eyes glaze over and narrow. “You aren’t the only one with a right to be pissed here, Emma. Your life isn’t the only one turned upside down.” He points to the tank. “I have a brain-dead wife in there carrying my child and her doppelganger standing in front of me, who for all intents and purposes is her.”
A tear falls over his left cheek. “How did you know about this room? About Adrienne?” He hesitates and his voice cracks. “About the day I tried to unplug her?”
Foster appears from somewhere to my right, breaking the silence that hid him from me until now. “Noah—”
Noah’s gaze does not release mine. “Back off, Birmingham. I mean it.”
“This is all just as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” I say venomously. “I did not even know Adrienne was a baby. I thought she was just another patient.”
Noah looks behind me. “You have to have a theory, Sonya. Something.”
I shift out of his hands, this time without any further hindrance. I turn to face Sonya, whose gaze bounces between Noah, me, and Emma. She breathes deep once.
“It’s ridiculous,” she says finally. “But maybe Arthur Travista found a way to hijack the soul.”
Foster scoffs. “You’re right. That is ridiculous.”
She merely shrugs and shakes her head. “The choice of word isn’t technically right, but you get my meaning. The man’s a goddamn genius. It would explain why Emma is brain-dead.”
Noah and I exchange a look; then he says, “That doesn’t explain why this Emma has seen what she’s seen since the raid. Since waking up in Travista’s lab.”
Sonya holds her hands up. “All I know is that Travista knows the human brain better than any scientist I’ve ever come across, and that’s only the beginning of his brilliance. The man has spent his entire career searching for a cure to infertility.”
Her eyes glaze over and she begins speed-talking while repeating data she must have learned from one of his many books. I cannot make sense of anything she says; nor do I share in her obvious enthusiasm for the man himself.
Foster raises his hands to stop her. “Sonya, nobody cares how Travista has single-handedly turned modern medicine on its ear. That doesn’t make him Jesus Christ. Focus.”
She shoots him an annoyed look but gathers herself and says, “He managed to access Emma’s entire archetype, her past, everything, then pick and choose which parts to bring to life. It didn’t work—case in point, she’s regaining our Emma’s memory—but it was definitely a brilliant start. In eight months of life, Clone Emma is a fully functional twenty-six-year-old.”
My breath catches and my eyelids fall shut. I am no longer simply Emma but Clone Emma. I have never felt so distant from the human race as at this very moment.
“You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?” Foster says.
“Seriously, Sonya, don’t do that,” Noah adds.
I shake my head and open my eyes. “What else is she supposed to call me?” Even as I say it, my heart cannot accept it. It feels wrong on so many levels.
Sonya holds up her hands. “Sorry, look, ‘clone’ doesn’t mean she isn’t human. She is, and according to the things we’ve been hearing, perfectly healthy. One of the other clones is already pregnant, and her host wasn’t even fertile. Never was.”
This catches my attention. “You mean Ruby?”
She nods. “Ruby was a receptionist Charles Godfrey took a liking to. Burke agreed to use her as the guinea pig for the new fertility project.”
My throat tightens. “Is that what I am? A project?”
“No,” Noah says quickly. “Not that we can tell. All the conversations about this project of his centered around Ruby Godfrey and now Lydia Farris. Any mention of using you, Burke shoots down.”
My legs weaken and I grab the first thing I can for support: Noah. He helps me into a nearby chair. “They are clones, too,” I say when I catch my breath. I remember the conversation between the Farrises and Declan, how Richard said Lydia knew everything. When I last saw her, she acted as if she had already been cured of her fertility issue. “Lydia has all of her memories,” I say. “She was a willing participant.”
Sonya nods. “She wants more children and thought it worth the risk.”
“If I am not part of this project, then why me?” I look at the tank and the deadened hazel eyes behind the glass. “What makes me so important?”<
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“We thought,” Noah begins slowly, “Burke was using you to get to me. That he knew what I was up to.”
“That is why you planned to kill me,” I say.
He averts his eyes and nods. “It didn’t take long to see that wasn’t the case. He still has no idea about our operation or me.”
“Then why else would he need me?” I ask.
“I think it has something to do with the marriage certificate you—I mean, Emma—wanted destroyed years ago. She had me hack into a computer and delete the record of her arranged marriage.”
Foster eyes us curiously. “Who was she married to?”
“Declan,” I say. “His father bought me as a birthday present.”
Foster looks as if a lightbulb went off. “That’s it, then. He wanted his wife back.”
Noah tilts his head and folds his arms. “Come on. It can’t be that simple.”
I shake my head, recalling the fight with Declan on the way to “fix” my memory problems. It means that I never would have let my father force me into this marriage if I didn’t want you the moment I saw you. It means I never would have spent the last eight years keeping one ear to the ground for some sign that you were still out there.
“No, Foster is right,” I say. “Declan all but said as much the other day.”
I stand and pace toward the tank that has filled my dreams for eight months. I lay a hand over the glass, the gentle vibration of the attached machinery coursing through my arm. “Is She really dead?”
Sonya seems to be the only one capable of answering, and it still takes her a while. “All brain function is gone. We would have let her go a long time ago if it weren’t for the girl she carries.”
“Why the tank?” I have to know the reason behind my source of fear for so much of my short life.
“I didn’t want to risk any kind of infection. Bedsores were a concern. The floating also relieves the pressure on Adrienne. Just trying to make things as simple as possible until it’s time for the birth.”
“How long?”
“Any day now.”
I spin around. “Really? Then . . . what? You will just let Emma die?”