by Nathan Wall
“Save for a few donated by the mother, they would be the same species if Jarrod's set of chromosomes didn't stop at forty-six.” Elliot walked over to Shah's bed and sat down. He crossed his legs, sat the computer on his lap, and briefly glanced over the screen to look at Shah's panicked face. “Not the same species, but still brothers.”
“I have to say... I don't understand.”
“You wouldn't understand, and frankly, I don't expect you to. Stuff like this predates your time with us.” Elliot smiled with delight at the images and scrolled through them, admiring the way they were so wonderfully formed together. He erased them all and disabled the feed being transmitted to the flash drive. “Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to clue you in. So all of this, you're going to need to forget.”
“Forget, sir?” Shah exaggeratingly swallowed as a few beads of sweat ran down his cheek and neck.
“You know? Fail to remember?” Elliot smirked, finding his own wit funny. He set the computer on the bed and closed it. He walked over to Shah and placed a hand on his forehead. “You're a great employee, so that's why I convinced my boss to keep you around. But, to do that, I am going to have to wipe your memory. Don't worry, just from the past twenty or so minutes. That should do the trick, wouldn't you say?”
“I don't get it. Why? We work for the same people...”
“We do, if you want to get technical.” Elliot nodded, shrugging his shoulders as his tone was eerily playful. “Believe me, I think it's a great injustice that you don't know everything. However, I think your productivity would just plummet at the sheer thought of having to come to grips with what we're really doing. Then I'd have to kill you. So think of this as a gift for you.”
“I promise I won't tell anyone.” Shah shook his head, trying to pull away with all his might, but not budging an inch. “Please, don't.”
“Oh, don't be such a big baby. I've done this before and you were fine. You ended up impotent, but the blue pills help with that, so all is kosher.” Elliot laughed, pulling his hand away for a slight second. “It is a bit curious...”
“What is?”
“Why aren't Jarrod's full abilities manifesting already?” Elliot hunched over and stared deep into Shah's eyes, clamping down on his knees as he rattled them back and forth. “Theoretically, he should be every bit the Agent Jackson is—even better… just untrained.”
“Upbringing, maybe?” Shah threw out an answer, hoping it would keep Elliot from doing whatever he was about to do.
“Yes, maybe she put a lock on them.” Elliot nodded with a full smile. He placed his right hand back to Shah's forehead. “Time to forget.”
* * *
Twenty-two Years Ago
Since starting the new series of doses her husband outlined for her just two months prior, Sarah often succumbed to long spells of dizziness. These outbreaks would leave her writhing in pain, often compelling her to drop whatever it was she was doing and lay down on the floor. This latest episode was no different.
As if hundreds of voices were entering her head all at once, screaming through a loud speaker, her brain pushed on the inside of her skull. She fell to her knees, trying in vain to pull herself along the floor and to the sofa just a few feet away. Lying in the darkness, she could make out the faint trail of light sneaking in through the window above her kitchen sink.
This pain isn't forever, she reminded herself every time. It was the only way to keep from going insane and throwing in the towel. Billy will be home soon. I have to pull myself together.
He'd never seen her in this state and she knew that if he ever did, he would pull the plug on the whole treatment. She knew this was her last chance at having a child and didn't want to heap an extra pile of pressure on top of the person she loved more than life, but she often wondered if she was tolerating the pain because of the new life it was going to bring into the world, or because she didn't want to shatter her husband's spirit.
She finally made it to the base of the couch, able to drape her head on a cushion. The energy from her body quickly drained. The pain subsided and she reached into the pocket on the front of her apron, pulling out a picture. It didn't look like much, but the sonogram confirmed what she always hoped for. She was pregnant.
“My sweet baby boy,” she said, her thumb gliding across the image. No one could tell from the picture, as the sex of the embryo hadn't officially been confirmed, but she knew it would be a boy. She couldn't explain it, but she could see him growing up in her mind. Sanderson always played it off as nonsensical wishes and daydreams, but Sarah knew different. She was as certain of this as she had been of anything else in her life. She was so sure, that she had already decided to name the baby after Sanderson's grandfather. “My sweet baby Ryan.”
Sarah stood and gingerly made her way into the kitchen. It wouldn't be long before her husband got home. She dipped a wooden spoon into her pasta sauce and pulled it out, taking a quick taste. To her, it was perfect. It had just the right amount of spice and garlic, but she went ahead and added an extra dose of oregano. Sanderson loved the flavor and she could already see it in her head that he was going to ask for more of it. So she went ahead and cut out that entire process. As she mixed in the oregano, the vision of Sanderson adding a pinch of the herb to the sauce changed to an image of him moaning with pleasure.
“Perfect,” she said.
She quickly spun around and put an empty pot under the faucet, filling it. She poured a bit of salt into the water and turned her gas stove on. She flowed with ease throughout the crowded kitchen, gliding around the wooden island they bought from an appliance store, and into the pantry to remove a box of angel hair pasta. She closed her eyes and moved around without seeing where she was going. Instead, she made a series of quick judgments by viewing different outcomes in her mind.
It was unexplainable, but she knew that if she moved another two inches to her right, that she would slam her toe into a cabinet, fall over, and break her head on the sink.
These quick, yet detailed visions were sporadic at first. However, over the last three weeks they'd become more frequent and much stronger with each and every passing day. The visions would manifest suddenly. She was granted the most control over them after enduring one of her painful episodes. Of course, she didn't dare tell her husband about these visions either. He had enough to worry about.
“Thump goes the car door. Creek sings the gate. Clunk, clunk, goes the shoes on the steps, and 'I love you, Honey' says the wife in response to her husband,” she sang to herself, goosebumps tickling her back. Smiling as a euphoric feeling ran through her chest, she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds she just described come to fruition.
“Baby, I'm home,” Sanderson said, opening the back door. With his head down, he swung to his right, placed his hat and coat on the rack, and closed the door. He turned around and saw Sarah standing over the stove.
“I love you, Honey.” She turned around and leapt into his arms.
“I'm happy to see you too.” He smiled, closing his eyes as he smelled her sauce. It was his favorite. “Did you add enough oregano?”
“See for yourself,” she smiled, sitting at the table and watching him. He walked over to the stove, grabbed the wooden spoon, and lifted the lid, slowly scooping out a massive serving of sauce.
“Uh, my God, that is fantastic,” he moaned. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and rubbed his stomach. He took in a deep breath, as if basking in the glory of one of those horrible cigars he would smoke despite her abhorrence for them. “Just the right amount...”
“I know.” Sarah smiled, quickly skipping over and giving the pasta a stir before they melted onto the bottom of the pot. “Can you grab the strainer? This is almost done.”
“Sure.” He chaotically meandered around the kitchen, looking for the strainer. Right as he was about to ask a question, she answered it.
“Third cabinet from the left, second shelf.”
“You know, you've been doing that a lot recently.”
He gave her a weird look, opening the cabinet and removing the strainer.
“I know... I mean, I've been doing what?” She kept her gaze on the pasta, but looked at him out of the corner of her eye to make sure he didn't catch what she said. When he didn't respond, she could sense she was in the all-clear. “What have I been doing?”
“Answering me before I am even able to ask a question.” He looked at his phone and then handed her the strainer. “It's like you're reading my mind or something.”
“Too funny.” She giggled and rolled her eyes. She poured the water out and the pasta into the plastic strainer.
Suddenly, she could hear the phone ring violently in her head even though it wasn't. The throbbing pounded in her skull as if she were standing next to a subwoofer. She dropped the pasta and it splattered across the tile floor. She grabbed her head as blood slowly trickled out of her nose. Sanderson frantically grabbed a towel, pulling her onto his lap. He messaged her temples in a circular motion.
“Are you ok?” he asked, swaying back and forth.
“This is she,” Sarah said, answering the voice in her head. Her jaw clamped shut as the voice echoed again, telling her that her aunt had died. She replied to it again. “Oh my God, when?”
The pain subsided and she remained motionless in Sanderson's lap. He twirled her hair around his fingers, gently stroking her head. Her breathing normalized, taking in long, methodical breaths. She opened her eyes and looked into his. He gasped, seeing her eye color shifting from brown to blue and back again.
“What is it?” she asked, but immediately her question was answered as she could see herself through his gaze. “My eyes...”
“What's wrong with...” he paused for a second, but she already knew what he was going to say, and started to break down. He hugged her, rubbing her back in a circular motion. “I'm sorry. You're fine. I can figure this out. I just need to know how long...”
“You're not stopping it. Not now... We're so close to holding him,” she said, closing her eyes as a small tear ran down her face. “I can see him, Billy. I can hear him cry for us at night. I know you'll love him too.”
“You're right.” He nodded, pulling her close, still not completely believing her. As he ran his fingers through her long hair, the phone rang. She held him tightly, willing him not to move, too afraid of the voice on the other side of the phone. He insisted. “I have to get it.”
She relented and let him stand. He pulled the phone from the wall and answered it. Their eyes crept towards one another and she nodded. Sarah took the phone.
“Is this Sarah Sanderson?” the voice asked.
“This is she.”
“I'm afraid I have some news regarding your Aunt. She passed on.”
“Oh my God, when?” Sarah leaned against the wall, her knees weak. Sanderson pulled a chair over and she sat.
“Earlier this morning. I'm sorry for the late notice, but we've attempted to call her children. Is there someone you can help us get in touch with in order to make arrangements?” the voice spoke sweetly.
“There's no one else.” Sarah shook her head, her gaze fixed off into space. Sanderson walked around her chair and rubbed her back. “Both of her children aren't the sort to care. I was all she had.”
“I'm very sorry for your loss and the insensitive nature of this call…” The voice paused for a second. “Have you made preparations?”
“If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to call you back in a few minutes.” Sarah waited for their reply and nodded as she hung up the phone. “Thank you.”
“Aunt Olivia?” Sanderson asked and Sarah nodded. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her. Suddenly, she felt a terrible cramp in her stomach and her knees gave out. She slipped from his grasp and her head bounced off the tile floor, knocking her unconscious. “Sarah.”
He checked her head for an opening, but there was none. His eyes moved along her body and he noticed a dark patch forming through her apron on the area between her legs. He lifted the apron, noticing her pants were soaked. He put his fingers onto the wet spot and looked at them. It was blood.
* * *
Later that day
The elevator reached the floor he wanted and Sanderson quickly jumped out of it, pushing a still unconscious Sarah in a wheel chair. He pressed his hand on a control pad and the clear film below his palm lit up. The doors opened and he wheeled her into his private lab. Once inside, he deactivated the video feed. He moved her onto the examination table.
“You're going to be fine,” he whispered, touching her forehead and speaking more so for his own peace of mind rather than hers. He continued to move around the lab, speaking to her as if she were awake. “It's just a minor hiccup, that’s all. You and the baby are going to be fine. Ryan, you've been calling him, so certain we're going to have a boy. I believe you. I do. He's going to be the best baby.”
He grabbed the equipment he'd been looking for and ran over to Sarah. He tore her clothes off, quickly cleaned her up, and examined her. He gave a sedative to keep her asleep and help ward off any physical or emotional suffering that was sure to come with her awakening. Especially if the results he feared were true.
He wheeled the sonogram up next to her and scanned her abdomen for signs of life. For fifteen minutes he searched, trying to convince himself he might have skipped over something.
There was nothing.
He collapsed onto the floor, weary of another failure he delivered his wife. Even though he allowed himself to become attached to the life that grew inside her, he knew his agony would be nothing compared to what she would experience when waking to find her body was once again found unfit to host life.
“Damn you, God.” He drove his elbow into a glass cabinet behind him, shattering it. Small pieces of glass lodged into his arm and a steady trickle of blood soaked his white dress shirt. “Of course. Smite my arm with glass because I dare take Your name in vain, you prick.”
He limped over to his personal washroom. As he pulled the glass from his arm and sewed himself up, his mind raced through the ways he could break the news to Sarah. He wished there were a way he could change the outcome of this night and spare her the pain.
A computer that was at rest out in the main lab started up. He noticed the monitor glow out of the corner of his eye and walked out of his private lab to see if anyone else was around.
“Hello?” He poked his head out, quickly moving his eyes around the room. There was no answer. Just the slow hum of the machines which worked nonstop, caring for the samples they were rebuilding. He walked to the computer, sat at the desk, and started nosing around. “I need to remember to discipline whoever works at this station for not locking their computer.”
He looked up and then quickly around as an uneasy feeling crept up his spine.
“Look at me. I'm talking to myself. I must be going insane.” He went to lock the computer when his eyes caught something. It was a write up of the most recent tests they'd done on cloning the pure source. He clicked on the file and did a quick read-through, correcting some of the mundane errors the writer inserted. His eyes focused in on the last line. “Growth steady and life considered viable. However, the embryo is unstable after stage two, as a lack of...”
He leaned back and kept reading. His mind tried to solve the problem as it always did. He looked over to his lab, sighing. If he couldn't solve his wife's problems, he was going to solve some other issue.
“The embryo is unstable... Why?” He leaned forward, resting his head. “We've already replicated the appropriate genomes to fit the double-helix. Why isn't it surviving? It's a perfect copy...”
He stopped talking when the hairs on the back of his neck stood. He grinned, shaking his head, and entered his new calculations into the computer simulator. He ran ten simulatons, each coming out perfect. He slid across the floor on his knees, yelling in excitement.
“There is no perfect copy when making it human. We need the other half of the building blocks to create life
.”
He went to the machine which housed the samples and entered his key code. He rummaged through each cylinder, looking at what they called “subjects,” trying to find the one that had the perfect combination of being in a safe stage, yet far enough along in development to not allow Sarah to be any wiser. As far as she knew, she was still two months pregnant. The new baby would have to keep up the illusion. Finally, he found the one.
“Subject 21,” he said, pulling it out of the chamber. He sprinted over to his lab and set the cylinder on the work station closest to Sarah. He took her pulse, nodding in confirmation that she was still fine.
He drew a sample of her blood and began to spin it, drawing out the parts he needed to make Subject 21 stable. If they were to create a human baby from this pure source, then they needed the human building blocks. They needed the genetic material from two donors, two sexes, to create a sustainable lifeform.
He toiled for hours, working well into the next morning and the start of the weekend. Finally, he was done, and the life he formed was both a replication of the pure source and his wife. He implanted the embryo inside of her, gave her another dose of the primer, and prepped her body for the new child it would create. He moved her over to his sofa, sat down on a small chair next to her, and waited for hours.
“Billy,” a faint voice called out.
He yawned, waking to find Sarah moving slightly but still too weak to walk. Her eyes were closed and she called for him again.
“Billy, what's happening…?”
He leaned forward, fell off the chair, and crawled up next to her. He touched her face and put his head to her chest, trying to smell the faint cherry scent in her hair.
“Try not to speak.” He kissed her forehead, turning around and leaning his back against the base of the sofa. “Just get your rest.”
“The baby,” she gasped, yawning in the process. She turned and slung her hand over his shoulder. “Is he going to be fine?”