Replication (17 page)

M
ARTYR AND
A
BBY SAT
in front of Officer Runstrom’s desk at what Abby called the
police station
. The man called Allam had told them to sit there and walked away without removing the restraints on Martyr’s wrists. That had been over forty minutes ago. Only two of the seven desks in the large room were occupied, but neither of those men had spoken, despite Abby’s attempts at communicating.

Martyr watched the entrance for Dr. Kane. Abby seemed convinced he would arrive soon. She had tried three times to reach Dr. Goyer on her cell phone but had not succeeded.

“This is ridiculous,” Abby said. “I mean, they can’t keep us here
without a reason. Fishhook doesn’t have a curfew, and Kylee was driving the speed limit.”

Allam walked into the room and sat three desks away from Runstrom’s.

“Hey,” Abby said. “You don’t have a right to hold us. Plus, we deserve to get our phone calls.”

“You’re not under arrest,” Allam said.

“Even more reason why we deserve a phone call.”

Allam leaned back in his chair. “You’re a minor. The laws aren’t the same.”

“Besides,” a man at one of the desks in the back of the room said, “you’ve got a cell phone on you. We aren’t stopping you from using it. Call someone who’ll answer.”

Abby’s eyebrows sank. “I’m not some idiot teenager, you know. I’ve got a summer internship scheduled with the Philadelphia PD, and I’m going to Penn State to study forensic science. So you can just cut the fluff and tell me the truth, okay? Why are you holding us?”

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.

A
BBY 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
.

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.

She scanned the dark forest around her, unable to see anything to pinpoint her location. Johnson swept up her legs again, and the heavyset man stepped into the dark hole.

“No!” Abby’s head sank below the ground. “Why are you doing this?”

The men didn’t answer, only led her down a staircase into darkness.

At the bottom of the stairs, Johnson dropped her ankles and climbed back up to shut the door. Abby gave one last piercing scream, eliciting laughter from her beefy captor.

“Scream away, girlie. No one can hear you.”

Abby waited, watching the tiny beam of light from Johnson’s flashlight descend the stairs and pass her. The beam illuminated a silver surface, then a lockbox. A vault door. A second entrance
into the Farm? She hoped the cops had taken her advice and were watching the place.

“Got your card, Rolo?”

Rolo grinned as he dragged Abby toward the lockbox. He released her long enough to shift his grip to Abby’s sore arm and pull a keycard from his pocket. His hand stayed poised near a slot in the box.

Johnson stepped away, taking the light with him. A second lockbox entered the beam.

“Hurry up,” Rolo said. “I’m sick of this kid. Glad we don’t do girls here.”

“One. Two. Three,” Johnson said, and the men swiped their cards.

The door clicked and Johnson pulled it open. Abby stood tall and walked through the door, despite the violent push from her captor.

Hopefully they were taking her to Marty or her dad.

A stone corridor stretched before her, lit with dim bulbs every twenty steps or so. Abby walked maybe two hundred yards before the tunnel veered right to another vault door. Johnson and Rolo swiped their keycards again.

This door opened to a white hallway floored with gray, industrial carpet. Halfway up the wall on her left, a dark window stretched the length of the hallway, looking in on an empty cafeteria. As the men led Abby into the building, she realized she was looking in on the Farm itself.

They stopped at an elevator and Abby looked over her shoulder. Straight across from the elevator, a set of double doors split the tinted windows, but the two-way mirrors continued on the other side of the doors, overlooking a black barred children’s playground with a bright orange slide that was just as Marty had described it.

At least they gave the boys that much.

The elevator dinged and Rolo maneuvered her inside while Johnson swiped his keycard and hit the button that said L1. The elevator rose, and the doors opened to a stark, white waiting room.
Abby shut her eyes against the brightness, then blinked, not wanting to miss where they were taking her.

Straight through a reception area. She thought back to Marty’s drawings of the Farm. This level had a hallway that ran in a U shape from one side of reception area to the other, with Dr. Kane’s office and the computer lab in the center. The guards were headed for the office.

The men led Abby through a doorway into a vast and richly decorated office. For a place that had little color, this room was an exception. A wide mahogany conference table stretched across the front end of the office, the edge and legs intricately carved. Matching chairs upholstered in black leather surrounded it. An Oriental carpet probably worth fifty grand covered the floor. At the other end of the room, Dr. Kane sat behind a massive antique desk and motioned to one of two high-back chairs that sat before it.

The guards dragged her to the chairs.

“Please, sit down,” he said. “Can I take your coat and gloves?”

“No, thanks,” Abby said, grossed out by the way his voice sounded like JD’s. “I’m not staying.”

The guards pulled back one of the chairs and negated her choice. She resituated herself on the soft, low seat, perching on the edge and sitting as tall as her spine would stretch. Apparently the doctor liked sitting above everyone else.

Abby glanced around the room. Fresh flowers brought a sweet smell to the underground office. Candy dishes filled with M&M’s sat on every wooden surface. A huge painting hung on the wall: a family portrait of Dr. Kane, his wife, and JD.

How bizarre to have a life-sized painting of you and your clone
.

“A handsome family, don’t you think?” Dr. Kane asked. He watched her from behind his oversized desk with familiar, hungry brown eyes.

Abby shivered. “There
is
quite a resemblance. Do you have paintings with the other fifty-five?”

“The Jasons are not people, Miss Goyer, like you and me. These are duplications of me, photocopies if you will.”

“Then your
son
isn’t a person?”

“JD is different. An exception. A gift. My wife wanted a child more than anything, which is what started this all. I know you think it was my illness, but that came later. Creating life is a deep human need. When you can’t succeed, it creates a certain … frustration, almost a madness. I had to find a way for Helen to conceive. As a result, she became JD’s surrogate, which is what makes him so different from the others. He is the only one who got to stay with his birthmother.”

“So she knows her only son is not real?”

“Oh, JD is real. A real copy of the original. But, yes, she knows he’s my clone. Why do you think she won’t allow him to date?” Dr. Kane chuckled. “Of course children always want what they can’t have. I guess our rules and your rejection were too much challenge for JD to ignore.”

“Free will is also a deep human need, Dr. Kane.”

“Not in my clones. They know their purpose and that’s what they live for. JD is no exception, although his purpose is different from the others. To be a child to us.”

“JD knows he’s a clone?”

“Of course not. I define purpose for my clones, Miss Goyer. I do not want them confused. JD’s purpose is to live as my son. J:3:3’s purpose is to give his life as a sacrifice for a good cause. In fact all the boys at this facility share that purpose, for now. Come, see what I mean.”

Rolo grabbed Abby’s left arm and tugged her to her feet. She gritted her teeth, not wanting to call attention to her injury again. Together, they followed Dr. Kane out of the office, sliced across the reception area, through an archway, and into a white corridor. The only sound was everyone’s shoes squeaking against the white tile.

They passed one door, and Abby noticed how the doors were identical, about ten steps apart from each other, and stretched down the outer wall of the corridor. Johnson opened the third door, and Dr. Kane led them inside. The interior reminded Abby of an examination room, similar to any that one might see at a physician’s office. The only difference was the microscope on the
counter. But the man dressed in a white lab coat definitely wasn’t a standard physician.

“Dad!” Abby wrenched away from Rolo and threw her good arm around her father.

“Abby,
darling
. I’m so glad to see you. Talk about working overtime.” Dad chuckled and stepped out of her embrace.

Something was weird. Dad never called her
darling
. That was his name for Mom—when they hadn’t been fighting, anyway. Abby let the questions queue in her mind, waiting for the right time to ask.

She glanced around the room and choked back a scream. Marty was strapped to an examination table, morosely staring at his feet. His head and face were freshly shaven, and he was dressed again in the gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that had
J:3:3
printed in black on the sleeve. The doctor who came to the police station with Dr. Kane stood on the other side of Marty’s exam table, clipboard in hand.

Abby lunged to Marty’s side and took his limp hand, wanting to rip off the cruel restraint at his wrist. The bruising on his eye was gone. It was him, wasn’t it? Yes, she could see the faint scratch on his cheek from the tree branch. “What did you do to him?” She unhooked the strap and glared at the doctor who stood on the other side. The tall, scarecrow-like man barely reacted. “Let him out of these bindings.”

“Very well, Miss Goyer,” said Dr. Kane. “Dr. Elliot, if you will?”

The tall man removed the strap on Marty’s other wrist. His arm slid lifelessly off the table.

Abby squeezed Marty’s hand and shook it. “You’ve … drugged him or something.”

“No drugs, Miss Goyer,” Dr. Kane said. “Only instruction. J:3:3 experienced a glitch when he escaped. We’ve corrected that glitch.”