Cloned For Him Read online

  After a night of relative discomfort sleeping with my legs propped up on the front seat, I decided it was in both mine and Doozle's best interest to find a hotel. I wound up reserving a room at the very lodge I'd attended the Christmas party at with Marcie.

  I was restless, and go figure. I'd potentially made a very stupid mistake in staying there. But it couldn't be helped. I was tired and weary, and in desperate need of real rest.

  But despite my best efforts, I just couldn't relax in my room in the lodge. The rooms were very well furnished. The bed was comfortable, the covers warm and soft, the room spacious. But the large room only seemed to remind me of how small I truly was and how alone I was. Plus, I'd had to sneak Doozle in my jacket and I honestly wasn't sure how long I could hide the dog in the bathroom like I was doing. It was just a good thing he wasn't a loud dog, and that he had the good sense to do his business on the linoleum in the bathroom where it was easiest to clean up.

  I spent two days in the lodge, mostly moping and nibbling on tasteless snacks. When I wasn't doing that, I was laying on my bed by the window overlooking the snowy valley, flipping through an old photo album of my life with Marcie.

  I scratched Doozle's head, sighing deeply as I stared at a picture of Marcie and I helping our families take down some of the stalls at the fair. I snickered when I remembered Hank, the old manager of the concessions stations. He'd always give us the leftover cotton candy and we always ate so much, we were sick afterward. Our parents finally gave up scolding us for it, figuring we'd eventually get tired of spending two days in bed with aching bellies. They were right, of course, as parents usually are.

  Another picture showed Marcie and me getting ready to ride the Ferris wheel. Marcie was afraid of heights, and doing her best to hide it. She sat next to me, her face chalky and her short hair hanging over her eyes as she fought the urge to ditch the car we were in. The picture didn't show it, but I was holding her hand the entire time.

  I was glad I'd taken this particular photo album. I knew I'd be in even worse shape if I'd grabbed our wedding album. We hadn't been married very long at all.

  I felt my chest tightening as I browsed through the photos. Our parents had joined the fair as employees when Marcie and I were just babies. We had literally never been apart our entire conscious lives. When we got married, I envisioned the two of us ending up like those old, loving couples you sometimes read about, who were so close that they died within hours of one another. The last two months, I'd spent every night praying for death. But despite my best efforts, death never came for me. I was forced to wake up every morning and face the reality that Marcie was gone.

  I laid down on my side, dragging Doozle up close to me. While he'd once protested, whined, grunted and complained at being cuddled against his will, now he, like myself, was utterly defeated. I'd lost my wife, and he'd lost his mommy.

  It was getting late. It was still early February. Nights were longer and harder right now. I got up, setting Doozle down where he lay like a fluffy slug, unmoving.

  “I'm gonna go down and get us some dinner, buddy.” I muttered, “Be back soon.”

  He watched me blankly, occasionally looking around at the room before resting his head back on his paws with a huff. I hated seeing him like that. He wasn't old enough to be that depressed.

  Downstairs, I found the main room to be mostly empty. Dinner hours were just about over. A few people milled around here and there, mostly finishing up the remains of their meals. Others were talking and chatting, relaxing over after-dinner drinks. Every one of them was of far higher societal status than I was. I was definitely the odd duck in the room. But the way I was feeling then, I didn't really care. I went to the long table where the food had been put out some time before, feeling the stares of a few people on my back. As I expected, there wasn't much left. Everything here was so tasteless and bland. I already barely had any appetite left. But regardless, I took a plate and grabbed the scraps that remained; a couple of dry pork chops, a spoonful of soggy broccoli, a couple of crusty rolls and a handful of butter packets.

  I shuffled over to a table near the entryway into the foyer, sitting down and rummaging through my selections with a metal fork. I glanced casually around me to make sure no one was watching as I stuffed one of the pork chops into my coat pocket for Doozle. The other, I sliced with some difficulty and ate with slightly more difficulty. The food was disgusting, especially after having sat out for two hours, but I hardly noticed. I hadn't enjoyed eating for a while now.

  I finished, leaving more than half of it on my plate. I got up, turning to head back to the room.

  As I was leaving the dining hall, I noticed a large cork board hanging from the wall by the coat racks. It had a bunch of flyers and notices on it, advertising one thing or another. However, something posted to it caught my eye. I frowned, moving closer and pulling it down. It was an ad for a field trial for...a cloning program?

  “Volunteers wanted; embark on a new field of medical discovery with impossibilities made possible through cloning.” I read.

  I suppose I should have just thrown the flyer away, but something was nagging at me, prodding me to hang onto it. I glanced around again, but no one was really watching me anymore. I stuffed the flyer into my coat and trudged back up the stairs around the corner into my room. I tossed Doozle his porkchop and sat down on the bed, my eyes unwavering from the flyer.

  Human cloning. There was a number. The facility was located about fifteen miles over in the next town. It was practically within driving distance. My mind was racing. My skin was damp with sweat and my heart was racing so fast I could barely breathe. Was this program real? I felt my throat tighten again and I grimaced as I rubbed my eyes with the back of my arm. This was no time to get emotional again, not when I was struggling so hard to get over my loss. But I couldn't help it. I felt like I'd lost all control of myself. I started crying all over again as I shakily reached to the nightstand for my phone. The flyer had a 24-hour hotline set up on it. Without even stopping to question myself, I dialed, waiting with baited breath.

  “Thank you for calling Medio Laboratories. Please listen to the menu as our menu options have changed. To speak with a lab representative, press one. To speak with a general manager, press—”

  I pressed one and waited patiently as the dial tone set in. It wasn't too late, yet. I prayed that someone was still around to answer my call. I started fidgeting anxiously, watching Doozle nosh on the pork chop by my foot and feeling guilty for not feeding him a proper diet. I made a mental note to pick up some real dog food as soon as I—

  “Thanks for holding. My name is Helen. How can I help you?”

  “Huh? Oh, hi!” I exclaimed, “Uh, are you a staff member of Medio Labs?”

  “Yup. We're actually getting ready to close up for the night, but I can take your call. What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Uh...well, I...I'm at the Wolf Haven lodge in Mt. Pleasant. I found a flyer for your labs on a board down in the foyer.”

  “Ah! I see. Yes, the Wolf Haven lodge is a big sponsor of our labs. Makes sense you'd find a flyer there. Were you interested in the cloning program?”

  “Yes, I was. I mean, I think I am.”

  “You think?”

  “Well....”

  “What purpose did you call us for, Mr...?”

  “Steven. Steven Weaver.”

  “Mr. Weaver.”

  “My...Well, my wife, um...she died, about two months ago. It was a hit and run.”

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Weaver. You'd like to see her again?”

  “Yes. I mean, if you can, of course.”

  “Do you live nearby?”

  “I live in town, just down the mountain.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I'm thirty-two.”

  “Do you have a mode of reliable transportation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any children?”

  “...No.”

  “Are you a registered, voting able ci
tizen of the United States?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you employed?”

  “I'm on paid leave right now, but yes, I'm employed.”

  “Do you have insurance?”

  “Uh...through Blue Cross.”

  “Have you ever been convicted of a crime?”

  “No?”

  “Have you ever been or are you now a smoker?”

  “Tried it, hated it, dumped it.”

  Helen chuckled and then continued, “Okay. Last question. Do you have any plans to travel or live outside of the country for any length of time?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, Mr. Weaver. I've got you logged into the system. Is there a date and time you'd like to schedule an appointment to come in?”

  “Uh, is tomorrow around three too soon?”

  “Not at all. I'll schedule you in. Our address is 3556 Southampton Rd. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes, I actually do.”

  “Great. You'll be meeting with myself and Dr. Lewinsky. We'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Weaver.”

  We hung up and I set the phone down, staring blankly into space. I wasn't sure how to process what I was feeling. Part of me felt giddy and excited with the prospect that this might be real. After all, there had been a lot of progress made in cloning techniques in the last twenty years. I think the most recent achievement was the successful cloning of human organs for cancer patients and accident victims. But I wasn't aware that full on human cloning had even become an option.

  I flopped back down on the bed, feeling Doozle jump with me and curl up in the crook of my arm. I knew I had to sleep. I had to save all my nervous energy for meeting with the doctor tomorrow.

  ***

  I sat in the lobby of the building more than an hour before I was due. It was a fairly uninteresting lobby in a highly uninteresting building. Honestly, I hadn't believed the GPS when this was where it took me. The place looked like an oversized dentist's office than a lab. The inside was even more baffling. It looked like the waiting room of a clinic. Floral patterns along the walls, uncomfortable vinyl seats, a TV in the corner playing the News (thankfully muted) and tables piled with magazines. I'd grabbed a small stack and been flipping through them, but they weren't much to talk about. I was mostly too on edge for the appointment. I hadn't slept much. Between Doozle throwing up on the bathroom floor (another mental note to get him back on a proper diet before Marcie came back from the grave herself to kill me for mistreating her puppy) and my own thoughts getting in the way, I'd probably only dozed off maybe twice the whole night.

  I jumped when the door to my right suddenly opened and a lady with long, auburn hair in a braid poked her head out, smiling at me, “Mr. Weaver?”

  I stood up, “Uh, hello.” I said, extending my hand. She took it, shaking it vigorously.

  “Hi,” she said, “I'm Helen. We spoke on the phone last night.”

  “Hi.” I said again, feeling very stupid.

  “Dr. Lewinsky is ready to see you. Would you follow me, please?”

  She led me through the door and further into the building.

  “I see you found the place in good order,” she said, chuckling.

  “Yeah. But I wasn't expecting this. It doesn't really look like a lab.” I pointed out.

  “Our board of directors insisted on a very down-to-earth appearance.” Helen explained, “They felt that too showy of a lab would frighten clients. We want to make you feel as comfortable as our clients are.”

  “But I thought I was your client.”

  “You're the one coming in. We want our clients going out to feel comfortable too.”

  I jolted and a cold shudder ran through me as I realized she was talking about the...well, the clones.

  She led me into a small office by a window overlooking a great green yard surrounded by a chain link fence. It had benches and walkways all through it, as well as a playground and a small pavilion. She glanced at me as I stared in awe at how beautiful the place appeared, surrounded by elegant weeping willows and tall pines and maples.

  “That's one of our recreational areas,” she explained, “It gives our clients a full, peaceful, undisturbed outdoor experience for them to enjoy in safety and seclusion, without feeling too overwhelmed.”

  “Wait, you guys let them out of the building?” I exclaimed. She laughed.

  “Of course we let them out. They're always assigned an escort of course, but our clients aren't lab rats, Mr. Weaver. They have full run of their side of the building. They aren't allowed to come over to this side until it's time for them to leave, so you won't see any of them right now. I think it's lunchtime anyway. Today's pizza day so you really won't see any of them.” she giggled.

  “They like...pizza?”

  “Do you like pizza?” Helen asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And there you go. Come on inside; Doctor Lewinsky can answer any questions you might have.”

  I stepped inside the office and found a relatively young man sitting at the desk. His blond hair was slightly long and hung a little over his face and in a ponytail at the back of his neck. His beard was neatly trimmed and matched his hair. He was typing like a madman as we entered and he turned when Helen closed the door and stepped inside. “Ah, welcome Mr. Weaver. Welcome to Medio Labs.” He gushed.

  “Uh, thanks for having me.” I answered, still somewhat spellbound.

  “I take it Helen explained a little about our clients.”

  “Yes, and how there are two varieties.”

  “Good. It's good for you to know. I'm Dr. Bryant Lewinsky. Just call me Bryant. My last name is a mouthful.”

  “I'm Steven Weaver.”

  “Care for anything to drink, Steven?” Bryant asked.

  “Uh...are there options?” I asked, admittedly thirsty.

  “Water, lemonade, and a few pitchers of orange smoothies that Belinda made this morning.”

  “Belinda?”

  “Can you fetch one of the pitchers, Helen? Thanks! Yes, Steven. One of our clients. She's developed a love for drink mixing and we've provided adequate materials for her to practice with. Beats the water and lemon wedges she was experimenting with before.” Bryant said, laughing.

  “So your clients inside the building, are....”

  “That's right, Steven. Every client on the inside of this building is a clone of someone on the outside. We have eleven living clients currently developing with us. We'll have three more joining them in about a month.”

  “So should I call them...uh, clones or people?”

  “Both apply, Steven, so you can call them whatever you like. Of course, you refer to them by their names when speaking with them directly, just like you would with any normal person. And these are normal people, Steven. They just came into this world a little abnormally, that's all.”

  “So, regarding my request...?”

  “Ah yes, the reason for your visit. Ah, thanks Helen.” Bryant said as Helen returned with a pitcher of orange smoothie and some red solo cups. She handed me a cup and took one herself.

  “So I understand you'd like to be reunited with your wife.” Bryant said.

  “Yeah. She died two months ago in a hit and run accident.”

  Bryant's expression fell into sadness, “An all too common tragedy, Steven. My own sister went the same way four years ago. As a matter of fact, two of our clients, while maintaining HIPAA regulations, are also here because of similar circumstances.”

  “So it is possible?” I breathed.

  “It is. With our technology, we are able to create exact clones of people either existing or who once existed. And even more impressive, we are able to speed up the growth period of our clients so they match precisely the age they were or currently are.”

  “Currently?”

  Bryant chuckled sheepishly, “You'd be amazed at some people who'd do anything to have a lookalike. Thankfully, it's been relegated to a couple of oddballs who just wanted to see what it's like to have a twin
.” he said bemusedly.

  “And the clones? Do they know...you know, what they are?”

  “Oh sure. It's not like we hide it from them. They experience growth the same way any other human does and throughout that growth, we teach them as much about the world and themselves as we can, including the fact that they're clones of other people.”

  “This doesn't stress them out?”

  “It does some, of course. We have a few newer individuals who recently joined the commune that are having some difficulties processing this information and we medicate them as needed to deal with their anxieties and keep them comfortable.”

  “Where do they stay while they're here?”

  “We currently only have the resources to care for fifteen individuals at any given time.” Bryant explained, pulling something up on his computer and turning the screen to face me. I could see a large, expansive list of pictures of bedrooms and facilities throughout the building.

  “The rooms are each about two hundred and fifty square feet, about the size of a one bedroom apartment. Each one contains a bathroom, a little living area, a small bedroom and a kitchenette. The rooms look empty when they're unoccupied, as you see here in the photos. But once assigned, the clones are free to request any decorations they wish. Each of them has a monthly allowance of funds allocated to their assigned guardians, whose job it is to go out and get the things they ask for. It's usually comfort or entertainment things; blankets, pillows, stuffed toys, pictures, art supplies. Hey, one client seemed to have inherited her donor's love of geek paraphernalia and has amassed quite the impressive collection of anime since she arrived.”

  “Inherited?”

  “Well, even though the clones possess the exact same DNA string as their donors, an interesting effect we've seen since the project began is that often times, different quirks in the behavior can form. Sometimes, we even get a completely separate personality altogether, although this is rather rare. We've found the similar DNA makeup usually tends to lead to a similar personality type. It's likely that in the cases with brand new personalities, the donor probably had some unaddressed mental instabilities that the clones are now exhibiting with affected development.”