The Perfect Clone (2 page)

With great determination and strength, the relentless assault to escape continues. The animal’s beak splinters. Its formidable claws break off at the tips as it frantically burrows into the floors of its fleshly cell. Freedom becomes an illusion; imprisonment a reality.

Overcome by anguish and fatigue, the hostage ultimately surrenders to captivity. Bowing its head, the eagle folds torn wings and tucks its injured beak inside. The mighty eagle, having lost the strength to fight, once again becomes the subservient dove.

With the battle complete, the decrepit hands open, providing full view of the bloodied battle arena. Then, with swift precision, the ancient hands clamp down on the unsuspecting prey, crushing it completely.

An eerie cackle fills the cosmos, proclaiming victory.

********************

5 years later

Dammit! Laura’s fist slammed against the feather pillow. She really didn’t need this tonight. Correction—she’d never needed it. Yet there it was; the vivid details of a nightmare that continuously haunted her and chewed away at her soul.

The cracking ripples of thunder from a passing storm matched Laura’s mood. Much like a medieval leper lurking on a child’s playground, Laura felt morally unclean. The nasty nature of the dream, combined with the fact that she was becoming accustomed to it, grated against raw nerves.

Glancing toward the clock on her nightstand, Laura dragged herself out of bed. The day would come and go and she’d rather it not do so without her full participation.

Easing her feet into a favorite pair of slippers, Laura walked to the window, taking residence on the bay window’s seat cushions. She lifted the blinds. The coolness of the glass pane was a welcome treat as she pressed her forehead against it. Closing her eyes Laura listened to the increasing ravages of the approaching thunderstorm.

The dream began shortly after her car accident. The out of body death experience wasn’t something she would talk about… with anyone. Since the night of the wreck, she couldn’t escape the premonition, dream, vision, or whatever the heck else she thought to label it. It continuously replayed itself in her mind. Seeing the Earth fill with blood, then watching the dove’s helplessness at the hands of its executioner, left her with a feeling of impending doom; carving out a hollow cavity of sorrow where her heart should be.

The nightmarish image was on auto play, but she hadn’t been able to grasp the meaning of it. Was it a message of some sort? She didn’t know.

As was her nature, Laura had researched every aspect of the dream. Her research of dream definitions and symbolic meanings had led to an endless array of laughable explanations; none of which could be acknowledged as part truth.

Laura wished that the nightmare would go away, or that she could at least figure out what the song in the dream was. It seemed to sit just outside her range of memory. As insignificant as it was in the dream, Laura felt it was an important element to unlocking the mysteries behind the nightmare. She reminded herself to pay more attention to the song the next time the vision came. Not that she could control her dreams, but maybe if she tried. Who knew? It was worth a shot.

Feeling emotionally drained, Laura cast her eyes on the storm. The rain pelted against autumn grass while tree limbs bent in obedience to the wind.

Splashing through mud puddles, a solitary figure dashed to a mail box and lifted the flag to signal mail pickup. You’d think a person could wait until the weather let up before worrying about mail, but whatever, she thought. Everyone had their own screwed up priorities. Laura found people to be absurd in their relentless quest for domestic satisfaction.

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky as thunder shook the townhouse. Soon, the sun would caress the horizon, casting new light on nature’s recent damage. Cleanup would take place and the visible world would be set right again. There was only one problem; it had happened. You could clean it up, hide it, never talk about it again, but the damage had still occurred. Something was changed and someone’s life had somehow been affected. Such was the unremitting cycle of life.

“
Que Sera, Sera
,” she thought aloud. The phrase was one she’d picked up somewhere along the line and used often.

Laura headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Hanging the silk robe on its door hook, she waited for the water to reach an acceptable temperature before slipping beneath the multiple showerheads. Leaning into the cascading water, she allowed it to wash away the remnants of the nightmare, while she attempted to get her daily agenda organized in her mind’s eye. Reaching for the jasmine scented soap, Laura methodically washed her body. Lazy eyes watched as the foam rapidly circled the drain.

The townhouse lights flickered, threatening to crack beneath the power of the storm. Opening the glass door, Laura reached for the oversized towel she kept on the newly installed towel rack. Reaching down to turn off the shower, a loud pop from a nearby electrical transformer rang in her ears.

Laura was transported into the dark. Waves of tension rippled throughout her wet body as she was instantly reminded of the dark void in the dream. The backup generator went to work, flooding the room with light. A mental pat on the back for including that upgrade during the recent remodel, she thought.

While still wrapped in the towel, Laura did a quick blow dry on her hair and twisted it into a bun. Not being one to fuss about sporting makeup at work, Laura half-heartedly threw on blush, mascara, and lip gloss. Someone had once jokingly told her that she was one of the few women in existence that could shower, dress, and walk out the door within fifteen minutes. A feat she was secretly, if not personally, proud of.

After a quick once over in the mirror, Laura dressed, added a dash of perfume, and headed out the door.

Backing the car out of the drive, Laura activated the windshield wipers and turned on the headlights. Glaring through the windshield, she noticed the domestic scene taking place across the street.

How sweet. Not really—it made her cringe.

A quick kiss, then the husband braved the elements as he ran to his truck. The young wife waved goodbye to her husband while the family dog sat at her feet. With arms wrapped tightly around her body to act as a shield against the wet wind, the love and adoration on the lady’s face stood in lovely contrast to the storm surrounding her.

Knots gathered in Laura’s stomach as the man drove away, waving proudly to his wife as he set out to earn their family fortune. The lady stood on the covered porch until the truck turned the corner, then lady and dog walked back inside to the safety and comfort of their textbook little life. It was the perfect domestic moment. All that was missing was the white picket fence. There was little doubt that they’d have one built before long, Laura thought.

Sooner or later though, every white picket fence rots from neglect or abandonment; a fact she knew all too well. That used to be her life, her metaphoric fence. Now a foreboding iron clad gate stood in its place, protecting against the ugliness of life, scaring away anyone who dared to enter.

When had she become so jaded? Oh yeah, that was easy; about the same time her husband was killed and she died. Yeah, that’d do it.

There was a time when she would’ve thought the couple scene to be adorable, but she found it difficult to relate to those emotions now. Laura couldn’t remember a time when she had actually enjoyed the simple pleasures of everyday life with someone she loved.

Not allowing herself to make a U-turn down memory lane, Laura tuned on the radio, put the car into gear, and followed the same path the truck had just taken.

Turn on the blinker. Stop at the stop sign. Look left. Look right. Look left again. Clear. Accelerate. No emotion.

There was no one to wave goodbye as she drove away. She faced the world alone, going through the motions while trying to occasionally pretend that they mattered. Thankfully she had her work; an oasis in the core of her social wasteland.

Another bolt of lightning lit up the early morning sky, striking a nearby tree. Realizing her doom and gloom attitude was taking her to the point of no return, she focused her attention back on the road ahead, and not a moment too soon.

Laura slammed hard on the brakes, forcing the car to skid to a stop. She watched with alarm as a large branch smashed onto the street a few feet in front of her. Talk about your heart doing acrobatics in your chest. Laura gave her pulse time to return to normal before driving on. The amplified sound of the car’s wipers filled the space around her as the cold autumn rain continued to beat down.

Navigating around the fallen limb, Laura cast one last look at it through the rear view mirror. Much like the dove’s final moments in her dream, it was another reminder of how easily the universe could extinguish a person’s existence. She should know; it had already tried to snuff out hers.

Chapter 2

Analyzing the specimen under the microscope, Dr. Greggario grinned with excitement. Soon the scientific community would be abuzz over her latest discovery.

Cloning had proven possible in animals. Human DNA cloning had run into obstacles however, not only in the lab, but in the moral community as well.

Since beginning her employment with New World Laboratories seven years ago, she had made it her personal mission to solve the puzzle behind the causes of mutations in animal clones. Two years after she began the research, she was able to provide a viable solution associated with the mutations. Three years and countless tests later, the CEO had enthusiastically given her permission to begin working on human DNA cloning. The work was top priority and top secret.

Because of the legalities associated with human cloning, Laura wasn’t allowed to remove materials from her work place or discuss the work with anyone. There was no one to discuss it with, anyway. Her friend list was limited to one plus dad.

The work computer had been equipped with exotic firewall security. The company provided cutting edge tools and supplies essential to her work.

Being a scientist had always has its limitations when it came to casual work discussions, so the security set in place didn’t impinge on her personally. She was awkward at casual conversation, not interested in parties or bar hopping, and preferred to work alone. She would never be accused of being a people person.

Laura walked to the door and removed her lab coat, grabbed her personal belongings, and switched off the lights.

The lab’s security system was designed in such a way, that a person could only enter or leave using a personal code. Once the door was closed, the alarm automatically activated.

Stepping into the hallway, Laura leaned heavily against the door and exhaled. Inside the secure walls of the lab she was a scientist who had complete power over her surroundings. Outside in the real world, she was lost and confused. She often compared the real world to an organism in a test tube; an experiment controlled by the whims of others.

She certainly didn’t have issues making decisions or doing the necessary daily tasks, but there were things that were out of her control. Control was limited and she didn’t like it, a harsh reality that had set in after her brush with death and Cliff’s funeral.

Pushing away from the door, Laura took a deep breath as thoughts of her father came to mind. His birthday party was tonight. He was the only living relative she had left.

Her mother had been a history professor before passing away during Laura’s college years. Having an unquenchable love for education, her mother had gone to Sudan to help the local teachers prepare a new American school. She had been killed during an uprising.

Her father, who was fluent in several languages, was a linguist. His love for the written word, symbols, and dialects within a language, were unquestionable. Several years ago however, Alzheimer’s had set in. Laura hired nurses to stay with him around the clock to cook, clean, bathe him, and all the many tasks associated with proper care.

As the disease advanced, he began confusing the different languages and dialects he knew, sometimes switching languages during mid-sentence. His agitation level was growing, making it more difficult to help him. It was a small miracle that the in home provider service that she used, allowed him to continue receiving those services. With that thought, she made a note to send the company another fruit basket with her ‘thanks again for all that you do’ attached to it.

Being around her father during the advanced stage of his disease was difficult. Her last visit had revealed that he still knew who she was, but the fear of him forgetting was almost too much to bear. Laura tried to prepare herself for it, but like anything else, preparation was just half the battle. The true test would come when it actually happened.

Walking down the hospital-like corridor, Laura stopped at Roger’s lab and watched him work. His maneuvers around the lab tools were done with the fluidity of a waltz. Instead of a human partner though, he had his equipment. Laura tapped on the glass window.

Roger smiled and waved. His black curly hair always seemed to fall perfectly into place. His lab coat held the appearance of stiff starch. As he pushed his glasses up on his nose, Roger walked to the door, entered his security code, and stepped into the hall. The sound of the closing door echoed through the sterile building.

“Are you done for the night?” Roger had truly become a trusted friend and confidant over the last 5 years.