Replica

  “It’s not a health conference. It’s a wellness retreat.”

  “Yeah, whatever. But the house is empty for a few days?”

  “Yeah.” April’s voice had turned suspicious. “Why?”

  Gemma opened her eyes again. They were passing out of the Wahlee Park Reserve now and back into Wahlee. A cop car was parked by the side of the road, its lights circling noiselessly. The driver’s seat was empty. She wondered where the cop had gone. She felt an itch on the back of her neck, like someone was dragging a fingernail there. Not safe. Not by a long shot.

  “I’m going to need your help,” she said, gripping the phone so hard, it made her palm sweat. “I made it all the way to Haven, April. And trust me. You might want to save your IOUs. This is just the beginning.”

  “Holy shit.” There was a long pause. “What did you find?”

  “Not what.” In the rearview mirror, Gemma could see the boy’s profile, elegant and dark. “Who.”

  Turn the page to continue reading Gemma’s story. Click here to read Chapter 9 of Lyra’s story.

  TEN

  GEMMA HAD BEEN HOPING THAT once they got to April’s grandparents’ house, she could install the replicas in the guesthouse before she had to answer any questions. She should have known, of course, that April would be watching from the front windows. She rocketed out of the door and onto the front lawn as soon as she saw Jake’s car turn in the driveway.

  “Gemma!” The force of April’s hug nearly knocked Gemma backward. April pulled away, squeezing Gemma’s shoulders. “You look like shit. And”—she made a point of sniffing—“you stink.”

  “Nice to see you too,” Gemma said, but she was too tired to be offended. April smelled like suntan lotion and Coke.

  April’s eyes went to the car. “Is that—I mean, are they in there?” Gemma nodded. April licked her lips. She was tan and relaxed-looking, her shoulders peeling, and standing next to her, Gemma felt a thousand years old. “You’re serious about . . . you think they’re really clones? Real clones?”

  “No, fakes,” Gemma said, and then saw that April was too distracted to catch sarcasm. “Yes, real,” she said. “At least, that’s what they told me.”

  “But you don’t have proof,” April said, sounding almost disappointed. “You haven’t seen, you know, doubles.”

  Gemma thought again of the body stretched out in the grass, a body just like hers except so much thinner than her own. She hadn’t told April about seeing the girl who had to be her clone, her replica. She wasn’t ready for that. Not until she understood more than she did now. Instead she said only, “I think they’re telling the truth. Why would they lie? They were raised on that island. They were made there. They’ve been told they’re less than human. The boy doesn’t even have a name. Just a number.” That was what the girl, Lyra, had told them in the car.

  April hugged herself. “God,” she said. She was still staring into the car. Turning, Gemma was relieved to see that because of the direction of the sun, Lyra and 72 were no more than blurry silhouettes. She had a feeling that once word got out—which it had to, there would be no way to keep the truth secret now—they’d have plenty of people staring at them. “Can I meet them? Is it safe to let them out?”

  “They’re not animals,” Gemma said, surprised by the harshness of her tone. April flinched, and Gemma felt instantly guilty. “Sorry,” Gemma said. “I’m tired. They’re tired.”

  April ignored that. “And who’s that?” Her eyes had landed on Jake. She looked as if she wanted to lick him. Gemma was surprised her tongue wasn’t lolling out of her mouth.

  “Look, let me just get everyone into the guesthouse, okay? And then we can talk, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “You better,” April said, still staring at Jake. “I’ve been covering your ass for days.”

  “I know,” Gemma said. “You’re the best friend in the world.”

  “Universe,” April corrected her.

  They’d stopped at Walmart on the way to April’s house and bought clothes, food, and toiletries with the credit card her parents had given her, trusting that they never reviewed the statements too closely—one of the few benefits of having parents who kept you on the world’s tightest leash, and at least occasionally felt guilty about it. She was dying to ask both replicas about Haven, but the lack of sleep was catching up to her. She felt as if her brain had been replaced by sludge.

  The guesthouse was cool and decorated in lots of beach pastels. The boy held himself very carefully, as if he was afraid to break something. Lyra stopped in front of the bookshelves, staring up at the old warped paperbacks, mass-market romances, and thrillers with time-smudged spines, as if she’d never seen books before. Maybe she hadn’t. Gemma wondered whether she’d been educated, whether she knew how to read and that there were seven continents, that the earth orbited around the sun. So many questions, so many things she needed to understand.

  “Get some sleep,” Gemma told them. She was feeling calmer since they’d made it to April’s house without getting arrested or swarmed by SWAT teams or whatever. They were safe. They had time.

  Jake and Gemma left the replicas to rest in the guesthouse. Gemma was exhausted, but as soon as they stepped outside, Jake—who had been quiet through almost the entire car ride—began to talk. “You know what doesn’t make sense to me?” he said. “Why all the secrecy? People have dreamed of cloning humans for years. They’ve barely been able to clone animals. Most clones die early. The scientists at Haven should get the Nobel Prize. They should be on TED Talks. They should be billionaires, you know? So why haven’t they told anyone?”

  “I don’t know,” Gemma said, as they skirted the pool toward the main house. The sun was dazzling off the water. She wished she had sunglasses. “But Fine and Ives has military contracts, like you said. They always have. Maybe Haven was using the clones for drug testing. Isn’t that what you thought they were doing out there, Dr. Whatever-his-name-is and his orphan charity and his human experiments?”

  Clones no one knew about, no one cared about—they could be used as human guinea pigs. No wonder they’d been given numbers, not names.

  It would explain, too, the fact that her father had known Richard Haven, had been photographed with him and spoken about his genius in interviews. It might explain his sudden change of attitude and abrupt departure from Fine & Ives right after Richard Haven’s death, and just when Fine & Ives had begun to invest. Gemma could imagine her father excited by the idea of human cloning, by the scientific possibility of it, only to feel disgusted should it actually succeed. And no matter how horrible he was, she couldn’t imagine that he would willingly get involved in testing deadly drugs or toxins on human beings, cloned or uncloned, without their consent. It had nothing to do with empathy. He simply liked rules too much.

  Still, no matter which way she thought about it, her father must have known what was really going on at Haven. He’d known, and he’d turned his back on what was happening. He had retreated with his family to Chapel Hill, hiding behind tall gates and manicured lawns and money. Despite what she knew about her father—his coldness, the way he hardly seemed to care about his own family—she couldn’t believe it. How would she ever look at him again?

  “Dr. Saperstein is the director of Haven. The Home Foundation is the name of the charity he founded,” Jake said evenly. “But it doesn’t make sense to do medical testing on clones. Clones are expensive to make. I mean, Haven has been paying for their care, feeding them, keeping them healthy—or at least alive. It seems like a lot of effort if they’re just going to fill them up with drugs.”

  He had a point. It was all too much. She suddenly felt like crying. “Please,” she said. “Please, can we talk about this later?”

  “Sure. Of course.” Jake squinted at her as if her face was a puzzle and he was trying to arrange it in the correct order. He looked like he was about to say more, so Gemma sped up to beat him into the house. Jake went off to take a shower—April, perv that
she was, seemed way too interested in explaining how the faucet worked, as if expecting him to start stripping if she just gave it enough time—and Gemma took the opportunity to retreat to April’s room and collapse onto the bed.

  Gemma had never wanted to sleep more badly in her life. But as soon as she pulled out her phone, she saw more missed calls and texts from her mom. The last text had come in from her mom only fifteen minutes ago. CALL ME. She wanted to do nothing less, but she pulled up her home number and dialed.

  Her mother picked up on the first ring. She’d obviously been waiting by the phone.

  “How are you feeling?” Kristina asked.

  “I’m fine,” Gemma said cautiously. She’d been expecting her mom to sound angrier.

  “April said you were sick. I tried calling the house several times, and I’ve been calling your cell. . . .” Her mom’s voice was edged with suspicion.

  She’d completely forgotten April’s cover story. “I’m still really tired,” she said quickly. That, at least, was the truth. “I’ve been basically sleeping since I got here.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said. “Listen, I’ve spoken to your father. He’s very upset . . .”

  Gemma’s heart started beating harder.

  “. . . but I’ve convinced him there’s no reason to rush home,” Kristina finished.

  Gemma exhaled. “So he’s staying in Shanghai?”

  “He was already in London when I managed to reach him,” she said. “He’s going to stay there for a few days and take some meetings. But he wants you home by the time he gets back on Saturday. I’ll email you some flight options later.”

  It was better than Gemma could have hoped. It was Wednesday. That gave her almost a full three days. “I was thinking I’d just drive home with April—” she said, but her mom cut her off before she could finish.

  “Don’t push your luck,” Kristina said, her tone changing and becoming harder. “You’ll fly on Saturday morning and we’ll figure out how to manage your father.” Again Gemma felt that hard squeeze of anger, of hatred, bringing a burn to the back of her throat. “And Gemma? I wouldn’t try to call your dad just now. He’s still quite upset.”

  I wasn’t planning on it, Gemma nearly said. But she thought she’d take her mom’s advice and wouldn’t push her luck. “Okay,” she said. “Love you, Mom.”

  “You better,” Kristina said. She was smiling, though. Gemma could hear it in her voice. Maybe, Gemma thought, she and her mom would run away somewhere. To California. To Paris. Somewhere her father wouldn’t be able to find them. “Love you too.”

  There was a tangle of discarded clothes and bathing suits on April’s bed, but Gemma didn’t bother clearing it off. Instead she crawled in under the covers, still wearing her jeans and T-shirt. She could hear the water gushing in the other room, but the thought of Jake showering—naked, so close by—no longer made her blush or feel much of anything. When her phone started ringing again, she picked it up without checking the screen.

  “Mom,” she said, “I’m going back to sleep for a bit, okay? I’m not feeling great.”

  “Now that’s a first.” It wasn’t her mom on the phone, but Pete. She recognized his voice. “I’ve heard stud before. Babykins, hotcakes. No one’s ever called me Mom before.”

  Gemma smiled, and her face nearly cracked. She brought a hand to her cheeks. Already it felt as if she hadn’t smiled in days. “I’m not buying it,” she said. “No one’s ever called you hotcakes, either.”

  “Fair enough.” His voice changed. “What’s the matter? Are you sick? Or just missing me?”

  She rolled her eyes before remembering he couldn’t see her. “You wish. Anyway, you called me. What’s up?”

  “Just checking in,” Pete said. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t lying in a gutter somewhere.”

  “Barrel Key doesn’t have any gutters,” Gemma pointed out.

  “You know what I mean,” Pete said. “Did you find whatever you were looking for?”

  “More,” Gemma said. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax for the first time in twenty-four hours. April’s bed was cloud-soft and smelled deliciously of lavender. “Look, can I talk to you later? I really do need to sleep.”

  “Big night, huh?” Although Pete’s voice was still light, Gemma thought he sounded hurt. But she was too tired to explain. She closed her eyes and saw the dead girl again, and the beetle tracking across her ankle. She knew that the body bloated after death and imagined the girl balloon-like, distended, and quickly opened her eyes again.

  “You could say that,” she said.

  “Feel better.” He’d recovered quickly and was his usual, cheerful self. “Stay away from the gutter, okay?”

  “I’ll try,” Gemma said. Before he could hang up, she added, “Hey, Pete?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Thanks. Just . . . thanks.” Then she hung up before she could begin to cry. She rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. When she closed her eyes, she forced herself to focus on Pete’s eyes, and the pale blond of his lashes; the crooked look of his smile and the way he sang along to the radio station, getting all the words wrong. But soon Pete’s face was merging with Jake’s, and Pete was frowning and dressed in all black, at a funeral for Gemma’s father—except when she looked inside the casket, she saw her own face reflected, her own body stitched and sutured and gray beneath its garish makeup, her mouth open as though to scream.

  She woke disoriented. Only when she saw that the sun was setting did she realize she’d been asleep for most of the day. She felt a hundred times better, clearer, more focused. For several minutes she lay in bed, letting her heartbeat return to normal, trying to ignore the shadow of the terrible nightmare that still clung to her, like a film of sweat.

  Why did she have that stubbornly persistent idea that she’d been at Haven, stayed there for a long period of time? Could her father possibly have allowed the scientists at Haven to extract his only child’s DNA, just so they could create her human double? Could he have been using her, maybe concealing the truth from her mom? It was a horrible idea, and she couldn’t believe it, even of her father.

  It was time to get answers.

  In the bathroom she splashed cold water on her face and scrubbed her teeth with a finger before remembering she had a toothbrush in her backpack. She found Jake alone in the kitchen in front of his laptop. He got up when he saw her and then quickly sat down again. He was nervous, she realized. She was making him nervous. Was it because he felt sorry for her? Or was he afraid?

  “Where’s April?” Gemma asked, drawing a glass of water from the sink and drinking deeply. She felt as if she was washing away the taste of the marshes, still burned into the back of her throat.

  “She went out,” he said, giving her a smile that could have launched a thousand memes. Strangely, though, it was Pete she wished for, Pete she wanted to see. Pete belonged to her life Before. “She kept asking questions, but I wasn’t sure what I should and shouldn’t say. I think she got tired of me.”

  He shrugged, and Gemma stopped herself from saying she doubted it. More likely, April had gone out before she could murder Jake by slow humping.

  “Did you sleep?” he asked, and Gemma nodded. She nearly told him about the nightmare but didn’t.

  Gemma pulled out a chair and sat down across from him, cupping her chin in her hands. “How about you?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’ve been running searches on the explosions, you know. Just trying to sort out what really happened.” He made a face. “You won’t believe this.”

  “Try me,” she said. Twenty-four hours ago, she wouldn’t have believed in clones, or that she’d paddle a kayak across an ash-strewn marshland to try and sneak onto what might as well be a military base, or that somewhere in the world there was a girl bearing her exact likeness. Now she thought she might believe anything.

  “The woman who strapped herself full of explosives—”

 
“Angel Fire,” Gemma said, remembering the name from the message that had come in to the Haven Files.

  He nodded. “Right. Angel Fire. She left a backpack at Barrel Key. Maybe she camped there overnight, I don’t know. And she had every single page of the Haven Files printed out and stashed in her backpack.” He looked vaguely nauseous. “The website keeps crashing.”

  A bad feeling worked at the bottom of Gemma’s stomach, like someone had a fist around her intestines. “That’s not good, Jake,” she said. “The police will come for you next.”

  He laughed, but without humor. “Already have. I missed two calls from some Detective Lieutenant something.”

  “What are you going to do?” Gemma asked.

  Jake started ordering things on the table, lining up edges, the way he’d done in the diner. A nervous tic, obviously. “I’ll be all right,” he said, although he didn’t sound convinced. “I had nothing to do with it, anyway. They can’t pin anything on me.”

  Gemma hoped he was right. “You never told me what happened to Richard Haven,” she said.

  Jake sighed and closed his laptop. For a split second, he looked much older. “Killed,” he said simply. “Only a few years after Haven was built. Car accident while he was on vacation in Palm Beach.” She remembered, now, reading something about Richard Haven’s death, when she’d first been searching for information about the institute. Already it seemed like a different lifetime. “Most Havenites don’t think it was an accident.”

  “Havenites?” Gemma repeated, and Jake blushed.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That’s what the Haven groupies call themselves. My dad was the biggest Havenite of all.”

  Gemma absorbed this. “So it was murder? Another murder?” That would make Jake’s father, Nurse M, whoever she was, and Richard Haven all victims of murder made to look like accidents or suicides instead.

  “It was broad daylight,” Jake said. He leaned back in his chair. “There was no rain, no bad weather, nothing. And from the way the car was positioned and the place it went off the road, it looked like Richard Haven must have swerved to avoid someone. But no one ever came forward.”