Eve caught her breath. Nestled into the area was a small village of mobile homes.
Terry led her through the settlement, to a well-kept home decorated with flowers and plotted plants.
“She’s working,” he said, opening the front door.
“Who?” Eve asked.
“Mrs. Davis. So we don’t have to worry. She won’t see you.” He stepped inside and gestured for her to come in. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
Comfortable?
Eve stood in the tiny living room. On the opposite wall, surrounded by a gilt-edged, wooden frame, was a poster-sized portrait.
Bryann.
The hair was longer than Eve’s, plainer. Her expression was serious, almost gloomy.
But the face was the same.
Eve’s face.
Again.
She sat in an armchair, numb.
She couldn’t doubt it now.
Sisters.
She, Alexis, and Bryann could have passed for triplets.
In a moment Terry was walking into the room, carrying a cardboard box. He set it down on the carpet and started pulling out papers and notebooks. “All Bryann’s stuff,” he explained. “We were like brother and sister. We’ve known each other since we were babies, practically…”
Eve watched the pile on the floor grow. Snapshots. Dance programs. Scribbled notes. Exams and quizzes, almost all marked with A’s and A+’s.
Terry was holding a legal pad now. Most of the pages had been written on and folded back. He began unfolding, scanning the pages one by one.
“What’s that?” Eve asked.
“Notes for a science report she never had a chance to finish,” Terry replied. “Bryann was obsessed with genetics.”
“Makes sense,” Eve said softly.
Terry looked up with questioning eyes.
“She was adopted, wasn’t she?” Eve asked.
“Yes.”
“And she liked genetics because she thought it might help her figure out who her birth parents were.”
“Well, not exactly.”
Eve nodded. “Something about a disease? Did she know about that? Did she think she would get it?”
“Well, yeah. But there was one other thing, too.” He held out the legal pad.
Eve took it and read a handwritten title at the top of the page.
“She thought there were clones?” Eve said. “That hasn’t ever happened.”
“How do you know?” Terry asked.
“Has it?”
“Bryann was convinced. I never believed it. I used to tease her when she said she had this hunch—about herself. I should have taken her seriously, Eve. Because you…and she…”
“You mean—?”
Terry nodded. “And you’re a couple of years too late.”
She understands.
At last.
New report just in.
Hold it. For now.
10
DEAR MOM AND DAD,
I guess by now you’ve tried to reach me once or twice. Kate has told you I was away. Well, she was right, sort of. Actually, I’m farther away than you think. This will sound weird to you, but I need to find out some things about myself.
Eve dropped her pencil and stared out the train window.
I am Bryann.
I am Alexis.
They are Eve.
Not sisters.
Closer.
Closer than identical twins.
Identical people.
But how?
Animals were cloned. Plants. Not humans. It was illegal.
It was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
Of course not. Someone was bound to do it sometime.
That was what Bryann’s report had said. The technology existed. It was only a matter of time. Maybe it had happened already.
She knew.
She told Terry.
He didn’t believe her at first. I proved it.
What does this mean?
WHAT AM I?
Nobody. Not a real person.
An idea. A theory brought to life. A thing in a test tube.
Eve’s heart began to flutter.
Fast.
Too fast.
Her chest was on fire.
Every joint in her body cried out in sympathy. With excruciating pain.
It can’t be.
The disease. It took Tanya. It took dozens of others on that list—strangers, guys and girls—almost exactly the same age.
But it wasn’t only strangers. It also killed a girl named Alexis, who happened to be genetically identical to Bryann. And Caroline. And Danielle.
And me.
NO!
I AM NOT DYING.
Eve’s wrists twinged with a sharp pain. She looked down.
The letter to her parents was balled up in her right fist.
Sleep.
I need sleep. That’s all.
Her eyes grew heavy. She leaned back.
By the time her head hit the pillow, she was in a sudden, deep slumber.
She awoke as the train was pulling into North Champlain.
The sun was just peeking over the rail yard. It was colder here, more industrial. Far to the north was the skyline of St. Louis, barely visible over the sprawl of brick buildings.
As she stood, her knees throbbed. Her elbow ached.
Like an old person’s.
Stop.
Her footsteps clattered loudly on the tiles of the empty waiting room. At a phone bank, Eve called information and asked for Pomeranz.
No record of the name. Not in North Champlain, not in the surrounding counties.
Eve slammed down the receiver.
Too fast.
Everything was happening too fast.
She hadn’t prepared.
At Racine Junction, she and Terry had rushed to the station. They’d made the north train with no time to spare. They should have waited. Done some advance research together. Sure, Terry had promised to do some while she was traveling…
Terry. Of course.
She tapped out his number.
“Yeah?” was the groggy greeting.
“Sorry I woke you up,” Eve said. “But it’s kind of an emergency—?
“Eve? Where are you?”
“North Champlain. It’s morning, Terry. I was on the train all night!”
“Oh. Right. Hey, I’m glad you called, because—?
“Listen, I can’t find Caroline Pomeranz’s phone number or address. Her family is unlisted.”
“They’re not unlisted, Eve,” Terry said. “After you left, I called North Champlain directory assistance. When the operator came up with nothing, I had her connect me to the police. They knew the Pomeranzes.”
“Knew?”
“The parents moved after their daughter died. To Switzerland.”
Eve slumped against the side of the phone cubicle.
What a waste. An entire night scrunched up on a train seat, twisting and turning, dreaming about test tubes and mad scientists and rows upon rows of identical Eves, each one fading and dying, like some strange tragic ballet—only to find out, oops, it was all unnecessary, back to square one, dead girls and no clues.
“Now what?” Eve grumbled.
“Switzerland’s nice this time of year,” Terry said weakly.
“My friend Kate’ll love that. ‘Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy, Eve’s taking another shower and can’t come to the phone’—while I’m halfway around the world looking for the Pomeranzes at a yodeling contest.”
“Look, you can’t give up. Find out about Caroline. From the people who knew her. The way you found out about Bryann. Okay?”
“Do you think it’s that simple? Do you think I like being all alone in some dumb town in the middle of nowhere?” Eve took a breath. She was shouting. Not good. She lowered her voice. “Sorry, Terry. I’m just tired. Thanks. Really. For everything.”
“Anytime. You’ll find what you need. Good
luck. And call me.”
As Eve hung up, she felt a twinge of sadness.
Bryann had good taste.
People were beginning to stream into the station now. Eve had to rest her knees. She sat on a nearby bench, feeling lost and drained.
Her neck was throbbing again. She reached back and massaged it, but that made it worse.
Leave it alone. And don’t jump to conclusions. Of course everything hurts. You were folded up in a plastic seat for ten hours.
Her stomach grumbled. That was a problem, too.
Food would make everything clearer.
Eve straggled out of the station. A wide street, patched and buckling, led straight up a small hill between two rows of warehouses. At the top was a neon sign that spelled out EAT.
Eve climbed the hill. Under the sign she entered an old diner. Tile floors. Formica tables along a plate-glass window. A few groups of older men in flannel shirts, slowly and silently eating their eggs as if they’d been there for years and had ceased to notice each other.
“Seat yourself,” a waitress called out.
Sitting at a small table by the window, Eve gazed outside. Down the other side of the hill was a small Main Street—post office, town hall, library, shops.
All vaguely familiar.
Yeah, like any other small town in any TV show.
She glanced at her menu. It was coated with heavy, yellowing plastic. Graffiti decorated the margins.
Kids.
This place was a hangout. Maybe Caroline used to come here.
“Are you ready?”
The waitress was poised impatiently at Eve’s table with pad and pencil.
“Scrambled eggs,” Eve began. “Fries, orange juice…” Ask. “Um, and do you happen to know Caroline Pomeranz?”
“She an actress or something?” the waitress replied without looking up.
“A kid. She used to live here.”
“Sweetheart, I know them all. But don’t ask me names and faces. I’ll get your eggs.”
Useless.
As Eve put back the menu, she looked at the graffiti—JW & RT, EAT GRILLED CHEESE & DIE, HI BETH! JUNIOR CLASS RULES!!!
She smiled.
Just like the Fayette Junior High School yearbook.
The thought of home gnawed at her. She missed it. And school, sort of. Well, at least the yearbook meetings. The book was going to be great this year.
If I ever see it.
Eve gazed out onto the street. At the commuters vying for parking spots. The morning dog walkers. The plaid-skirted woman opening the tomblike stone library.
Library.
Yearbook.
Eve slid out of her seat. Her back twinged angrily as she stood up and headed for the door.
“Hey! What about your eggs?” shouted the waitress.
“You have them!” Eve replied.
She pulled some money out of her pocket, slapped it on the table, and left.
The librarian looked up from her desk as Eve walked in. “Do my eyes deceive me? A high school kid here on a vacation morning?”
Eve smiled. “Junior high. Do you have copies of the school yearbooks?”
The librarian pointed the way. Eve found the section—a row of yearbooks, decades’ worth. She took down the one from two years ago and began flipping through the graduating-class photos.
P…
Palladino…Peterson…Pinsky…
Caroline Pomeranz.
There.
Caroline had still been alive by the deadline for yearbook entries.
Her skin was pale, her hair short and black and cut at a weird angle. Lots of earrings and a stud on the left side of her nose. Crossed arms over a black shirt, revealing long, black fingernails.
Gothic. That makes sense.
The imaginary Caroline had been different. Her own person. She hadn’t cared what her parents thought, even at age six.
Under Caroline’s school picture was a group of smaller photos. Caroline at a club, dancing. Leaning against a tree, scowling. Arms around the shoulders of another girl.
Under that last photo was the printed message HP & CP BFF!
BFF. Best Friends Forever.
Perfect.
Who was HP?
Eve stared at the girl’s face. Yes. I know her.
Polly…no, H. Holly. She went back to the beginning of the P’s and checked photo by photo until she found the same likeness.
Holly Petrou.
She shivered.
When she looked up, she noticed the librarian watching her. Curious. Concerned.
“Do you have a pay phone?” Eve blurted out.
“Near the entrance,” the librarian answered.
Eve tried to run, but her legs nearly gave out.
Slow down.
Local directory assistance. One Petrou. Listed.
Eve was shaking as she called the number.
“Hello?” said a young voice.
“May I speak to Holly?” Eve asked.
Silence.
Then, quietly, “This is Holly. Who’s this?”
“Well, you don’t know me, but—?
“I don’t believe this. Of course I know you.”
“You do?”
“The…” Holly lowered her voice to a whisper. “The clone, right?”
“How did you—?”
“It’s Caroline’s voice—who else could it be? Where are you?”
“At the library. But—?
“I’ll be right there.”
Click.
Eve stared at the receiver for a moment, then hung up.
She knows. Everything.
Impossible.
Dazed, she wandered back into the reading room.
“Are you okay?” the librarian asked.
“Fine,” Eve mumbled.
Just a clone about to meet a total stranger who seems to already know me. Plus, my body aches and my heart’s weak and I don’t have long to live. But otherwise things are swell.
Eve had barely put away the yearbook when a heavyset, grinning girl came racing into the library.
Pale face, black clothing. Everything Gothic. Just like Caroline.
“Look at you,” Holly said. “You are so …straight. But that’s cool. I am so glad you came. Where have you been?”
Yes. The voice. The face. The mannerisms.
It was all familiar. Why?
“Been? Uh, home. Holly, I don’t know how you could—?
“Did you find Dr. Black?”
“I mean, have we ever—?”
Eve swallowed the rest of the question.
It was a short name. That’s what Mr. Wainwright had said. About the doctor from A Better Chance.
“Who’s Dr. Black?” Eve demanded.
Holly’s smile faded. “You told me about him. Remember? Over the phone? The clone guy. You and Caroline tried looking him up, but there were about a million Dr. Blacks listed in the physician directory—?
“Holly, I never called you. I’ve never known about you until right this moment!”
“Wait a minute. What’s your name?”
“Eve!”
“You’re not the girl…”
“No! Who did you think I was?”
Holly’s mascara and eyeliner seemed to darken as her face grew ashen. “Her name was Danielle.”
A Boy in Kansas City. Lou Gehrig’s disease.
Female, Manitoba. Rheumatoid arthritis.
Massive stroke. Male, Guatemala.
Alive?
All, so far.
Their lives, I’m afraid, are in the hands
of the Fayette girl.
11
“WHAT CITY, PLEASE?” SQUAWKED the mechanical voice.
Eve massaged her aching forehead. She focused on Holly across the bedroom. “Uh…Huddlestone—?”
Holly looked up from her desk chair. “Huddleston,” she corrected. “Huddleston Falls.”
Eve repeated it. Softly.
If she kept her head still, i
t didn’t hurt.
“Name, please?” the voice asked.
“Forbes.”
Danielle Forbes of Huddleston Falls. That was all Holly could find out. The information was scribbled in one of Caroline’s English notebooks.
Holly had tried to piece together the phone conversation. Danielle had sounded desperate. She’d known about the cloning and the disease. And she had been determined not to get what Caroline had gotten.
Holly didn’t know what had happened to Danielle. She just stopped calling. Never left a return phone number.
But she’d gotten further than I have. She knew about Dr. Black.
And maybe more. Maybe she’d met him. Maybe she’d figured out how to beat the disease.
Maybe she was still alive.
Danielle was Eve’s only hope.
“The number is…555-9126,” said the recorded voice.
Eve scribbled it down and quickly called.
Holly paced her bedroom floor. “I can’t stand this.”
At the other end, a click. A pickup. “Hello, you’ve reached the Forbes family. No one can come to the phone right now…”
It was scratchy. A bad connection.
The static hurt.
But the voice seemed familiar.
Like mine.
“What?” Holly was gaping at her. “Why are you looking like that, Eve?”
“…Please leave a message at the sound of the tone.”
“I think—it sounds like—? Eve stammered, hand over the receiver. She’s alive.
Beeeeeep.
“Hello?” Eve said into the phone. “This is Eve. I’m…what Caroline was, only a year younger—than Danielle, not Caroline—I’m two years younger than her, or you, but I need to find Dr. Black; I think I’m getting what you had, and—whenever the next train to Huddleston Falls is, from North Champlain, that’s the one I’m taking. I’ll call you from there, okay? Sorry about this. But I’m kind of in a hurry. See you.”
She hung up the phone and groaned. “She’s not going to understand one word of that.”
Holly was putting her coat back on. “I did. You were brilliant. Now let’s get out of here.”
Six hours.
Each bump was a wrenching jolt.
The clacking of the tracks seemed to be taunting her: Dead-dead. Dead-dead. Dead-dead.
Sleep was out of the question. The pain wouldn’t ease up.
Neither would the worry.
But it’ll be gone soon. Danielle survived. She knows how to beat this.