It obeyed, sitting on the end of the bed, Stephen closing the door
behind him and hesitating, just a moment, before throwing the bolt and
turning the key in the lock. This was wrong, so... so
wrong. But it was all that was left. When Helen found out
they’d gone, she was going to go ballistic. She was going to do
everything in her power to find them. He couldn’t help
that. This was her fault after all and he hated her bitterly for
it.
Shrugging off his coat, he threw it into the moth-eaten armchair in the
corner of the room. Then he turned and looked at the distant
memory of his best friend sitting still, silent, waiting for
orders. Laying eyes on it for the first time had been the second
most painful experience of his life, right up there behind coming back
from the dead to find not a lover but a grave stone waiting for
him.
He headed for the window and looked out, ten floors down, to the car
park below and road beyond. Heathrow was half a mile away, he
could hear the roar of the planes in the background although the hotel
was well soundproofed. When he turned, blue eyes were staring at
him and he wondered if he was imagining the questions there.
Crossing to crouch down in front of the clone, he put his hands on its
knees and met its eyes. “Nick.”
It nodded and smiled. “I’m Nick Cutter.”
No, you’re really not. “Do you know who I am?” It shook its
head. “Do you know where we are?”
“We’re not where we should be.” There was a strange, constant
smile on its face that sent shivers down Stephen’s spine. “I
should get back to work.”
“No. It’s all right. You don’t have to go back to
work.” He glanced away for a second. “I’m Stephen
Hart. I’m your friend, Nick. You can trust me. I’m
not going to hurt you.”
“Stephen Hart?” He nodded. “I’m Nick Cutter.”
“I know.” His voice cracked. He was so tired. “You’re
a Zoologist, a Professor, you taught at the Central Metropolitan
University.” It tilted its head, listening, absorbing the
information. “You’re a good man.”
“I’m Professor Nick Cutter.”
It was Nick’s voice, coming from this semi-inanimate thing that was so
painful to hear. Stephen felt tears fill his eyes and he dropped
his hands from its knees, hanging his head. Maybe this was as
hopeless as it was insane.
A warm finger touched his face and he jerked back before he realised it
was wiping away a tear.
“Why are you crying?”
Shaking his head, Stephen got a gentle grip on the clone’s wrist and
set its hand back in its lap. “You... remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
“A friend. A really, really good friend.”
He knew now this perversion could never be his Nick, could never fill
the hole left by Cutter’s death. He’d hoped, genuinely hoped...
but he’d been wrong to.
“What happened to your friend?”
“He died.” He could hear exhaustion in his own voice, no idea how
much longer he could carry on without sleep.
“What was his name?”
Clambering slowly to his feet, Stephen pulled himself up to sit on the
edge of the bed next to it.
“Nick,” he murmured, “Nick Cutter.”
“I’m Nick Cutter.” It was like a looping computer
programme.
“No,” he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, “you’re not.
You’re... a clone, a copy, pretending to be him. But you’re not
him.”
“I’m not him?” Stephen turned at the uncertainty in that familiar
yet inflectionless voice. It was looking at him with
confusion. “Then who am I?”
“You’re no one. Helen made you. You’re not Nick.”
“But that’s who am I.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Yes.” Finally there was some emotion in its voice; something
close to anger. “I’m Nick Cutter.”
Stephen felt the same anger rising. He grabbed it by the
shoulders, shaking it hard. “You’re fucking not!”
“I am. Please, Stephen....” His anger melted away when he
heard his name spoken, a plea in that accent better known to him than
his own voice. “Please.” There were tears in its eyes and
just as it had done, Stephen reached up, wiped them from its cheek with
his thumb. He’d had no idea it could cry.
“Okay,” he relented, “okay. You can be Nick Cutter. What
does it matter now anyway?” He leaned forward, unfastened his
laces and pulled off his boots. The clone just watched him.
Then he scooted up the bed and lay back with his head on the pillow,
staring at the ceiling. He wouldn’t sleep, he couldn’t, with
adrenaline still pumping around his body and his brain still going a
mile a minute.
After a couple of minutes, the clone took off his shoes and lay down
beside him. Stephen didn’t move, not until it turned onto its
side when he couldn’t help but turn his head to look. It had
Nick’s eyes, Nick’s mouth, it even smelled like Nick. Physically
it was an exact match. But it didn’t have the experience, hadn’t
lived Nick’s life therefore it wasn’t Nick.
The question was could it ever be?
Without thinking, Stephen touched a finger to its mouth and it smiled,
kissing his fingertip. He pulled back quickly, but the touch of
lips remained and finally Stephen gave in, shifted onto his side and
leaned towards the clone, mouth to mouth, wanting so much to pretend
for just a little while that Nick was still alive.
