The Third Twin - Ken Follett [143]
“Why? Last night you were mad.”
“And in a way I’m still mad, about being used like a laboratory chimpanzee. But I realized one simple thing: If they hadn’t experimented on me, I wouldn’t have you. Beside that, nothing else matters.”
“You don’t mind that I’m not really yours?”
She put her arm around him. “You’re mine, Steve. Nothing can change that.”
The phone rang and Steve snatched it up. “Hello?”
“This is Jeannie.”
“What happened?” Steve said breathlessly. “Was he there?”
“Yes, and he’s your double, except he dyes his hair black.”
“My God—there are three of us.”
“Yes. Wayne’s mother is dead, but I just spoke with his father, in Florida, and he confirmed that she was treated at the Aventine Clinic.”
It was good news, but she sounded dispirited, and Steve’s elation was checked. “You don’t seem as pleased as you ought to be.”
“He has an alibi for Sunday.”
“Shit.” His hopes sank again. “How can he? What sort of an alibi?”
“Watertight. He was at the Emmys in Los Angeles. There are photographs.”
“He’s in the movie business?”
“Nightclub owner. He’s a minor celebrity.”
Steve could see why she was so down. Her discovery of Wayne had been brilliant—but it had got them no further forward. But he was mystified as well as downcast. “Then who raped Lisa?”
“Do you remember what Sherlock Holmes says? ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, what remains—no matter how improbable—must be the truth.’ Or maybe it was Hercule Poirot.”
His heart went cold. Surely she did not believe he had raped Lisa? “What’s the truth?”
“There are four twins.”
“Quadruplets? Jeannie, this is getting crazy.”
“Not quadruplets. I can’t believe this embryo divided into four by accident. It had to be deliberate, part of the experiment.”
“Is that possible?”
“It is nowadays. You’ve heard of cloning. Back in the seventies it was just an idea. But Genetico seems to have been years ahead of the rest of the field—perhaps because they were working in secret and could experiment on humans.”
“You’re saying I’m a clone.”
“You have to be. I’m sorry, Steve. I keep giving you shattering news. It’s a good thing you have the parents you have.”
“Yeah. What’s he like, Wayne?”
“Creepy. He has a painting that shows Salina Jones being crucified naked. I couldn’t wait to get out of his apartment.”
Steve was silent. One of my clones is a murderer, the other is a sadist, and the hypothetical fourth is a rapist. Where does that leave me?
Jeannie said: “The clone idea also explains why you all have different birthdays. The embryos were kept in the laboratory for varying periods before being implanted in the women’s wombs.”
Why did this happen to me? Why couldn’t I be like everyone else?
“They’re closing the flight, I have to go.”
“I want to see you. I’ll drive to Baltimore.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Steve hung up the phone. “You got that,” he said to his mother.
“Yeah. He looks just like you, but he’s got an alibi, so she thinks there must be four of you, and you’re clones.”
“If we’re clones, I must be like them.”
“No. You’re different, because you’re mine.”
“But I’m not.” He saw the spasm of pain pass across his mother’s face, but he was hurting too. “I’m the child of two complete strangers selected by research scientists employed by Genetico. That’s my ancestry.”
“You must be different from the others, you behave differently.”
“But does that prove that my nature is different from theirs? Or just that I’ve learned to hide it, like a domesticated animal? Did you make me what I am? Or did Genetico?”
“I don’t know, my son,” said Mom. “I just don’t know.”
45
JEANNIE TOOK A SHOWER AND WASHED HER HAIR, THEN MADE up her eyes carefully. She decided not to use lipstick or blush. She dressed in a V-neck purple sweater and skintight gray leggings, with no underwear or shoes. She put in her favorite nose jewel, a small sapphire in a silver mount. In the mirror she looked like sex on a stick. “Off to church, young lady?” she said aloud. Then she winked at herself and went into the living room.
Her father had gone again. He preferred