the Third Twin

44

STEVE WAS WAITING BY THE PHONE. HE SAT IN THE BIG kitchen of his parents’ home in Georgetown, watching his mother making meat loaf, waiting for Jeannie to call. He wondered if Wayne Stattner really was his double. He wondered if Jeannie and Sergeant Delaware would find him at his New York address. He wondered if Wayne would confess to raping Lisa Hoxton.

Mom was chopping onions. She had been dazed and astonished when first told what had been done to her at the Aventine Clinic in December 1972. She had not really believed it but had accepted it provisionally, as it were for the sake of argument, while they spoke to the lawyer. Last night Steve had sat up late with Mom and Dad, talking over their strange history.

Mom had got angry then; the notion of doctors experimenting on patients without permission was just the kind of thing to make her mad. In her column she talked a lot about women’s right to control their own bodies.

Surprisingly, Dad was calmer. Steve would have expected a man to have a stronger reaction to the cuckoo aspect of the whole story. But Dad had been tirelessly rational, going over Jeannie’s logic, speculating about other possible explanations for the phenomenon of the triplets, concluding in the end that she was probably right. However, reacting calmly was part of Dad’s code. It did not necessarily tell you how he was feeling underneath. Right now he was out in the yard, placidly watering a flower bed, but inside he might be boiling.

Mom started frying onions, and the smell made Steve’s mouth water. “Meat loaf with mashed potatoes and ketchup,” he said. “One of the great meals.”

She smiled. “When you were five years old you wanted it every day.”

“I remember. In that little kitchen in Hoover Tower.”

“Do you remember that?”

“Just. I remember moving out, and how strange it felt having a house instead of an apartment.”

“That was about the time I started to make money from my first book, What to Do When You Can’t Get Pregnant.” She sighed. “If the truth about how I got pregnant ever comes out, that book is going to look pretty silly.”

“I hope all the people who bought it don’t ask for their money back.”

She put minced beef into the frying pan with the onions and wiped her hands. “I’ve been thinking about this stuff all night, and you know something? I’m glad they did that to me in the Aventine Clinic.”

“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.”