“Sir, we regret to inform you that your wife was killed in a car crash tonight on Route 18, about an hour ago.”

On hearing the words, the clone instantly wobbled, as though his knees had given out, and the male officer caught him by the arm and gently led him to a nearby chair. Jeremiah felt hot waves of renewed pain sweep over him, as though hearing it from the police somehow made it more real. As a man, he and his double hung their heads and lifted identical hands to their eyes. Scott, quite out of character, tentatively touched Jeremiah’s shoulder. He shrugged violently to be rid of that treacherous hand.

“What happened?” the clone asked weakly. “What do you mean a car crash? Where?”

“Just down the street, sir,” the male officer told him. “It looks like the car lost control, went off an embankment and hit a tree.”

On the screen, the female officer handed the clone a card. “I’m afraid you’ll need to identify the body at this address,” she said. “We could take you now, or you could go in the morning if you prefer. There’s no rush, sir.”

“N-no, no,” the clone stammered. “My son is asleep upstairs. I’ll go in the morning.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said, and her sincerity showed in her face. “You can reach me or Officer Towle at the station if there’s anything you need. If you have any questions. Anything at all.”

“Yes, of course. Yes. Thank you.”

They let themselves out the front door, closing it softly behind them, and left the clone sitting, half-slumped, in shocked disbelief.

“Turn it off,” Jeremiah said.

“Are you sure, Mr. Adams? The clone may be about to speak to your son. You’d want to see that, I think.”

“No. I don’t want to see it. What I want is to be there with my son. Turn it off. Just turn it off.”

He did, and without another word, Charles Scott left the apartment. The door closed slowly but absolutely behind him. Jeremiah didn’t even look up.

Chapter 30

He remained on the couch, unmoving, wondering how it could have happened. Not just Diana, but everything. How could his life have come so undone in such a short span of time? How could he have let that happen? For forty-seven years, it seemed, his world had moved steadily, mostly in a predictable straight line, everything happening pretty much as expected. There were hurdles and hiccups, but nothing he couldn’t see beyond, nothing without an answer. What was it about him, he wondered now, that had so easily swayed him to leave? What kind of weakness was that? What kind of selfishness? How could he pick up the pieces now? How was he supposed to walk back in? What was he supposed to do?

In a way, since this whole thing began, right up to this moment, he’d been able to pretend all of it was happening to someone else. He could look up at that screen and almost convince himself the clone was a different, separate person. But not now. Now he felt buried under all of it. The weight of his own ruined life was crushing. His own blame in that was overwhelming. So, he sat there, unable to move, and wondering why he wasn’t sobbing.