“How do you know?” he asked aloud. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure, Brent. The signs are subtle, but they are there.” He nodded at Brent to put his headgear back on and then resumed their conversation in the game.

Pike is giving him stem cells. You know what that means.

The coffee cup, Brent typed, looking at Jeremiah with widened eyes.

You understand?

Brent paused for a long moment before typing his reply, as though the realization of it all needed time to sink in.

He’s desperate.

So am I. I have to get out of here. You have to help me. I have to get out. Help me.

They’ll kill me. They’ll kill Mel. I can’t help.

They won’t know.

??

We fight. You let me win. I get out. No blame.

They’ll know. No.

I’ll knock you out. Steal your key card.

Won’t work. You’d have to kill me.

Okay...?

Really?

No. Help me. How can we do it?

Or almost kill me. Stab me.

??

Not fatally. Enough to get me taken out of here.

I can’t!

Only way it will work. I know how to make it safe but look real. You stab me. Steal my key card and, in the confusion, you’ll have time.

No.

Trust me.

I can’t. No!

You want out? You will. Trust me!

Okay.

Okay. How will you kill clone?

Stab him, too.

Too much blood?

MY blood. No one will question.

The body?

I bury it. Need it for insurance against Scott.

??

If they try anything I go public. They go to jail. Insurance.

When?

Has to be soon. Dr. Y wants to do Meld.

How soon?

A few days. We need a plan. Need to get to my house. How?

I’ll get you there.

You can’t. You’ll be stabbed, remember?

Mel, then. I’ll get it done.

No. Too risky. Don’t involve her.

Only option. She won’t know more than she has to. Trust me!

I do.

Start shooting. Game too calm. Looks bad. Talk tomorrow. I will have more.

For the next hour, they finished the bottle and battled. Jeremiah lost miserably, misfiring and screwing up his aim at every shot. He didn’t have it in him to shoot his friend at the moment—even in a virtual way.

Chapter 33

Days 164-165

Two days later, at eleven in the morning, Brent and Jeremiah sat solemnly on the couch together and watched as the clone shook hands and awkwardly embraced a steady line of mourners at Diana’s wake. Jeremiah only caught a few brief glimpses of his son the whole day. Each time, Parker sat sullen and sunken in his dark gray suit and scuffed black shoes. He hardly looked at anyone and only spoke when absolutely necessary. Even then, he said as few words as possible. As far as Jeremiah could tell, Parker didn’t shed a single tear. It was hard to watch. He found himself wondering whether Parker had even spoken to the clone since the last time they’d watched them. Despite how it made him feel, he hoped he had. A kid shouldn’t have to go through this alone. No one should.