Minutes passed as he waited for the first whirring of the garage door opener, his signal to spring. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he worried that his own heartbeat might be enough to obscure the tiny sound he was straining to hear. This is almost over, he told himself. You can do this.

He hadn’t anticipated the sudden fear he felt in his gut. Every time he’d thought about this moment, calculating the plan down to the last second, imagining his every action, it had been fueled by anger and a fierce sense of righteousness. It had also, he admitted, been tempered by the likelihood of absolute impossibility. Somewhere inside him, even as he had clung to the idea of killing his clone, he never fully believed he’d actually get here. And here he was. He closed his eyes and tried to push his anger back to the surface, hoping it would be enough to crush the tiny web of doubt that inched out in all directions now and threatened his resolve. You can do this, he told himself again. You have to do this.

The instant Jeremiah heard the small mechanical sound he’d been waiting for, it was as though a switch had been pulled in his brain. His movements were quick and unhindered by thought. He darted out from behind the bush, dropped and rolled the few feet over the driveway and across the threshold of the garage. While the door was still in its upward motion, he sprang to his feet and hit the kill switch hard with his fist, the overhead light glinting off the six-inch blade in his hand. As the door came down behind him, he saw the clone jump and turn toward him in alarm, recognition not yet registering on his face. To his right, above his shoulder, Jeremiah found the small, innocuous gleam of the camera lens embedded in the concrete wall, exactly where Brent told him it would be. He took the blunt end of the knife handle and smashed it in with one quick jab. No one was watching now.

Jeremiah said nothing, but inched forward a little. After months of watching the clone across the impossible distance of the cameras, they were now separated by the length of a single car. The figure before him was no longer that towering image projected across an entire living room wall. He was exactly, down to the last molecule, evenly matched with Jeremiah. Looking at him now, though, he seemed even smaller. Jeremiah stared into familiar eyes and the rage he felt beginning to boil back up in him made him feel almost giddy.

The clone backed up against the door that led to the kitchen, his hand grappling behind his back for the knob. Jeremiah saw the clone’s eyes widen in a mix of terror and desperate confusion as the shock of recognition settled there. He blinked hard and his mouth began to move as if to ask a question, make a plea, but no sound came out. He pressed his back hard against the door, fumbling, unable to turn away, until his knees gave out and he began to crumple to the ground.