“I want you to remember,” he said flatly. His voice sounded quiet and cold, terrible, even to his own ears. He repeated the words, softer this time, almost pleading. “I want you to remember.”

He dropped the bloody knife and left it where it fell, right beside the clone. Have fun explaining that, he thought, knowing any fingerprints or DNA would point irrefutably to self-mutilation. He knew the clone wouldn’t report anything to the authorities. What would he say when they asked for a description of the assailant?

He turned around, almost calmly, and walked through the side door of the garage, up the length of the brick walk and around to the back of the house. He kept walking until he reached the woods and found the familiar path that he had walked so many times with Louie. Once he was deep enough in the trees, he took the cell phone from his back pocket and, with shaky hands, dialed the number Brent had made him memorize.

“Change of plans,” he said when Brent answered on the first ring. “Meet me in the woods behind my street. Park at the top, go in behind the first house and just keep walking. Stick to the path. I’ll find you.”

Chapter 38

Jeremiah leaned hard against an oak tree and slid down to a sitting position. The morning air was still cold, but he didn’t feel it. What had he done? How had he managed to blow his one chance? And, more importantly, what was he going to do now? It was almost eight o’clock. By now Scott and the others knew he was missing. Certainly, they were already searching for him, and were likely starting to suspect Brent, too. And the clone was still alive.

He looked around him. There was little chance anyone would find him here. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever run into another person in these woods. But he couldn’t calm his nerves. If anyone—one of his neighbors—should happen to come by, it would be a problem. He couldn’t afford to be seen. He needed to wait for Brent and come up with another plan. But he didn’t have another plan. He hadn’t thought he’d need one.

He sat still for a few minutes, trying to focus on the sounds around him. It was silent except for a slight breeze rustling the leaves and the sporadic trill of chickadees in the trees. After a few minutes, he stood up and began walking along the path toward the top of the hill, looking for Brent.

He heard him before he caught sight of him, stumbling through the undergrowth and fallen leaves, obviously out of his element. His left shoulder was hanging limply in a sling and he held his arm gingerly against his chest as he tramped up the path.

“What the hell happened? What do you mean there was a change of plans?” Brent called breathlessly as he approached. “Is he dead?”