“The doctors have checked her over,” Nichelle told the clone, her face softening around the edges. “You can see for yourself what this is. It isn’t a problem with her meds, Mr. Adams. This is her mind. We need to talk about a more suitable place for her. Come with me to the office. They’re expecting you.”

“Where would she go?” the clone asked as he followed her down another hallway behind the reception area. “She’s happy here. She has friends.”

“There are options. Good places with the right people. You’ll see.” Nichelle stopped momentarily and turned to look at him. “This is for her own good, Mr. Adams,” she said. “We all want what’s best for her.”

The clone looked down at the floor again. In the lab, Jeremiah buried his face in his hands.

“I know,” the clone said at last. The exact same words echoed in his own head. He knew.

Nichelle put a hand on the clone’s shoulder and gave it a light pat, exactly the gesture that Jeremiah wished the clone had done for his mother, and led him down the hall where a thin, blond man was waiting in front of a closed office door.

“Hello, Mr. Adams,” he said, extending a hand. “Dr. Tim Waterson—we’ve met before. You’ll have to excuse the interruption, but for some reason they’re installing a new phone system in my office at this exact moment. They should be almost done. I don’t know why they couldn’t do this later.”

Almost as soon as he said it, the office door opened and two men in nondistinct gray overalls came hurrying out. In the lab, Jeremiah was vaguely perplexed, but if the clone shared those feelings, he said nothing.

“All set, Doctor,” one of the men mumbled as they shuffled past. The doctor said nothing and ushered the clone inside.

The camera angle wavered slightly and then settled into a seamless view of the office. Jeremiah understood at once it wasn’t a phone system they were installing.

“Does he have people waiting in the wings to put in his cameras?” Jeremiah asked Brent with some alarm. “How did they get it done that fast? How the hell did he even know?”

Brent shook his head and continued watching. “Charles Scott likes to cover all his bases,” he said.

“Have you had a chance to visit with your mother yet, Mr. Adams?” Waterson asked the clone.

The clone nodded as he took a seat in front of the desk.

“And how did she seem to you this evening?”

“I’ll agree she did seem a bit confused,” the clone said, “but don’t you think it’s going overboard to talk about having her moved?”

“Mr. Adams, this isn’t something we do lightly. You need to understand this is for her own safety and the safety of our other residents and staff. We are simply not equipped to handle cases of dementia here. We’re a small, general assistance home. But there are a number of other facilities that specialize in these things. Some of them close by. She’d be much better off in one of those. Much happier in the long run.”