Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4) (22 page)

His clone’s appearance was slightly more youthful, and a bit better looking, but undeniably, the same man.  He had also imparted his hatred of mankind with his double, though he doubted it was necessary.  The clone shared all of his memories, his gifts, and his intelligence.  In fact, Terzini believed his clone’s aptitude surpassed his, thereby reinforcing the necessity of his imprisonment.   For this reason, he always experienced a sense of wonder tinged with dread when he visited his clone.

Terzini filled his lungs with air then blew it out through pursed lips, an act he hoped would ready him, calm him even, then depressed a hard round button just below the speaker grate.  A long, high-pitched tone sounded to alert him that audio feed had been enabled on the other side of the partition.   His twin ignored the sound at first and remained focused on his book.  Only after he had finished reading whatever he was reading did he respond.  Terzini prickled at the small but undeniable measure of control his clone exuded by such a small gesture.  But he had not come to wrestle for power or quibble over passive-aggressive acts.  He came for counsel.

“Hello Franklin,” Terzini said.

“Hello to you,” his clone replied.

Terzini found himself temporarily startled to hear a voice matching to his own, the tone and timbre identical.

“Is there something I can help you with, or are you here for a social visit?” he clone asked.

Though his clone’s expression remained impassive, Terzini detected the faintest hit of sarcasm in his tone, sarcasm and superiority.  Such insolence was mildly irritating and wouldn’t have been tolerated from anyone else.

“I am here for counsel,” he said coolly.

“Very well then, what can I do for you?” his clone asked.

“My frustration had peaked in recent days.  The in-utero technique does not seem to be working and I wonder whether I am missing some key piece of the puzzle,” he unloaded and explained to his clone the entire situation, how each time he had employed his unique procedure, fetuses had died.  Of course, he left Dawn Downing out of the conversation altogether.

“What you’ve missed is rather obvious to me,” his clone hissed.  You are wasting your time with useless pregnant humans.”

“Excuse me! You’re way out of line,” he began but was interrupted.

“Humanity needs to be overtaken by force,” his clone spoke over him and raised his voice.  “This procedure you fancy so much, this in-utero nonsense, why was it developed.  Huh?  It was developed
for
humans to be more acceptable
to
humans.  Yet, you are intending to overtake humans and eradicate them over time are you not?”

“Well, yes, but it’s not that simple,” he began again.

“Oh I believe it
is
that simple,” his clone said emphatically.  “Society, as it exists, needs to end, now.  Humanity has had its moment in the sun.  If change does not happen swiftly, and soon, they will destroy the planet and all its resources, our rightful home.”

“I cannot conduct my transformation in that manner.  You know that.  It needs to be done subtly.  I just can’t do it otherwise.”

His clone’s calm intensified briefly, and a look that could only be categorized as serenity smoothed his youthful features.  For an instant, he looked like a regal statue carved of marble, a satisfied expression permanently fixed on his face.  But his look of calm satisfaction ended, abruptly, and in an instant, his face transformed into a mask of pure anger.  He snapped.

“Because you’re weak!” the clone screamed, and slammed his hand down on the desk he sat before.

Dr. Terzini felt a ripple of fear pass through him, through his very core.  He had never tolerated another person shouting at him as he had now.  He had also never feared anyone the way he feared his clone.  His clone was the only being on Earth who possessed intellectual aptitude that paralleled his own.  He felt intimidated and wondered whether others felt similarly in
his
presence.  

“You need to free me,” the clone demanded and rose from his chair.  He moved toward the glass.  You need me to initiate the transformation, my way, the way we both know it needs to be
started.”

“No,” he said firmly. “It cannot and will not be done that way.”

“What does it matter, as long as your plan is carried out?  Let me overthrow humanity. You know that my way it the way it needs to be done, you weak pathetic human,” his clone said and emphasized the last three words he spoke. 

He had tried to instill fear in the clone, along with a sense of loyalty and submission, but all had failed.  They were arguably, the same person.  And while he certainly did not fear himself, he feared the man in front of him.  His clone stood, glaring at him and he realized that his twin was not going to help him. 

A need to leave pressed him.  The thought of staying, with mere plastic between them, suddenly became unbearable.  He depressed another button on the intercom panel and disabled further communication between him and his clone before exiting the room.  He promptly left and closed the door behind him.  In the hallway, his breathing became labored.  He longed to draw deep breaths of air but could only manage short shallow pants instead.  He bent forward at the waist and gasped for several seconds but to no avail.  The air felt far too thick to breathe, too weighted.  He needed to leave; immediately.

He raced down the hallway and out of the laboratory into the cool air of early evening.  The Moon roared above him, the water along the coast howled, and the mild breeze that stirred shrieked like a convention of banshees with the sound of innumerable insects crowing and cawing in disjointed unison.  The night sounds swelled and pierced his eardrums.  His brow was slick with sweat, his pulse raced dangerously and still, a deep breath would not come.  He stopped amid the scrupulously maintained      patch of lawn between his home and his laboratory and collapsed.  He sank to his knees, sat back on his feet and allowed his head to sag.  With his chin pressed against his chest, he replayed his conversation with the other Terzini.  His clone had demanded that he take humanity by force, that he kill Dawn Downing, and abandon his original plan.  The demand was a thought that had never consciously crossed his mind.  He wondered whether it had subconsciously, or if the clone were separating himself.  Either way, realistically, he knew he had no need to fear his clone any more than he feared himself.  Especially since his clone was detained behind locked doors and an unbreakable plastic partition.  No matter what his clone wanted, no matter how far his clone’s ideas diverged from his own, he held all of the power.  And could easily destroy his clone if need be.

Many decisions needed to be made.  But not while kneeling in the grass amid a mind-numbing cacophonous melody of nature.  He rose slowly from his crouched position and inhaled the pleasantly fresh air of twilight.  This time, the air filled his lungs completely, renewed him.  After several gulps, he began walking toward his house confident that he no longer needed the advice of his clone.  He would figure out what to do on his own.

Jarrod Richards pulled in to the driveway of his home, thankful that he had selected a residence that offered both seclusion and privacy.  Free of the prying eyes of nearby neighbors, he did not have to worry that anyone would see him hauling a rather resistant guest from his car to his front door, or hear her scream as he did so.  And he was certain she would scream, loudly.  The girl in his trunk had screamed unendingly since she had been loaded inside.  She had kicked and shouted and hurled the most profane of obscenities at him the entire ride home.  Her tirade had been so persistent, so offensive, so
noisy
that it had become necessary for him to turn the radio far louder than he would have liked, all in an effort to drown her out.  He hoped his sensitive hearing had not been damaged in the process.  His exquisite ears deserved to hear only the most pleasant of sounds and in the appropriate decibel level range.  Her strident, vulgar outburst was sure to continue and intensify the moment he opened his trunk.  As he parked in front of his garage and turned off the car, her swear-filled uproar became more audible and he wondered whether he’d made a mistake taking her in the first place.

He opened the driver’s side door and walked to the rear of his sedan.  He unlocked the trunk and braced himself for an onslaught of sound.  Surprisingly, she froze at the sight of him.  And in that moment, he dismissed any doubts he had had earlier.  Stilled, she was stunning, a breathtaking specimen that could have easily been mistaken as a fellow member.  Despite being coated in a fine layer of sweat and panting, she was still exquisite, as exquisite as any member he’d ever seen.  Of course, she was not a member, but she retained physical perfection similar to him and his peers.  Her eyes held his briefly and he was mesmerized by their color.  Her unique irises were so dark, so deep.  They looked like bottomless pools of liquid onyx.  He broke his stare only when movement in his peripheral vision distracted him.  She had parted her full lips and ran her tongue across them.  He was certain that seeing him face to face had changed any reservations she may have had about being his captive.  That she may even be happy about it.  His mind raced with thoughts.  He entertained countless scenarios where in which she stayed, willingly, with him and indulged him regularly. 

His confidence was shattered, however, when he realized that she had parted her lips and licked them to ready her mouth for the workout it was about to receive. The measures she had taken, though outwardly seductive, were little more than preparation.  He watched in horror as she opened her mouth wider than he had ever seen a woman open her mouth and began hollering and cursing him again.

“You fucking asshole!” she screamed and showered spittle.  She looked less like the attractive woman he had absconded with and more like a wild-eyed creature that had been trapped.  She began to resemble a feral animal.  “I’m claustrophobic you scumbag!”

He was shocked, and repulsed.  No one had ever spoken to him in such a manner, swore at him with such concentrated hate.  So taken aback was he that words escaped him temporarily. 

“Who the hell are you?  What do you want with me?” she demanded.  “I’m talking to you asshole!”

Anger prompted him and propelled him to act.  Her impudence had gone on long enough.  She may be worthy of entertaining him and entirely unlike the woefully inadequate lunch cart girl, but at least the lunch cart girl had been a pleasant conversationalist.  The raven-haired beauty needed to be silenced.  He grabbed a handful of her silky tresses and yanked her out of the trunk.  She howled out in pain and was about to protest when he turned and placed his face inches from hers.  He thought about striking her, but did not want to mark her with an unsightly bruise.  Like a summer fruit, she needed to be handled carefully.  She would be far less attractive to him, unsuitable really, if he treated her too roughly.  He needed to keep her perfect until she had served her purpose and pleasured him.  So instead of hitting her, he warned her.

“What I want from you,” he growled.  “Is for you to shut your mouth, you pathetic human!”

“Human?” she asked incredulously.  “What the hell are you, one of Terzini’s little creations?”

She did not back down as he’d expected.  She was not cowed.  Rather, she was incensing him with her words.  He never dreamed it possible for a human to enrage him as she was.  For reasons unknown to him, emotions had been swelling within him.  First lust, and now anger, teemed with fervor, coursed through his body like lifeblood.   He did not known what to make of the dramatic changes he was experiencing, just that they were taking place and they ought to be embraced.

“We are not
little
creations, you fool.  We are the future of humanity, and will be the most significant creatures to ever inhabit the planet.”

He believed every word he’d spoken, knew of his superiority over her, and hoped he’d sufficiently silenced her.

“You’re Frankenstein, asshole!” she scorned.  “All you’re missing is the bolts sticking out of your neck!”

“Enough!” Jarrod shouted and punched her in her stomach, hard, as much to her surprise as his own.

He had not wanted to resort to physical violence, did not want to risk tainting his interlude with her with bruises and marks.  But she had forced his hand.  He was furious now. 

She had doubled over and collapsed to the ground.  She clutched her midsection and struggled to catch her breath.  But her pain was not his concern.  Her compliance was.  He bent over and grabbed her by her face, pulled her head and made her look at him.

“Look at me, you insect,” he ordered her.  “Does Frankenstein look like this?  Have you ever seen anyone as perfect as me, or even close for that matter?”

She did not answer his question, did not need to.  His question was rhetorical.

“No, you haven’t.  Someday
all
of humanity will be as beautiful as me.  And I will no longer be forced to walk around looking at the ugliness that roams about in the world now, swallowing back the bile I feel for them.  Someday soon, the world will be cleansed, purged of all its unsightliness.  And only the perfect will remain.  A new order will reign over the Earth.”

She had watched him as he’d spoken and maintained eye contact as he had shared secret truths with her.  He had not truly seen her while he had spoken.  Instead, he had gazed into the future promised to him, a future devoid of grotesqueness; a future he longed for.  When he refocused his vision and was brought back to the present, a pair of black eyes bored through him.  But her piercing eyes were betrayed by her bottom lip that quivered.