“Help me with my toes.” Jamie wriggled her feet at Patrick. She sat at the edge of the bed wrapped in a pink, fluffy towel, her wet hair wrapped in a smaller matching version.
Pat sighed. “Fine, I’ll help you polish the evil things. But you owe me.”
“I never owe anybody.” She giggled. “I’ll make it up to you?” She twinkled her toes. They really were a sight. The last time she laid Cutex on them, her tummy wasn’t as big and she could actually bend over; but that was four months ago. Now the red polish was chipped in places, and half grown out.
“You always say that.” Patrick sat next to her.
“Don’t I deliver?”
“Only when I beg. I have to start writing down all the things you owe me. That could take a week. Maybe more.”
“I deliver. You’re old. You forget.”
“I’m the old one?” He poked her. “Do we have to go to your sister’s birthday party?”
She laughed out loud. Lines around her mouth crinkled. Her hazel eyes sparkled.
“Ok maybe we’re both old, and yes, we’re going. I went to your Mother's Day disaster. The least you can do is come to mine.”
“It wasn’t a disaster, and I’m not old. I’m distinguished. But you? You’re old and fat and that’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“You know I’m pregnant right?”
“Says you. For all I know, you could be just be fat. Your sister’s fat. She looks like a moose in a dress.”
“No honey, that’s your dad. Doctor Peterson says I’m pregnant, he looked for himself. He’s a doctor, he knows.”
“Well, I wasn’t there. How do I know he looked up the right-” Patrick pointed to her crotch. “-thingy? He coulda looked left when he shoulda looked right. I don’t know what he saw.”
“Thingy? You love that thingy.” She leaned in to kiss him.
He smiled. Her breath was warm, her lips soft and minty.
“You’re trying to change the subject with kisses. Doesn’t work anymore. I think I would like a-”
“Blowjob?”
“Now we’re talking.” Patrick grinned.
She kissed him again, this time with a hint of tongue. “Let’s just go to the party, who knows what might happen when we get back, hmm?”
“I already know. You’ll fall asleep in the car and I’ll have to get a wheelbarrow to get you inside. Note to self: get a bigger wheelbarrow.”
“So you’ll do my toes then?” She pouted like a little girl.
“Fine. But just so you know, I’m painting them brown.”
“Brown?”
“Sure, to match your teeth.”
She laughed again.
“Dumbass. You know I’ll never leave you right?”
“Yeah. Riiiight.” Pat smiled into her lips. Kissed her again.
That was the last time they would kiss.
Tires screeched sharp and shrill. Loud. The sound cut across Kady Cherry’s rendition of 'Last Thursday Night' on the radio. Pat looked up.
Always some asshole.
Across the intersection, a black Xtrail skated toward them. Wheels locked. Blue grey smoke billowed over twin black skid marks on the hardtop. Through its windshield, he saw the driver. A young woman, cellphone in hand. Her mouth opened in a wide “O.”
“Oh God Pat!”
Her hand reached across him, as if to hold him back. To shield him. But she couldn’t.
His eyes widened.
“Jamie!”
The woman in the Xtrail stretched her arms out. Turned away. Palms up, trying to ward off the inevitable.
Car horns. One, two. Too many.
Then a giant hand swatted Jamie’s Prius as if it were a fly.
The heart monitor beeped slowly and regularly.
“Mr. Dahl? Can you hear me?”
Who was that?
A woman’s voice. Distant. Echoey. Fading in and out.
“Mr. Dahl, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
Oh. Small fingers clasped his big hand tightly. Odd he just noticed that. He squeezed gently.
“Doctor, he’s waking up.”
Movement around him. Subdued squeaks. Rubber shoes on tiles. He opened his eyes. Light. Too bright. Too harsh. Blinding white.
“Jamie?” His voice trembled, the sounds strange and hard to his ears.
“He’s asking for her again, doctor. Who was she?”
“His wife. She died in the crash.” The doctor adjusted a device next to the bed.
“Wasn’t the crash like, 200 years ago?”
“Actually it was longer than that. Maybe turn of the century, before the collapse of 2018.”
“Oh yeah, I read about that in high school.”
Patrick opened his eyes just a sliver.
Where am I?
Brightly lit room. Two women hovered around him. Both gowned, masked. Hair neatly tidied under white surgical caps. Only their eyes showed. Both sets of eyes glowed the same translucent blue.
“Mr. Dahl?” The taller woman moved closer to the bed.
“Y-yes? What’s going on? Where’s Jamie? I don’t understand what’s-”
“Oh Mr. Dahl, this is wonderful.”
The second woman practically danced. Beside herself with excitement. “It worked. It worked. You’re the first.”
“First?” His voice gathered strength. “First what?”
“Our first success.”
“I don’t understand. What’s happening?”
“It’s a long story Mr. Dahl. Do you remember when you and your wonderful wife donated your organs to science?”
Patrick nodded. They were being silly that day. Jamie thought it would be a good idea. They signed the paperwork together.
“That was last year. So? We donated our bodies. What’s going on? Where is she? Is she ok?”
He swallowed. He felt his body from the inside. All there. The same as it was yesterday.
What did they mean 200 years ago?
“Jamie? Where is she?”
He felt his stomach tie itself into a knot. He could barely breathe.
The heart monitor began beeping rapidly.
The younger woman couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Doctor, is the other sample...”
“Patience Mary. Patience.”
“I know, I know. But if he woke up, then…”
The doctor held up a blue gloved hand. Tried to keep her voice steady, but Patrick heard the trembling in her words.
“Mr. Dahl, you’re our first subject with reintegrated consciousness and working memory. We haven’t had -- success with any of the other samples.”
“I don’t understand. What samples?”
“Cell samples. You died over one thousand years ago. But we kept your heart cells alive. Of all the samples we collected, just two allowed us to clone them. A husband and wife. Both died in a car crash.
“So? What does that have to do with me?”
The doctor smiled. Her lips curved upward beneath the surgical mask. “You’re the husband.”
“I..”
His voice trailed off. If she wasn’t alive, he couldn’t go on. He felt a silent wound gape within him. As if someone had ripped his soul from his flesh.
Tires screeched. Airbags filled the space between them.
His breath froze for a moment. Locked in his throat.
Her hand in his, fingers loosening. Letting go.
He could feel it. She was dead. His body vibrated. His eyes turned up till only the whites showed. His legs drummed on the hard foam mattress. White froth leaked from the sides of his mouth. The beeping from the heart monitor became a continuous tone.
The younger woman peeled her mask off. Her skin was scaly. Reptilian. Mottled black and grey plates overlapped in an intricate pattern. Where her nose should have been, double black punctures fed air into her body. She groaned, revealing double rows of sharpened white teeth.
“Not again. We’re so close doctor. So close.”
The doctor pulled her mask away tiredly. “We’re getting better. This one remembered.”
“I know, you were right. The heart cells are the strongest for the process. I guess their love for each other made them want to live?”
The doctor nodded. “Love. We still don’t know enough about it. Next time let’s try waking them up together.”
The younger woman smiled.
“Yessss.”
I know, it's weird. I can't help it if my mind goes wonky sometimes. I take the good with the bad. This time, Rod Sterling's voice guided me through the story. It's his fault I turned out the way I did. He's still my hero. Replonk and upgoat if you don't mind. I still need the love. Lol
As always.
Hugs.
J.
