Darkside Dreams - The Complete First Series Page 7

  Both had spilled. Gwen approached, bending low to have a closer look. Ice. There were still bits of solid ice, dotting the carpet from the spilled drinks. She stood up fast, nearly turned and ran, then steeled herself. After all, wasn't this what she really wanted, all along? A confrontation? Yes, she thought.

  Drake had lied to her. He had lied about going out of town. He was here, right now. She was about to catch him in the act. If only she had come ten minutes earlier. From the state of the living room, Drake and his companion had either gotten into one hell of a fight or else they had engaged in wild, passionate sex. Knowing him, it could be either. In the earlier days of their relationship, when there was still real passion between them, Gwen and Drake got pretty rough with each other in the bedroom sometimes.

  There was a towel on the floor as well. Gwen briefly entertained the idea of unfolding it, seeing what sort of stains were there. But the thought made her stomach flip again. She abandoned it.

  So, what now? What had she learned?

  First, going just off what stood before her eyes now, it seemed that this really was just a fancy hotel run by some kind of escort service. But, if the Horizon Group was involved, it was a sure bet that something else was going on.

  Gwen found herself frozen in place, torn between wanting to run away and forget everything she saw, and wishing to delve deeper. To find the answers to all her questions.

  A voice suddenly called out from deeper in the suite, making Gwen jump and her scalp prickle.

  "Drake?" it called. "Is that you out there?"

  It was a woman. Gwen smiled nastily to herself. She knew it!

  If the bitch had heard her walking around, she obviously hadn't been as stealthy as she should have been. But it didn't really matter. Apparently, Drake wasn't in the suite right now. Or else his little hussy wouldn't be confused as to the source of the footsteps.

  Fresh anger gave her a needed boost of strength and conviction. Gwen touched her hair, adjusted the hem of her blouse, and strode in the direction of the voice.

  She came around a corner, and saw an open door ahead. A bedroom. The bed was messy and unmade. There were handcuffs attached to the bedposts. Clothes, scattered across the floor. Gwen felt nauseous again, though not with fear or anxiety. It was anger and disgust that churned within her belly now.

  Gwen stepped into the room. Something moved at the corner of her eye. She turned to face it, and for a moment thought she was looking into a mirror.

  How often had this happened? How many times in her years of marriage had she stared at her own half-naked body in the mirror, at her own bloody face? Split lip, bruised cheekbones, busted nose? Claw marks on her chest. Finger marks on her throat. How many times?

  But she wasn't half-naked. Not now. She was wearing the same clothes she'd put on this morning. And her husband hadn't hit her in a long time. Hadn't touched her at all, not even to rip her clothes off and have his way with her.

  She wasn't looking into a mirror. She wasn't looking at herself, but somehow… she was.

  The battered woman that stood before her appeared to be an exact copy of Gwen. A twin, but since Gwen was quite literally an only child she knew there was only one logical explanation for this woman's existence. The woman was a clone. She had to be.

  Gwen stepped backward, unconsciously lifting her hand to cover her mouth. Eyes widening in shock.

  The imposter reacted even more strongly, sinking to the floor, using her arms to cover her nudity. She shrunk away against the wall, hiding her face.

  "Wait," Gwen said, her mind moving too fast for any coherent thought to form. "Wait a second..."

  She stumbled to her right, hit the bed, and fell into it. It was a very nice mattress. Extremely comfortable. Plush like a cloud. She spread her hand over it, feeling the smooth, cool sheets. The touch helped to ground her, bring her spinning thoughts back under control.

  "You," she said. "Who are you?"

  The clone said nothing, just burrowed her face further into the crook of her arm. Gwen now saw the speckling of blood on the panties. The deep fingernail gouges on the creature's back. There was blood on the bed, too. Little dots of blood that were a strange purplish shade of red instead of the deep crimson color that Gwen would have expected. Gwen almost gagged.

  A sound echoed through the suite. A door shutting. Footsteps. Heavy and masculine. Gwen felt herself shoot upright as though she had been struck by lightning. Without thinking, she ran toward a closet door, shoved herself inside, and pulled the door shut again.

  It was one of those swinging, folding doors. It even had little angled slats in it, about eye level, which she could see through. Gwen stood perfectly still in the dark, hanging shirts draped over her shoulders, and waited.

  Drake appeared in the room a few moments later. His tie was loose and hanging. His jacket was draped over his arm, leaving him in just a crisp white dress shirt. There was blood on it, as well. The cuffs were rolled up. The fly on his dress pants was up, but the button was undone. If he had gone out looking this sloppy, this messy, he must not have left the building at all. Gwen was lucky not to have run into him in a hallway, or in the lobby.

  Drake sighed, approaching the cowering clone. He put his hands under her arms and tried to pull her to her feet. She didn't move.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really, really sorry. Honest."

  Gwen knew that tone of voice. Completely insincere. There was not an ounce of genuine sorrow or apology in it. Pure manipulation. It was a tone she hadn't heard in a long time. Since before her own beatings stopped.

  The clone said nothing, and she didn't seem to give away what she had seen-- The real Gwen, walking in and finding her.

  Drake sighed, cursed under his breath, and straightened up. He lifted his jacket, straightening the sleeves and fixing the curled hem as he walked toward the closet to hang it up.

  Gwen froze for a second. Then she tried shuffling over to her left. She hit a wall. So she went right, and hit another wall. The closet was very small. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

  Drake pulled the door open, saw her, and stared in blank surprise for a moment. Then he smiled casually, grabbed Gwen by the front of her shirt, and pulled her out into the room. Not violently, not with any malice. But also without care or tenderness. Like a man moving a heavy piece of luggage.

  Gwen found herself reaching for her purse. But it wasn't there. She glanced back. It had fallen from her shoulder when Drake pulled her; it was still sitting on the floor, in the closet.

  "Drake, stop!" she shrieked. "Let me go!"

  She heard the pathetic note in her voice. That note of resignation.

  "Wow," Drake said, tossing her onto the bed, pinning her down to get a good look at her.

  "They really got this one spot on. Right down to that nagging attitude."

  He spoke quietly. Just talking to himself. Like she wasn't even there. Meanwhile, his hand on her throat was choking the life out of her. Her vision was already narrowing, going black. She could barely speak, but she managed to force out two words.

  "Fuck... you..."

  This actually made him pause. He lifted himself off her a bit. His hand left her throat, and instead moved to her wrist. He shoved her arm against the bed and held it there.

  "Fuck me?" he snapped. "How about fuck you?"

  He reached down with his other hand and started undoing her pants.

  Gwen tried to sit up. Now that she had some oxygen in her brain, her first thought was to fight. Get herself out of this position. Once she was free, she could convince the idiot that she wasn't a clone. She was real.

  She didn't make it very far. Drake slapped her hard across the face, making her see stars. She fell back down. And then he was choking her again, squeezing even harder than before.

  "Bitch," he growled, face going red, spit flying from between his clenched teeth. "You stupid bitch! How many times do I have to tell you..."

  Tell her what? She didn't know. One of his pointless justi
fications. He always liked to have some nonsense reason ready, a justification for why he was beating the shit out of her.

  Maybe it made him feel better. But he didn't know it was her. In his mind, he was taking out his anger on a clone. Focusing what was left of her consciousness, Gwen forced out a few last words.

  "You were... supposed to be... out of town..."

  His mouth opened. The redness went out of his face, and his grip on her throat lessened. A clone wouldn't have known about the lie he had told his wife. And for that matter, it probably wouldn't be wearing his wife's favorite blouse, or the pants she had bought years ago, or the damn wedding band on her finger.

  It only took a few moments for Drake to connect the dots. To realize what was actually happening. He leapt away, throwing up his hands and dancing backward like a man who had gotten too close to a hot fire.

  "Gwen?!" he said. "Gwen, what the hell are you doing here?!"

  She sat up, coughing and wheezing, sucking in ragged breaths. In a moment she had recovered, and sat there, staring at her husband. He stared back at her, opening his mouth, sticking out his tongue, desperately trying to think of something to say.

  CHAPTER 3

  ◆◆◆

  "I did this for you," Drake snapped, now standing across the room, arms angrily folded across his muscular chest as he glared at Gwen, who was still seated on the bed.

  “Bullshit! This was for you. You sick bastard! What kind of fool do you take me for?!”

  Gwen hissed, her eyes red with a mixture of anger and astonishment.

  "I did it for us! To save our marriage! I thought that... Well, it's been proven to work. You remember Ian? My friend from college?"

  Gwen nodded. Ian was the CEO at a completely different company. Another rich asshole.

  "He joined the program too. Before I did," Drake explained. "It saved him. If you had met him and his wife five years ago, you'd wonder how they weren't divorced already. But now, they're like newlyweds. I swear. It's crazy how well the program worked for them. How well it works for all of us. It really is quite revolutionary!”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Drake?! How is this sick shit revolutionary?!”

  “Because it works, Gwen! Can’t you see that?!” Drake exclaimed. “How long has it been since I put my hands on you?”

  “About thirty seconds,” Gwen snarled.

  “W-well… before today I mean,” Drake stammered.

  “Oh, so you’re not counting today’s ass kicking because you thought I was a clone?” Gwen snapped.

  “They’re not clones, Gwen,” Drake said smugly. “It’s like a mixture of a clone and a machine. They call them synthetic humans because the organic parts, which is about forty percent of the body, are synthesized using genetic material from—”

  “Do I look like I give a shit, Drake?!” Gwen shrieked. “Whatever this is it is wrong!”

  “No, you’re wrong! This program helps people, Gwen. People who otherwise can’t help themselves. You always hear these stories about wealthy men-- great men, who ruin their careers because of impulses they can't handle. Things that are largely out of their control."

  "Impulses," Gwen scoffed as she climbed to her feet and glared back at Drake. "Like the urge to rape and beat the shit out of women you supposedly love? You mean that kind of impulse?"

  Drake sighed. "Whatever, Gwen. I don't know why I'm even discussing this with you. It's completely beyond your understanding. The statistics show that the program is working, okay? Instances of sexual assault and exploitation in the workplaces impacted by the program are down by almost sixty percent! And the numbers are even better when you boil it down to the churches that were impacted. Well over sixty percent in less than a year!”

  Gwen's eyes widened with surprise as she realized the gravity of Drake's words, and she shivered to even think about it. Images flashed through her mind. Priests renting rooms in this building, so that they could have full access to a synthetic child. A child that essentially belonged to them, upon whom they could exorcise a depraved hunger so that it wouldn't surface in their normal, daily lives.

  “You can't argue with the results!" Drake continued, obviously fishing for a response from Gwen.

  "But the assault is still happening," Gwen said. "It's just being shifted somewhere else!”

  “Oh God, here it comes,” Drake scoffed, smacking the front of his head in frustration. “I guess this is the part where you start advocating for the copies, huh? You and all your goddamn causes. What is it with you?”

  “You're deflecting, Drake! You think I can't see that?! This isn't about me! We're talking about you and your decision to partake in this sick- this…this- I don't even know what the fuck this is?! This cannot be legal!”

  “Keep your goddamn voice down,” Drake said brusquely.

  “Or else what?” Gwen shot back. “Are you going to start beating the hell out of me again? Go ahead Drake! Do it! Show us just how well this bullshit program works!”

  “It does work! The program helps more than you could possibly know,” Drake said through gritted teeth, obviously fighting the urge to launch an attack.

  “You're pathetic, Drake. And these people are only interested in helping wealthy people who aren't used to being told ‘no’. People like you... People who don't even understand the meaning of the word.”

  Was this program really saving anyone, or was it just creating new victims and hiding them away? Gwen looked at the synthetic copy of her, who was still hiding in the corner. Silent.

  “We're sick, Gwen, and we know it. There's no pretense there,” Drake remarked, taking a self-righteous tone. “But at least we're seeking treatment for ourselves. I come here, and I get it all out of my system. That way I can be normal the rest of the time, when I'm in the real world.

  When I'm with you."

  "You haven't been normal at all," Gwen responded. “Even right now, you're trying to manipulate me. Trying to make me feel like my opinions are stupid."

  "But I haven't hurt you. Not since I joined the program."

  "You almost killed me just now, Drake!" She stared at Drake but he looked away, unable to meet her gaze due to the shame brought on by the truth within her words.

  "Can they die? Have you killed any of them?" Gwen asked.

  He glanced at her. "What?"

  "Them. The synthetic whatevers… they bleed so I assume they can die. Have you ever killed any of them? It's a simple question."

  He looked away again and said nothing. But there was guilt etched all over his face.

  There was no doubt about it. He had killed at least one synthetic copy of her. Probably more. Gwen's next thought was an inevitable one. A natural one. How long would it be before the synthetics weren't enough, before his anger became too great and he started taking it out on her again? If he could kill a being that looked exactly like her, what was to stop him from eventually killing her too? God only knows how much practice he had had.

  There was only one course of action. One way out. It was time to finally do what she should have done years ago. To be the strong woman she always used to assume she would be, before she met Drake.

  She got up, walked over to the closet, and picked up her purse.

  "What are you doing?" Drake asked, his voice hollow. It was the hollowness she dreaded, the void that always preceded a self-righteous storm of anger.

  "I'm leaving," she said. "The next time you see me will be in court. And then never again."

  She felt a thrill, a rising triumph in her chest. She felt invincible. This was it; she had finally managed to say it.

  Drake took a step towards Gwen then paused and just stood there, seething, face red, hands balled into fists.

  "What are you talking about?" he asked. "I did this for us, you ungrateful bitch! I promised myself that I'd never hit you again, and this is the thanks I get?!"

  Gwen gestured toward the synthetic version of herself. "But you have been hitting me, Drake! Can't you see that
?!"

  "That doesn't count," Drake snapped, stomping his foot. "It’s synthetic, Gwen! It isn't real!"

  "Tell yourself whatever makes you feel better," Gwen said, turning toward the door. "It won't bring me back. Have a nice life, asshole."

  She started to leave.

  Drake laughed at her. "You're screwed, Gwen. Absolutely screwed. My lawyers will destroy you. Do you realize that?”

  “I don't care Drake. I'm still leaving you.”

  “You're a goddamn babysitter! You stupid bitch. Looking after our kid was the only responsibility you ever had…” Drake fumed. “And you couldn't even do that right.”

  Tears welled in the corners of Gwen's eyes as images of their late daughter flashed into her mind. Their daughter was only a toddler when she died, and her untimely death was simply a freak accident. Completely outside of anyone's control but Drake never stopped blaming Gwen and as always, he evoked her memory as yet another means to control his wife.

  “Goodbye, Drake,” Gwen said solemnly without bothering to turn and face him.

  “Really?! You're really going through with this? You're throwing it all away, over what? That thing!?” Drake scoffed, now pointing at the hapless synthetic Gwen. “It doesn't even have a soul!"

  Gwen pulled the pistol from her purse and finally spun around to face him.

  "Neither do you," she said firmly as she thrust the gun before her. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled the trigger.

  The bullet hit Drake in the middle of the chest and his eyes widened with terror as he realized what had happened. He tried to speak but the air in his lungs went out of him in a choked rush. Gwen watched in silence as Drake fell back onto the bed, then slid down the smooth sheets and crumpled to the floor. Blood spilled from his chest and spread across the marble as his last few movements grew smaller and smaller. Finally… he stopped moving all together.

  She approached him with the intention of checking whether he was alive. For a moment she felt numb and distant. The next thing she knew, she crashed back into herself. Full of violent anger. As though every bit of rage she had suppressed during her marriage came surging out of her all at once.