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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Adventure
- Published: 10/21/2012
“Pretty little flower,
Outside my window,
Why don’t you creep in
And rest by my pillow?
Oh look, a butterfly! Hello Mrs. Butterfly. Would you care to join me for tea? I’m afraid I don’t have enough for the both of us, but you can have mine. Oh no I insist; I get too much of this stuff anyways. It’s delicious, isn’t it? Wait, where are you going? Come back. Come back please! Please don’t leave me here alone! Please! She hasn’t come for me yet! Please! Just wait until she comes. She has to come! She promised! Please… Please… Please!”
________________________________
“Catherine McCoy, housewife, 35 years of age, was found unconscious in a car accident on 27th street, near her hometown, Greenville, Ohio at 5:43 pm, June 19th, 2004. Allegedly, she was suffering from a case of severe amnesia; she had no memory of anything before the accident. Her husband, George McCoy was found dead with a bullet in his chest later that evening. His estimated time of death is 5:20 pm. The 23 minutes between the two incidents are enough time for Mrs. McCoy to leave her house and reach 27th street. Fingerprints on the gun used to kill Mr. McCoy belong to his wife. Neighbors confirm that on the night of June 18th, Mr. McCoy hadn’t come home until dawn the next day, and Mrs. McCoy was heard screaming ‘You filthy lying cheat!’ all morning. Evidence clearly shows that Mrs. McCoy, with a motive, killed her husband after he cheated on her and then she tried to make a run for it. She is currently in her fourth year in our prison, serving a 20 year sentence. Recently however, she has showed odd behavior that leads us to doubt her sanity. The video you just witnessed is only part of her eccentric behavior. Many have speculated that all this is simply because she has spent too much time alone without her husband and is seeking some form of entertainment. However, I have reasons to disagree.
Catherine didn’t call for her husband. She called for a female. Her mother died giving birth to her. She didn’t have any college friends. Neighbors claimed that she was never an ‘outdoorsy’ kind of person. She rarely ever left the house, and whenever neighbors tried to visit her, she welcomed them bitterly. She never had friends over. She had no family, and George was a single child with a dead mother. Therefore, there is no female figure in Catherine’s life that might have influenced her so much. This isn’t a normal case. I request permission to study her.”
________________________________
“Hello Doctor. Where are we going today? Are you going to take me to the castle? Oh look we’re going down the stairs. I love stairs. They remind me of being a princess, when my prince would hold my hand and escort me to the ball. But look at me; I have two princes now, each one holding me by the arm. Oh my! I must be lucky. And look doctor; they got me two anklets! Can you believe it? Two anklets for a peasant like me! And this one seems to like me very much; he gives me tea every day and a huge turkey dinner. He’s so kind. Of course, you’re still my favorite prince, doctor. You take me out for walks to your lovely castle, and I love each and every visit. You’re all too kind.”
________________________________
“Catherine’s analysis results came out yesterday. The analysis consisted of several tests; blood tests, urine tests, a full body tumor check up, brain diagnosis, physical ability tests, and a set of mental ability tests. Her blood and urine tests came out normal. Her tumor tests came out negative. Her brain diagnosis showed that she had no obvious disease, except perhaps a case of overactive imagination. Her physical ability tests were a series of fitness exercises. She did extremely well in those, especially considering the fact that she hardly ever left the house before the accident, but perhaps she used to exercise at home.
And finally, there are the mental ability tests. Before I discuss them, I would like to point out a few things. Amnesia does not erase memories; it simply blocks the brain’s access to certain memory areas. The blocked areas include personal memories of the person’s self. For example, the person might be able to recall the name of the continents, but he will not be able to recall where and how he learned them. Some extremely severe cases do not remember many facts, but some basic information and language are always present. The first part of the test was a set of basic math questions. We started with multiplication. A person suffering from minor amnesia should be able to recall some parts of the multiplication table because the memory of those concepts is still stored. Catherine, however, was unable to recall any of the answers. So she was handed a table with all the answers and given five minutes to read over it. The paper was taken away, and she was left with the questions again. Catherine managed to solve exactly 45 out of the 144 questions. This was remarkable. An average child that is introduced to this kind of test would only manage to solve 28 questions. This leads to one of two conclusions; either Catherine has a spectacular ability to memorize, or she was lying the first time when she claimed to be unable to solve any of the questions.
To test it, we put her through several other experiments. The first one was a basic maze. She got out of it the first time with a great speed; she seemed to recognize the wrong turn that led to dead ends and avoid them. We made her repeat the maze and she finished it without a single wrong turn. Her memory is incredible.
But we still had no affirmation that she wasn’t lying about the multiplication test. We gave her another list of math questions, but this time they were addition and subtraction. At first, she attempted to solve them as if they were multiplication. 4+4=16… So we explained the concept to her, but we explained it as if addition is subtraction and subtraction is addition. This way we could see if she showed any hesitation to work falsely. She didn’t; she worked according to our concept. She was an exceptionally quick learner. So we were sure that she wasn’t lying and that her memory is truly remarkable.
But that is impossible. If she can’t remember any of the math concepts, then her case is extremely severe. But severe cases suffer from a weak memory; their brain cannot store all these concepts. It’s as if someone just… wiped out her memory completely and started over, without damaging any of her memory skills, but that is scientifically impossible. Even if it were possible, she still knows how to speak English. We gave her a vocabulary test and she recognized most of the words. I just don’t understand.”
________________________________
“Hello Catherine.”
“Hello Doctor. Aren’t we going outside today?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Today I just want us to talk,” he paused to let her take this in and then continued, “Do you know where you are Catherine?”
“Well of course. I’m in prison, serving Catherine’s 20 year sentence,” she answered dreamily. She seemed to be more interested in a knot in her hair than in the conversation.
“But you are Catherine, so why the use of third person?” The doctor toyed with the thought that this might simply be a symptom of amnesia, but decided that her grammar skills were too good for such a mistake.
“Because I’m not serving my sentence. I’m serving Catherine’s,” she smiled at the doctor, letting go of the knot.
“I don’t understand. You’re serving your sentence because you are Catherine. Are you saying that you weren’t yourself when you killed your husband?”
“I have never had a husband,” her smile didn’t wither, but her tone was affirmative. The doctor hesitated before speaking.
“Catherine, you may not have had a husband emotionally, but on paper, officially, you were married to George McCoy.”
“No, I wasn’t,” she seemed irritated at the doctor’s ignorance.
“Catherine, I have the papers here with me. They clearly state that you were married to a man named George McCoy.”
“Catherine was married to him, not me.” The doctor’s thoughts drifted back to his first hypothesis; Catherine thought that she was now a different person.
“So you’re saying that the Catherine found in the accident and the Catherine I’m speaking to right now are two different people?”
“No,” she said, her tone condescending, “That was me, but the Catherine that married George and killed him is someone else.”
“Well, even if that is true, Catherine, even if you have changed completely from the person you were, I can’t let you out of prison.”
“I am not saying this to get out of prison. I am simply answering your questions,” she paused, “and I haven’t changed from who I was. I’ve been the same person for the last five years. I can’t change from what I never was.”
The doctor was overwhelmed. Catherine spoke as if she never existed before the last five years. Metaphorically, that was possible, because she could’ve changed, but she denied that; she thinks that she was never the wife of George.
“The accident happened four years ago, not five,” he said, trying to smile.
“Yours did,” she said, returning to the knot in her hair, with an amused smile on her face.
“What do you mean?” he failed to hide his anticipation.
“I mean that the accident with George happened four years ago, but I happened five years ago.”
“You happened? What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean Catherine made me five years ago,” she grinned.
“Catherine made you?” his tone was a little aggressive and completely inappropriate when talking to a patient, not to mention a murderous one, but Catherine only nodded.
“I’m sorry; I don’t think I understand what you mean. Can you please explain?” he asked, calming himself this time.
She sighed and answered, “I wasn’t going to tell you, but I realized that she won’t come for me. She only said she would to make sure I’d keep my mouth shut, but I caught up. I should have seen it earlier. I should have sensed it. All her efforts to make sure that I knew who was in control have gone to waste. She deserved it, that bitter woman. I’m not like her. I don’t care what she says, I’m my own self,” her voice trailed off halfway and the doctor found it really hard to understand her. She was shaking now, cradling herself in a fetus position on her bed, mumbling. It was the first time that she looked insane. The doctor reached out his hand and laid it gently on her shoulder.
“Catherine,” he said tentatively, but she ignored him. “Catherine, look at me. Look at me. Please Catherine. I only want to help you,” but she continued to move back and forth, but now she seemed to be suppressing tears. “Who is she, Catherine? Who are you talking about?” She broke down, sobbing. It was pathetic, and the doctor took a step back. And then, she answered him.
“Catherine made me! She made me! I’m her clone.” She said the last word with anger and repulsion. This was the first time she’d ever displayed an angry attitude ever since her arrival. The doctor knew better than to question her. He tried to walk out gently, but she saw him.
“No! You can’t leave! Please! I need to tell you the story before I change my mind. Please,” she begged. She was on her knees, holding on to his pants. He held her gently from the shoulders and lifted her. He lead her to the bed where she sat, shaking with anticipation. He looked at her for a few seconds, wondering whether he’d get another chance to hear her story. He decided he would, and so he put his hand on her chest and gently pushed her sideways, and then, he carried her legs and lifted them to the bed.
“You need to rest. I promise to come back tomorrow to hear your story.” His voice was soothing, and she stopped shaking so hard.
“Doctor, I don’t know what that means,” she whispered. The doctor realized that whoever she used to call for had also promised her to come back.
“Not all people lie, Catherine,” he said standing at the door.
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped. The doctor didn’t know whether he believed that she was a clone or not. It seemed so farfetched, but she looked so honest.
“What would you like me to call you, then?”
She paused, but only for a second. “Palesci, it’s an anagram for special.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, smiling. She’d obviously given this a lot of thought.
He was about to walk out of the room, but his curiosity got him and he asked her the question that had been bothering him from the beginning of their talk, “Why were you faking lunacy? You’re completely sane.”
She laughed, loudly. It was an insane sort of shriek, but the doctor knew that this was because of the emotional trauma that she had endured a few minutes ago. “I am insane,” she whispered.
“You’re lying, Palesci. We both know that you are completely sane. Drop the act. What are you hiding? Moments ago you were dying to tell me,” said the doctor. His voice was firm. She knew that lying wouldn’t lead her anywhere with this man.
“I want to tell you,” she said, “but I can’t. It’s in my genes. It’s one of the few modifications she made to my DNA. It’s that hormone that stimulates guilt. My body secretes it in twice the amount that a normal human’s body does. But sometimes I get moments where I can overcome my emotions and listen to plain logic.”
The doctor took his seat. He knew what she meant; she would tell him, but only if he heard her now, not tomorrow, not after she rests, but now. He waited for her to speak.
“Catherine studied genetic engineering in college. She loved it. She poured her heart and soul into learning all she could about it. She never had time for friends. But then she met George. She loved him because he was just as passionate about cardiology as she was about genetics. They started going out during her last year at college, but George’s rich family disapproved of Catherine because of her background. She had a dead mother and a drunken father, and she could only make it into college on a scholarship. So George had to make a choice, his family, or the love of his life. Obviously he chose Catherine. She was a beautiful woman, and they spent their first few years together happily married. They each had jobs; he was a heart surgeon and she was a researcher at a medical center. One night, a couple of years later, she came home late after a long project. She had discovered something in the human genes that relates to muscle growth and she kept talking about it all through dinner. Finally, she looked at him and asked him how his day was. He told her that two of his patients had died. They finished their dinner in silence, but the next day she came home even later, and he beat her. He beat her for being smarter. He beat her for being beautiful. He beat her for making him abandon his family. He beat her for loving him. It went on for a few months, and then he locked her at home. He wouldn’t let her go to work. She cried for days. She wouldn’t let him touch her. In the end, he decided to let her work at home. She turned the basement into her own lab, and he would give her all the equipment she needed from the hospital he worked in. It worked for a few years. The beating stopped, and they were happily in love again. But then, Catherine realized that he was coming home very late, and she found lipstick stains on his shirt. She never confronted him, but she came up with a plan. She’d make me, kill him, and then send me to jail in her place. It was a brilliant plan. She spent five years working on me. Every clone she made died after a few days in the artificial womb, and finally she came up with the idea of modifying the genes of the clone in order to make it stronger. She made a few other modifications, including the guilt hormone thing. I grew in the womb. I thrived. And then I spent a year growing to my real size. During that year, Catherine taught me English. She told me her plan, and I felt compassion for her. I was willing to go to jail for her, but she knew I couldn’t bear it. After all, we both hated being inside. So she promised me she’d come back. I found it very difficult to understand the term ‘promise’, but I did as I was told. I watched her kill her husband, and I took the car to where she told me. She’d taught me how to drive theoretically, and the plan went perfectly. I crashed in the exact place that she told me to. I faked amnesia to cover up my lack of knowledge. I pretended to be insane because Catherine knew that none of you would ever believe a crazy girl’s clone story. But a few days ago I realized that she wouldn’t come for me. But she knew I’d realize that. She knew today would come. She knew I’d betray her. She knows me better than I know myself. She is myself, or maybe I am herself. Oh Catherine, forgive me! I’ll follow your plan! I promised I would…”
At that point she began weeping like a child. The doctor didn’t know what to do. He had been silently nodding throughout her explanation, making connections in his mind. Her story was very possible, it made sense. He couldn’t find a single oversight, so he went to her and held her. He didn’t speak; there was nothing to say, but he held her. After a few minutes, he let her go and walked out of the room.
________________________________
“You use your nails. Dig them deep into the mattress. Take out the springs in the middle. By the time you quit and confess—“
“But I won’t quit! I’ll never confess!”
“Oh yes you will. It’s in your genes. You’ll quit on me just like I quit on George. You’ll wait for me for a few years, but then you’ll come to the logical conclusion that I won’t rescue you because I have no motive to. You’ll blurt out the truth to anyone who’s willing to listen—”
“No! I won’t! I understand why you’re doing this. You already promised me that you’d come. I won’t betray you.”
“Clone! Stop interrupting me! You will betray me because that’s how I made you. And I don’t blame you for it. Besides, on the unlikely chance that you might find someone who will believe you, I have a plan. So listen carefully and stop interrupting me.”
“Yes, Catherine.”
“After you confess, you will feel a huge guilt and you’ll want to help. Here is what you can do. You use the springs in the mattress and you dig them into your wrist. They will hurt, but you have to dig deep. Blood will gush out and it will be painful. I want you to lie down on your bed without covering your wrist. You must let the blood seep out until you feel dizzy and tired. Then, you will feel yourself fading away with exhaustion. Don’t resist. Lie down, and hopefully, the next day you won’t even wake up.”
“Wait. You want me to kill myself?”
“No, you’ll want to kill yourself.”
“But how would killing myself fix anything?”
“No one will believe the story if you’re dead. There would only be the person you confessed to, and even he might not believe it.”
“Then, why don’t you let me die in the car accident? It would spare me the time in jail.”
“Because I have hope that you might be able to resist the urge to confess. Why do you think I told you my story? Why didn’t I simply send you off to jail? Because I have hope that you will wait for me long enough. It’s a very small hope, but it’s still worth it.”
“What is hope?”
“It’s the lies. It's the lies we tell ourselves to make life a bit more bearable.”
“But if they’re lies, then why do we believe them?”
“Because without them, we would never go on. They keep us moving, and ultimately, they save our lives.”
The Special One(Reem Chaalan)
“Pretty little flower,
Outside my window,
Why don’t you creep in
And rest by my pillow?
Oh look, a butterfly! Hello Mrs. Butterfly. Would you care to join me for tea? I’m afraid I don’t have enough for the both of us, but you can have mine. Oh no I insist; I get too much of this stuff anyways. It’s delicious, isn’t it? Wait, where are you going? Come back. Come back please! Please don’t leave me here alone! Please! She hasn’t come for me yet! Please! Just wait until she comes. She has to come! She promised! Please… Please… Please!”
________________________________
“Catherine McCoy, housewife, 35 years of age, was found unconscious in a car accident on 27th street, near her hometown, Greenville, Ohio at 5:43 pm, June 19th, 2004. Allegedly, she was suffering from a case of severe amnesia; she had no memory of anything before the accident. Her husband, George McCoy was found dead with a bullet in his chest later that evening. His estimated time of death is 5:20 pm. The 23 minutes between the two incidents are enough time for Mrs. McCoy to leave her house and reach 27th street. Fingerprints on the gun used to kill Mr. McCoy belong to his wife. Neighbors confirm that on the night of June 18th, Mr. McCoy hadn’t come home until dawn the next day, and Mrs. McCoy was heard screaming ‘You filthy lying cheat!’ all morning. Evidence clearly shows that Mrs. McCoy, with a motive, killed her husband after he cheated on her and then she tried to make a run for it. She is currently in her fourth year in our prison, serving a 20 year sentence. Recently however, she has showed odd behavior that leads us to doubt her sanity. The video you just witnessed is only part of her eccentric behavior. Many have speculated that all this is simply because she has spent too much time alone without her husband and is seeking some form of entertainment. However, I have reasons to disagree.
Catherine didn’t call for her husband. She called for a female. Her mother died giving birth to her. She didn’t have any college friends. Neighbors claimed that she was never an ‘outdoorsy’ kind of person. She rarely ever left the house, and whenever neighbors tried to visit her, she welcomed them bitterly. She never had friends over. She had no family, and George was a single child with a dead mother. Therefore, there is no female figure in Catherine’s life that might have influenced her so much. This isn’t a normal case. I request permission to study her.”
________________________________
“Hello Doctor. Where are we going today? Are you going to take me to the castle? Oh look we’re going down the stairs. I love stairs. They remind me of being a princess, when my prince would hold my hand and escort me to the ball. But look at me; I have two princes now, each one holding me by the arm. Oh my! I must be lucky. And look doctor; they got me two anklets! Can you believe it? Two anklets for a peasant like me! And this one seems to like me very much; he gives me tea every day and a huge turkey dinner. He’s so kind. Of course, you’re still my favorite prince, doctor. You take me out for walks to your lovely castle, and I love each and every visit. You’re all too kind.”
________________________________
“Catherine’s analysis results came out yesterday. The analysis consisted of several tests; blood tests, urine tests, a full body tumor check up, brain diagnosis, physical ability tests, and a set of mental ability tests. Her blood and urine tests came out normal. Her tumor tests came out negative. Her brain diagnosis showed that she had no obvious disease, except perhaps a case of overactive imagination. Her physical ability tests were a series of fitness exercises. She did extremely well in those, especially considering the fact that she hardly ever left the house before the accident, but perhaps she used to exercise at home.
And finally, there are the mental ability tests. Before I discuss them, I would like to point out a few things. Amnesia does not erase memories; it simply blocks the brain’s access to certain memory areas. The blocked areas include personal memories of the person’s self. For example, the person might be able to recall the name of the continents, but he will not be able to recall where and how he learned them. Some extremely severe cases do not remember many facts, but some basic information and language are always present. The first part of the test was a set of basic math questions. We started with multiplication. A person suffering from minor amnesia should be able to recall some parts of the multiplication table because the memory of those concepts is still stored. Catherine, however, was unable to recall any of the answers. So she was handed a table with all the answers and given five minutes to read over it. The paper was taken away, and she was left with the questions again. Catherine managed to solve exactly 45 out of the 144 questions. This was remarkable. An average child that is introduced to this kind of test would only manage to solve 28 questions. This leads to one of two conclusions; either Catherine has a spectacular ability to memorize, or she was lying the first time when she claimed to be unable to solve any of the questions.
To test it, we put her through several other experiments. The first one was a basic maze. She got out of it the first time with a great speed; she seemed to recognize the wrong turn that led to dead ends and avoid them. We made her repeat the maze and she finished it without a single wrong turn. Her memory is incredible.
But we still had no affirmation that she wasn’t lying about the multiplication test. We gave her another list of math questions, but this time they were addition and subtraction. At first, she attempted to solve them as if they were multiplication. 4+4=16… So we explained the concept to her, but we explained it as if addition is subtraction and subtraction is addition. This way we could see if she showed any hesitation to work falsely. She didn’t; she worked according to our concept. She was an exceptionally quick learner. So we were sure that she wasn’t lying and that her memory is truly remarkable.
But that is impossible. If she can’t remember any of the math concepts, then her case is extremely severe. But severe cases suffer from a weak memory; their brain cannot store all these concepts. It’s as if someone just… wiped out her memory completely and started over, without damaging any of her memory skills, but that is scientifically impossible. Even if it were possible, she still knows how to speak English. We gave her a vocabulary test and she recognized most of the words. I just don’t understand.”
________________________________
“Hello Catherine.”
“Hello Doctor. Aren’t we going outside today?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Today I just want us to talk,” he paused to let her take this in and then continued, “Do you know where you are Catherine?”
“Well of course. I’m in prison, serving Catherine’s 20 year sentence,” she answered dreamily. She seemed to be more interested in a knot in her hair than in the conversation.
“But you are Catherine, so why the use of third person?” The doctor toyed with the thought that this might simply be a symptom of amnesia, but decided that her grammar skills were too good for such a mistake.
“Because I’m not serving my sentence. I’m serving Catherine’s,” she smiled at the doctor, letting go of the knot.
“I don’t understand. You’re serving your sentence because you are Catherine. Are you saying that you weren’t yourself when you killed your husband?”
“I have never had a husband,” her smile didn’t wither, but her tone was affirmative. The doctor hesitated before speaking.
“Catherine, you may not have had a husband emotionally, but on paper, officially, you were married to George McCoy.”
“No, I wasn’t,” she seemed irritated at the doctor’s ignorance.
“Catherine, I have the papers here with me. They clearly state that you were married to a man named George McCoy.”
“Catherine was married to him, not me.” The doctor’s thoughts drifted back to his first hypothesis; Catherine thought that she was now a different person.
“So you’re saying that the Catherine found in the accident and the Catherine I’m speaking to right now are two different people?”
“No,” she said, her tone condescending, “That was me, but the Catherine that married George and killed him is someone else.”
“Well, even if that is true, Catherine, even if you have changed completely from the person you were, I can’t let you out of prison.”
“I am not saying this to get out of prison. I am simply answering your questions,” she paused, “and I haven’t changed from who I was. I’ve been the same person for the last five years. I can’t change from what I never was.”
The doctor was overwhelmed. Catherine spoke as if she never existed before the last five years. Metaphorically, that was possible, because she could’ve changed, but she denied that; she thinks that she was never the wife of George.
“The accident happened four years ago, not five,” he said, trying to smile.
“Yours did,” she said, returning to the knot in her hair, with an amused smile on her face.
“What do you mean?” he failed to hide his anticipation.
“I mean that the accident with George happened four years ago, but I happened five years ago.”
“You happened? What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean Catherine made me five years ago,” she grinned.
“Catherine made you?” his tone was a little aggressive and completely inappropriate when talking to a patient, not to mention a murderous one, but Catherine only nodded.
“I’m sorry; I don’t think I understand what you mean. Can you please explain?” he asked, calming himself this time.
She sighed and answered, “I wasn’t going to tell you, but I realized that she won’t come for me. She only said she would to make sure I’d keep my mouth shut, but I caught up. I should have seen it earlier. I should have sensed it. All her efforts to make sure that I knew who was in control have gone to waste. She deserved it, that bitter woman. I’m not like her. I don’t care what she says, I’m my own self,” her voice trailed off halfway and the doctor found it really hard to understand her. She was shaking now, cradling herself in a fetus position on her bed, mumbling. It was the first time that she looked insane. The doctor reached out his hand and laid it gently on her shoulder.
“Catherine,” he said tentatively, but she ignored him. “Catherine, look at me. Look at me. Please Catherine. I only want to help you,” but she continued to move back and forth, but now she seemed to be suppressing tears. “Who is she, Catherine? Who are you talking about?” She broke down, sobbing. It was pathetic, and the doctor took a step back. And then, she answered him.
“Catherine made me! She made me! I’m her clone.” She said the last word with anger and repulsion. This was the first time she’d ever displayed an angry attitude ever since her arrival. The doctor knew better than to question her. He tried to walk out gently, but she saw him.
“No! You can’t leave! Please! I need to tell you the story before I change my mind. Please,” she begged. She was on her knees, holding on to his pants. He held her gently from the shoulders and lifted her. He lead her to the bed where she sat, shaking with anticipation. He looked at her for a few seconds, wondering whether he’d get another chance to hear her story. He decided he would, and so he put his hand on her chest and gently pushed her sideways, and then, he carried her legs and lifted them to the bed.
“You need to rest. I promise to come back tomorrow to hear your story.” His voice was soothing, and she stopped shaking so hard.
“Doctor, I don’t know what that means,” she whispered. The doctor realized that whoever she used to call for had also promised her to come back.
“Not all people lie, Catherine,” he said standing at the door.
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped. The doctor didn’t know whether he believed that she was a clone or not. It seemed so farfetched, but she looked so honest.
“What would you like me to call you, then?”
She paused, but only for a second. “Palesci, it’s an anagram for special.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, smiling. She’d obviously given this a lot of thought.
He was about to walk out of the room, but his curiosity got him and he asked her the question that had been bothering him from the beginning of their talk, “Why were you faking lunacy? You’re completely sane.”
She laughed, loudly. It was an insane sort of shriek, but the doctor knew that this was because of the emotional trauma that she had endured a few minutes ago. “I am insane,” she whispered.
“You’re lying, Palesci. We both know that you are completely sane. Drop the act. What are you hiding? Moments ago you were dying to tell me,” said the doctor. His voice was firm. She knew that lying wouldn’t lead her anywhere with this man.
“I want to tell you,” she said, “but I can’t. It’s in my genes. It’s one of the few modifications she made to my DNA. It’s that hormone that stimulates guilt. My body secretes it in twice the amount that a normal human’s body does. But sometimes I get moments where I can overcome my emotions and listen to plain logic.”
The doctor took his seat. He knew what she meant; she would tell him, but only if he heard her now, not tomorrow, not after she rests, but now. He waited for her to speak.
“Catherine studied genetic engineering in college. She loved it. She poured her heart and soul into learning all she could about it. She never had time for friends. But then she met George. She loved him because he was just as passionate about cardiology as she was about genetics. They started going out during her last year at college, but George’s rich family disapproved of Catherine because of her background. She had a dead mother and a drunken father, and she could only make it into college on a scholarship. So George had to make a choice, his family, or the love of his life. Obviously he chose Catherine. She was a beautiful woman, and they spent their first few years together happily married. They each had jobs; he was a heart surgeon and she was a researcher at a medical center. One night, a couple of years later, she came home late after a long project. She had discovered something in the human genes that relates to muscle growth and she kept talking about it all through dinner. Finally, she looked at him and asked him how his day was. He told her that two of his patients had died. They finished their dinner in silence, but the next day she came home even later, and he beat her. He beat her for being smarter. He beat her for being beautiful. He beat her for making him abandon his family. He beat her for loving him. It went on for a few months, and then he locked her at home. He wouldn’t let her go to work. She cried for days. She wouldn’t let him touch her. In the end, he decided to let her work at home. She turned the basement into her own lab, and he would give her all the equipment she needed from the hospital he worked in. It worked for a few years. The beating stopped, and they were happily in love again. But then, Catherine realized that he was coming home very late, and she found lipstick stains on his shirt. She never confronted him, but she came up with a plan. She’d make me, kill him, and then send me to jail in her place. It was a brilliant plan. She spent five years working on me. Every clone she made died after a few days in the artificial womb, and finally she came up with the idea of modifying the genes of the clone in order to make it stronger. She made a few other modifications, including the guilt hormone thing. I grew in the womb. I thrived. And then I spent a year growing to my real size. During that year, Catherine taught me English. She told me her plan, and I felt compassion for her. I was willing to go to jail for her, but she knew I couldn’t bear it. After all, we both hated being inside. So she promised me she’d come back. I found it very difficult to understand the term ‘promise’, but I did as I was told. I watched her kill her husband, and I took the car to where she told me. She’d taught me how to drive theoretically, and the plan went perfectly. I crashed in the exact place that she told me to. I faked amnesia to cover up my lack of knowledge. I pretended to be insane because Catherine knew that none of you would ever believe a crazy girl’s clone story. But a few days ago I realized that she wouldn’t come for me. But she knew I’d realize that. She knew today would come. She knew I’d betray her. She knows me better than I know myself. She is myself, or maybe I am herself. Oh Catherine, forgive me! I’ll follow your plan! I promised I would…”
At that point she began weeping like a child. The doctor didn’t know what to do. He had been silently nodding throughout her explanation, making connections in his mind. Her story was very possible, it made sense. He couldn’t find a single oversight, so he went to her and held her. He didn’t speak; there was nothing to say, but he held her. After a few minutes, he let her go and walked out of the room.
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“You use your nails. Dig them deep into the mattress. Take out the springs in the middle. By the time you quit and confess—“
“But I won’t quit! I’ll never confess!”
“Oh yes you will. It’s in your genes. You’ll quit on me just like I quit on George. You’ll wait for me for a few years, but then you’ll come to the logical conclusion that I won’t rescue you because I have no motive to. You’ll blurt out the truth to anyone who’s willing to listen—”
“No! I won’t! I understand why you’re doing this. You already promised me that you’d come. I won’t betray you.”
“Clone! Stop interrupting me! You will betray me because that’s how I made you. And I don’t blame you for it. Besides, on the unlikely chance that you might find someone who will believe you, I have a plan. So listen carefully and stop interrupting me.”
“Yes, Catherine.”
“After you confess, you will feel a huge guilt and you’ll want to help. Here is what you can do. You use the springs in the mattress and you dig them into your wrist. They will hurt, but you have to dig deep. Blood will gush out and it will be painful. I want you to lie down on your bed without covering your wrist. You must let the blood seep out until you feel dizzy and tired. Then, you will feel yourself fading away with exhaustion. Don’t resist. Lie down, and hopefully, the next day you won’t even wake up.”
“Wait. You want me to kill myself?”
“No, you’ll want to kill yourself.”
“But how would killing myself fix anything?”
“No one will believe the story if you’re dead. There would only be the person you confessed to, and even he might not believe it.”
“Then, why don’t you let me die in the car accident? It would spare me the time in jail.”
“Because I have hope that you might be able to resist the urge to confess. Why do you think I told you my story? Why didn’t I simply send you off to jail? Because I have hope that you will wait for me long enough. It’s a very small hope, but it’s still worth it.”
“What is hope?”
“It’s the lies. It's the lies we tell ourselves to make life a bit more bearable.”
“But if they’re lies, then why do we believe them?”
“Because without them, we would never go on. They keep us moving, and ultimately, they save our lives.”
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