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  Jane killed the engine, leaving the key, and rolled down the windows. Fresh air wafted over her, supplying her with a sense of vigor. The sounds of the forest filled her ears with sweet music—chirping birds, blowing winds, rustling leaves. A mountain stood about a quarter mile in the distance. She couldn’t see it from where she was, the trees in her way, but she’d seen it from the field when she drove in. There wasn’t a house or building to be seen, the surrounding land untouched by man.

  Satisfied with the location, Jane lay across the seats and relaxed, waiting for nightfall.

  * * *

  At eleven p.m.—the vehicle’s radio displaying the time—Jane headed back to Dr. Kotrich’s house. Turning off the headlights, she drove slowly along the twisting driveway, using the moon’s illumination to see by. Just before the last bend, where her truck would become visible to the occupants of the house, she removed the key from the ignition and exited the cab.

  The house’s front windows were pitch-dark. Jane did a once-around the entire place and found that all the windows were devoid of light, leading her to believe everyone inside was asleep, or at least in bed.

  Using the gas in three of the four cans, she doused each of the house’s first-floor windows. With the last full can, Jane went to the sliding glass door that led to the kitchen. She unscrewed the cap and stuffed a gas-soaked rag into the opening, leaving a portion of the cloth sticking out. Placing the can down, she then lit a flare and ignited the gasoline-soaked windows—the wood burst into flame.

  Finished with that part of the plan, she lit the rag poking from the gas can, picked up the container and hurled it at the kitchen’s sliding glass door. The glass shattered, the crash deafening in the quiet night, save the crackling of burning wood.

  The gas can exploded, and the kitchen become a blazing inferno. Jane backed away from the house, the fire’s heat warming her skin. The flames danced wickedly, giving her a sense of pride.

  Satisfied with her work, she ran to the front yard and hid behind a copse of lilac bushes—the M5 machine gun locked and loaded in her hands.

  Dr. Kotrich and his family stumbled from the house, dressed in sleep-time attire. They continued down the driveway, coughing and crying. Jane walked out from the bushes when they passed her.

  “Doctor,” she called.

  The family stopped, turning around in unison as if they were of one mind.

  “Who’s there?” Kotrich asked, clearly unable to see Jane, her body nothing more than a silhouette with the flames behind her.

  Jane circled the family, who had huddled together, keeping the gun aimed at them. “I’m hurt, Doctor. You don’t recognize me?” Jane asked, as the flames illuminated her face.

  Dr. Kotrich’s eyes widened; he looked stricken. “Rebecca?” he asked. “What the hell are you doing here?” Then: “Did you…did you start the fire?”

  Jane shook her head in disgust. “You don’t even recognize your own creation.”

  Kotrich’s eyes narrowed.

  “What’s going on, Stan?” his wife asked.

  “No. It can’t be,” he gasped. “76? But how—?”

  “My name is Jane, Doctor. I’m not some fucking number. Not some thing you can use and use and use, then take and take and take. You stole something from me, and I’m going to get it back.”

  “Honey, this is a patient of mine,” Dr. Kotrich said to his wife.

  Jane laughed. “You have no idea what I am. I’m the phoenix, reborn in a body you created. Out of evil comes righteousness. No more a hollow shell, a human incubator.”

  Kotrich’s wife stared at her. The woman was holding her kids close to her. She had fright in her eyes.

  “Stan?” the woman said.

  “She’s crazy, honey,” Kotrich said, still staring at Jane.

  “That might be partially true,” Jane agreed, “but you can’t blame me, can you? I’ve been though a lot, had my baby taken from me.” Jane looked at the wife. “Your husband’s the puppet master of a large and ugly group called the Agency—or rather was—and I’ve come to take the stuffing out of him. Make sure this doesn’t happen again, and make sure I remain free.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, but leave my family alone. They have nothing to do with any of this.”

  “Then move away from them, Doctor,” Jane said, motioning the M5. “I’m holding a gun, and it’s you that needs to be taken care of. Made to suffer. The farther away from them you are, the better for them. Wouldn’t you say? Unless you all want to go together?” Jane pointed the machine gun at the wife and kids.

  “No, no,” Kotrich said, holding out his arms. “I’m moving. I’m moving.”

  “No, Stan,” his wife said, reaching for him.

  “Keep the kids safe. I love you.”

  Kotrich’s wife was crying harder than ever now, along with her children.

  “That’s far enough, Doctor,” Jane said, before pointing the weapon at his family. “Tell them the truth about what you did, who you really are.”

  “Please,” Kotrich’s wife pleaded, “my husband didn’t do anything. He helps people. He’s a good man. A good father.”

  “Tell your wife, your children, what type of man you really are, or I’ll send them to their graves, and they can find out on their own in the afterlife.”

  “Okay. Okay. Just leave them alone.”

  “It’s completely up to you, Doctor,” Jane said, firing a few rounds at the feet of his wife and kids. The group screamed as they danced backward.

  Dr. Kotrich started talking. He told his family everything, how the Agency—his creation—had cloned people and used the clones as human incubators.

  “Stan?” his wife said, appalled, looking to him for clarification. But there was none. “How could you?” The woman turned to look at Jane. “I don’t know what to say. I…I’m shocked.”

  “To put your mind at ease,” Jane said proudly, “I stopped him; destroyed the lab and everyone inside.”

  “That’s not possible,” Kotrich said harshly. “There’s no way…”

  “When was the last time you had contact with the compound?” Jane asked.

  Kotrich looked like he’d seen the most horrific thing his mind could conjure. His face was stripped of color and he appeared grief-stricken, but then his demeanor changed. The doctor seemed to gain some ground, his face turned scarlet, and his lips formed a quivering snarl.

  “You…” he said, pointing a shaky finger at Jane. “I must know how you happened?”

  A gun-wielding maniac was pointing a firearm at the doctor’s family, and he was worried about science, about his creation, his work. Jane shook her head. She didn’t need to wonder why. She knew. The doctor was pure evil, and used his family as cover for his real agenda: the Agency. But she didn’t fully believe he didn’t care about his family. No. He did love them, to some extent. She had seen it in his eyes. The doctor was the kind of man who would realize how much he missed his family when they were gone.

  “The answer is…I have no clue.” She then told him how she died in an accident five years ago, and how her and her baby’s spirits were transferred into the clone. “Then you ripped her out of me and gave her away.”

  “Oh my God, Stan,” Kotrich’s wife said. “What have you done?”

  “I’ll give you one chance, Doctor,” Jane said. “Tell me who has my baby, or you and your family die.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wrong answer,” Jane said, and fired a single round, putting a bullet into Kotrich’s wife’s leg. The woman fell to the ground, dragging her son with her.

  “Next bullet is a kill shot, Doctor.”

  “Okay. Okay. The Hardwicks. They live in town. They have the child. But it’s theirs. You were just a shell. You weren’t supposed to be conscious, have a soul. This is all some kind of mistake. An anomaly.”

  “No, Doctor,” Jane spat, “it’s a miracle.”

  Dr. Kotrich’s wife sat on the ground, holding her leg, wincing.
Her children were crying, huddled around her.

  “Don’t worry,” Jane told the woman. “You won’t have to suffer the embarrassment of your husband’s ways.” Kotrich’s wife looked at her, confused. Jane grinned, then pulled the M5’s trigger, spraying the woman and her kids with bullets. Screams rang out from the group, but only briefly as the family members were cut down. Dr. Kotrich’s screams filled the night air.

  “No, no, no,” he yelled, running to where the blood-soaked bodies lay. He looked them over, hands hovering over the corpses. “You fucking bitch,” he said, then spun toward her. “They had nothing to do with this. They were innocent, children for God’s sake.”

  “And they were a part of you… No heirs to take up Daddy’s work.”

  “I’ll kill you, bitch,” Kotrich spat, then charged at Jane.

  She raised the weapon and fired a single shot—the last remaining bullet in the clip—hitting Kotrich just above the bridge of his nose. His head jerked back, and then he hit the ground with a flop.

  20

  Rebecca was watching the six o’clock news, sitting on the living room couch, shoveling buttered popcorn into her mouth, when a story about Dr. Kotrich came on. He and his family had been gunned down in front of their home. The man’s house and office had been set afire, and had burned to the ground.

  “Tom,” Rebecca called out, hugging the popcorn bucket.

  “Yeah,” he yelled from somewhere upstairs.

  “Come here, quickly.”

  Rebecca’s hand shook as she held the TV remote. She was finding it difficult to breathe. Panic was coursing through her. The doctor was dead. His entire family wiped out. It had to be related to his work, didn’t it? The Agency? What would happen if the authorities found out about him? About her and Tom? About Anna? They’d take Anna away, and arrest her and Tom.

  As soon as Tom entered the living room, Rebecca jumped up, sending the popcorn bucket sailing to the floor. The flowery nuggets spilled across the carpet. Rebecca didn’t care, and wrapped her arms around him. Through a shaky voice, she told him what she’d seen on the news.

  “Oh my God,” he said. “And you’re sure it was Kotrich? Our Kotrich?”

  Rebecca let go of him, took a step back, and looked him in the eyes, then nodded.

  “I can’t believe it,” Tom said, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s got to be related to the Agency. He must’ve pissed someone off.”

  “What are we going to do?” Rebecca asked, tears streaming down her face. “What if the police find out about Anna?”

  “We do nothing. Anna is ours. We have the documentation to prove it. I’m sure Dr. Kotrich took steps to ensure that his work and clients remain private. Maybe upon his death all his files were destroyed—some kind of self-assured security.”

  “Tom, this is serious. What if when the authorities investigate, they find out about us? About Anna?”

  “They won’t.”

  “What if they do?”

  “We’ve got paperwork from a legitimate agency stating that Anna is ours. It’s all legal, at least as far as the paperwork goes.”

  It was always in the back of her mind, that one day something like this would happen. Dr. Kotrich would get caught, and all the people he helped would go down. Tears continued to glisten her cheeks.

  “It’ll be okay,” Tom said, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing. “I’m sure the doctor took precautions. For all we know, it was his own people that killed him. A regime change.”

  “You know what,” Rebecca said, “and I know this is going to sound awful, selfish even, but I don’t know what I’m more upset about—the man’s death, or the fact that we won’t be able to have any more children without him.”

  “Let’s worry about that later. He can’t be the only option. Maybe Dr. Tuber has other connections, and if not, we’ll see what we can do.”

  Rebecca went to sit down, asking Tom if he would call Tuber and see what was going on, and he did.

  “Dr. Tuber’s office,” a male voice answered.

  “Hello,” Tom said. “Is the doctor available?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  He thought about lying, but if the doctor had caller ID… Not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to answer the question, he said, “I’ll call back later. Thanks,” and hung up the phone. He stood there staring at the receiver, waiting for the person on the other end to ring back, but the phone remained quiet, doing little to quell the sinking feeling in his gut.

  * * *

  Later that night, Tom and Rebecca were cuddled on the couch, watching the eleven o’clock news, waiting for an additional report on Dr. Kotrich, when a story about another area doctor having been murdered came on. The family name was Tuber. They had all been gunned down just like Dr. Kotrich’s.

  Rebecca turned to Tom, her fright-filled eyes staring into his. “What the hell is going on?”

  21

  Jane stood inside a bushel of trimmed hedges that ran along the front of the house, keeping her well-hidden from anyone driving by the home. She watched the couple through the living room window. It was dark out, but there was a small amount of illumination emanating from the home’s windows. The closest neighbor was an acre away, and the property lines were flush with tall pine trees. From her position across the street, Jane had nothing to worry about: the land was undeveloped forest. But still, she had to be careful.

  Jane saw the report about Dr. Tuber’s death come over the television broadcast. There was a picture of the man, and then the news was showing shots of what remained of his charred and still-smoldering practice. Two down, she thought. Two more to go.

  She felt a small sense of satisfaction, but it was quickly quelled when her eyes landed back on the couple. Her hands balled into fists as the fury came. The baby-snatchers deserved to suffer, to die slowly. It was difficult to remain poised, focused, for she wanted nothing more than to thrash them and take back her child. She took measured breaths, gaining a bit of solace at seeing the couple’s reaction to the broadcast. They were clearly afraid.

  Shortly after the news ended, the couple left the living room.

  Jane remained where she was, thinking about how to proceed with her plan. Her ultimate goal was her daughter, Anna. She knew the girl’s name from the file. The more she thought about her little girl, the more she had to stop herself from bursting carelessly though the front door, killing the Hardwicks and running off with her daughter.

  22

  When Jane first saw Anna emerge from the house, she lost the ability to breathe. The world around her ceased to exist. She could only see her baby girl, her beautiful baby girl. Anna was big, now five years old. Jane had missed out on so much. She would never be able to get those years back. Seeing Anna for the first time was magical, immediately filling the void within her; the missing part of her soul now complete. There was not a doubt in her mind that Anna was the thing that was missing.

  Jane watched the house, watched Anna play in the yard for days. And every time the girl went back inside, Jane was missing a piece of herself again. The ache in her heart was hell itself.

  She followed the Hardwicks for over a week, studying them intently. Where they went, what they did, and how they acted. She paid specific attention to Rebecca, even getting an identical haircut, matching the woman’s shorter length.

  The Hardwicks’ security system consisted of regular key locks on the front and back doors. The windows had simple latch-type devices and not all of them were engaged, which made coming and going almost as simple as walking through the front door with a key.

  Once a night, Jane entered the house, went up to Anna’s room and watched the child sleep. It took all she had not to snatch the girl up and run from the house. But she knew better than to abduct a child. A massive hunt would ensue and Jane would be on the run forever, always looking over her shoulder. That was not the life she had planned for her daughter.

  During her fifth visit, Jane reached out with a shaky hand and care
ssed Anna’s cheek. To her surprise, the child opened her eyes.

  “Mommy?” she said, sleepily.

  Startled, Jane’s first instinct was to bolt, but she held her ground, forcing a warm smile. “Mommy’s here, sweetie.” Her vision began to blur with tears. “Just coming in to check on you. Now go back to sleep, okay?”

  “Okay,” Anna said, then closed her eyes and fell back to sleep.

  Jane left the house, holding back tears.

  She continued her routine of entering the home, memorizing where things were, and watching the family. By the next week she was ready to explode. It was time to act.

  Tom left for work shortly after eight a.m. He wouldn’t be home until around six p.m.

  Jane snuck into the house through the open window of the downstairs bathroom and worked her way to the kitchen. Anna was in the living room, sitting on the plush sofa, watching cartoons—a morning routine for the girl.

  Rebecca was standing with her back to the kitchen entranceway, watching a cooking program as she stood at the sink. Jane held a rubber mallet, which she stole from the basement last night. She snuck up behind Rebecca and bashed her on the lower part of her neck.

  Rebecca groaned. Her legs gave out and she collapsed. Jane caught the woman, and eased her to the floor. Jane checked on Anna, whose eyes were glued to the television, then returned to her victim.

  Jane grabbed Rebecca by her wrists and dragged her down the hallway to the basement door. Opening the door, she flipped on the light, then hoisted Rebecca onto her shoulder and slowly proceeded down the stairs, closing the door behind her.