Jennifer Two

TEN.

March 21st, 2016

[Three months ago]

A week since my parents returned from vacation, I had also taken all of my Old clothes from the attic and shoved them in a small compartment in the back of my wardrobe, ready for my mission – I still had a long way to go before I got there.

My father had just been out somewhere, and I heard his shuffling as he came back into the house. I closed my laptop quickly and dragged my bag from under my bed, setting up the believable scenario of homework.

"Anne?" My dad called, locking the front door.

"Yes, Jeff?" I responded. I hardly ever called him by his first name, but whenever I felt like a wind-up I would.

"Don't address me in that way. I've told you before!" He hung his jacket on the rack in the hallway before walking into the kitchen to boil up a coffee and smoke a cigarette. It's the normal afternoon routine for my dad. It always happens this way.

"I'm so sorry, Jeff. But I guess I'll only address you how you wanna be addressed if you start calling me what I wanna be called." I yelled down to him.

"And what is that?"

"Jennifer Two."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" He huffed.

"Call me that. That's how you can distinguish me from Jennifer-Rose, right? Jennifer One? Well I'm Jennifer Two, it makes perfect sense-"

"Anne... have you... have you been inside the attic?" He asked, and I could hear the dread painting his voice. I could hear him closer now, at the bottom of the stairs. I prepped myself for another blaring argument. Now that I knew the truth, I felt like picking a fight; letting them know that I had found out, and using it against them. I like to pick fights with people who deserve them. It's something that the First me did, too.

"Call me Jennifer Two! Until then, I'll keep calling you Jeff. Jeff stinkin' Middleton! Deal with it." And I could feel myself getting angrier and more upset, the longer I went on talking to him.

"Did you go into the Attic, Anne?"

I didn't respond - I didn't have to. My parents knew they had screwed up, and they knew my wrath would hang upon them from thereon.

◆ ◆ ◆

July 25th, 1999

[thirteen days after the shooting]

"This is ridiculous," Farrow sternly cuts the couple off. "You sound deluded. This is unethical, and I cannot go through with it. I am sorry."

"What if it works?" Roseanna pleads. She knows she sounds insane. She knows that they are asking for the impossible. But she has a glimmer of hope. She has faith. "What if it runs smoothly? Nobody has to know-"

"How do we even start with obtaining the somatic cells?" Furrow asks. "You are asking for too much. This is illegal. If not, immoral. If anybody ever found out about this..."

"So it's just a case of people knowing. It can still go on, right?" Jeff asks.

"No."

"We understand that it might not work out. We understand it takes many attempts. But we're willing to do anything, sir. We're willing to pay as much money as you want."

"I don't do this for money." Farrow huffs. "Now if you don't mind, I have work to do. It would be such a convenience for you to leave, now. There is no way I am going ahead with something this barbaric. Where do we even start? I would need a lot of support from the scientific community. This is not a one-man job." Farrow realises that he is talking as if he would go along with it, but he is just considering the hurdles. He scratches his chin, uncomfortable with the whole ordeal. Ever since he started the hamster treatments, it garnered a lot of attention. The first mammal was cloned in 1992 – a sheep named Janus. He followed suit down that route of biological sciences. He never thought mastering the art of cloning would ever bring him to a scenario like this; a couple begging for their child to be replicated – to be sustained – to gain a second chance at life.

"She's still alive," Jeff responds. "She's on life support; you know that. You know you can do something about it. Pretend you need a... a biopsy. Exactly which body cells do you need?"

"Stop this. I'm not taking this conversation any further. I assumed this would be a genuine medical appointment for a legitimate enquiry - not a waste of my time. Please leave, Mr. and Mrs. Middleton."

"Please," Roseanna crumbles into tears. "Give us a chance. This could be the most life-changing, revolutionary breakthrough in history. If it worked. Like we said, we'll have to give up eventually."

"It takes hundreds of attempts. This is not an overnight job."

"How about if we stop at one-hundred? How about if we-"

"You ought to leave, please."

"I'll be the surrogate," Roseanna beseeches. "I volunteer wholly to take part."

"Leave. Now."

"I will kill myself if you don't do it." She says, sternly. There is a hollow vexation in her eyes – it's like she is in a trance-like state. "I will find a rope and I will use it. And I will never forgive you for rejecting my one chance of happiness. You have the power to bring her back, Dr Farrow. Take that chance. Take it."

"Roseanna-" Jeff tries to interject. He was not expecting her to say such a thing. He can feel his throat tighten up; he can envision her leaving him – doing something mad, like committing suicide. He doesn't want to lose her, too. He couldn't take the pain.

"I will do it!" She stands, voice trembling, wavering, shaking. Her eyes are nothing but glass, reflecting light from around the room. She is losing herself.

Jeff holds her, afraid she might do something regrettable. She tries pulling herself out of his grip, hollering at the top of her lungs. She can't stop screaming.

She always wanted three children. But not just any three children. She needed the ones she had. They can't be replaced - they have to be the same. It was going to stay that way. Three is her lucky number. It has always been that way. She cannot break it now.

"Please," she mutters once her manic episode is over. "I need her back. I need her back. I need her back."