Jennifer Two

TWENTY-SEVEN.

July 14th, 2016

Farrow is dead.

His assistant found him in his study outside Bluebeach still as a rock and as blue as a washed out sky. It was a suicide – a drug overdose. I'm sure with his scientific knowledge, Farrow knew which drug would be the most convenient and least painful to take. Unless he wanted the pain – unless he didn't care anymore.

My mother was mid-bite into an egg and bacon sandwich in the morning when the phone rang. We didn't think much of it - we just continued with our lives as usual. We didn't know that everything was soon to change.

"...What?" I breathed, my voice turned wispy.

"He committed suicide this morning. He left a letter. In the letter, he... he said he wished for the truth to be revealed. He asked his assistant to send it to the local paper." My mother says.

"The truth about me?"

"Yes, Annie. He wants the world to know about you."

"I thought he said he never wanted for that to happen," I sat back down, feeling weak. "I thought he said this would be kept quiet for good."

"We need to read the letter," she said, voice shaking. "We need to find out what he said, before it's published. This is important."

"How are we going to do that?" I asked.

"We need to head down to his house, right now." She breathed. My father had downed the rest of his scotch, grimacing. "We need to find out what he said on the letter, before we decide whether it goes out to the general public or not."

"Decide? His assistant said it was his wish. He wanted it published. It's not our choice." I protested. I'm not sure why. All I know is that my parents are afraid of being seen as monsters. That's why she's hesitant.

"Let's go. Grab your coat," my mother said quickly. She rushed for her shoes. My father followed suit. I just stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the unfinished meals laid out on the table. "Come on, Anne. We don't have all day! We need to read the letter before anybody else does."

And now we sit in the car, driving at the speed of light in hopes of reaching Farrow's house in time. We know that he has been sent to the mortuary, and his long-time assistant, Clarence King, is currently occupying the building. Probably sorting out paperwork already.

From what I know, Farrow hardly has many family members. He had no siblings, and his parents and wife are long-gone. What makes it even worse, is that they emigrated from Poland when Farrow was young, and eventually all ties were cut with any relatives abroad. The only people Farrow knew well were a couple of assistants... and us. We were all he had left, but that wasn't enough. Despite his relatively old age, he still needed to go on his own terms, which I can understand. It's better than being sent to a nursing home once you've gone cuckoo, slowly rotting until your consciousness is dead before you are. But even still, why now? Was there a certain trigger? A lever pulled? Why did he decide to leave now? As selfish as it may seem, I do wonder who will perform my check-ups now. Farrow knew me inside out - he knew things that nobody else should ever know. How am I supposed to sustain my health without him?

Clarence King stands waiting at Farrow's front door. He looks slightly sheepish – though being a man in his early fifties, there's just something so mousy and weak about his posture. He seems like the person who had the most ultimate loyalty for Farrow - I bet the discovery of his death hit him hard. I've hardly ever met him, and I sometimes wonder if he was one of the people who helped to clone Jennifer One.