Written by cosimageekhaus (Irma)
August 22nd, 4: 15 p.m.
The late Canadian summer afternoon in one of the suburbs right outside of Toronto was passing by slowly, the minutes dragging past as the only sound that could be heard were showtunes coming from the car speakers, their purpose only to break the silence that was banging in her ears.
Clones.
That word was on her mind more than anything else in the previous two weeks and she caught herself rolling it off her lips sometimes, just to feel the taste of it in her mouth, since her brain was still baffled at the thought. Being in the police force, the thought of it alone seemed outrageous, not to mention that the whole concept was illegal, yet she was not as eager to run to her senior partner and tell him all about the crazy phonecall she had gotten one late night that she spent in front of the TV with a bottle of whiskey while waiting for her boyfriend. She had initially thought that the German was an insane woman who had dialed the wrong number.
And there she now was, sitting in her black Jaguar, the aviators pulled to the top of her nose in case one of the neighbor's passed by, her eyes focused firmly on one of the doors where she would come out of any minute now.
Alison Hendrix. A mother of two, a housewife that coaches kids in her free time, a former ballerina raised in the suburbs, graduated from college, unnaturally attached to the color of pink and a spit image of the detective who was sitting in the car, holding her notes, on which were scribbled times, dates and happenings in the Hendrix household from the previous two weeks.
Beth Childs has been on the lookout in that exact same spot, or a little bit down the street since the moment her face recognition results came up with two of the others in North America, and after she had decided to approach the one who was the closest first.
Getting the schedule of Alison Hendrix's activities was incredibly easy, since her punctuality was so spot on that it was almost impressive, and her days always the same that it was almost pitiful. Every day, early in the mornings, she would drop off her kids at school after her husband would leave for work, then return home, spend most of her morning probably cooking, cleaning or watching the reruns of Desperate Housewives. Beth would then leave for her own work at the station, fumble with the paperwork that she had to do from the moment she became the rookie, and if she was lucky, she would get to go to a scene of the crime that was not more complicated than a drug deal gone bad.
She would then go back to the suburbia after lunch, to watch the Hendrix family get back together around 4:15 p.m. every day. Saturday and Sunday were reserved for family, which included going off to what Beth supposed to be a soccer practice, and Tuesdays and Thursdays Alison stayed at home alone all day, and the husband would not get back until 3 a.m. by the time which Beth was home too, staring at the empty side of the bed where Paul should have been, but which was becoming a rare occurence as the time progressed.
The music on the radio died away, and a traffic report was up next when the front door of the Hendrix household opened, and two kids ran through them, followed by their mother's scold.
"Don't run down the stairs, and tell Aynsley we're still up for that book club meeting on Friday!"
Beth smirked, shaking her head and lowered herself down in her seat as the Hendrix boy and girl ran past her car, not taking a second glance. Sitting out in the car even with Neighborhood Watch was extremely easy since no one was paying attention at this time of the day or early in the mornings.
Beth could see Alison standing on the front porch her eyes never leaving her kids who ran down the street and in one of the white houses, before she turned on her heel, her back unnaturally straight and her strut making Beth hope that she never looked like that to other people.
Even after two weeks of seeing Alison Hendrix every day she was still not used to seeing someone so same yet so different in comparison to herself. Their hair was the same, save the bangs and the bands that the housewife often wore in her head, and their clothes could not be more different than they already were, since the detective cringed every time she would see a pink tank top with matching yoga pants. What they did have in comon were athletic bodies and the same facial expression when they smiled, but other than that Beth thanked god for not being at all similar to the woman who had just shut her door behind herself.
Alison Hendrix had a seemingly perfect life, with a large house, kids, a slightly plump husband that probably would never think of cheating such a good-looking wife, a book club and a safety of her home. Beth, on the other hand, had no kids, a boyfriend who was distancing himself no matter how hard she tried to keep him close, and a so-far boring job that included nothing but paperwork and dull, mundane cases that made her want to blow her brains out.
But that was what she had chosen, and she had to live with it.
The notepad slipped from her fingers and fell with a slight thud on the floor when the buzzing of her phone startled her out of her staring at Alison Hendrix's door long after she had gone back inside.
"What's up?"
"Where the hell are you, Beth? We were supposed to meet at the range fifteen minutes ago."
Shit. Beth thought, her eyes falling on her wristwatch to see that she was sitting there lost in her thoughts way longer than she intended.
"Relax, dipshit. I told you I was going for a run. I have that marathon next weekend, and Paul's putting me through hell."
There was a slight pause on the other side of the line.
"Alright. But drag your ass down here ASAP. I have kids to pick up and you know how my ex-wife likes to rub it in when I don't show because of spending too much time at the station."
"I know, Art. I'll be there in twenty. I just need to shower."
Once the phone had been back in her pocket, Beth picked up the notes from the floor and flipped over to Thursday of the previous week. If everything was to go according to plan, Alison's husband would be out for most of the following day, and she would be alone after her kids would go to sleep. After two weeks of watching the soccer mom's life and taking notes of it, it was finally time to meet her.
Feeling nervous like she did not in a long time, Beth pulled out her antidepressants and popped two in her mouth before driving off to meet up with her senior partner.
"Took you long enough." Art said once she pushed the door open, the ear muffs around her neck and apologetic smile tugging at the side of her lips.
"You know me. Always late after lunch." Looks like punctuality isn't genetic.
Soon enough, Beth Childs would figure out that all of them do not share only good looks, but much, much more.
And it would make her regret ever picking up that phone after seeing the call was coming from another side of the planet.
