A Friend in Need III: Crash and Burn
By Somogyi
Chapter 15
The woman in the tank appeared to be an exact duplicate of Jean. A twin. A . . . clone.
"Oh God," Jean murmured, trembling hands coming to cover her mouth. She swallowed at the taste of bile at the back of her throat as she shook her head in denial.
It can't be. It can't. Not again.
But it suddenly all made perfect sense. The laboratory. The genetics research. The shelves of babies in jars. The chambers containing little girls that looked like her. And now, this woman. It was like looking into a mirror. As it had been the first time she came face-to-face with Madelyne Pryor.
Jean took a step backwards, trying to put more distance between herself and the tank.
There was no question in her mind who was responsible for these sick experiments. There could be only one person-one man-one monster.
Sinister.
Merely thinking his name sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
Then it was no coincidence that she was here, at this so-called hospital. He must have engineered the car accident. He killed Bobby, kidnapped her. But to what end? He obviously still had samples of her DNA, if these creations were any indication. Besides, it had always been Scott's genetics he had been more interested in than hers-or a combination thereof.
"Dear Lord, no!" she gasped, hand flying to her belly.
It was not her that Sinister wanted. It was her baby.
She remembered her dream then. The oddly familiar evil presence in her room, standing over her. Touching her pregnant belly, coveting her child. It had been him. He was even invading her dreams, her nightmares.
"He won't touch you," she vowed to the life growing inside of her as she pressed her hand closer against her abdomen. "I would sooner die than let him lay his hands on you."
She had to leave, she had to get out of there now. She could not let Sinister harm her child.
She walked back to the console, stared up at the chamber. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry you were created to serve a madman's evil purpose." With a final glance at her genetic duplicate, Jean turned off the light switch and fled the room, never looking back.
She quickly retraced her steps, back into the genetics lab, out into the corridor. She debated whether to see where the hallway took her, or to return to her room. She opted for the room. She needed to find some kind of weapon, something with which to protect herself. Besides, she had no idea what-or whom-lay down at the other end of the hallway. She hurried back to her room and started rummaging through drawers.
Suddenly, the lights came on. "Jean? Where were you? And what are you doing?"
Gasping, she spun around to see Isabella standing in the room. The nurse was not wearing her cap, and her hair looked disheveled-as though she had been woken from sleep.
Jean reached out behind her and into a drawer, fingers closing around the handle of a scalpel.
"Jean, what is it?" Isabella asked, approaching her. "You look as though you've seen a gho-"
"Stay back!" Jean snapped, pointing the scalpel blade at her. "Don't come any closer!"
"Jean, what on earth has gotten in to you? C'mon, let me help you back to bed."
"I said don't move!" She brandished the weapon, showing that she meant business. "You're not taking my baby!"
"Jean, what are you talking about?" Isabella asked, her voice remaining calm. "No one wants to take your baby. No one wants to hurt you-either of you."
"You really expect me to believe that, after what I saw out there?" she gestured toward the door.
"Jean, I have no idea what it is you think you saw, but it must be quite terrible to have you in such a state. You must have had another nightmare, and been sleepwalking." She tried to walk closer.
"I know what I saw!" Jean swung the blade, and Isabella jerked backwards to a safe distance. "Stop trying to convince me otherwise. I'm on to you. I know you're working for him. For Sinister. Essex. Gauche, or whatever he's calling himself now."
"Jean, I don't know what-"
"Cut the bullshit, Isabella-if that's even your real name. Are you even really a nurse?"
When the other woman hesitated, Jean laughed. "Oh God. You're not, are you? You're just another of his flunkies, sent to guard me and his prize."
Isabella's gaze slowly moved from Jean's face down her body, coming to rest on her middle. "Are you suggesting that Dr. Gauche, that he . . . wants your child?"
"Why the hell do you think he brought me here in the first place? He was obviously willing to kill to get his hands on me and my baby. . . ." Thoughts of Bobby brought stinging tears to her eyes, but she fought back the emotions. She had to remain levelheaded right now. "Don't you find it a little strange that he's growing clones of me down the hall?"
Isabella's eyes became round as saucers. "He's what?"
"What, you haven't been in Dr. Frankenstein's little cloning lab?"
Slowly, she shook her head. "Dr. Gauche . . . forbade me to go in there. I don't like to anger him. He frightens me."
"Don't blame you there. But you really should take a look. He's got quite the collection."
"No." Isabella shook her head. "I don't believe you. You're making it up."
Jean snorted. "Believe me, I wish I were."
"You're trying to trick me. Dr. Gauche doesn't use human test subjects. The closest he's come is growing cell cultures in the lab."
"Isabella, I think it's time you pulled your head out of the sand. Come with me." Jean reached for her arm.
"No." Isabella backed away. "I think I need to go get Dr. Gauche." She moved toward the door.
Before she could take another step, Jean intercepted the younger woman. She kicked Isabella's feet out from under her. As Isabella began to fall, Jean grabbed her wrist, twisting the arm behind her back.
Isabella cried out in surprise as she fell to her knees, and then in pain as Jean pressed her wrist up into the small of her back. "Ow! J-Jean . . . wh-what are you doing?"
"Shut up!" Jean hissed. "You're going to come with me to the lab across the hall and see for yourself what sick experiments your boss is cooking up."
"B-But, Jean, I already to-oh!" Isabella gasped as Jean held the edge of the scalpel blade against her throat.
"Isabella, I really don't want to have to hurt you," Jean said, pressing the blade a fraction closer to the woman's flesh. "But if you don't cooperate, I will cut your throat."
Isabella swallowed almost convulsively. When she spoke, her voice was low and laced with tears. "J-Jean, you're n-not a killer. I kn-know you're n-not."
"And I'd like to think you're not in cahoots with the mad scientist who's been holding me hostage and having you masquerade as a nurse. But you see, my life and that of my unborn child are hanging in the balance. So you'll forgive me if I'm a bit paranoid. Now, are you going to cooperate, or not?"
Jean felt Isabella's hot tears fall on the hand holding the scalpel blade. "All . . . all right."
"Good. Now get up." Still holding tight to the scalpel blade and Isabella's wrist, Jean pushed her to her feet. Together, they walked toward the door. "Just remember, if you try anything, my hand might accidentally slip, and slice that pretty little throat of yours wide open."
"O-Okay," Isabella whispered, fighting more tears, as she reached to open the door.
Together they made their way across the corridor and back into the hidden laboratory. By the time they reached the inner sanctum, Isabella was speechless as she stared at the jars of fetuses in wide-eyed horror.
Even in the pale light, Jean could see the other woman's face had gone ashen. "Dear Lord, what is this place?" Isabella gasped.
"It gets better," Jean said, lowering the scalpel blade but still keeping hold of Isabella's arm as she guided her toward the clone tanks.
Isabella's hand came to cover her mouth. "Those are just little girls." She shook her head in stunned disbelief as she looked from one chamber to another. "What on earth has he done to these children?"
Jean bit back a derisive laugh. "These aren't real children. Not borne to flesh and blood mothers. They were grown in test tubes and Petri dishes. They're just lab rats to him. All of them. Even her." Jean gestured toward the fall wall.
Isabella stared at the darkened chamber. "Wh-what's in there?"
"Go see for yourself," Jean replied, releasing her hold. "The switch on the far right turns on the light."
Hesitantly, Isabella made her way over to the control panel. With trembling fingers, she reached for the switch. It took her several moments before she was able to summon the courage to turn on the light.
As she caught sight of the adult clone, she fell to her knees.
For a moment, Jean thought the young woman was going to faint, dead away. Instead, she watched as Isabella sat on the floor, shoulders shaking as she sobbed. It almost made Jean feel sorry for her. Almost.
"You see these clones, Isabella? This one in particular has an awfully strong resemblance to yours truly, doesn't she?" When the woman would not reply, Jean felt her anger growing. "Doesn't she!" she spat.
"Y-Yes. . . ." Sobbing, Isabella managed to turn and look at Jean with red-rimmed eyes. "Oh God. Jean, I-I'm so sorry. I didn't know. . . ."
"Don't bother with the histrionics, hon. I have to admit, the sympathy-your comforting me with kind words-was a nice touch. You actually had me convinced that you cared. But don't waste any more fake tears on me."
"They're not . . . I wasn't. . . . Oh God, it wasn't supposed to be this way. No one was supposed to get hurt. He promised me no one's lives would be put in danger." She buried her face in her hands.
"Okay, this I have to hear. What kind of cock and bull story did he feed you?"
Sniffling, Isabella looked down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. "I- I was working as a laboratory assistant while I went to school part-time to get my bachelors. My genetics professor said he had a colleague who needed a research assistant-someone to run some experiments for him, catalogue data. It wouldn't conflict with my first job, and the pay was great. That's how I met Dr. Gauche."
"So how'd you go from cleaning test tubes to playing Florence Nightingale?" Jean asked, gesturing to the uniform.
Isabella flushed. "Dr. Gauche approached me one day with an offer for a . . . special job. He said he was doing some clinical work. He's developing a genetic test to detect the x-factor gene from fetal cell samples. To be able to determine if an unborn baby-"
"Will grow up to be a mutant?"
Isabella nodded. "He wanted me to serve as his nurse, to assist him in performing amniocenteses on women who came to his clinic, and to help analyze the results."
Jean blanched at the memory of Gauche-Sinister she had to remind herself-performing an ultrasound examination on her. How close he came to inserting a needle into her womb. He would have had a DNA sample from her unborn child. Another potential cloning subject. The thought made her sick to her stomach.
Crossing her arms around herself, she glared at Isabella. "You didn't find it a little strange that I didn't come to his clinic willingly? That I was a victim of a car accident?"
Once again, Isabella averted her eyes. "He paid me well to not ask questions and just do as I was told. He said there was an extra bonus in it for me if I took extra special care of you. I- I didn't see the harm in caring for you while you were here."
"Was he going to train you to be a midwife, too?"
Isabella's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. . . ."
Jean shook her head. "You really have no idea who we're dealing with, do you? There's no way Sinister was planning to let me go. I'm sure he's dying to get a sample of my baby's DNA, but it's the baby itself that he wants."
"But why?"
Jean sighed. "It's complicated. A long story. I'll give you the Cliff Notes version. Sinister-Nathaniel Essex-is a mad scientist in every sense of the word. Decades ago, he sold his soul to the devil for immortality. His life's work involves tinkering with mutants' genetic codes to create a supremely powerful mutant to serve his own evil purposes. For some reason or another, he's taken a particular interest in my genes-and those of my husband, Scott. He especially seems to enjoy combining our DNA. There was a time several years ago when I was believed dead. Sinister even went so far as to create a clone of me whose purpose was to fall in love with Scott and bear his son. He never got his hands on that child, and my clone has since died. It would seem, however, that Sinister is up to his old tricks again, and has made a play for my unborn child. He won't get this baby, though. I won't allow it."
Isabella stared at Jean, mouth slightly agape. She looked as though she were about to vomit or faint.
"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" Jean said harshly.
"Dear Lord, what have I done? What have I done?" She blinked back tears. "Jean, I'm so sorry. So very sorry. If I had known-"
Jean looked at the pale, saddened, shocked face of the young woman. She seemed honestly horrified by the part she played in the whole sordid mess. Even without her telepathy, Jean could sense that Isabella truly had no knowledge of her real purpose. This time, she did actually feel sorry for her.
"Isabella, it's not your fault. Sinister lied to you-used you-as he has so many others over the years. Please, don't blame yourself. To be perfectly honest, I'm glad you were here with me."
"You . . . you are?" she sniffled.
"You've taken good care of me. Now, can I ask one last favor of you?"
She nodded vigorously. "Name it."
"Help me get the hell out of here."
End of Chapter 15