The Mirror Man, стр. 74
“Sorry.”
It was enough to snap Jeremiah back into his senses. He looked down in dismay at his friend, who was slumped now at his feet, but still awake and perceptibly smiling, despite his injury.
Jeremiah bent down to fish Brent’s key card out of his pocket, taking time to let his hand linger on Brent’s shoulder for just an instant. Then he slipped the bloody knife into his sock, opened the door and ran. Without thinking, he somehow made it down the hallway, out the doors, through the dark woods and into the next empty parking lot. He was standing under a broken streetlight just as a young woman pulled up in a silver Volkswagen Beetle.
Chapter 37
Day 168
Jeremiah was crouched behind the tangle of an overgrown rhododendron bush at the side of his house, the knees of his pants already soaked through from the damp ground. A chill in the air kept him from sweating, but the tension in his muscles and his frantic heartbeat were harder to control. He fingered the smoothness of the knife handle between his thumb and fingers and tried to slow his shallow breathing with a sort of meditation. After all the trouble to get himself here, all the sleepless nights he’d spent imagining this very moment, all he wanted now was to have it over with. The sun had been up for more than an hour, but it offered little warmth. He’d been hiding here since 5:00 a.m. and his body shook with the simple desire to stand up and stretch. He shifted his weight from one knee to the other and rolled his shoulders and neck to get a little relief. The last thing he wanted was to cramp up at the crucial moment. He’d only have seconds to get himself under that garage door if he wanted to do this right. He needed to take the clone by surprise. The shock factor was crucial. He figured he probably could have stood up for a second or two—after all, any of his neighbors would only see Jeremiah in his own side yard—but he didn’t risk it.
From this angle, he had a clear view of his bedroom window. He’d seen the light come on some twenty minutes ago. Once it went off again, he’d know the clone was on his way down to the kitchen, and then out to his car in the garage. At least that used to be the routine. It couldn’t have changed much. He’d only been thankful he hadn’t seen the car parked in the driveway, where Diana used to park. That would have changed everything.
A minute later he heard the once-familiar squeak of the kitchen door opening and, before he could prepare himself for it, he saw Parker barrel down the steps to make the school bus. He hadn’t even considered that he might catch a glimpse of his son. He’d seen Parker on the monitor fifty times or more, but this was different. This was harder. He was right there, almost close enough to touch. As he passed the bush, Jeremiah held his breath and resisted the urge to jump up and call out to him, to grab him by the arm and hold him there. He noticed, with some aspect of resentment, that Parker had grown a couple inches taller since he’d been gone, and there was a certain breadth to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. He swallowed the wave of regret that rose up in his throat and watched his son turn the corner and disappear from view. Then he breathed again. He’d see Parker soon enough, he thought, if everything went right. He turned his attention back to the matter at hand, just in time to see the light go out in the bedroom window. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the knife.
Minutes passed as he waited for the first whirring of the garage door opener, his signal to spring. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he worried that his own heartbeat might be enough to obscure the tiny sound he was straining to hear. This is almost over, he told himself. You can do this.
He hadn’t anticipated the sudden fear he felt in his gut. Every time he’d thought about this moment, calculating the plan down to the last second, imagining his every action, it had been fueled by anger and a fierce sense of righteousness. It had also, he admitted, been tempered by the likelihood of absolute impossibility. Somewhere inside him, even as he had clung to the idea of killing his clone, he never fully believed he’d actually get here. And here he was. He closed his eyes and tried to push his anger back to the surface, hoping it would be enough to crush the tiny web of doubt that inched out in all directions now and threatened his resolve. You can do this, he told himself again. You have to do this.
The instant Jeremiah heard the small mechanical sound he’d been waiting for, it was as though a switch had been pulled in his brain. His movements were quick and unhindered by thought. He darted out from behind the bush, dropped and rolled the few feet over the driveway and across the threshold of the garage. While the door was still in its upward motion, he sprang to his feet and hit the kill switch hard with his fist, the overhead light glinting off the six-inch blade in his hand. As the door came down behind him, he saw the clone jump and turn toward him in alarm, recognition not yet registering on his face. To his right, above his shoulder, Jeremiah found the