Douglas smiled.
“How’s your wife, Doug?” The man rested his elbow out of his car window. He was freshly shaven with a pressed shirt, ready to start his shift.
“I don’t have a wife.”
“Ah, sorry. Must have been another Doug.”
In his 49 years at the genetics research laboratory Gene-Tech, Douglas had never met ‘another Doug’. Then again, the complex was like a city in itself, and Douglas kept to his own little slice of it. His puzzled, leathery face contorted, and his handkerchief rose to meet it. With four pained coughs and a wheeze, Douglas expelled a glossy crimson mixture of phlegm and blood into his hand.
“Shit Doug, that doesn’t sound good. Careful they don’t replace you.”
“It’s okay, I just need to hold out for retirement in a couple weeks. Then they can replace me.” They both laughed, and with a wave Douglas buzzed open the gate and let the man through. Once the man was out of sight, Douglas’ routine smile grew so heavy it could not hold itself up any longer. With the hiss of hydraulics, the giant steel gate angrily slammed shut.
As they did every day, Douglas’ thoughts drifted to retirement. He planned to move to France, to the small mountain village of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. It was there that his idol Van Gough had sought inspiration to paint, and where Douglas as a child dreamed his career as an artist would start too. He had always wanted to paint the golden sunset over Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, but had never managed to get time off work. As the years passed, the ambition deformed into an impossible daydream. Now with his health, it seemed he would trade this metal box for a wooden one, soon.
A blaring alarm and flashing lights shook him from his fantasy. Over the intercom, a harsh voice shouted.
“Subject 127 has escaped! Secure the perimeter!”
There was a rattle at the gate, and Douglas looked up to see the naked backside of a young boy. He shook the immovable gate and let out a cry of anguish. With a slow rise, Douglas stood up, his hand bracing the cold desk.
“You there!” he called. The young boy turned around. He instantly recognised that narrow face. It was hisface. It was like looking at a living, breathing photo of his past. A perfect clone. Douglas’ lips moved but no sound came out.
“Please,” the boy cried. “Please.”
The intercom spoke again, this time, it was the spine-chilling voice of the Superintendent.
“If he leaves, Douglas, you lose your retirement fund.” Cold. Sharp. To the point.
With a croaky voice, Douglas spoke to his younger self.
“Where will you go?”
“France,” the boy said, with no hesitation.
With complete resolve, Douglas slammed his hand on the button. Without a second look, the boy fled quickly through the smallest opening in the gate. As he always did, Douglas waved and smiled, but this time his smile was different. It stayed.
