Dead Ringer

Chapter 4: Home

         “Be careful going home,” Keon warned. He kept his lips from tugging down into a frown.

         The streets weren’t safe past dark, clone or not, but even more so if one was the former. Out of everyone in the group, he meant them for Blue. She was strong; he had lost to her more than once in a one-on-one fight. Her lean frame held a black belt in karate, after all. It wasn’t the random thugs on the street that had him worried.

         She gave him a slight smile. Generations ago, saying goodbyes were a simple way to say, ‘see you later,’ but for clones, notably with how the situation in the streets was, it often meant one’s last farewell.

         He almost questioned her about where Bait was but decided against it. It was already late enough.

         Lucky had taken Bait in a few years ago. He was one of the prostitute’s kids that had frequented the area. She had his him away since the day he was born. According to Lucky, one afternoon she had a client drop him off. She never came back to him. Months later, the cops discovered her dead body.

         They were going to take the kid back to a rehab center for clones to see if they could sell him off to a family—once they found out she had a child and never reported it—so Lucky hid him in his place and raised him himself. He lived in Lucky’s apartment complex, away from the bar. Blue hung out there most days.

         The sound of shoes shuffling across the floor brought Keon back to reality.

         Snap tapped his shoulder as he passed by, hands signing quickly.

         Keon read it out loud, “voting is next week. Be careful.”

         “Thanks, man.” Keon gave Snap’s shoulder a good squeeze. He was always looking out for others and rarely asked for anything himself.

         That news meant the violence on the streets would only get worse. Whoever ended up being voted on as the new board members would make or break the freedom the clones had fought so hard for. Not like it mattered much to Keon.

         It was a downhill battle, no matter how hard they fought.

         The bell jingled, signaling their exit.

         “Guess that means Cassius will not let you leave without a bodyguard for the next couple of weeks.” Lucky stood next to him by the door with a cigarette in his hand. He held out an open pack.

         “You think he let me leave without one this week?” Keon took one and lit it up with a lighter from his jacket pocket. The warmth it emanated lasting only a second.

         “Guess you’re right.”

         He took a drag and watched the smoke swirl up into the air. “I don’t understand him. He’s going to be the reason something happens to me, not because of some random dude off the street.”

         “Which is why you should stop ditching the bodyguard.”

         “Or he should give himself a few more instead.”

         Keon shifted his weight onto his other foot and took another hit, feeling the stress leave his body with the smoke.

         His old master up and died, an aneurysm, they said. Nothing Keon could do to save him. Depending on one’s age, once your master dies, you either get a new one or get sent to an adult foster home. Once you’re sent, then you are as good as dead. Most clones don’t survive past the age of thirty, if they even lived that long. Many die within the first few months they are born. Keon was sure it had been his time to go, and he made peace with that. There wasn’t much to live for at that point.

         That was, until Cassius found him there, battered and broken and empty. He can still remember those unflinching eyes staring straight into him, as if reading his mind from his cold, dead eyes.

         Cassius had saved him. It was a debt he could never repay.

         “I should go. You good here?”

         “Yeah, I’ll have some guys help close shop. Be careful out there, big shot.”

         Lucky held out an ashtray he picked up from a nearby table.

         “Shut up already.” Keon snuffed the cigarette out.

         The bitter breeze upon exiting the bar shook away any of the fatigue he was feeling before.

         Lucky’s bar, One Chance, sat at the end of a long-winded street in the biggest part of the city. Being downtown made it good for business, but bad for just about everything else. In-between tiny alleyways sat shops of various specialties, all crammed in together. Most people lived above their shop or in an apartment complex way in the boonies. Rent wasn’t cheap and most out in the area were dirt poor. Their side of the city contained shops owned by clones, runaway ones, those overlooked by the government in favor of money, or those whose masters didn’t want them in their home but would pay for their living expenses. Either way, anyone and everyone came down there to shop. It was hard to be picky when you needed money to put food on the table.

         Keon put his hood up, covering his face from other people’s view. Light rain was falling, cooling the temperature down even more.

         People walked by, pushing and knocking into him, some apologizing, some not. Teenagers were laughing and sitting down on the many benches littered throughout, while college students were drinking and smoking around bars, their laughter deafening. The city was full of all different types, humans and clones. It amazed him how carefree they were. For clones, their lives were determined for them the minute they were born. That didn’t stop them from living as normal of a life they could.

         He pushed his hands into his pockets and picked up the pace. He felt warm under his sweatshirt. While cramped and constraining, it was comforting.

         As the sidewalk changed from cracked cement to smooth, it signaled that he was hitting the human’s side of the city. He shrunk further into himself, hoping not to attract any attention.

         The buildings stood tall around him and were overall larger than the area where the clones called home. White and grey brick surrounded the area and made it more desirable to look at compared to the fading colors of Lucky’s bar. The buildings jutted out and their signs lit up the walkway with all the colors of the rainbow.

         The humans had it all. With degrees and higher paying jobs, they lived higher quality lives.

         Although, no matter where you live, no place can be completely crime free. No one, human or clone, was safe.

         Keon stopped, his ears picking up loud footsteps coming from behind him. He sidestepped to the other half of the sidewalk and stilled, eyes following two people running past him and into an alleyway and up against a building close to him. They must not have noticed him, however, too focused on themselves.

         The other people around them looked before moving along. Whatever was happening was not enough for them to care.

         Keon peered down the alley. Only a single light from a lamppost exposed them. The taller man was pinning the shorter one up against the building. Another gang fight, maybe? That didn’t seem right. Gang fights were less prevalent in the human-centered areas of the city.

         Keon inched forward to get a better look, eyes squinting to see in the bleak darkness.

         The one who was shorter had his hands plastered against the wall, back tense, the whites of his eyes like a light in the shadows. He seemed young, most likely in his teens.

         The other man had a knife griped in his free hand, the silver of the blade like a beacon in the night. He was older, maybe in his forties or fifties. Unlike humans, clones didn’t live that long and never had the chance to look that old.

         Keon felt a rush of anger. A human attacking a clone. It happened all the time but seeing it in broad daylight sparked something inside of him, emotions he tried so hard to bury.

         What right did that man have over anyone else? Humans had everything. They had a long life, could get married, could have kids without them being taken away, didn’t get held back in school, and they could become anyone they wanted to be. No one used them as research subjects, and they weren’t forced into a life they didn’t want to live.

         They had a name, one that had meaning, not one they found in a book labeled “Names for Your New Clone”, “Non-Human Names Sure to Surprise”, or a name that wasn’t even meant to be one. Their name wasn’t a drunken thought on a Friday night, or a joke between friends on what to call that thing at home.

         But humans had the right to say no.

         Keon clenched his fists hard enough that his nails dug into his skin and drew blood. He felt it in his palm, could feel the indents in his skin, but the pain didn’t register. His fight-or-flight instinct was taking over, the surging thoughts of “what should I do?” playing over in his head on repeat.

         The human took the knife and brought it to the clone’s throat.

         Keon knew what was coming next, had seen it more times than he could count.

         He forced himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath.

         In his head he whispered to himself how this had nothing to do with him, how he couldn’t do anything, nor could he change what was about to happen.

         Just like all the other times, it was none of his business. He was nothing more than an outsider looking in.

         After enough time had passed, he opened his eyes, paused for only a second—taking in the atrocity before him, burning it into his retinas—before turning away and running out of the alley. He ignored the way his hands trembled.

         Keon wasn’t running away. There was nothing he could do.

         Nothing.

         It was a mantra he repeated to himself until he made it home.