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AFTER DAGMAR left, Scarlet returned to her room and waited until she was sure everyone was asleep before slipping out to go to the attic. The attic was a hoarder’s paradise. Dorothea stored a lot of things up here: old costumes from movies she had starred in, keepsakes from lovers, clothes that had gone out of fashion, and miscellaneous items no one had thrown away because the staff never knew when Dorothea might go up there to rummage through it.
Scarlet unlocked the door and shut it before she turned on the light. Under a pile of ratty old furs near the back wall was a canvas tote with faded flowers printed on it. Dorothea had brought the tote home from a tour of Europe before the Pandemics made travel there prohibitive. Deciding it would be the least likely item to be missed, Scarlet carried it over to the other wall, being careful not to leave footprints in the dusty floor.
Stuck in a warped bookcase were several fake volumes which had been designed to look like regular books, but each one held a locked box. Scarlet took the keys she had made copies of earlier in the year and unlocked each one, transferring the credit chips, paper money, coins, and jewels into the tote. She left a few things in each box so it would look as if Dorothea herself had emptied it. Ironically, a DNA scan would say the same thing; Dorothea herself had opened the boxes. Scarlet had been created using Dorothea’s genes so the DNA would say it was Dorothea. Luckily for Scarlet, the PGA clone farm had obeyed Dorothea’s instructions and not imprinted Scarlet’s DNA cells with their brand. Since Dorothea intended to be the one in Scarlet’s body, she had taken no chances of being mistaken for a clone after the brain transplant.
Scarlet took her escape fund and crept downstairs and out to the garden. DNA wasn’t the only thing she had gotten from Dorothea; Scarlet also had her creator’s secretive nature. Outside the estate was the remains of an older building destroyed by a long-ago fire. Scarlet had discovered it as a teenager and created her own special place to hide things. She descended the basement stairs (the only part of the burned-out shell left intact) and lit the Coleman lantern she had left there. By its light, she opened a false wallboard and put the tote inside it. When Dagmar came to get her, she would retrieve it then.
The next morning, Scarlet was eating breakfast in the dining room before being driven to the studio when she heard the news. Janice Leroy, the nurse who attended Dorothea came out of the old woman’s bedroom, white faced, and told Jenkins, the butler to call the doctor.
“What happened?” gasped Miss Simpson.
“She’s dead,” Nurse Leroy said flatly.
“How?”
“That’s for the doctor to say. There will have to be an autopsy; it’s an unattended death,” the nurse said repressively.
“I’m due at the studio,” Scarlet said. “Should I go?”
“Yes, she would want you to finish what you started,” Miss Simpson said.
Scarlet finished breakfast and went out to the car. Michael, the chauffer let her out in front of the studio door, which had a sign “Filming in progress. No admittance” posted.
“I’ll be in the canteen, Miss Scarlet,” her driver said.
Scarlet nodded and waited until he had driven away to walk around the studio towards the RV’s brought in for the actors and stagehands comfort.
Eyja was sitting outside under the shaded awning. She looked up as Scarlet arrived.
“So, you’re coming with us,” she said.
“Yes, I hope so, Scarlet said. “Is Dagmar inside?”
“Yes. We weren’t sure you would be here today. We heard the old woman is dead.”
Scarlet nodded. “Yes. Did Dagmar tell you about her plans for me?”
“Not exactly. He said it was something bad though.”
“She was planning to transplant her brain into my body,” Scarlet told her. “I think my brain would have been tossed as medical waste.”
“Yuck,” Eyja said. “So, what happens now?”
“Well, technically, I suppose I’m part of her estate. I don’t think she had any contingency plans for dying before she could be transplanted.”
Dagmar came outside. “Scarlet! You came. What happens now?”
“Until I’m told otherwise, I finish the movie,” she said. “Can we go inside for a moment?”
“Sure.”
“You too, Eyja,” Scarlet said,
Once inside the RV, she sat down at the tiny table. “I was able to retrieve the cash and jewelry last night. I hid it in that abandoned house where we had the picnic.”
“I hope you didn’t leave it out in the open,” Killian Wolfcrest said. Like Dagmar and Hogun he had been bred to fight in the televised gladiator games. On his dark skin the tattoos didn’t show up as well as they did on the lighter skinned Dagmar and Hogun.
“I didn’t, of course,” Scarlet said. “I hid it behind a loose panel near the fireplace. Dagmar knows where it is.”
One of the set techs rapped on the door. “Miss Jones they’re setting up for your scene with Crassus.”
“I’m coming,” she called.
Scarlet went inside the studio. The tech crew was still setting up for the scene. A man dressed as a slave was offering a fruit plate to a portly man reclining on a divan. He was another Clone, one who was used extensively by the studio in movies requiring an older man. His real name was Sherlock Lamer. Sherlock was one of the lucky clones; he was still usable by the vid studios, so he hadn’t yet been ‘retired’.
“Please get into costume, Miss Jones,” the director, Hans Christian said. He maintained the fiction that all the actors were human, addressing them by the names which would appear on the vid credits. This wasn’t done out of any altruistic feelings, but to make it difficult for the authorities to close down the vid for using ‘clone’ actors. Everyone knew this was done, even the so-called authorities, but they had been paid a hefty sum by the studio to ignore this fact. Christian did his part by addressing his actors as if they were normal humans.
When Scarlet finished the scene, she found Michael waiting for her. She knew something was wrong because he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m to drive you back to the estate, Miss,” he said.
“Alright. I just need to—”
“No, Miss, I’m sorry, but my orders say you aren’t to speak to anyone here. We’re just to go.”
“The Director—”
“I’ve already given him a letter from Miss Dandridge’s lawyer. He understands. Please Miss.”
“I have to change out of this costume,” Scarlet protested.
“Your regular clothes are in the car, Miss. Please come with me.”
Scarlet walked as slowly as she dared back to the lot where Michael had parked. She saw Nara watching them and waved to her. Nara started over to them, and Michael shoved Scarlet into the car, shutting the door firmly.
“Where are you taking her?” Nara asked him.
“That’s none of your business,” he replied, getting in, and shutting the driver’s door. He started the engine and backed out, nearly clipping Nara when he did so. She jumped back out of the way and stood watching him as he drove away.
“What happened? Wasn’t that Scarlet’s car and driver?” Eyja asked.
“Yes. He wouldn’t let me speak to her. I don’t know where they took her.”
“Maybe the Director knows.”
The director simply looked at them in silence before he spoke. “I’m sorry, Miss Dandridge’s lawyer requested Miss Jones be returned to her estate. I don’t know anything else.”
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