She wasn’t sure how long she stood on the platform, but when she finally forced her feet down the steps, the oppressive silence threatened to drown her. She pressed her lips together.
No turning back.
Her gloved hand slid down the thin railing as she took in her new surroundings. Pictures of her from a baby until now lined the walls with her vital statistics at the time of the photo. Everywhere she looked, her own eyes stared back at her until she ached to run back up the stairs and try to forget she had ever gotten out of bed.
But she’d come too far to go back now. Her father would be home in two days, and her mother would be awake in a few hours. If she wanted answers, she needed to find them while she had the chance.
The chill of the cold concrete floor soaked through the fleece of her slipper socks with every step. She wandered toward a dark computer screen, unsure where to start.
What was all this hidden beneath her house? And what was the Genesis Foundation? A slip of paper was taped to the bottom of the screen. She recognized her father’s rushed penmanship scrawled on the paper.
Perfect – Free from any flaw; faultless
Perfection – The state of being perfect; a perfect person
I have crafted perfection.
Juliet blinked, staring at the haunting words. It didn’t make sense. Her father invented a vitamin pill to help people stay healthy from the day they were born. He might have invented a means to stay perfect, but he hadn’t made a perfect person. That was impossible.
Frowning, she pulled open a drawer in the filing cabinet next to the desk and thumbed through its contents. There were so many papers, graphs, and printouts, and most of it was covered in symbols and numbers she didn’t understand. She could search through the maze of this underground lab for days and still be without any answers. Shifting her attention to the desk, she gently lifted more papers and sifted through files until she found a worn, leather-bound book with her name embossed on the cover.
She sat in the chair and opened it. Her pulse raced as she skimmed the pages. This was her father’s research journal, and it dated back to the day she was born.
Although the notes had been scribbled by hand, the details were meticulous. Apparently, the doctor who delivered her, Dr. Turner, had taken it upon himself to run tests without consulting her father first. He was livid that the doctor had pricked the bottom of her foot for a blood sample.
I’ve been examining her heel every few hours for any sign of bruising or bleeding, but her skin remains flawless. She might be the perfection we have been striving to achieve; however, if she exhibits any outward signs of imperfection, she’ll have to be destroyed like the others. I am doing all that I can to avoid this. I don’t have time for the gestation of another fetus. Our funding depends on her survival. I need this research to be successful. Juliet must be Perfect.
A chill shot through her as she finished the entry. She skimmed it again, her fingers trembling. She didn’t want to believe what she was reading. It couldn’t be true.
Her father wasn’t worried for her safety. The only reason he cared if she lived or died was because he didn’t have time to gestate another fetus.
She put her gloved hand to her mouth, sorting through her jumbled emotions. Her father had never hugged her or told her he loved her, but he’d always professed he was protecting her, keeping her safe. He was the only man she’d ever known, and…she’d loved him.
She shook her head. This was an early entry. Maybe he had grown to love her over the years.
Her heart raced as she flipped chunks of pages. Whatever his research was, she found no mention of his vitamin formula anywhere. When she went even further into the journal, the dates started to skip months at a time. Finally, she stopped on the day Julie-Eight was born.
The surrogate gave birth today without complications. My hope is to raise the subjects together as “sisters,” making either one of them dispensable should an imperfection occur. Juliet is nearly ten years old now. If she retains perfection through her eighteenth birthday, my research will be concluded, but if she is flawed in some way, Julie #8 shares the identical DNA, making her a perfect replica and replacement should we need it. If the funding comes through, we will bring in two more surrogates. The cloned embryos are viable and frozen, should the opportunity arise.
Our dream is becoming reality.
Juliet closed the journal, her vision blurring with tears. Her chest tightened as she read the note again. She’d only been ten when her parents had carried Julie-Eight into her room. It never occurred to her back then that her mother hadn’t been pregnant. Momma was heavyset, and even though she’d mentioned a surrogate, and back then, Juliet hadn’t known what they were, and she never asked again. She only knew now because her father had introduced aptitude tests to her regiment of measuring statistics. He’d said he needed to be sure her cognitive abilities were perfect, as well. She’d loved school, even if it was at home. All the books and reading and writing had eased some of her ache to be outside.
But now she wondered if any of it mattered. They were never going to allow her to leave this house. She and Julie-Eight were “dispensable” to their parents. Just subjects in their father’s experiment.
And her observations about Julie-Eight being her twin made sense now. Julie-Eight was identical to her all the way to her DNA.
Juliet flipped to the back of the journal. The final entry was from two days ago, and it seemed…cryptic.
Juliet’s birthday is next week. We will be the first pod to cross this milestone with a Genesis child. Our portion of the research will be complete. Utopia is within our grasp. Funding for the Genesis Foundation is gaining momentum, too. The ceremony will be a triumph.
She read it one more time. His research would be complete. So why did her mother still seem intent on holding her prisoner?
Juliet got up from the chair and quietly wandered around the empty lab, looking at the strange equipment and test tubes that lined her father’s worktables. No sign of the vitamins she and her sister took every day—not a single pill bottle. Her entire life they’d told her she was perfect because of the vitamin supplements, so how could that be if there wasn’t a single pill to be found down here? Microscopes and specimen jars with unidentifiable substances inside were neatly lined up on the stainless steel tables and countertops, and at the far end of the room was another door.
It didn’t have a security pad, but the lab was underground. It couldn’t lead outside, so where did it go? Maybe the vitamin inventory was stored inside.
If not, at least she’d know it was all a lie.
Juliet went to the gray metal door and turned the knob. The door creaked, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried once more, tugging until her arms shook with tension, but still the door remained closed.
Maybe it was for the best. If it suddenly burst open, she probably would have given herself a black eye or stubbed her toe, and it was obvious from her father’s notes that she was expendable. They had Julie-Eight to replace her if she had to be “destroyed.”
Her eyes welled with tears again. Although her parents were never outwardly loving like the ones she’d read about in books, they were the only parents she’d ever known. Knowing they could just destroy her like a lab rat not only terrified her, it also hurt.
But living like this, caged in this house, was destroying her, too, minute by minute, day by day. There was no hope of ever feeling the sunshine on her skin or the warm hug of a friend. Her only hugs were from Julie-Eight. She didn’t know how she would have survived until now without her younger sister. Caring for Julie-Eight and helping her stay perfect had given Juliet a purpose, a reason to get up every day.
She’d never have any friends, not that she’d know how to make any anyway. And even if she managed to get out of the house, she wouldn’t know where to go or what to do. She’d seen her mother use a cell phone and work on her laptop, but Juliet had never touched either one. The list of things she’d never experienced—riding a bike, sitting in a car, driving, going to a party—She sighed, cutting off the train of thought. The more she thought about all the things she was missing, the angrier she got.
The rage simmered in her belly. So many secrets. She was sick of it.
She tore off the rubber gloves and grabbed the door handle again. The paint on the doorframe cracked as she tugged, but it didn’t give. Neither did she. Grinding her teeth, she pulled and jerked until her arms ached with the effort.
Suddenly, a loud crack broke the silence as the door flew open.
Juliet lost her grip on the knob and flew backward, landing hard on her back. Her head hit the cold concrete floor and stars danced on the edge of her vision. She was too stunned and terrified to move. She’d never fallen before. Ever. She couldn’t breathe. All the air had left her lungs. Panic gripped her. Was she going to suffocate?
She winced. This was pain. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t make a sound. She rolled onto her side and sucked in a breath, then coughed it out. She slowly pushed up to her knees. Her hands trembled as she brushed her hair out of her face.
She looked around, frantically searching for any sign of blood or broken skin. Even without cuts and scrapes, she was almost certain to have a bruise or a bump on the back of her head. She collected her latex gloves and put them back on as anxiety sank its claws into her. She’d be eliminated.
Wincing as dizziness threatened to topple her, Juliet stood up. The fresh paint fumes coming from the next room choked her, bringing back memories of her mother repainting the cradle after another imperfect baby had stopped breathing. She always repainted it before a new Julie came home.
But this was no cradle.
Juliet took a tentative step inside the freshly painted room. The walls and ceiling were light green, and the emblem of the Genesis Foundation covered the wall opposite the door. Unlike her father’s lab, this room had recessed lighting and plush, forest-green carpeting. The only furniture was a long, slender glass case in the center of the room. The lights overhead accentuated the emptiness of the display. Maybe they were going to fill it with her father’s vitamins.
But pictures of her hung all over the walls again. She passed by them as she made her way to the far wall. Below the Genesis Foundation emblem was a bronze plaque. When she got close enough to read it, her heart hammered in her chest.
Juliet Huff
Perfect DNA Specimen
What did her DNA have to do with vitamins? She stared at the final word. Specimen. She’d done something none of her siblings had: she’d stayed perfect her entire childhood. Yet she was still only a specimen to them when all she ever wanted was to be their daughter. To be loved.
Even being perfect wasn’t enough.
She wiped her nose and stepped back, suddenly eager to get out of the room. The cold glass case impeded her progress as her back pressed against it. Juliet turned around and noticed that this end of the case had a small pillow in it. In fact, the entire length of the glass box was padded on the bottom. Like a coffin…
Her pulse pounded in her ears as she ran from the room. No. That couldn’t be right. There had to be some other explanation. She scrambled back to her father’s desk in the lab. With shaking hands, she reached for the journal bearing her name and turned back to the last entry again. It mentioned a ceremony but not what would happen.
There had to be something else.
She riffled through the drawers until she found a stack of papers she hadn’t looked through yet. Most were from utility companies asking for payments, but in the middle was a handwritten note.
Dearest Martha,
We have done the impossible. It took decades, but our struggle has yielded the potential to change the world.
On Juliet’s eighteenth birthday, the entire Genesis Foundation board will be here to share in our triumph. The first success. The first step in our ultimate mission.
I’ve hesitated to give you this news. I know you spend more time with the subjects, blurring the lines between scientific objectivity and human connection, but I hope you’ll understand. The board has made the decision to entomb Juliet’s body in the shrine in its current state of perfection.
This will insure she will never wither with age like the rest of the world, and she will never leave us.
Juliet will be perfect forever.
She covered her mouth to silence her scream. They were going to kill her. Next week.
Tears rolled down Juliet’s cheeks as she got to her feet. She paced the room, the rush of adrenaline making coherent thought difficult.
One thing was clear, though: she had to get out of this house.
It seemed impossible, but the only other option would end with her dead inside the glass case. She had no intention of being preserved forever in a box. No. No way.
Freedom or die trying. It seemed that death would be paying her a visit either way.
She stuffed the letter into the journal bearing her name and tucked the book under her arm before she raced for the stairs. There had to be a way out of the house. She just needed to calm down so she could think clearly.
But right now, calming down seemed more improbable than escaping the house. Anxiety taunted her with unanswerable questions every step of the way. Where will I go? What if they find me? How will I live?
As she slipped back into the house and closed the door to the exam room behind her, she looked at the staircase leading up to her room. Her chest heaved for air as she checked the clock on the wall. She let out a relieved breath. Her mother wouldn’t be up for another two hours, and their morning inspection was at least three hours away.
After quietly climbing the stairs, she ducked into her room and shut the door. Julie-Eight was buried under her quilt. For now, Juliet had made it.
She carefully went to her bed, where she stuffed the journal under her pillow. She stared out the window, willing her breathing to slow. The sky was just beginning to color outside, the stars twinkling into oblivion before the sunrise. Was it cold out there?
She raised her pale hand, removed the latex glove from the other, and pressed her bare palms to the glass. What did morning dew feel like when you stepped in the grass? She’d never been out in a rainstorm or touched snow. She wanted to live, not be turned into some twisted version of Snow White in a glass case.
This wasn’t a fairy tale; it was her life.
She dropped her hands into her lap and removed her other glove before putting her sleeping mittens back on her hands. Maybe she wouldn’t have a bump on her head or a bruise from the fall. But there was too much riding on a maybe.
A soft moan came from Julie-Eight’s bed. Juliet got up and crossed the room. She sat beside the lump of blankets that hid her little sister and stroked her back. As Juliet soothed Julie-Eight, she realized her escape was going to be even more complex. Leaving Julie-Eight behind wasn’t an option, not now that she knew what was in store for them. Once they finished growing, the research was complete. They were only specimens for the Genesis Foundation.
Who knows what they might do to her if they find out I’m gone?
She didn’t want to think about it. Somehow, she had to take Julie-Eight with her. But it wouldn’t be easy. Her sister still thought of the house as a home, not a prison. Juliet wasn’t sure Julie-Eight would be willing to leave. She believed the stories about the outside world being filthy and dangerous. She thought their parents were keeping her safe by locking her up in the house. But Juliet had to get her out, even if Julie-Eight wouldn’t go willingly.
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
First, she needed to find a way outside.