by Jake Christie

a story.

“Don't you recognize me, Deena?” pleaded Rob. “Don't you recognize your own husband?”

A gust of wind tore Rob's hat from his head and cartwheeled it across the rooftop. It took a leap of faith over the ledge and sailed down eighteen stories. Deena tightened her two-handed grip on the gun. Somehow the other Rob's hat stayed firmly on his head.

“It's me,” said the other Rob. “You know it's me, Dee. He's the evil clone.”

“That's just what the evil clone would want you to think,” said Rob.

“Shut up!” screamed Deena. “Shut up, both of you! I need to think!” She moved the pistol from one Rob to the other, ready to pull the trigger the second one of them took a step.

“Then think about our honeymoon,” said the other Rob. “Remember when we were on the beach in Tahiti and I said we would be together forever, even if something went terribly wrong at CloneMax?”

“I said that!” said Rob. “Deena, think! Would he say something like that?”

“I'm so confused!” cried Deena. “Though in retrospect that stuff about CloneMax should have been a tip-off.”

“Think about afterward,” said Rob, “when it was just us in that secluded cove. Nobody else but us, do you remember?”

“Yes,” sobbed Deena. “Rob, I remember!”

“Think about that thing you did with your tongue!” said the other Rob.

“What?” said Deena.

“I forgot about that,” said Rob. “Man, that was kinky. I was thinking about the thing she did later, with the--”

“I know exactly what you're talking about,” said Rob. “Ah-oooh-gah!”

“This is not helping,” said Deena.

“That was a great weekend,” said the other Rob.

“Not as good as the plane ride back home, wink wink!” said Rob, and nudged the other Rob.

“Oh, brother,” said Deena.

The clones high-fived.

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