Aaron found the office of the director, which was labeled by a small plaque. In a fit of indignant bravery, he threw the door open and strode in.

“Welcome. Please have a seat,” said a bespectacled man sitting behind a very large desk, typing at his computer. “Whichever chair you like.”

“Oh,” said Aaron. “Thank you.”

“So, you don’t think you’re a clone?” the man said, with the tone of someone for whom ‘Doesn’t think he’s a clone’ was one of the most common day-to-day aspects of his job.

“I’m not one!” Aaron responded irately. “I tried to tell them!”

“Mmhm…” The man stopped typing and swiveled to face him. He tidied some papers on his desk with tortuous slowness, steepled his fingers, and pushed up his glasses. “Your Original is…” He glanced at his desk. “Jaymie Brzezinski, yes?”

“Ugh, who are you, how do you know our names…” Aaron ran a hand anxiously through his hair and bounced on the edge of his seat.

“I assure you, I’m not your enemy; I’m a civil servant. I look after Clone Affairs.”

“Clone Affairs…”

“And I happen to be working overtime on a Saturday right now,” he added, as though Aaron should appreciate this noble sacrifice. “So, let’s look at the facts. Jaymie Does he look just like you?” he asked.

“Yes—he’s my brother! We look alike, but we’re just brothers, we’re not—look, I can remember my childhood and everything. Unless you mean to say that somebody cloned Jaymie at birth, which is still ridiculous—although I wouldn’t really put it past my mom, come to think of it… But then I can’t see how either of us is to blame—”

“The only thing cloned in the nineties was Dolly the sheep,” said the man offhandedly. “No, our reports say he made you fairly recently.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“And unfortunately, he failed to go through the legal avenues—registration, etcetera.” The man’s voice took a pedantic tone. “If we didn’t have regulations, everyone would be cloning themselves left, right and centre, wouldn’t they? Little babies everywhere that only exist to be harvested for their aortas—”

“Ok, I get it. Again, my childhood, though.”

“Yes, many clones are formed with all the memories of their Original. It depends on the process used.”

“No, my memories are with my Orig—with Jaymie! Not as him!”

“It’s likely those memories were fabricated. It’s been known to happen before, as part of the process, especially if he used a sophisticated method. There are young clones who believe they’re the grandchild of their creator, when in reality they’re going to lose their heart and lungs to him at some point. Has your ‘brother’ ever made any comments that could suggest…”

“Like, ‘Take care of those kidneys, Aaron, I’m going to need one some day’? Yeah, all the time. It’s a joke. That’s just what he’s like!”

“Are you certain your ‘brother’ wasn’t being serious? Just to rule out that possibility—”

“Never,” Aaron said adamantly. “He fully believes he’s invincible.” He thought about the Director’s implication and got a feeling of horror. “You think he’d plan that… ugh…”

“And that’s the main reason we exist!” the man said quickly. “We’ve saved many of that type of clone from very frightening, unpleasant deaths. Did you see those children out there? Imagine what would have become of them without Clone Services! And, when we’ve expanded and gotten a bigger budget, we’ll start our rehabilitation program and all of them can have sponsors and integrate into society and, hopefully, live as contributing citizens!”

“I am a contributing citizen—I mean, ok, I’m a musician, I don’t pay taxes. But still!”

“That’s lovely…” The man typed a quick response to an email. “You know, I tried to learn the guitar once—”

“Ok, so will the sponsor stuff happen soon? I’m supposed to play a show tomorrow night, and I have family coming to visit…” Aaron had little hope for the answer.

“Maybe...” The man became very interested in his desk and anything else in the room that wasn’t Aaron.

“So, you’re just going to take someone’s word that I’m a fake human, and I deserve to be locked up—” Aaron could feel another panic attack coming on.

“No. We generally look at the paperwork.”

“The paper—”

“Look, uh, Jaymie,” the man glanced at a file in front of him.

“Aaron!”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. So many Duplicates feel most comfortable taking the name of their Original. Aaron, I can see you’re upset, and I don’t think you’re lying to me—I can spot the ones who try to play dumb. It’s not unheard of that an Original doesn’t tell their Duplicate what it really is. Aaron, you seem like you’re the skeptical, suspicious-of-the-government type—”

“Not necessarily—”

“And that’s fine. Government intervention makes a lot of people uncomfortable—”

“I’m all for public services and regulating the free market—”

“—So let me take a different track here. We’ve been watching you for some time now—”

“Ew, I hate it.”

“—And there are often signs…” He stopped, letting the suggestion hang.

“…Signs that you’re a clone?”

“Precisely.” The man flipped lazily through his file. “Duplicates have widely varying lifespans, depending on the effectiveness of the process used to create them. Frankly, some begin to expire sooner than others.”

“Ok, so?”

“Are there any parts of you…any elements…that have been, shall we say, malfunctioning in recent times?”

“Malfunctioning? What? No?” Aaron felt as though he were a patient in a doctor’s office undressing for an operation that was meant for someone else.

“Do you ever have periods of time you can’t remember?”

“Hey, everyone gets drunk and blacks out now and then, it just takes less to get me to that stage—”

“Ever wake up somewhere and can’t remember how you got there?”

“Sometimes, but—”

“Find that your mind isn’t working the way it should in a particular situation?”

“Yes, but—”

“Parts of your body won’t obey you properly—”

“I have an anxiety dis—”

“And it’s been getting gradually worse as time goes on?”

“I… but…”

“Tell me, would your ‘brother’ ever—”

“Can you please stop saying brother like it’s in quotation marks?”

“Is Jaymie the sort of person who might, even just on a passing impulse…?” The man’s voice had the lull of a tired therapist leading a petulant client to a particularly obvious minor epiphany.

“Clone himself?”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah,” said Aaron miserably. “He is, but—”

“Perhaps you might want to think on it?” the man glanced at his wrist and Aaron sensed that his allotted appointment time was running out.

“Ok, do I get my one phone call, or something? So I can explain this to Jaymie?”

“He has been or will be contacted.”

“Yeah, but can I just—”

“He’ll be contacted,” the man said with finality, smiling calmly. “The situation will be stated to him with utmost clarity. Give it a business day or two. Don’t worry—we follow up with the Originals at least four times before assuming they’ve decided to forfeit clone privileges. It can be awkward and upsetting for people to speak with their Duplicates on the occasion that they don’t have the intention of registering them.”

“Come on, seriously? Can I call my sis—my other sibling?”

“Outside contact is completely off the table. It almost invariably results in an ‘I’m the Original—no I’m the Original’ sort of standoff. It can be very stressful for friends and relatives.”

“So then what if he doesn’t come get me?” Aaron asked desperately.

“As I said, we’ve just applied for an increase in funding and are in the process of implementing and promoting a sponsorship system to find homes for unwanted clones. Unfortunately, government moves slowly, and until we’ve got the kinks worked out, we have to move clones into the next phase. We get rather short on space.”

“The ‘next phase’…”

“We’re also in the process of coming up with a good word for the next phase. We have meetings scheduled all next week about what word to use.”

“Wait, do you just have the clones put down? Like a pet you can’t take care of?” Aaron tried to keep his voice steady.

“All of the pets here are well provided for until they die of natural causes. Which brings me to…” He smiled primly and beckoned over Aaron’s shoulder. A tall man had been standing right behind him without him realizing it, and his sudden movement startled Aaron. The man set on the desk a small brown-freckled cat, which immediately flopped onto its side on a pile of papers.

“This is Jane Dough—Janey, we call her!” the Director said merrily.

“Janey…” said Aaron. He stared at her in vexation.

“She’s one of our most popular Pet Therapy cats! As I said, we got an increase in funding, so it may not be as bad here as you’re expecting. Would you like to play on an Xbox while you wait?”

“…Yes please,” said Aaron dismally.

“Now, do you sleep?”

“What?” Aaron sighed in frustration. “Yes, I fucking sleep.”

“Of course you do—but it’d be another pretty good sign you’re a clone, if you didn’t, wouldn’t it? Ha ha! We’ll have a room with a bed set up for you. Snacks? I’ll assume you eat, as well. Ok, you’re not taken with the cat, I see…” He gestured to the tall man, who reached to pick up Janey.

“Leave the cat,” said Aaron. He looked more closely at the other man and recognized the Collector from the night before. He felt the oily pasta churn in his stomach.

“Ah, you’ve already met Spencer. He’s from the Collection Agency and has applied to move to the logistical side of our department. We’re about to go through some paperwork.”

Spencer gave Aaron a guilty smile, and Aaron understood he was being dismissed.

“Collections work can be demanding, I suppose” the Director continued. “Many don’t wish to stay in it for long.” He shrugged again, as though he couldn’t understand why someone might not want to hunt down clones for a living.

“I’m going to end up with PTSD in this job,” Spencer laughed self-consciously.

“Fuck you, Spencer,” said Aaron. He picked up the cat, which purred limply in his hands, cast the two men a last resentful glare, and went to find the Xbox.

***

After receiving Jo’s phone call, Jaymie and Rex found the closest police station. There Jaymie made a report which, predictably, took much longer than necessary and was so convoluted and full of lamentations, digressions and reminiscences that the officer interviewing him decided the whole thing should be audio-recorded to determine whether Jaymie himself might be responsible for his brother’s disappearance and, once that possibility was eliminated, to review later for the entertainment of himself and his fellow officers.

When he and Rex, who had not had an opportunity to speak for the entire time, returned home later in the afternoon, they found Jo draped across their porch couch, huddled under Aaron’s coat and covered in cats.

Once they were all in the warm kitchen, she produced a paper bag of bagels, saying “I went to the place down the street…I’m not good at this… I didn’t know what to do.”

“We haven’t eaten all day!” said Rex gratefully, selecting an item from the bag.

“How could I possibly consume food at a time like this?” said Jaymie desolately.

“You have to eat something,” said Rex.

“It might help keep your strength up?” tried Jo.

“No seriously,” Rex muttered to her. “He’ll have, like, a complete fucking tantrum if he doesn’t, and he’ll be useless.” Rex forced a bagel into Jaymie’s hand. “Eat it!”

“Were there signs of a struggle?” Jaymie asked Jo.

“I don’t think so.” She tried to recall what the river trail had looked like. “The bank might have been a little scuffed up…Or did I do that…?” She wished she’d looked more closely; she hadn’t been thinking straight.

“It’s like he just vanished! That murderer got him and it’s all my fault!” Jaymie wailed.

“No,” said Jo, surprising herself with her own conviction. “It wasn’t the murderer. That killer isn’t a windigo—Jaymie, you and I saw what that guy—or thing—does! It makes a big fucking horror spectacle out of its victims! It doesn’t just quietly vanish them and hide the body in the river.”

“Oh god, Aar-bear in the river!”

“No, I’m saying that didn’t happen…”

“The river is frozen, Jaymie,” Rex reminded him. “Nobody got thrown in the river.”

“Well, what do you think happened, Rex? Because I notice you’re pretty nonchalant about all this!”

“Nonchalant? I’m not—look, if I got completely distraught every time I woke up and one of you wasn’t around, I’d never get anything done!”

“Ok, but we always know where each other is,” said Jaymie. “Aar can’t go half an hour without telling me what he’s doing right then.”

“Yeah, I think you guys should get that looked at,” Rex snapped.

“There must be another explanation,” said Jo, fighting to stay calm. Jaymie’s despair was contagious. “Ok, no criticism here, but I’ve noticed that Aaron tends to get… unnerved… sometimes. And to make unusual decisions.”

“Thank you, I was trying to think of a way of phrasing that,” said Rex. “It’s true and it’s what gives me a lot of hope at the moment.”

“He always comes home, though!” said Jaymie.

“Yeah, but you guys disappear without explanation all the time—honestly, this isn’t that different.” They turned to Jo. “When I was eight we went to a festival outside the city where our mom was playing, but it was really loud and crowded and dog-friendly, and he disappeared for so long Mom thought he got abducted, but he’d just wandered off and hidden in a granary all day with his sketchpad.”

“His coat, though!” Jaymie reminded them. “It was freezing out.”

“Might he have taken it off, though, if he thought he had to move quickly, and he found it too bulky?”

“What a stupid thing to do!”

“But if he’d gotten…confused…” Rex was grasping at possibilities, and Jo felt a swell of sympathy and affection for them. She desperately wanted to believe that Rex was right. Then she remembered the envelopes she’d come across while napping in the Brzezinskis’ porch. She’d forgotten while out getting bagels.

“I know I shouldn’t change the subject, and I didn’t mean to go through your mail, and I’m not trying to make fun of something while there’s this serious thing…It’s just, I noticed…” Jo trailed off and slipped out into the porch, returning with the stack of very cold mail while the two siblings watched dubiously. “…What the hell is a ‘Clone Collection Agency?’”

“What!” Rex snorted gloomily. “I don’t know—we don’t read the mail. It’s all for our mom, or it’s retirement lifestyle magazines that haven’t clued in that our grandparents don’t live here anymore.”

“You’re a mailman who doesn’t read his mail?” Jo asked Jaymie incredulously. “Because these are all for you!”

“He looks at the heating bill, I think. You pay the heating bill, right? We have heat…” Rex stared at Jaymie, who had gone stark white, transfixed by the letters in Jo’s hands.

“Clone collection…” His brow furrowed in consternation.

Seeing his expression, Rex snatched a letter from Jo and tore it open. “…Received a number of warnings…relinquish rights to clone ownership…register and pay appropriate late fees…Duplicate will be revoked… What the actual fuck, Jaymie?”

“Oh shit… I might’ve seen the first letter…” Jaymie mumbled. “But that was, like, months ago.”

“See Duplicate Registration Offices to pay… blah blah blah please note that Office does not have access to confiscated clones nor sums of cash totalling over two hundred dollars… Jaymie, there are like six of these!”

“Ugh, clone sharks! What do they want… I have no clone,” said Jaymie dully.

“You have no clone? What are you, like a mad scientist in a sci fi movie? Like, denouncing an evil creation that betrayed you? What a fucking weird thing to say!” Rex’s voice had taken a wavery, hysterical pitch.

Jaymie didn’t answer. He tapped his fingers on the table for a moment and then jumped up, looked for his jacket, grabbed Aaron’s which was closer at hand, and said to Rex, “I’ll be back later tonight. If I’m not then I probably got murdered by that murderer out there. There are people who will take care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of,” they protested, but the door had already slammed behind him.

Rex looked at Jo, who stood helplessly, holding the rest of Jaymie’s mail. “What a lunatic,” they said, and began quietly to cry.