The Creation of Amy Read online

  The creation of amy

  By Jason Rockwell

  Copyright © 2018 Jason Rockwell

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Acknowledgements:

  Cover Picture: Frederic Prochasson © 123RF.com

  Thanks to Maine Robotics for some minor technical assistance.

  Special thanks to my girlfriend slash editor for turning a solid block of text into a readable book.

  Thanks also to my girlfriend’s sister who arranged the cover art.

  Chapter One

  By this time tomorrow, the doctor’s life could not ever be the same. It was Central Manhattan, late in the afternoon. The city, from the air, was bustling with activity. Summer was receding, but the weather was a breezy 73 degrees. From a mid-sized building posted with guards, a man left through the main doors. He entered its parking garage that was nearly empty since it was after hours.

  This man got into a high-end, brand new 2011 black BMW 135i, started the car, and drove out onto the street. He then fought the crushing traffic of New York City listening to the radio, which was playing Golden Earring's, “The Twilight Zone.”

  He made it to a beautiful, upscale Long Island, New York neighborhood. The BMW pulled up to a modest two-story home and the man named, Doctor Robert Morse, drove into its attached garage. He was six foot-two, with brown hair and eyes. He stayed playing air-guitar in the car until the song finished with a grand finale.

  He got out, closing the garage door with the clicker on his visor, and entered the house from the garage. When he entered his new wife of two months greeted him, who was carrying their unborn child and only one month along. He felt like whistling whenever he saw her still after all the years since they met. He had no idea what she saw in him when they started dating, still he knew that she adored him for who he was as a man. He loved her straight hair for its sweet scent and each strand was alike to finely spun wisps of silk that shimmered in a dazzling array of tiny rainbows when it caught light.

  He delighted in arriving home every day to see her delicate face gazing up at him with her glaze-of-love look in her eyes. Her eyes were blue that were ever warmly observant. He loved that she looked like a goddess yet was so approachable, and she was dependably generous with her time. She had always been his darling sweetheart; he loved her even before he knew her. Morse still could not believe that a woman like this not only existed, but also was his loving wife, and they had created new life together!

  They hugged and she said, “Hello, honey. How was work today?”

  Her name was Elizabeth, and they had known each other since college.

  “Oh, the usual,” he said with a wave as if to dismiss the day. “They have me overseeing another new, bloated government project, but I’m keeping them in line.”

  She saw that he meant this playfully knowing his mischievous shimmer in his eyes well. Elizabeth was glad they met when they had, both fumbling with the overload of information deep in their first year of college. She remembered it perfectly; he was interested in her right then—in that first instant when their eyes met and locked. She loved the way he kept his hair, and he looked quite smart judging by the large pile of thick books he was cradling. A page of his sloppy notes had caught air off the pile as he blundered with his reaction to her confident return of his gaze.

  She, (being the helpful and considerate person she still was,) snatched the page in flight from the air and then handed it to Morse with a cheerful, “Here, you dropped this.”

  He looked as if in a trance and accepted the page with a wistful, “Thanks.”

  She thought for sure that he would not ask her out, but he chased after her when they parted and suggested a dinner with him. Being impressed with his articulate charm despite that slightly awkward moment, along with his great manners and intelligent conversation, she was now curious about him and accepted his request.

  From there, they had never been apart for more than a day. They discovered how much they had in common, had great fun together, and their relationship solidified into this ideal fantasy they shared today. They seemed to be a perfect match for each other, so she knew with deep faith that this relationship was a lasting one and would not change a thing for anything. Her heart swelled with more veneration for him every day.

  He morphed into a dashingly handsome and strong man since then; she had no way to pinpoint exactly when the transformation occurred from the slender build of the college freshmen to the fantastic physique that she admired today. She had always most admired his noble attitude, proof enough for her that she could rely on him to protect her and defend her honor. He was practical and traditional with a strong moral code that she respected, making her confident in having this child with him meant he was going to not only be a great father, but would also be a great provider for them till his last breath. Every night she thanked God for all her blessings of great abundance; especially thanked Him for her wonderful husband, as well as now for their fertility and for the perfect start for their new little family.

  At 34 years old, Morse had worked hard to get the life he had doing whatever it took to make his dreams come true. Now finally was living them. A doctor of Cybernetics, he had unique talents that certain government projects needed. His work was the future of prosthetic limbs: the ability to repair or replace lost legs and arms using advanced technology. Working to help those who lost limbs in war, accidents, or even born without them to live a normal life. He had worked with the government research facility since he got his doctorate and he made a comfortable living.

  Elizabeth was a petite woman with long, golden-blonde hair. She worked with her father after college as a vice president of marketing until they were married, and she always wanted to be a mother, so her dreams were coming true as well.

  They had dinner together in a large, well-appointed dining room and talked about their day. As dusk ebbed into nighttime, you could not find two happier people in all the New York area. They retired to bed, looked over a few baby books, and narrowed down the possible baby names.

  Elizabeth laid in bed with Morse and said, “If it's a boy, let's call him Chris. What do you think?”

  “I like that name. Chris Morse has a ring to it. What if it's a girl?”

  “Bethany or Amy,” she answered. “I'm leaning toward Amy, it's a prettier name.” The couple made love and went to sleep.

  Morning came when the alarm clock began blaring the end of George Noory. Morse rolled out of bed as his wife, undisturbed by the alarm, remained asleep.

  The same routine as any other day occurred: Morse went downstairs, made extra-bold Starbucks, watched the news—especially the weather, had some of his Total cereal with milk, following a trip back upstairs for a quick shower and dress in his suit.

  He stooped over his sleeping wife, kissed her as she partially woke up and said in her cute sleepy voice, “Have a good day, sweetie.”

  “You too, dear,” he replied. “Hey, let's have spare ribs tonight, the boneless ones.”

  “I'll pick some up when I go out today.” They kissed again, and Morse made his way to his BMW. He opened the door, got in, and closed it noticing the sound and feel of its door. It felt solid and sounded clean as if it were from the future. Reveling in the new car smell of luxuriant leather from the posh interior, he deeply inhaled and spent a moment loving his life. The Alpine lit up with the turn of the ignition and began where it left off on some of his favorite songs from his iPhone; he buckled the seat belt, opened the garage door with the clicker, and backed out. As he cle
ared the driveway, he noticed a man out of his passenger window with a dark hoodie over his head, just standing there. He regarded him for a second, closed the garage door with his clicker, thought this person was out of character for this neighborhood, but pulled out of the driveway onto the road, and took off, dismissing the man’s relevance. His mind was on what he had to do at work today, a new invention involving synthetic muscle. A rubber substance impregnated with metallic filaments that, if successful, would replace damaged or missing muscle tissue with grafting.

  ✽✽✽

  The man in the dark hooded sweatshirt was indeed up to no good; fresh out of prison for petty theft and selling heroin, this man was looking for an easy payday. His name was Roger Evans, and he was out of money and itching to get high again. He had parked his old '84 Caddy just down the road and was scouting possible easy scores in this upscale, highly insured neighborhood. He noticed no one was around at this early hour, which made him certain he found the perfect mark. He swiftly walked to the front door of Morse's home, looked around one last time, and kicked in the door. Inside the house, he closed the door behind him. Evans was looking for a safe, cash, or small valuable items. He assumed no one else was home, since the other door remained closed of the two-bay garage while he watched Morse leave.

  Elizabeth came halfway down the stairs but spotted the unfamiliar hooded man in her home. He started after her still high on a combination of cocaine, heroin, and anything else he could find after he got out.

  “Hey!” he squawked. Elizabeth spun to run back up the stairs to reach the phone. Evans was not going back to prison over a trivial breaking and entering; he was finally on parole. He charged after her and caught her in the bedroom by her thick hair. She screamed spinning around, smacked him, and clawed him deep on his face and neck, which only infuriated him, so he punched her in the face. His force knocked backwards onto the bed. “Shut up, bitch! Where's your money? Where is it?”

  Elizabeth, with a bloody nose and cut lip, said, “It's in the closet. I'll get it for you. Please don't hurt me, I'm pregnant.” Evans pulled the phone cord out of the wall and smashed the cell phone.

  “Get it!” Sobbing, she went to the closet wearing a slinky robe, opened the safe, and gave him ten thousand dollars in cash. This made his eyes light up. With a gesture towards her robe, he instructed her, “Take it off.” Elizabeth, with a heave of her chest, protested.

  “Please, you have all my money. Please don't.” He struck her again, so she took off her robe, revealing nothing but lingerie.

  ✽✽✽

  Concurrently, Morse made it to the office where his longtime friend, Phillips, greeted him with a grin. His best friend from college, Phillips majored in Cybernetics as well. They began working with their team to perfect the artificial muscle; they had to determine the amount of metallic fibers required to make the unit functional, then how to graft it into a living person. They were attempting to use new techniques to graft tiny versions of synthetic muscle into rats. So far, it had not worked so well. Around noon, Director William Ford, the Chief Administrator of the prosthetics project, called Morse to his office. Morse stepped into the office and Ford bluntly informed him, “Morse, the police just called; there's a fire at your house.”

  “What?” Morse went ashen and sprinted out of the building to his car. Along the way, he attempted to call his wife's cell phone, but alarmingly, it went directly to voice mail. As he sprung into his seat, he left a hasty message. “Liz, when you get this, call me back.” With force, he pressed the red end call icon, tossed the phone to the passenger seat, started the car, and rushed to his house. When he arrived, his street was over-crowded with fire trucks and police cars, and his house roaring in a blaze. He parked and charged toward the scene.

  A cop blocked him. “Hey, buddy, that's far enough.”

  “That's my house! Where's my wife?” Morse became even further frantic realizing the cop had no idea there was someone inside. The second story of the home collapsed, exposing part of the upstairs bedroom and the bed, which created a distraction and freed Morse to get close to the home. He narrowed in and saw his wife bent over what was left of the burning bed, her corpse bloody and charred. The collapse created a momentary path through the flames to the remains of the bedroom. Overcome from what he beheld, Morse ran into the flaming wreckage and rashly sped to climb the slanted second story bedroom floor. He got to the bed and grabbed his love’s charred body. He slid down the floor, carrying her in his arms, his adrenaline so extreme her scorching flesh burning him never even registered. Behind them, the peak of the roof collapsed onto the bedroom, and the whole house crumbled in. Morse laid his wife's body on the grass near the sidewalk, while a large crowd of gawkers engulfed them. The rescue team provided a blanket to cover her body to her neck. She was barely recognizable, all black and bloody. Morse held her close, trying to contain his emotions. Her wedding band was missing, but the necklace she always wore was still around her neck, a Christian cross. As more onlookers crowded, news vans began to arrive attempting to get pictures of the disaster. The fire trucks were hosing down the two neighboring homes now.

  A cop tried to pull Morse from her lifeless body saying, “There's nothing more you can do.”

  Morse resisted vehemently, so the cop yielded, accepting it was best to let him be at least a minute or two. This exact moment of today’s crisis relived forevermore, Morse now coursed through their cherished memories. The day they met, how dazzled he was that she dared to stare at him so intently without having ever met before. She made asking her out so easy somehow. It was as if they had always known each other. No one had made his heart soar as she had before.

  He had only just left her just a few hours ago; she was safe, happy, and still groggy. He remembered the last words he told her, that he thought spare ribs would be nice tonight for dinner. If only he could have had the chance to say goodbye, to tell her how blessed he was to have her just once more before she was gone forever. Her flesh was sticking to his dress shirt, along with the odors, sounds, and crowd, Morse’s composure evaporated in an anguished scream. Lamenting, he pleaded, why this, why her. Life as he knew it was over before it really began, and it was completely out of his control.

  Chapter Two

  Morse now found himself at the police station. His head fuzzy, he felt uncertain if this was actually a vivid nightmare. A female grief counselor unsuccessfully attempted to talk to him, but he was in shock.

  “Mister Morse,” the counselor repeated, “we will find out what happened.”

  A secretary handed a detective in the distance a folder. He looked at it, and then walked over to Morse.

  “Mister Morse, would you please come this way?”

  He heaved himself up with a bewildered look etched on his face and followed the detective into an interrogation room.

  He sat down in the chair the detective indicated to and the detective asked, “Where were you from six AM to noon?”

  Morse replied, “I was at work in Manhattan.”

  “What do you do for work, Mister Morse?”

  “I'm a department head at a federal government Cybernetics facility, and that's, 'Doctor Morse'.”

  “Oh, my bad, Doctor Morse” Detective Picard amended. “I just got the preliminary arson investigation report. Seems your home was intentionally set on fire with gasoline, beginning in your upstairs bedroom.

  “Doctor Morse, were you getting along well with your wife?”

  “Of course I did! We just got married; she was pregnant with my child. Do you think I would do this? I loved her more than anyone or anything in my entire life!”

  “I'm sure that’s the case, but I need to cover all angles here. Was there anything out of place when you left for work this morning, Doctor? Was there anything unusual that stood out to you? Have you made any enemies recently?”

  “I don’t have enemies that I know of. The occasional person cuts me off, and I give them the bird, that is about it. However, there was a man sta
nding out on the sidewalk near my house as I was leaving for work. It didn’t seem like he belonged there, but I didn't really give it much thought. Oh, God, what if he did do this and why?”

  “Well, your wife was shot point-blank in the back of the head. Our forensics team is still searching the crime scene for the bullet.”

  There was a knock at the door and the detective left the room for moment, and he reentered with another file he proceeded to read.

  “What's that?”

  After another pause, “I wish I didn't have to tell you this, but your wife was also sexually assaulted; probably why he set the fire, to get rid of the DNA evidence. I am so sorry.”

  Morse’s fury erupted within, the anguish in his heart overwhelming him, and he gasped.

  The detective studied his reaction and appeared to surmise at this point that he did not kill his wife.

  “Well, Doctor Morse, you're free to go. We will keep you informed of every step of this investigation. My name’s Detective Picard; you can call me directly if you need to be informed further of our investigation.”

  “Thank you,” Morse murmured as he shook the detective's hand, “but, where am I to go?”

  He arose and exited the station.

  On the steps of the station, a host of reporters bombarded Morse with questions. Struggling with making his way through the swarm, some uniformed cops helped make a path. Since he rode to the station in a cruiser, a cop offered to take him to a relative's home.

  “No thanks. Just take me home. I’ll get my car and get a hotel room.”

  When Morse arrived at the devastation that was his home, it was getting dark and there were still police and firefighters going through the debris. He stood there for a moment, got in his car, and driving away he again began to weep.