Amy Number Seven (Replica #1)

The director was handed a file.  He opened it, examined the few pages inside, and then closed it.  "Why are you showing me this? The project was terminated twelve years ago."

"It may be reopened."

"Why? All material was destroyed in the fire."

"There is evidence that something may have survived."

The director looked up with interest.  "Something? Or someone?"

"That is what we want you to find out."

The clicking was getting louder.  The photographer was right behind her.  Amy spun around.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

"Taking pictures," the man said.  "I'm a photographer."

"Yeah, I know," Amy said.  "I saw you at the gym.  And at my school.  And--and in front of my house."

He didn't deny it.  "Like I said, I take pictures."

"But why are you taking pictures of me?"

Now his eyes shifted back and forth nervously.  "Look, little girl, I'm working.  I was hired to take pictures here."

"No, you weren't," Amy shot back.  "I just asked.  No photographer was hired for this party."

The man took a step backward.  Then, abruptly, he turned and started walking toward the exit.

"What's going on?" Eric asked in bewilderment.

"That man! He's been following me!"

"Hey, mister!" Eric called after the photographer.  "Wait!" The man started running.  Eric took off after him.

Amy tried to follow, but she couldn't run in the skates.  Frantically she tried to pull them off, but it was impossible--she had to undo the laces first.  Finally, with only her socks on, she ran out, with Tasha close behind.

They reached the street and saw Eric coming back toward them.  He had a camera in his hand.

"What happened?" Amy asked.

Eric was out of breath, but he was clearly proud of himself.  "I tackled him."

"So where is he?" Tasha asked.

"He got away.  But I got his camera! We can get the film developed and find out if he's really just taking pictures of you, Amy."

"Okay," Amy said.  "I'll go back and get my shoes.  And I need to get a Band Aid too."

"What for?" Tasha asked.

"My knee.  I fell and it's bleeding.  I can't run around with a T-shirt wrapped around my knee." She untied the T-shirt.

"It's not bleeding.  There's nothing there."

Amy looked down and caught her breath.  There was no blood on her knee.  There wasn't even a mark or a bruise.  The cut she'd received no more than ten minutes ago had completely healed.  Her head was spinning.  This wasn't natural; it wasn't normal!

In a daze, she went back to the ice rink and collected her shoes, and then she followed Eric and Tasha to a one-hour developer.  During the one-hour wait, they went into a fast-food place next door and got sodas.

"What I don't understand," Eric said, "is why a photographer would be after you.  You're not a celebrity.  And no offense, Amy, but it's not like you're tall enough to be a model."

"Maybe he's a talent scout for an ice-skating show," Tasha proposed.  "You were awfully good on the ice, Amy."

"I know," Amy said.  "And I've never ice-skated before in my life.  How did I know how to skate like that?"

Tasha shrugged.  "You could be a natural."

"No one's that natural.  All I did was watch those professional skaters, and suddenly I could do what they were doing.  Just like in gymnastics I was doing tricks I'd only seen on TV."

Eric was nodding.  "You're a pretty amazing athlete.  I remember that basket you made in the driveway.  And the way you can run."

"We make jokes about how well I see and hear," Amy went on, "but it's true, I see things and hear things that other people don't.  And at school, I read faster, I complete math problems faster .  .  ." She stopped herself and groaned.  "I sound awful, don't I? Really conceited."

"That's okay," Tasha comforted her.  "You're still my best friend, even if you are a superior human being."

Somehow Amy managed to look at Eric to see his reaction to her bragging.  He didn't appear to be particularly grossed out.  "You're different," he said.

"Yes," she said.  "I'm definitely different.  I'm never sick, I've never even had a cavity.  I think I'm more than different.  I'm--I'm not normal."

A dead silence followed this statement.  Neither of them made any attempt to deny it.

Eric looked at his watch.  "The pictures should be ready."

Back at the photo store, they were handed an envelope, which Amy tore open immediately.  Eric and Tasha gathered around her while she flipped through them rapidly.

They were all photos of Amy, all taken that week.  Amy at school, Amy in gymnastics.

"How did he get back into the gym?" Tasha wondered out loud.

Amy couldn't speak.  She was in shock, seeing herself coming out of her house, going into her house.  There was even a picture of her sitting in a classroom.  "How did he get that?" she asked.  "Nobody can get into school who doesn't belong there."

"Maybe he took them from outside, through a window, with a special lens," Eric suggested.

But there was another picture that shook Amy up even more.

"What's that?" Eric asked.

"Your birthmark," Tasha breathed.  The crescent moon was distinct and large.  "Why would he want a picture of that?"

Amy couldn't answer her.  It was another piece of the puzzle--and she had no idea where it fit.

There were no mysterious notes in her mailbox that day when she returned home.  But there was an envelope addressed to her, with a return address indicating that it came from an official department of the State of California.  She tore it open and read the official-looking, impersonal message quickly.

To Whom It May Concern:  Your request for a copy of the certificate of birth for:  Amy Candler  has been processed.  There is no record of this birth.