Izzy

By Pamela K. Keyser

David Meers, a young world-class geneticist, accepts a job on an island in the Pacific, from a rich man, Henry FitzWilliam, wanting an heir. He convinces his best friend, John, to come work on the remote island with him. David works on FitzWilliam’s special project and successfully clones a baby from approximately three thousand years ago. The child, Izzy, is a genius, but is he more than that? You, the reader, will be the judge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798885407373

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Izzy

Pamela K. Keyser

ISBN 979-8-88540-736-6 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88540-737-3 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Pamela K. Keyser

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part 2

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Part III

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Postscript

About the Author

Other Books by Pamela K. Keyser:

The Red Glass; From Abuse Hell to Living Well

Cracks in the Red Glass

Acknowledgments

A big thank you to my husband, Tim, for encouraging me and patiently listening to each piece of the book hot off the printer. To my children, Kyle and Kristi, who inspire me every day to live better. To my grandchildren, I have such hope for your future. A special thanks to grandson Tyrell J. Woods who is serving our country in the Air Force; his influence is throughout the book.

A big thank you to all the people I have asked questions of, in person, online, and by telephone. Also, a special thank you to the Eva's Heart Writing Group, who have uncomplainingly listened to every chapter I wrote. I could not have done it without you.

Thanks be to God—who loves me and has always loved me.

Part 1

Izzy Speaking

I watch the shapes wobble and bob on my ceiling, blue and white circles twist into ovals, then bend into undulating rectangles. I don't know it is water's reflection from the pool outside my second-story window. I don't know that I'm on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. All I know is that water is my first pacifier, my first illuminated crib mobile, my first toy. This light show, along with the smell of salty, humid air, is my constant companion.

I hear faint singing. As soon as the blinding light came, so did the voice. When enfolded in the sound's source, a deep base vibrates through my body. Every cell within me comes alive just hearing it. Sometimes when I'm lying skin to skin on the voice, the sound comes to me as a contented purring. The voice is my comfort.

Soon I am able to see the owner of the voice. My first love. Within a year, I'll struggle to say Da, and when I do, the face smiles, and his eyes light up, sometimes laughing, a delightful musical sound. So I say Da more. And the voice encourages these attempts until finally I ripen it from Da into Daddy. My daddy.

My daddy is as warm as my crib blanket. His face is soft and sometimes stubbly. The first time I felt the bristles I quickly withdrew my hand, and Daddy melodiously laughed. So I did it again just to hear the music. I can't get enough of my daddy. If I could crawl inside his mouth, I would. I'd sit there in the warm wet environment and ardently await the next sound to bubble up from the depths.

Eventually, I learn I am Izaiah. Daddy calls me Izaiah, Izzy, or Iz until my ears plant the word deep within my being, my heart, inside my soul like a seed. And the seed soon cracks my heart wide-open allowing this Daddy love to not only nourish and sustain me but to propagate.

Chapter 1

As David braced for landing at the private strip at London's Heathrow airport, he checked his breast pocket for the umpteenth time since receiving FitzWilliam's invitation. It was there. He didn't need it; he had it memorized.

Mr. Meers,

I have long followed your work in genetics, and I have a proposition for you that would be to our mutual benefit.

I have sent my personal jet to BWI to bring you to London to meet with me about heading up the Henry FitzWilliam Research Complex. I will expect you early Saturday morning. You will return Sunday. I believe this will be profitable for both of us. I look forward to meeting with you.

Sincerely,

Henry FitzWilliam

FitzWilliam's Boeing 787 Dreamliner touched the ground with just a little burp. David relaxed his death grip on the armrests of his leather seat. I'd never do it, but I completely understand the sentiment of kissing the ground.

As he unbuckled his seatbelt, the pilot walked toward him. Mr. Meers, please feel free to freshen up before disembarking. Customs has been expedited, your baggage has been seen to, and Mr. Cogburn waits to escort you to the limousine.

David thanked him, retrieved his toiletry kit, and headed for the spacious bathroom. He closed the door and bent his six-foot-two frame to peer into the mirror. His curly black hair was standing up on one side and waving to the other. He tamped it down with some water. Combing it would only cause it to frizz even more. His brown eyes were bloodshot, and he had a slight headache reminiscent of hangovers he'd had in college. Unconsciously, David again touched the folded piece of paper in his inside coat pocket. It doesn't help that I've hardly slept since receiving his summons. Splashing water on his face didn't help either. But the eyedrops from his kit did. He then quickly ran an electric razor over his long face.

Ready? he asked himself.

Standing taller, he answered, Ready. He opened the door, tugged on his jacket, and walked to the stairs. God, I look like hell. Hope I'm not too jet-lagged to make a good first impression.

At the bottom of the stairs stood a small man decked out in a chauffeur's livery. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. When he saw David, he walked a few steps up, asking, Do you need any assistance, sir?

David grinned lopsidedly. God, I must really look bad. No, no. Thank you.

Right. The small man who had a polished British accent couldn't quite conceal his Cockney roots. Come along then. We mustn't keep Mr. FitzWilliam waiting.

No, I don't want to keep him waiting.

Through here, sir, Mr. Cogburn said as he opened a door to a small building. When they entered the room, David could see that it adjoined an airplane hangar where men in blue uniforms were guiding the Dreamliner. The chauffeur walked straight through to the other side of the long room and indicated another door. Here we are, sir.

David raised his eyebrows at the waiting Rolls-Royce Phantom running at the curb. Mr. Cogburn opened the back passenger door, and David slid into the tan leather seats of the shiny limousine, where he came face-to-face with the author of his summons.

Henry FitzWilliam extended a meaty, well-manicured hand and shook David's. I trust your flight was enjoyable. Before David could answer, FitzWilliam rapped his knuckles on the window behind the driver. Go, he hissed.

The chauffeur's eyes pivoted to the rearview mirror as he gunned the motor and adeptly blended the car into the stream of traffic. Carefully steering the expensive automobile out of the airport congestion, Cogburn's eyes constantly flicked back and forth between the road and FitzWilliam as if trying to anticipate his employer's next demand.

David sat silently observing the rich interior of the Rolls.

Doesn't she just take the biscuit? FitzWilliam's voice purred with pride as his small eyes scanned the interior of his limo. She's a Rolls-Royce Phantom Touring III Limousine 1937 model. Of all my vehicles, she's my favorite. The man I bought her from was completely gormless. I practically stole her. He caressed the tan leather with his pale, fat fingers. Naturally, I had her refurbished top to bottom. His small gray eyes squinted a bit, making them even beadier.

Yes, it's beautiful. David studied FitzWilliam as he blathered on about his acquisition and the restoration of his beloved prize. He'd been a big man at one time, but it had all turned to paunch. His eyes were predatory and looked bigger through the thick lenses of his glasses. An edging of battle gray hair-fringed a black bowler hat. His suit was custom-made, and his shirt looked as if it had a gold thread running through it.

Come on, man. Let's get to why you brought me here. David had heard about Henry FitzWilliam Island Research Complex, of course. Everyone in science had. If he were a part of the facility, it would enable him to do the kind of research he'd always wanted to do. But there must be a catch…

David's palms dampened as he waited through the prattle for FitzWilliam to get to the meat of the matter. As soon as he'd received the letter, he'd researched FitzWilliam's background. The family millions had been made during World War II when it seemed FitzWilliam II had deftly supplied weapons to both Germany and England. When the fortune fell to this FitzWilliam, he'd manipulated it into billions by diversifying his money into real estate, the stock market, medical research, and buying companies in foreclosures, which he then reconstructed and sold at a profit.

So, Dr. Meers, what do you think of my little proposition?

David stopped himself from shivering. So now, it begins. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. Don't want to screw this up. Taking a calming breath, he answered, I think the offer is extremely generous. Of course, there are details to discuss, your expectations, and you will naturally want to know more about my experience in…

FitzWilliam cut him off in midsentence. Oh no, dear Chap, I already know everything I need to know about you. Your academic record is impeccable. The youngest student to be admitted to Yale, you won quite a prestigious award for your work in genomics and membrane protein biochemistry, and another for your research into stem cells. You're well published and well respected. Your research is cutting edge. A single man. You stuttered as a child. More at ease with your test tubes than people, you've devoted yourself to your work. But you're frustrated, aren't you, Dr. Meers? You're restricted in what you can do by those who do not know what advancements your work could bring to the world. You are hamstrung by bureaucrats, and politicians, who debate about moralistic dribble and religious platitudes. Meanwhile, your experiments gather dust in your brain.

David stared at FitzWilliam, open-mouthed. This man just filleted my existence to date!

FitzWilliam's gray eyes squinted, and his tongue flicked about on his dry mouth. He looked like a predator enjoying the discomfort of his prey.

Oh my god, no wonder he was a good foreclosure snake.

"Am I right, David?

W-well, you se-seem to know a lot about me, Mr. FitzWilliam. David felt his face redden. It was as if FitzWilliam had conjured up his childhood demon on cue. It was a tell that he'd grown out of, for the most part, unless he felt extremely nervous and/or stressed.

I didn't get where I am by being sloppy, Dr. Meers. When I set off to accomplish something, I pay great attention to the minutia… I want something from you, Dr. Meers, and I'm prepared to deliver whatever it is you want in return.

Here it comes—the string. "Yes, you-you mentioned a proposition. What is it you want me to do for you, Mr. FitzWilliam?

The gray eyes bore into his. Then in a carefully measured tone, FitzWilliam said, I want you to clone someone for me, Dr. Meers.

The words hit David like a controlled dynamite demolition. His stomach clenched, and every fiber within him tightened, seized. The breath left his body. He could only utter half a word. Whoa…

That's right, Dr. Meers. I'm prepared to pay you a dear amount, and the offer comes complete with a fully staffed, fully equipped lab facility. No interference or repercussions. Complete funding for a lifetime of research, whatever you want. Go wherever your science takes you, even into those gray areas you are so fond of.

David found control of his voice again. You are aware that cloning is illegal. Also there has never been a successful human clone to date.

FitzWilliam snorted. "Rubbish. You mean no one has ever announced the success of human cloning. I'm sure you're aware of the FitzWilliam my research facility. We've had some success with human cloning, Doctor, although we've not taken it to fruition. Most of the work has been…eliminated before completion. What the world doesn't know, David, gives us a great opportunity. Do this, and you will be the new CEO of Henry FitzWilliam research.

David evoked the only view of the island he had found on the Internet. It was a satellite image of a waxing, half-moon, shaped isle in the middle of the Pacific. In the center, there was an enormous science complex with housing on the island's north and south sides for the scientists, their families, and support personnel. No one got on the island without an invitation and an airplane; due to coral reefs, it was not accessible by boat either.

Oh my god, what I could do with state-of-the-art equipment!

Dr. Meers?

David came out of reverie. Why don't you let the scientists on your island complete this…project for you?

There have been problems. I need the best man for this job, and you are that man. This requires complete and utter secrecy. Bringing in a new CEO would change the entire atmosphere of the facility, not to mention the chain of command. You'd build the kind of environment in which my clone could be completed.

Who is it you wish to clone? You?

FitzWilliam laughed. No, Dr. Meers, nothing quite so plebian. You're aware, are you not, of my passion for antiquities? Although my collection is vast and varied, I tire of competing with the same chaps for the choicest pieces. My last acquisition is the inspiration for my request. An ancient weapon of some repute. It appears to be stained with blood. I want you to extract that blood and clone the individual. Just think, Dr. Meers, out of all the collectors and all the collections in the world, only mine will boast an antique soul.

The smile on FitzWilliam's face grew into a monstrous grimace, and his tongue flickered from side to side as if he could almost taste success.

Oh my god, the man's insane.

This must be what happens to a person who can buy anything he wants. Life loses its zest, and in that abyss new, outlandish goals and pleasures are invented. Who is this person? David asked.

That, sir, is none of your concern or anyone else's for that matter. His identity will not be revealed unless or until I decide to reveal it.

David turned away from FitzWilliam's maniacal smile and looked out the side window as the English countryside, set in winter relief, flew by. Suddenly, he wanted to escape the stifling atmosphere in the car, escape FitzWilliam's rapacious stare, and his constant boasting. His thoughts raced from one to another like the trees flitting along the motorway. He'd never been a religious man. Morals, religion, and sentiment had no place in science. Yet besides the problematic ethical problems, there was the welfare of the cloned child to consider.

He turned back to FitzWilliam. What about the child? Who will raise it and care for it?

Taken care of, my wife and I will raise the boy. Winnie has always wanted children. Alas, poor thing, she's barren. The disappointment still lives in her, so much so that she's lived her life half in her cups, medicating herself against the hurt.

Why didn't you adopt?

And have an heir not of FitzWilliam blood to inherit what my family worked so hard to build? No, I think not.

And now? David asked. This child will not be of your blood.

As a man ages, his thoughts turn to heirs, Doctor. This boy will be my heir and live like a king. David saw the large man's chest moving up and down as FitzWilliam silently laughed at some private joke. Then he gathered himself and continued. There is one more thing, Dr. Meers. If something should happen to my wife and me, I shall require you to adopt the boy and raise him. If this venture is successful, I'll rewrite my will to give half my fortune to you for his care and education. The other half would be held in trust until he reached the age of majority.

David felt his face blanch. He was only thirty-four years old, and he'd never given a thought to a relationship, much less a child. He was married to his work. Raise…a child…

FitzWilliam reached over with his weighty cold hand and patted David's arm. Don't worry, Dr. Meers. I have no intention of dying before my time. Winnie and I are in our fifties and in excellent health. You needn't fret over something that will not happen. It's just me being thorough. A precaution.

David again turned his attention to the landscape. Over on a green hillside, he noticed a flock of grazing sheep. Dolly, the first successfully cloned mammal, popped into his head, and a thousand questions followed. Didn't Dolly prematurely age? Would the clone have any traits of its donor? What if the child's immune system couldn't handle the new viruses of today? Suddenly, he felt the full weight of his journey, and his vision blurred; he felt a bit dizzy. Jet lag ate at the periphery of his nerves. He involuntarily shivered.

God, this is too much to process.

Ten silent minutes later, the Phantom turned down a long lane flanked by ancient Juniper trees. From the car, David could only see a lawn, cobblestone, and a massive fountain. As the Rolls-Royce followed a little bend, the FitzWilliam residence came into view. It was a castle with two stories showing. Foreboding.

The car had hardly stopped before Cogburn jumped to open the door nearest FitzWilliam. David slid from his seat and exited the same door to lighten the beleaguered chauffeur from having to go around and open his door also.

Wide stone steps led his gaze up to the castle.

It's been in my family since the eleventh century during the reign of William the Conqueror. It's been extensively renovated, but we've kept it as authentic as possible notwithstanding the additions of modern plumbing, heating, and the like. At one time, there was a moat, but it's long since been filled in.

David twisted around to take in the full scope of the grounds. FitzWilliam continued his verbal tour. "I own 3,500 acres. There are several gardens, forests, and ponds, well-stocked for hunting and fishing. The FitzWilliam River at the back of the property is a natural boundary.

David grinned. The FitzWilliam River? It isn't surprising he'd have a river named after him.

As David walked up the steps, the heavily carved front door appeared to swing open of its own volition. Only after passing over the threshold did he notice a butler standing duty.

Good afternoon, sir, the butler said, bowing slightly. Though not as tall as David, he had a regal bearing. Taking the suitcase from Cogburn, he shut the door and disappeared down a hallway. Straight ahead was a grand staircase of quarried stone. Two wide sets of steps led up to a spacious landing. FitzWilliam sighed as he followed David's gaze.

That is the only compromise I made to Winnie in the house. She hated the old stairs that wound around against the wall. It had no railing, and she thought it crude. These are a bit too American for my taste, but I couldn't deny her. It was the first bit of sentiment FitzWilliam had shown since their meeting.

David couldn't take his eyes off the walls. They were covered with artwork, which mingled with family shields and crests. Tapestries hung on the walls, and large vases, probably from various dynasties, including Ming, sat in niches. Some of the paintings were huge and dark.

So much art, no doubt original.

David's eyes lit upon one of the oils in the center. Is that a Rembrandt?

"Yes, David. You never cease to amaze me. I would think a man so dedicated to science would have no use for creative art. Rembrandt did this one just before painting Three Trees. Do you know it? It hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in your country.

David nodded his head in affirmation. Thank you, Mom, for making me take art history in college.

Well, FitzWilliam continued, "this one has the same trees and the crucifixion done from a different angle. I surmise he painted this one as part of his study before he ever laid a brush to Three Trees. Have a look around. There Gainsborough's, Constables, and even a William Blake. I prefer English artists, but you'll find a Matisse, Van Gogh, Degas, Picasso, and the like. There's even an Albrecht Durer in here somewhere."

David scanned the cluttered walls, having the paintings all mish-mashed together devalued them somehow.

Edward will show you to your room. I'm sure you would appreciate a nap and a bit of freshening up. Dinner is precisely at seven.

David hadn't noticed the butler's return. He had the ability to melt into the walls of the castle. Turning back to thank FitzWilliam, he realized he'd already disappeared behind another carved doorway. Half expecting to go up the staircase, he instead was led down a long hallway to the right.

Edward opened the first door on the right and bowed slightly. Your bags are unpacked. There is a small repast of scones and tea on the table in front of the fire. We thought your meal on the flight might not have been sufficient. Your bath is through that door to the left. If you need anything, just dial 11 on the telephone. Enjoy your rest.

David looked at the streamlined incongruent telephone resting on a heavily carved nightstand. FitzWilliam didn't sacrifice everything for authenticity. Convenience and luxury had its place in the castle also.

Rubbing his grainy eyes, David walked around the room. The walls were filled with antique weaponry and more art. On the opposite side of the room, there was a shadow box, and David strolled over for a closer look. There under the protective glass was a letter from Henry the VIII to Ann Boleyn. His eyes were too tired to read it, so he turned back to the bed. Rest. He needed rest; he sat down on the mattress and collapsed backward. In just a breath, fatigue won, and David fell into a dark sleep.

Chapter 2

Edward's rapping on the door woke David. Yes, he answered, pulling himself out of a black sleep.

The door opened a crack, but the butler didn't enter. It's half six, sir. Mr. and Mrs. FitzWilliam will join you in the dining hall at seven.

David's eyes opened. Half six? Which half? Before or after? He pulled himself into a sitting position and ran his hand over his face. He needed a quick shave, shower, and change of clothes. He hoped dinner wasn't a formal affair; he'd only packed casual clothes.

Hot water quickly answered David's call. Thank God for modern plumbing notwithstanding. David's stomach twisted as he recalled his earlier conversation with FitzWilliam. Letting the strong flow of water cascade over his head, he wondered if Henry would demand his answer tonight. He didn't know what it would be. I need time to process this…

Preoccupied, David dressed in a mechanical fashion. He felt like Ethics sat, whispering, on his right shoulder while Ambition murmured on his left. Each had strong cases, and neither would concede. Only the complexity of knotting his tie drove away the debate.

David made his way into the grand foyer to find Edward waiting for him. It was as if the butler had him on radar or tracked him by clairvoyance. He was like a ghost and probably the breath of discretion. Yeah, he knows where the bodies are buried, for sure…

Dr. Meers, I trust you found everything in order. Come this way, if you please.

David followed him into the dining hall. It's exactly what I'd expect a castle dining room to be…

A massive English oak table dominated the room. Against one wall was an equally impressive sideboard while the opposite wall boasted a large heavily draped window. At the far end, a stone fireplace blazed with flame, guarded on one side by a suit of armor. The walls were covered with still-life masterpieces and ancient weapons.

David wondered at his lack of reaction in the presence of precious art.

FitzWilliam's collecting bordered on obsession. He'd obtained some splendid pieces, yet David wondered if Henry's joy of new acquisition was short-lived. Like a junkie, did he need the next conquest to get his high, or is it just the power involved in owning them?

Suddenly, he stopped in midstride. Oh no, what if this child is just his latest fancy? How long before the thrill of the hunt is gone, and the boy pushed to the back of his life, shelved, just like one of these hoarded treasures. David shook his head.

After one more glance around the room, David turned his attention to the table, which was set