Alexander Winthrope preferred to do the deed himself.

I set my briefcase down upon the table but did not open it.

Alexander had two sons, two clones. Children of ten and eight years. It had been risky proceeding with the cloning when laws hadn’t even been written on the legality of the act. I thought, Alexander thought, a lot of people thought that no society would destroy a clone once they saw they were only children.

We were wrong.

Slowly, fought at every turn, laws had been passed. First, halting the process, then registering and restricting the clones already born, lastly, demanding their deaths.

“You have everything ready?” I asked.

“Yes.” The word sounded flat, dead.

“How?”

“Injection.” I knew that would be his choice.

“I took them to the zoo today.” He smiled slightly. “Joey wanted to be the lion and Mikey wanted to be a great white shark.”

I didn’t ask him what he had wanted to be, instead, I acknowledged his statement with a nod.

I had spent the day, the whole office had spent the day, looking for a loophole in the law that would save the boys. There was none. By midnight tonight either the clones were to be destroyed by a parent or given to the government for destruction.

I was here to see that the law was upheld.

“I gave them a sedative in their dinner. They had chocolate ice cream for dessert.” He took a deep breath. “Would you like to look in on them before I...I...”

I shook my head in the negative.

For a moment there was only silence. We were both aware of the time. At last, he arose, meet my eyes, then, left the room.

While he was gone, I tried not to think of the younger versions of him. I tried not to consider what he must be thinking, feeling, doing.

He returned with his back held straight and his eyes dry. I’d expected nothing less from him.

“It is done?” For legal reasons I had to ask.

He nodded and looked away.

I snapped open the briefcase, drawing forth the one page summary of the evening events.

As he perched upon the edge of his chair, he began rolling up his shirt sleeve.

“I need your signature on the second line from the bottom.”

Without glancing at my watch, I knew it was almost midnight. I would notify the morgue before the hour.

He neatly signed his name. Alexander Joseph Michael Winthrope II. His hands trembled slightly.

His eyes meet mine. He nodded once.

I reached into the briefcase and withdrew the syringe.

Afterwards, when I signed the document, my hands trembling slightly, I left the title Senior off the end of my name.