My Twin?

I always thought I was an only child. My parents never mentioned anything about having another kid, and I never saw any pictures or toys that suggested otherwise. But one day, when I was 15, I found out the truth.

It was a rainy Saturday, and I was bored at home. I decided to explore the attic, hoping to find some old books or games. I climbed up the ladder and pushed open the hatch. The attic was dark and dusty, and smelled like mold. I turned on the flashlight on my phone and started to look around.

I saw a pile of cardboard boxes in one corner, labeled with dates and names. I walked over and opened one of them. Inside, I found a bunch of baby clothes, toys, and books. They looked familiar, like the ones I had when I was little. But then I noticed something strange. There were two sets of everything. Two identical blue onesies, two matching teddy bears, two copies of The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

I felt a chill run down my spine. Why were there two sets of everything? Did I have a twin? Where was he? What happened to him?

I opened another box, hoping to find some answers. This one had more recent stuff, like school reports, drawings, and photos. Again, there were two sets of everything. But this time, I recognized the other kid in the photos. He looked exactly like me.

He had the same brown hair, the same green eyes, the same freckles on his nose. He wore the same clothes, had the same hobbies, went to the same school. He even had the same name: Jake.

I felt a surge of anger and confusion. Who was this kid? Why did he have my life? Why did my parents lie to me?

I grabbed one of the photos and ran downstairs. I stormed into the living room, where my parents were watching TV. I threw the photo on the coffee table and yelled at them.

"Who is this? Who is this kid who looks like me? Who is my twin?"

My parents looked at me with shock and fear. They exchanged a glance, then turned to me with pale faces.

"Jake," my mom said in a trembling voice. "We need to talk."

She took a deep breath and told me everything.

She said that when I was born, there was a complication. The doctors said that I had a rare genetic disorder that made me very sick. They said that I wouldn't live past my first birthday.

My parents were devastated. They loved me more than anything in the world, and they couldn't bear to lose me. They searched for a cure, but there was none.

Then they heard about an experimental treatment that could save me. It involved cloning me and using my twin's healthy cells to replace my defective ones. It was risky and illegal, but my parents were desperate. They agreed to do it.

They said that they paid a lot of money to a shady doctor who performed the procedure in a secret lab. He took some of my cells and created another embryo that was identical to me. He implanted it in a surrogate mother who carried it to term.

Nine months later, my twin was born. He was healthy and perfect, just like me.

The doctor took him away and kept him in a cage in his lab. He used him as a source of cells for me. Every month, he would take some of his blood, bone marrow, skin, or organs and transplant them into me.

He said that it was painless and harmless for him, but I didn't believe him. How could it be painless and harmless to be cut open and have parts of your body taken away?

He said that he didn't give him a name or treat him like a person. He said that he was just a clone, a copy, a thing.

He said that he didn't tell my parents anything about him. He said that they didn't want to know.

He said that he did this for years, until I was cured.

He said that he was going to kill him when he was done with him.

But he never got the chance.

One night, when I was 15, my twin escaped from his cage.

He killed the doctor and set fire to his lab.

He stole his clothes and his car.

He drove to our house.

He rang the doorbell.

My mom opened the door.

She saw him standing there.

She thought he was me.

She hugged him and welcomed him home.

She didn't notice the blood on his hands or the madness in his eyes.

She didn't notice me hiding behind the curtains, watching in horror.

She didn't notice him reaching for the knife in his pocket.

She didn't notice until it was too late.