Truth Will Hurt

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It was Friday the 11th of 2011. Time is money, and I ran between cars and people, pushing towards my freedom. Headphones blaring in my ears, I drowned out the noise of the city around me, accelerating my pace until suddenly, a black hooded man grabbed me by the shoulders. My soul jumped out of my body, and we both stared at each other. Not a single word escaped my sealed lips as his eyes bore into my face, his scowl making me feel small. He showed no emotion, as if he was trying to hide his identity. I could barely see his wrinkles through the LED lights of the casino that surrounded us. After a long minute, the middle-aged man walked away in silence. I looked around, the surrounding noise returning to my ears as my heart thumped as if it wanted to jump out of my body. I checked my pockets; my phone was still there, and my wallet was still in my bag. I paused on an unusual shape in my pocket, something like a small rectangular cardboard. Slowly, I took it out of my pocket, as if I were afraid a snake would jump in my face. I analyzed it; nothing extraordinary was written on it, just a square with a circle and a triangle drawn in a dark shade of red. Perplexed, I turned the card over to see the sentence "Silence is the key." My breath stopped; I looked around, suddenly alone in the empty city of NYC except for the black hooded man. I froze, unable to think straight. The only thing on my mind was "what comes next?" I crumpled the paper into a ball and threw the mystery away in the nearest bin, unaware that this paper was the beginning of an everlasting nightmare.

Friday 18th, 2011. I’m in my own world, headphones in, eyes shut. I could even feel a slight smile on my face until my brother shakes me back to reality. I’m late, we’re late. I jump out of bed and throw on the first outfit I find and head to the car. It’s nothing new; I’ve always been late which has always bothered Aaron who is the total opposite. We may be twins, but unlike clichés assume, we are not the same. People describe me as messy and disorganized while Aaron lives by a punctual schedule. Living in a Christian family with my kind of brain can be considered a challenge like for example right now. We were supposed to be at the church 10 minutes ago, but something in me told me something was wrong. It felt wrong. I thought my anxiety was just bursting out for no reason, but every mile we got closer to our destination, the more I felt that feeling. I could not tell whether my heart was beating faster or slower than usual. I tried to steady it down by breathing harder, one hand on my chest while the other was wiping my red pants as if it was trying to get the red off my pants. We were only two miles away now. My heartbeat got louder, reverberating inside my brain, almost spelling out the words “don’t go.” I seal my eyes shut trying to stop everything, trying to stop time. I was so focused on my breathing that I didn’t notice the car stopped moving and that Aaron was out of the car yelling my name. I free my head from my hands and look in his direction. A strangely similar silhouette walks behind him. A black hooded man with broad shoulders and hands stuffed in his pockets. I’ve seen him before; I am sure about that, but where? I didn’t get the time to dig back into memory before he reappeared and stood right behind Aaron just enough so that his identity wasn't revealed, but he slowly took his hand out of his pocket. He was holding something shiny and sharp, and I only realized halfway through that he was bringing it towards his neck. My reaction was too late; my yelling was useless. Blood was everywhere around his lifeless body, his eyes still wide open. Finally, I summoned the courage to dash out of the car and look around. There was nothing but blood and a single white square paper card that said 'wrong decision.'

 

The following months were nothing but grief. The silence resonated in our house. Even our dog was more silent than usual. Mom did not leave her room, even through the thick walls I could hear her sobbing. I on the other hand was feeling numb, absent, gone. My unconscious kept telling me this was all a dream and I was about to wake up and see Aaron dancing in his room like he does every morning. Days pass by and all I could think about is whether the two cards are related. I was too scared to pull out the last white card covered with Aaron's blood. I was not ready, not yet. All I was wishing for was to bring my brother back to life. I wanted to go back to normal, rush into his room and dance with him, sing with him, hug him. But something inside me told me this wasn’t the end. 

 

On Friday the 13th in 2013, the wind was blowing, and thunder was shattering the midnight sky. My mom was gone, and I was left alone with my thoughts and my spirit. Or so I thought. As I curled up in my sheets, holding onto my blanket as if my life depended on it, I heard it. I heard it for the first time: some kind of distant, high-pitched noise. It was unclear what it was. Was it the oven? Was it simply my phone? It couldn't be; the screen did not light up. My heart was starting to race as thoughts ran through my head. I tried to take a deep breath and let my eyes shut down to welcome a better feeling, but suddenly, my dog started barking with his tail between his legs. He was scared, and the feeling was real. My mind wanted to go to him and reassure him, but my body was not responding. I was shivering, quivering, and shaking, just as I did on the night Aaron died. Could it be a sign? Could it be just an allusion? I’ve been seeing him everywhere after all. I bring my shaky legs to the side of my bed, struggling to get the rest of my body to follow. I’m still holding my blanket tight. I slowly get up and drag my bare  feet across the ice cold floor leading to the hallway. Suddenly I hear it again, the atrocious sound getting louder and louder. A high pitch scream full of despair, full of fear, full of loneliness. Exactly like my scream the night of Friday 18th. My dog is now hiding under the black sofa leading to the kitchen. My eyes are starting to tear up, I cannot see straight anymore, everything is blurry and my throat is closing up. The screams are now circling me, spinning all around. I fight my way to the kitchen just like in a snowstorm. I arrive at the kitchen, out of breath, out of energy, and full of despair. The kitchen was empty, everything was normal. I slowly come back to my senses as I turn around to head back to bed when suddenly my body froze. My blanket collapses to the floor with my knees following the lead. I stopped breathing all at one when I read what was written on the marble white wall in red drippy paint. “The truth will hurt”

The weeks following the message were quiet, too quiet. The silence was so loud that my paranoia grew every day. I refused to leave my room, and my mom was perplexed. She didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t want to stress her out after the death of her precious son, my twin, my only reason to live. I had forgotten what sleep felt like, my eyes were always itchy from exhaustion, but I was terrified to close a single eyelid out of fear of seeing him again, seeing his arm around my brother’s neck, seeing the knife slitting his neck more and more, seeing the blood dripping down, feeling the pain as if I was the one being decapitated. I had to figure out what he wanted. I laid down the two cards, “silence is the key” and “wrong decision.” I stared at them as if the letters would jump out of the paper and tell me what I had to do or why he killed my brother. Why did he not kill me? Why attack the only person I truly loved more than myself? What would be his next move? Why did he keep disappearing right after? I never even heard his voice, never seen anything but his hazel green eyes through his black ski mask. Each question in my mind came like a hammer to my head. I could not think straight. All of this was too confusing for an 18-year-old mind like mine. Aaron was the best at playing detective, just like when we were kids, and Mom would prepare a hunt for clues all around the house. He would be the first one to find all the clues and assemble them together just like a puzzle. I miss him. I miss my old life. I miss the sunlight through my window, which I sealed shut with curtains. It was at that moment I realized I needed to stiffen up, to be the new Aaron, to figure this out before it was too late. I got up from my slightly lightened up table and opened the curtains, opened the windows. I had almost forgotten what New York weather felt like. A fresh breeze loosened the suffocation of my small room as I heard a group of crows cawing through the blurry sky. I could not tell whether the bad smell was from the rotten leftovers on my table or from the fact I had not showered in weeks. In the spirit of doubt, I decided to clean everything, starting with myself. For the first time in weeks, I stepped out of my room and headed to the shower. It felt so good, the soft warm water sliding over my body from head to toe. Since Aaron's death, I hadn't let out a single tear because I felt it was wrong to cry. But this shower somehow gave me back my emotions, as if it gave me permission to express myself. I instinctively let out all of my emotions, starting with sadness. I emptied out all the tears I had been holding back, collapsed to my knees, and curled up, letting the water drip over my head. I buried my face in my hands, and the tears were painful, as if acid was coming out of my bloodshot eyes.

I stayed curled up for hours, as if Aaron was holding me tightly in his arms, feeling his head lean against mine and hearing him tell me that everything was going to be alright. I could feel his breath on my forehead as he leaned in to softly kiss it with his tender, ice-cold, slightly wrinkled but still soft lips. I gently rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes, one after the other.

An hour had passed, and I woke up with a start. I looked around desperately, but he wasn't there. It was just a dream. The water in the bathtub was now ice-cold, and I was shivering. I struggled to get up, wishing I could stay in my dream forever. I looked at myself in the mirror and noticed my damp hair and red, wrinkled skin. Tear marks were visible on my cheeks as I tried to put myself back in order.

After changing into a clean outfit and tidying my room, I collapsed onto my bed from exhaustion and checked my phone, which I had locked away in my nightstand. As I turned it on, I realized how many weeks had passed. I hadn't been to school in over six weeks, and my notifications were blowing up. With all this mess, I had forgotten about my life, my studies, my friends, and especially Alicia, my best friend since preschool. She was worried sick about me, as was everyone else. They all knew about Aaron, but nobody knew about the mystery man. How could I ever tell them? They would think the trauma had made me psychotic. And would it even be safe to tell anyone?

 

Friday, April 28th, 2013, spring has returned and so have I to school. It has been a few days, but I still can't manage to shake off the paranoia in my brain. I feel as if every pair of eyes is fixated on me, blinking in unison. Everyone seems suspicious. What if the mystery man was one of them? What if he is watching me? After all, he knew where I lived; what's stopping him from knowing which school I go to? My grades are plummeting, and I can't seem to grasp what my teachers are saying, as if their lips are moving, but the sounds are not following. Every day is the same, boring and usual, but not today. Throughout the day, I have a strange feeling, again. My heartbeat is irregular, and my eyesight is dimming. This feeling intensifies at the end of class when my teacher asks me to stay behind. Professor Jones starts speaking, but his words are masked by a deafening ringing in my ears, leading to an intense migraine. I take a seat and pull out my water bottle, taking a few sips until my head starts spinning, and I collapse, blacking out instantly.

I slowly woke up to a pitch-black room, illuminated only by a small lamp a few meters away. I tried to move, but I was unsuccessful. My hands were tied to a pole, and my feet were bound together. I couldn't figure out where I was or how I got there. My last memory was of my water bottle, which I had left on the kitchen counter the night before. There was no one around, and the silence was deafening. I knew that the mystery man was behind my captivity, but a part of me wanted to believe that this was just a cruel prank. Was this the end? Was this the moment when he would finally reveal his identity?

After several minutes of shouting, I heard a door open and a man's voice singing a familiar lullaby. It was the same lullaby that my mom used to sing to us before bed - the one that we used to beg her to sing just one more time. Mom had always told us that she was the only one who knew it, apart from our dad, who had left us when we were still kids. Could the mystery man be my father? How could that be possible? How could he have killed his own son?

There he was, standing in front of me, still dressed in his black hood and ski mask. I stared intensely into his soulless eyes. He crouched down in front of me, rolling up his sleeves. He had a tattoo, a dragon's face. Dad did not have that; he hated tattoos. I remembered Mom telling me he thought tattoos were the sign of the devil. Not a single sound came out of our mouths; we were both waiting for the other to make the first move and engage in conversation.

After moments of intense staring, he pulled out a knife, the same one Aaron had around his neck. I remembered it from the drawing on the blade, some kind of fire-related symbol. He slowly got up to his feet and made his way behind me. I felt shivers running down my spine and closed my eyes, waiting for my death. When I reopened them, my hands were free, and he was back in front of me, slipping another white card into my pocket before leaving and singing the lullaby.

A few minutes later, my breath was back, and my heartbeat was steady. I consciously untaped my legs, got on my feet, and ran for my life as if he was running after me. But what for? After a few miles, I slowed down and pressed myself against a cold gravel wall and remembered the mystery man left me something in my pocket. I doubtfully brought my hand to my navy blue hoodie and brought out the white card. It was face down, and I was too scared to turn it over. I was not ready for another card; I hadn't even put the pieces together from the previous card, and I hadn't taken Aaron's body out of my mind.

After what felt like an eternity of dreadful thinking, I brought myself back to my senses and turned the card over. Something was different about this card; the writing looked rushed and scribbled, as if a fourth-grader wrote it. I struggled to read the single word on the paper. "Last chance."

I felt like I was going crazy. Everywhere I went, I felt his stare, his breath, his presence. I couldn't stand this pressure. I carried the white cards around with me everywhere, hoping they would create a shield around my soul, my loved ones, and my life. I couldn't stand a minute without looking at the cards and feeling a ticking noise inside my brain, as if a bomb countdown had started and was about to erupt in my brain. Every squint brought me closer to a detail I missed all those years. All the white cards were written in different handwriting. The first card, "Silence is the key," was written in an orderly, cursive manner, while the second card, "Wrong decision," was written in an ordered but detached manner. Throughout the cards, the handwriting got gradually sloppier.

all these quests and secrets were becoming too big to keep to myself. I was one step away from the cliff. I knew it was too dangerous to talk to someone I knew or loved. What if they were killed? What if they suffered? I came to the conclusion that the best solution was to bring this matter into the hands of professionals. I knew a therapist from a few years back. Aaron used to see her a few months before his death for a matter he never wanted to talk about. I never knew why, as we usually told each other everything. I was confused by his drastic change of attitude; his anxiety grew alongside his paranoia. I never believed in therapists, but at this right moment, I believed that this was the only way to talk everything out without making a false move. Out of spite, I walked to Aaron’s room and tried to find any contact information of this therapist. As I was looking through his drawers, I came across a sticky note in the midst of Aaron’s organized mess. It was a yellow sticky note that didn't match his color-sorted drawer. I took the sticky note out of the red section and read it: '40.706001, -73.997002.' I ran to my room, opened my computer, typed those unfamiliar numbers in my search bar, and only one result came up - an address I'd never been to: 'Brooklyn Bridge.' I folded the sticky note and added it to the pile of mysteries living in my pocket and proceeded to find the therapist's number.

 

One week had passed, and it was now 4 pm. I was already 10 minutes late to my appointment when I approached the head at the front desk, only to come face to face with a strong security man who had the same eyes and smirk as the hooded man. My breath caught in my throat, and my vision started to blur again. I hurriedly blurted out my words and rushed out of the lobby as fast as possible. Running to the elevator, I turned back only when the doors were closing to see him looking at me with a confused expression, his smirk now gone. Was I hallucinating again? I was interrupted by a ringing noise, and as the elevator doors opened, I saw that no one was around. The waiting room was blankly white, with chairs arranged in a circle. I sat down in the middle of the room, with 10 chairs on my right and 10 on my left. I brought my hands together, trying to wipe off the sweat until my name was called.

I quickly stood up and headed towards the middle-aged woman with a welcoming smile. I stumbled across a variety of unrelated words, trying to hide my knotted stomach, which was choking my heart like a cobra before devouring its prey. However, before I could finish my insignificant sentence, she stopped me and led me to her office, where she sat down and sat in front of me on an antique brown leather couch that squeaked as she sat down. She introduced herself as Doctor Jessica and handed me a glass of water.

After a few sips of ice-cold water, I managed to untighten my lips and proceeded to explain my relationship with Aaron and about the mystery man. Out of the blue, she took out a white notebook and began to write down everything I was saying about my quest. I was perplexed, wondering why she was only starting to write now. Nevertheless, I brushed it off and continued to talk until the session was over. As she accompanied me to the door, she emphasized that she wanted to see me very soon and gave me an appointment for three days later while rushing to make a phone call. 

 

From then on, every Thursday was the same. I would start off by blabbing about my brother to my therapist, who wouldn't write anything down, and then move on to talking about my worries regarding the quest until I was unable to find anything else to talk about. The mystery man hasn't appeared ever since I started seeing Dr. Jessica. I didn't want to say that observation out loud for fear that it might be an invitation for him to come back. I felt relieved and relaxed, as if it was the end of this nightmare.

 

This soothing environment did not last long. One Thursday, as I was heading out of my weekly appointment, I heard a woman whispering my name barely loud enough for me to hear, as if she did not want to be noticed by anyone else. I looked around but didn’t manage to catch where the voice was coming from until an arm reached out and dragged me into a narrow street parallel to the hospital where Dr. Jessica works. I was scared out of my mind, thinking that the mystery man was attacking me again. However, when I opened my eyes, I saw a doppelganger of myself. We were exactly the same, except she had dyed her hair red. I thought I was dreaming; all I could do was stare.

She finally let go of my arm and introduced herself as Sara. Then she followed up by saying, 'We need to get you up to speed about Aaron’s discoveries.' 'We?' I thought. 'Was she not alone?' 'What discoveries?' 'Did Aaron know her?' 'Why didn't he tell me about it?' I had so much on my mind that all I could manage was a shy 'OK.' We headed to my car, which was parked a few blocks away, and drove to a place near the Brooklyn Bridge. All of a sudden, it came back to me. The sticky note with the coordinates--that was where she was bringing me.

 

When we were a few miles away from our destination, Sara ordered me to stop the car and got out a gun from her back and put it on her belt. She looked all around before telling me that the coast was clear and that we needed to get out now. Without thinking, I jumped out of the car and put my hood up, just as Sara had told me to do. Sara was walking fast, making it hard for me to keep up. I was confused about why she had a weapon and where she was bringing me. I found my answer a few minutes later when she opened an antique, half-damaged garage door, and we were welcomed by six other doppelgangers."

 

All seven of them did not give me time to process what I was seeing before telling me that we were part of a lab experiment related to cloning. My heart dropped to my stomach as they continued to explain what Aaron had found out with a little digging. They had reason to believe that the head of the experiment, the scientists, were trying to get a hold of the original copies in order to find the clones. However, Aaron and the others were unable to discover who the original copy was or who wanted us back.

 

All of this made sense, but I wondered if they had also received white cards. I didn't want to ask. What if they hadn't? Could that mean that I was the original copy?

 

I was so excited to tell Doctor Jessica about the amazing, but horrific discovery I had made. It was as if she would be proud of me for finding my way to the answer I had been searching for, just like a mother when her child accomplishes something on their own. However, everything turned for the worst. As soon as I told Doctor Jessica everything, she started saying that I was delusional, just like my brother. I was confused because Aaron was never delusional. He was everything but delusional.

 

One phone call later, my freedom was gone. Two men dressed in white gowns injected me with something, and the next thing I knew, I was locked up in a white room. I couldn't believe it. I had been betrayed. Sara was right; no one could be trusted.

Weeks felt like months, I was being watched every minute of my stay following multiple blood tests and other lab work. I was feeling dizzy, absent, gone most of the time as if I was being drugged. I haven’t seen nor felt daylight for ages now and I felt like I was going crazy. Every now and then the silence of the hospital would break free due to someone trying to escape, yelling, shouting and crying. I knew I didn’t belong there, I was not like anyone there, I was rational and realistic. During this forced stay, I kept thinking back about what Doctor Jessica said about Aaron. The fact that he was as well delusional and seeing clones everywhere. I was back to being lost in this quest as if I was back to stage one.  

Since I’ve been locked up like an animal in a zoo, Doctor Jessica never appeared, never came to talk to me and explain why she impulsively locked me up. 

I was furious, sad and overwhelmed by questions but as the weeks went by I slowly gave up, refugeeing myself in sleep. 

It was Friday, November 9th, 2013. I had been sleeping for four weeks straight and had forgotten to eat to the point where my bones were showing. Time had become nonexistent, and my life consisted of staying in bed until a knock on the door brought me back to reality. I looked up to see Doctor Jessica finally arriving. I cleared my throat as I got up from my bed. She walked in at a slow pace and locked the door with a key that only staff members had access to. Then, she started talking, facing the window next to my bed.

"I knew this day would come," she whispered loudly enough for me to hear. She continued, "You're as smart as Aaron. It's a blessing but especially a curse." Her voice was getting louder, and she was now facing me with something in her hand. It looked like a needle. She walked closer and closer to me with a smirk on the side of her face. I tried to jump out of bed and run away, but it was useless. The fighting was futile. My eyes shut down, and I blacked out again.

When I woke up, I was lying on a dirty white marble floor in what appeared to be a standard house. The place felt familiar yet unknown at the same time. As I tried to get a closer look at my surroundings, I was brutally stopped by a glass window that separated me from reality. I tried all four corners to find a way out, but with no success. I was locked up, once again.

As I tried to break free, I heard footsteps approaching, and a silhouette appeared. It was Alicia, my best friend. I was overjoyed to see her, but she didn't seem as thrilled. She placed her hand on the glass, and I did the same. "I'm sorry, Emma, there's something I have to tell you," she mumbled, looking down at her feet. "Alicia, please help me. This crazy lady locked me up here. I think she's the reason for Aaron's death," I said in a rush, as if I felt Doctor Jessica would appear out of nowhere.

"I know. I know everything. The crazy lady is my mother. She wants all of you guys gone," she sobbed, slowly bringing her eyes into my desperate sight. Us? What did she mean by us? She knew about the clones? I wasn't crazy after all, and she knew that. Alicia looked outside and hurriedly said, "I'm sorry. I should've protected you," and ran out.

It was only a matter of time before the sound of footsteps reappeared, followed by the creaking of a door opening. I instinctively knew it wasn't Alicia; her footsteps were soft and quiet, as if she always walked on her tiptoes. These footsteps were fast and unsteady, reminding me of the footsteps of guilt and power. I knew it could only be one person. I stood by the glass window and stared at the corner of the corridor, waiting for her entrance. There she was, Dr. Jessica. I unthinkably blurted out, "You knew about us! You lied! I'm not crazy," to which she laughingly replied, "Yes, of course, just like I knew your brother wasn't." She paused, walked towards me, and stopped. Our eyes were a few inches away from each other. She continued with a grin. "You were getting too close to the truth; I had to do something about it."

Those few words sucked all the words out of my mouth, leaving me stuttering. Could she be the one behind Aaron’s death? I was too shocked to process what to say. I swallowed intensively and slowly managed to get words out of my mouth. “Why did you lock me in? Why did you kill Aaron instead?” She didn’t hesitate as she mockingly answered, “He was no use, he didn’t have what I wanted, unlike you.” Anger rose within me, and I started banging on the window glass, hoping it would shatter into pieces. Doctor Jessica stood firmly on the ground, not flinching a single bit. Then she bent down and slipped a white card under the glass wall, facing it down towards my direction. I furiously grabbed the card and read it. “You’re not alone.” I looked up, and she was gone. I looked behind me as if she was magically there. As I did so, a light illuminated followed by the same lullaby my mother sang to us, the one the mystery man mysteriously knew. Pictures were hung up against the wall. There were multiple photos; on the right-hand side, there were baby photos of six babies in a hospital that seemed familiar. On the left-hand side, there were pictures of me, the most recent one being from a month ago. All the other pictures were of people who looked like me but weren't me. They were the clones. She had been watching us all those years. But why? Was she the doctor who cloned us? Was she the one Sara was talking about?

Days went by once again in a timeless motion. All I did all day was stare at the pictures on the wall. Alicia would pay me a visit sometimes when her mother was out of the house, but she never seemed to give me any answers. I didn’t know what to feel about her. I felt anger about the betrayal; she was not my best friend; she was a spy sent by her mother. All she did was document my every move and thought to her mother. But a part of me wanted to believe she was manipulated, and that I should feel pity towards her. One day I decided to shoot my shot and started talking while she sneaked in food other than oatmeal. “Alicia, you can still do the right thing. Let me out, please,” I said. She shook her head and turned to the window. “I should go,” she said in a sigh. My hopes were weakening, my determination was fading away, and my joy of living was long gone. I headed to the plank of wood dressed by a thin cloth, acting as a bed, and lay there, waiting to die.

Friday, December 9th, a month had passed, and I was still in a fish tank waiting for nothingness. My stomach was more alive than the rest of my body. It had been three weeks since Alicia appeared, and I was worried, but at the same time, too tired and angry to care. One night, as I was rolling left and right, trying to find the right angle to fall asleep, I heard a door creaking and footsteps approaching. I stood up and tried to see anything in the darkness. A silhouette appeared, and I instinctively said, “Alicia, is that you?” A whispering voice answered me, “No time to talk. Follow my lead.” I was confused, but I did as she said. Suddenly, a glass door opened and let me free. I hurriedly followed Alicia until a breeze of air signified my freedom. The whispers continued, “You're right, you need to be free. You deserve that. I'll deal with Mother,” she said, pointing to a car. I turned in that direction and saw Sara's car waiting for me. I tightly held onto Alicia and ran to the car. She was my best friend after all.

I was now safe. It had been four weeks, and there was no sign of Dr. Jessica or Alicia. I had been living with Sara and the others in an abandoned garage, planning our escape plan out of the country. We all agreed that it was no longer safe for us to stay here. We had discovered enough to understand that no one could be trusted apart from ourselves. One Saturday, a banging noise on the garage door woke us all up. Sara rushed to the door, gun in hand, while the rest of us stared at the door like kids waiting for their parents to check for the monster under the bed. My heart dropped when I saw her. It was Alicia, and she could barely stand on her two long legs. With Sara's help, she limped her way to my bed and started painfully talking, "Mother is furious. Since you're gone, she locked me up instead." I was speechless. After a few minutes, she explained everything, starting from the starvation to the beatings to try to make her talk. It was at that moment that I knew she was more than a best friend; she was one of us and needed protection as much as we did. "We're crossing the border tomorrow. You need to come with us. You're not safe here either," I said, trying to stay calm. Before she could say anything, she collapsed on my bed in pain, one hand on her stomach. Without asking more questions I led her my bed for the night and took her with us on our journey to safety. 

We were already halfway through the border state of New York when Alicia woke up the next morning. I didn't know what to tell her when she looked around anxiously. I was starting to think I had made the wrong choice and that escaping from this was too easy. I had a weird feeling again, the same one that I had every time the mystery man appeared. I looked behind us and saw a black van following us. I asked Alicia if she recognized the van, and as my gut told me, she did. Sara took out her gun and shot the tires of the van. I asked more about the mystery man, which led me to understand that he was her uncle and worked for Doctor Jessica. Everything was related, and now everything made sense.

When we got out of sight with the van, Sara abruptly went off-road and stopped the car and looked at both Alicia and myself. “Have you ever been put on sedatives?” she asked fearfully. I slowly nodded my head, waiting for her to continue her thoughts, and Alicia mirrored my gesture. Without another word, she pulled up our hair and looked at our necks. She looked at mine first and said “clear.” When she looked at Alicia’s neck, the “clear” was replaced with a “knew it,” which we both followed up with a synchronized “what?” Sara proceeded to put her thoughts into verbal words while pulling out a knife. “You have a chip in your neck which allows tracking. It was all planned.” Alicia acted scared, but I knew she was faking. I had seen how she really looks when she is scared. She did not run away; she was sent to find us, to find out our plan.

I barely had time to yell, "She's a mole!" before she pulled out a gun and got out of the car with a grin. Moments later, her mother and the mystery man were behind her, forming a triangle with a gun in each hand. I was betrayed once again, because of my emotions and pity. I was furious and full of sadness at the same time. Doctor Jessica broke the silence. "Reunited once again, I see." I was now in the car with four of the other clones. We were defenseless and weak. My heart wanted to race, but I had been so close to death one too many times to care anymore. I raised my hands and got to my knees, accepting defeat. While going to my knees, I noticed three other clones were missing from the call, including Sara. I presumed they ran away to save themselves, as one would do in this world. I closed my eyes and tilted my head to the ground. I heard two guns loading and gunfire going off, but not towards me. When I looked up, Doctor Jessica was lying in her own bloodbath along with the mystery man. Sara was standing behind them, facing Alicia. Both of their guns were pointed at each other, and fear was coming out of Alicia, real fear. I got up from my knees and headed towards them, addressing my so-called best friend. "How many times did you help them?" I said furiously. She avoided eye contact with me, dropped her gun, and answered. "Only twice, once with the water bottle and once just now." I knew it; my theory was true. She drugged me. She is nothing but a big traitor. I looked at Sara and said, "I'm done," and walked away. Before I had time to enter the car, Alicia stopped me and said, "Emma, before I die, I think this belongs to you." She slowly grabbed something out of her pocket. Sara loaded her gun to her forehead. I raised my hand, telling her to wait. She took a step back and waited, gun still facing Alicia's forehead. I got closer to her and took what was in her hand. It was Aaron's necklace, the one he had when he died. As I held tight to it, I turned around to hide my teary eyes and got into the car without looking back. I closed my eyes and held it close to my heart while sobbing. The last bullet went off, signifying our freedom. I could now live with the grief of my brother peacefully. We drove off without saying a single word. Europe, here we come.

 

Pateikta: 15:32 Thu, 29 February 2024 by : Schabes Elisa age : 17