Part 4: The Summer House Secret
Part 4: The Summer House Secret
The SUV sped away before I could even scream for them to stop. I stood at the gate, clutching the cold iron bars, my mind racing. My parents’ summer house was a three-hour drive away, a secluded cabin on the edge of a private lake that we hadn't visited in years. My father always claimed the foundation was 'unstable' and it was too dangerous to go there. Now, the 'unstable' excuse felt like a flashing red warning sign. I didn't go back into the main house. I knew if I did, my father would find a way to stop me. He had resources. He had power.
I drove through the night, the road a blur of black asphalt and white lines. Every time a car pulled up behind me, I panicked, thinking it was my father’s security. I arrived at the lake house just as the first grey light of dawn was breaking over the water. The place looked abandoned. The wood was rotting, and the windows were boarded up. I found a heavy rock and smashed the lock on the back door, the sound echoing across the silent lake like a gunshot.
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The air inside was stale, smelling of damp earth and old secrets. I didn't have a flashlight, so I used the light from my phone, the small beam cutting through the darkness. I went straight to the center of the living room and began kicking at the rug. Beneath it, the floorboards were loose. I pried them up one by one, my fingernails bleeding, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
At first, there was nothing but dirt. But then, I hit something hard. A metal box. This one wasn't mahogany; it was an old, rusted ammunition can. I pulled it out and forced it open. Inside were hundreds of pages of medical records, but they weren't for Elise. They were for me. As I scanned the documents, the room began to spin. According to these records, Elena—the 'perfect' twin—had a degenerative brain condition that should have killed her by age ten. There were notes from doctors I’d never heard of, and then, a series of receipts. Massive, monthly payments to a private surgical clinic in Switzerland. I realized then that my 'perfect' health wasn't a miracle. It was bought. And as I turned the last page, I found a photo of Elise from five years ago. She was in a hospital bed, and she was hooked up to a machine that was pumping blood out of her and into a container labeled with my name. I wasn't the healthy twin. I was a parasite. And the worst part? I heard the floorboards creak behind me.
