… The only person who had been in my room besides them was the quiet night nurse, Elara, who my parents had abruptly dismissed two days ago, claiming she was “interfering” with my recovery.<\/p>\n
I shoved the crumpled tissue deep into my pajama pocket just as the heavy brass doorknob began to turn.<\/p>\n
“Good morning, sweetheart,” my mother\u2019s gentle, familiar voice chimed as she walked in.<\/p>\n
Panic flared in my chest, but survival instincts took over. I forced my eyes to remain unfocused, staring blankly at the wall just over her left shoulder. “Morning, Mom.”<\/p>\n
She walked up to me, her footsteps light on the hardwood floor. But as she leaned in to kiss my forehead, my breath caught in my throat, and it took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to scream.<\/p>\n
The woman standing in front of me, smelling of my mother\u2019s signature vanilla perfume, speaking with my mother\u2019s exact melodic pitch… was an absolute stranger.<\/p>\n
She had sharp, angular cheekbones, pale skin, and cold, calculating gray eyes. My real mother had warm brown skin, a round face, and deep hazel eyes. I suppressed a violent shudder as the stranger\u2019s cold lips brushed my skin.<\/p>\n
“Your father is making your favorite pancakes,” the woman said, gently taking my arm. “Let’s get you downstairs.”<\/p>\n
I let her guide me, tapping my cane rhythmically against the floorboards, my mind spinning with sheer terror. If this woman wasn’t my mother, who was downstairs?<\/p>\n
When we reached the kitchen, the scent of butter and maple syrup filled the air. “There’s my brave girl,” a booming, cheerful voice called out. My father’s voice.<\/p>\n
I turned my “blind” gaze toward the stove. The man flipping pancakes was a tall, heavily muscled stranger with a jagged scar running down his jaw. He looked absolutely nothing like my balding, gentle-faced dad.<\/p>\n
I sat at the table, forcing myself to chew, forcing myself to smile, while two impostors impersonated my family with chilling, flawless accuracy. Where were my real parents? Whose secluded villa was this? And what exactly happened during that “car accident” three months ago?<\/p>\n
After breakfast, they left me to “rest” in the sunroom. I waited until I heard the heavy deadbolt of the front door click shut. They thought I was trapped, helpless in the dark.<\/p>\n
I quietly slipped out of my chair and crept down the hall into my “father’s” locked study. The desk was covered in thick medical files and blueprints. I grabbed the top folder, my hands shaking uncontrollably.<\/p>\n
It had my name on it. But under the diagnosis, it didn’t say “car accident.”<\/p>\n
It read: Subject 42. Memory wipe successful. Artificial vocal-mimicry successful. Sight suppression failing. Prepare subject for immediate optical extraction tonight.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, a floorboard creaked loudly right behind me.<\/p>\n
“You always were too curious for your own good, sweetheart,” my fake father’s voice echoed from the doorway.<\/p>\n
I froze. I slowly turned around, dropping my gaze to the floor and staring blankly at the carpet, praying my vacant, blind expression was still convincing.<\/p>\n
He stepped closer, drawing a small, intense silver medical flashlight from his pocket. He clicked it on, bringing the blinding beam within an inch of my open, terrified eyes.<\/p>\n
“Let’s see if you’re really looking at nothing,” he whispered, his voice dropping its cheerful facade into something dark and hollow. “Or if you’re looking right at me.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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