[ WP ] Today , you went into the room your parents told you to never go in .

I knew it was a bad idea. Hell, it was a *terrible* idea. Mom and dad had been telling me not to go in for years. 
 
 But tonight, I had the house to myself. 
 
 I do n't remember it being off limits when I was a kid, but then, I do n't remember a lot about when I was a kid. I blame it on a shitty memory, but somehow, every time I pass that damned door on the way to my room, I get this... feeling. Something's not right about it. It's not like there's ever any noise from in there, no thudding or creaking or anything. The door is painted just like every other door in the hallway, and other than the fact that it's been locked since I was nine, it's unremarkable. But I can never shake the feeling that there's something important about it, something devastating, that I ca n't remember. 
 
 Honestly, my parents probably would have had better luck keeping me out of the damn place if they'd told me I was free to go in whenever I liked. It's been nearly ten years since they locked me out and the itch to disobey has been growing ever since. I've always been good, even if being good meant lying awake until three in the morning every night just because I could n't turn off my imagination. I'd thought of everything -- maybe it was my parent's kinky sex room, maybe my dad had a laboratory, maybe they'd kidnapped some kid and had him tied away in there. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 
 
 Tonight, I was done being good. I was nineteen, for fuck's sake, and I was tired of staring at that door and wondering. As soon as mom's silver SUV pulled out of the driveway, and I finished waving and fake-smiling, I snatched a thin screwdriver from the junk drawer and bolted up the stairs. 
 
 My heart was racing as I knelt in front of the doorknob. The brass should have been dusty, if the room really had n't been opened, but it was n't. It was n't even remotely dirty, which had to mean the doorknob got used. A lot. That only made my curiosity worse. I gritted my teeth and set in on picking the lock, thanking God that my parents never bothered to upgrade to slightly more secure doorknobs. 
 
 As soon as the lock clicked, I let out a breath I had n't realized I'd been holding. I still had time to turn back, to change my mind. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach was worse than ever. Whatever I found when I opened the door, I knew, was going to change how I looked at my mom and dad forever, for better or worse. 
 
 I opened the door. 
 
 I do n't know what I expected, but somehow, it was a let down anyway. There was a twin bed in the far corner, neatly made with a patchwork quilt and plain white pillowcase. A dresser at the foot of the bed, a desk opposite. A lamp on the nightstand next to the bed was the room's only source of light. There were no posters, no pictures, nothing... 
 
... except a person at the window. I reeled backwards, but the cry got stuck in my throat the second the person turned around. He looked just as startled, just as frightened, as I did. 
 
 He was my age, or somewhere close, and he might have been handsome once. Stringy blonde hair -- *the same shade as mine* -- hung around a pale, gaunt face. Sunken gray eyes were wide as they stared at me, and I watched the chapped, cracking lips part. The voice that came out was small, wheezing. 
 
 `` Emma?'' 
 
 *He knows my name. * I steadied myself slowly, taking a cautious step over the threshold. He backed up, pressing his back against the window, and I went still. `` Who are you?'' I asked, and he looked hurt. 
 
 `` It's me, Em,'' he whispered. He shook his head, swallowed hard. Hurt turned to anger in the gray eyes that were uncomfortably similar to mine. `` Of course you do n't remember.'' 
 
 `` Do n't -- do n't remember what?'' I took another step, and this time, he did n't move. Bony, long-fingered hands curled into fists. Tears filled the gray eyes. 
 
 `` You're my God-damned twin and you have no idea who I am,'' he growled, his voice low. He turned to the window again, pulling the thick curtains aside. He let them drop. `` I guess they're gone?'' 
 
 `` Mom -- mom and dad? Yes.'' I was starting to shake. `` What do you mean I'm your twin? I do n't have a brother.'' 
 
 `` Yeah, you do.'' He walked to the bed, a limp in his step. After rummaging under the pillow for a moment he came out with a beat-up piece of paper. `` They'd kill me if they knew I still had this.'' 
 
 He held it out to me, but I did n't move. He let out a quiet sigh. `` I wo n't hurt you,'' he said, shaking his head. `` Trust me, you've never been in less danger.'' 
 
 Slowly, warily, I took the paper from hands that I realized were shaking. It was a picture, folded and crumpled more times than I could count, but even though the image had started to fade I could see it. Kids, maybe seven, with their arms wrapped around one another. One boy, one girl, both blonde-haired and gray-eyed and dimple-cheeked. Grinning double-wide camera grins. A jolt went through me as I realized that the girl in the picture was me. 
 
 `` No.'' I dropped it and it fluttered to the carpet. `` It's not possible.'' 
 
 `` Oh, yeah, it is.'' He gave a short, bitter laugh. `` Mom and dad told you this room was off limits, right? For how long?'' 
 
 `` T-ten years.'' I swallowed past the lump in my throat. `` I never asked.'' 
 
 `` Of course not. All of the family photos, they probably started when you were about nine, right?'' 
 
 I thought for a moment. He was right -- the oldest pictures I'd seen were from around nine years old. I had no pictures from when I was a baby, or a toddler, or any of it. He shook his head, snorting. 
 
 `` They probably burned everything else. Fuckers.'' He sat down, burying his face in his hands and running them both through his hair. `` They've had me in here ever since.'' 
 
 `` But -- but that does n't make *any* sense,'' I said. Maybe I was desperate to find some way to redeem them, but the idea that my parents had kept this kid in a room for ten years was just... unbelievable. Impossible, even. He sighed. 
 
 `` No, it does n't. And yet, here I am.'' There was a bookshelf next to the desk, and he pointed at it. `` They gave me books, at least. Their version of an education.'' 
 
 `` Why -- *why* would they keep you locked in here?'' I stepped forward again and he bristled. `` I do n't understand.'' 
 
 `` Dear old mommy and daddy have some secrets,'' he said dryly. He shook his head. `` Some very illegal secrets. What does mom say she does?'' 
 
 `` She -- she works in a lab somewhere. I -- I do n't really know.'' 
 
 `` Of course you do n't. I guess dad works there, too?'' When I nodded, so did he. `` You always were the favorite. They used me as a lab rat. Still do, actually. That's why they have me here. I ca n't tell anyone, and as long as you're in the dark about it, it's not dangerous to keep me at home. The stuff they did to me could get them sent to jail for a very, very long time.'' 
 
 `` But -- you could have screamed. Shouted at somebody from the street -- why did n't you just --?'' 
 
 `` I did. Once. Daddy promptly came in and beat the shit out of me.'' He got to his feet again and pulled the curtains aside. `` It's bolted shut now. I ca n't even look out the window unless they're out of the house. If they ever see me even peeking, I get beaten again.'' 
 
 I only stared at him for a moment. It was hard to imagine my dad, tall and lanky with salt-and-pepper hair and a very stereotypical dad sense of humor, beating any kid, especially his own. I swallowed hard. `` I still do n't understand why I do n't remember having a brother.'' 
 
 `` Because mom and dad experimented on you a little, too.'' He sighed, shrugged. `` All I know is that it would mean less questions if they erased me instead of explaining that I'd died or something. Legally, I no longer exist, and mom and dad are free to keep experimenting on me as long as they like, and they do. A lot.'' 
 
 `` Well -- we can leave. Now. They're not home and I have a car, we can go to the police and --'' 
 
 `` No.'' He whirled to face me, looking panicked. `` Em, if you do anything to help me, they'll hurt you. If I'm freed, they'll know it's because of you.'' 
 
 `` What am I supposed to do? I ca n't just leave you here -- what if I called the cops? I could be anonymous.'' 
 
 He opened his mouth to answer, then froze. He whirled back to the window and ripped the curtains sideways. `` Oh, shit,'' he choked. `` Em, they're home. You got ta go.'' 
 
 `` What --? No, you ca n't just expect me to --'' 
 
 `` I mean it. Go. And do n't do *anything* that might tip them off.'' He pushed me towards the door, shaking his head. `` I do n't want you hurt. Mom and dad are dangerous, Em. As soon as you can, get the hell out of this house and do n't look back.'' 
 
 `` What about you?'' 
 
 `` I'll be fine.'' He gave me a smile that was n't even remotely reassuring. `` And now you at least know I exist. That's more than before.'' 
 
 He was already shutting the door on me. I pressed my shoulder against it, holding it open for a little longer. `` I never even got your name,'' I blurted. 
 
 `` Evan,'' he said, and shut the door in my face. 
 
 I stared at it for a moment, my heart pounding so fast I felt sick. My head was whirling -- how the hell was I supposed to act normal now? Downstairs, the front door creaked open. I heard thudding as mom and dad kicked off their shoes. 
 
 `` Emma?'' mom called up the stairs. `` The meeting got cancelled. We have food, are you hungry?'' 
 
 I swallowed, coughed. *Please do n't let my voice crack. * `` Yeah, I -- I'll be down in a minute,'' I called. I stared at the door a second longer, and bolted down the stairs.
