The passage beneath the farmhouse was barely wide enough for two people.
Jason went first.
I followed with Emily and the baby.
The stranger brought up the rear.
Behind us, the farmhouse door opened.
Voices echoed through the rooms.
“They're here.”
Jason whispered the words.
We kept moving.
The passage descended gradually.
The walls were concrete rather than stone.
At the bottom was a steel door.
The stranger entered a code.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
A red light appeared.
“Wrong code,” Jason whispered.
The stranger stared at the keypad.
Then he looked at me.
“Your birthday.”
I entered the date printed on my birth certificate.
The light turned green.
The door unlocked.
Jason stared.
“Your father used your identity as the password.”
We entered.
The room beyond was larger than I expected.
There were shelves of old equipment, cabinets, computers, sealed containers, and a long examination table beneath a hanging lamp.
I stopped.
“This was here the whole time?”
“Yes.”
“Under our childhood home?”
“Your father built it after the program ended.”
Jason walked toward the nearest desk.
There were photographs pinned to a board.
Our mother.
Our father.
The little girl from the old photograph.
Me.
I moved closer.
There were dozens of pictures.
Some showed me as a toddler.
Others showed Jason.
Several showed both of us together.
But the dates were wrong.
I touched one.
“That was before we supposedly met.”
Jason stared.
“So he kept records.”
The stranger nodded.
“Your father never stopped monitoring you.”
“Why?”
“To make sure the program had failed.”
I turned.
“Failed?”
He pointed toward the photographs.
“You were supposed to develop a specific response to the genetic sequence.”
“And I didn't.”
“No.”
“That's why they lost interest.”
“They thought they did.”
I looked at the baby.
“And now?”
“Now they know they were wrong.”
Emily moved toward the examination table.
There were old medical instruments arranged beside it.
She looked sick.
“What happened here?”
The stranger answered quietly.
“Some of the original experiments.”
I felt anger rise.
“On children?”
“Not here.”
“But they brought them here.”
“Yes.”
Jason slammed his hand onto the desk.
“Who?”
The stranger pointed toward a locked cabinet.
“Your father kept copies of the original records.”
Jason opened it.
Inside were tapes.
Hundreds of them.
Each was labeled with a date and subject number.
He picked one up.
Subject 12.
My breath caught.
“Play it.”
The stranger hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He found an old machine.
The tape clicked into place.
Static filled the room.
Then a man's voice.
Our father.
He sounded younger.
“Subject 12 has completed the first developmental phase. No adverse response observed.”
I closed my eyes.
Another voice followed.
A woman.
My mother.
“She's a child.”
Dad answered.
“She is our daughter.”
The woman's voice became firmer.
“She is not your experiment.”
A pause.
Then Dad said, “If we stop now, they will take her.”
My mother answered immediately.
“Then we run.”
The tape crackled.
I opened my eyes.
My mother had known.
She had fought.
She had tried to protect me.
The recording continued.
“We have another embryo,” Dad said.
My mother's voice went quiet.
“No.”
“It may be the only way.”
“No.”
“He can protect her.”
“You mean you want to create another child as camouflage.”
Silence.
Then my father's voice.
“He'll be our son.”
My mother began crying.
“He deserves to be more than that.”
I looked at Jason.
His face was wet with tears.
The tape continued.
“We won't tell either of them.”
My mother whispered, “Promise me they'll never know.”
My father said nothing.
The recording ended.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Jason turned away.
“I was the cover.”
I stepped toward him.
“You were my brother.”
“But Dad planned it.”
“That doesn't erase what you became.”
He wiped his face.
“I know.”
Emily held the baby.
“She would have wanted you to know that.”
Jason looked at her.
Then at the child.
The baby was sleeping again.
The stranger removed another tape.
“This one explains why the researchers never stopped looking.”
He played it.
Our father's voice returned.
“Subject 12 developed normally after the sequence was introduced. However, there is one unexpected development.”
A pause.
“The marker appears to respond to a second compatible sequence.”
Jason looked at me.
The recording continued.
“If Subject 13 is introduced later, the marker may become dormant.”
The stranger stopped the tape.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because the next section is about the baby.”
Jason stared at him.
“Play it.”
He did.
Our father's voice sounded strained.
“The second sequence has been introduced.”
I felt my heart pound.
“Subject 13 is stable.”
Then another voice.
A scientist.
“Can the two subjects reproduce the desired sequence naturally?”
My father's answer was immediate.
“No.”
“Then the project ends.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe the sequence can continue through their descendants.”
The room went silent.
I looked at the baby.
Jason whispered, “Our descendants.”
The recording continued.
“If Subject 12 and Subject 13 ever have children with compatible partners, the marker may reappear.”
I felt sick.
My pregnancy had not been random.
The embryo had been created deliberately.
But something still didn't make sense.
I turned to the stranger.
“Who was the father?”
He looked away.
“Answer me.”
“I don't know.”
“Then why did you bring us here?”
“Because your father did.”
“What?”
The stranger pointed toward the final tape.
A label had been written across it.
PLAY ONLY IF SUBJECT 13 RETURNS.
Jason stared.
“That's me.”
The stranger nodded.
Jason pressed play.
Our father's voice filled the room.
“If you're hearing this, then I've failed to keep you away from the program.”
Jason's face tightened.
“I need you to understand something. Your sister was never the experiment they believed she was. She was the first child to survive the process without losing her identity.”
I stared at the machine.
Our father's voice continued.
“They will call her Subject 12. They will call you Subject 13. Those numbers are lies.”
Jason whispered, “Then what are we?”
The recording answered.
“You are my children.”
I began crying.
The tape continued.
“If they ever create another child from your combined genetic material, they will believe they have completed Project Eden.”
A pause.
“But they will be wrong.”
The stranger leaned closer.
Our father's next words were barely audible.
“The child will carry something neither program understands.”
The tape stopped.
Jason stared at the machine.
“What does that mean?”
The stranger shook his head.
“I don't know.”
A loud metallic crash came from above.
Someone had found the passage.
Emily pulled the baby close.
Jason stood.
“We need to go.”
The stranger nodded.
But before he could move, another sound came from the far wall.
A quiet electronic beep.
Everyone turned.
One of the old monitors had switched on by itself.
A message appeared on the screen.
SUBJECT 14 CONFIRMED.
Then another line appeared.
GENETIC MATCH: 100%.
Jason looked at me.
I looked at the baby.
Neither of us spoke.
The stranger stepped toward the screen.
His face went completely white.
“That's impossible.”
“What?”
He pointed.
A final line appeared.
SUBJECT 14 IS NOT THE CHILD IN YOUR ARMS.
The room seemed to stop breathing.
Emily stared at him.
“Then who is Subject 14?”
The screen went black.
And somewhere behind the wall, a lock clicked open.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The Hidden Door Opened Into a Room No One Had Mentioned, and What We Found There Explained Why My Father Feared the Number Fourteen
My Twin Brother Had Waited Years for This Child, Yet the First Thing He Saw After Her Birth Made Him Step Away
Part 8 of 20
