Chapter 7 - The Fifth ChildI stared at the photograph until the letters blurred.
Alexander Whitaker.
My name.
My birthday.
My hospital.
My mother.
But four babies.
Then the woman had said there was a fifth.
A dead child.
My father found me in the hotel lobby before I could call him.
He saw the photograph.
His face collapsed.
"You weren't supposed to find that."
"Explain."
He closed the door to the private room.
"There was a fifth baby."
Mara had been right.
One pregnancy.
Four boys.
But the records said something else.
Five births.
One dead.
Four living.
"How?"
My father sat down.
"Your mother was pregnant with twins."
"Twins?"
"One embryo split."
I didn't understand.
"The doctors believed there would be two children."
"There were five."
"No."
He looked at me.
"There were six."
I stopped breathing.
"What?"
He opened another file.
"Your mother gave birth to six infants."
My stomach turned.
"Six?"
"Two died immediately."
"Then four survived."
He nodded.
"Exactly."
I looked at the photograph.
"Who were the other two?"
"One was you."
"And the other?"
My father was silent.
"The other was your genetic twin."
"Where is he?"
"Dead."
"Where?"
"He was removed from the hospital."
"By whom?"
My father looked at me.
"Your grandfather."
I stood.
"Why?"
"Because the two of you had identical genetic markers."
"So?"
"Your grandfather thought one of you could be used as a biological control."
My blood ran cold.
"Used how?"
"For the Echo experiments."
I wanted to vomit.
My father continued.
"They needed a living subject who shared your genome."
"And he chose my twin."
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"He died when he was six months old."
Silence.
I looked down at the photograph.
Then something caught my eye.
A small notation beside the infant's name.
A.W. II
I whispered.
"Second Alexander."
My father nodded.
"Your grandfather wanted to create a perfect duplicate."
I looked at him.
"Did he?"
He didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
A noise came from the hallway.
Security shouted.
The hotel room door opened.
Mara stepped inside.
Blood on her forehead.
I ran to her.
"Where were you?"
She looked at the boys.
Then at me.
"I found him."
"Micah?"
She nodded.
"He's alive."
My heart surged.
"Where?"
Mara looked at my father.
"You tell him."
My father went white.
"No."
"Tell him."
He whispered.
"The old Whitaker research facility."
"Where?"
"Below the original family estate."
"Our old estate?"
"The one your grandfather abandoned thirty years ago."
Mara took my hand.
"There's more."
"What?"
She looked at my father.
"He isn't the only one."
"Who?"
She lowered her voice.
"There are four boys there."
My blood froze.
"I thought there were four."
"There are."
She shook her head.
"Four boys who look exactly like them."
Nobody spoke.
"Copies?"
My father stood.
"Not copies."
"Then what?"
Mara looked at me.
"Children."
My father said quietly:
"Your grandfather bred them."
I felt something inside me crack.
"Why?"
"For replacement."
I stared.
"Replacement for what?"
My father answered.
"You."
At that exact moment, my phone rang.
A video message.
I opened it.
Micah appeared on screen.
He was sitting in a white room.
Three other boys sat behind him.
Identical.
His same face.
His same eyes.
Then a door opened.
A man walked in.
He looked like me.
Exactly like me.
Same jaw.
Same eyes.
Same scar.
Same nervous gesture.
He looked into the camera.
May you like
And smiled.
"Hello, brother."
