inside of my lip until I tasted blood to keep from screaming out loud.
‘Megan is completely unprimed,’ Dr. Vance warned, lowering her voice. ‘She thinks she is here for a weekend spa package. If you put her on the surgical table tomorrow without her consent, you risk massive legal exposure if her fiancé starts asking questions.’
‘David won’t be asking questions,’ my mother replied, her tone dripping with venomous confidence. ‘His car GPS will record him crossing into Canada tomorrow afternoon for an unexpected business meeting, thanks to an email Jonathan sent from his spoofed firm account. As for Megan, we will handle her exactly as we handled Corinne. A sudden, tragic medical complication during routine sedation. By the time anyone questions it, the marrow and kidney will be integrated into my system, and Megan will be permanently resting right beside her sister in this facility.’
I couldn't breathe. Every memory of my childhood, every Sunday dinner, every tear my parents shed at Corinne's funeral was instantly revealed as a grotesque, sociopathic lie. My mother had been suffering from a fatal genetic autoimmune disease for nearly a decade. Rather than wait on the national donor registry where compatible organs could take seven years to find, my parents had viewed their identical twin daughters as nothing more than an exclusive, private biological spare-parts warehouse.
They had staged Corinne's car
crash two years ago using an unidentified Jane Doe body purchased through an offshore medical syndicate, forged the coroner's death certificate through my father's hospital connections, and locked Corinne in this clandestine clinic to harvest her tissue in secret.
And now that Corinne's body was collapsing from repeated organ removals, they had lured me here to take her place.
I waited in the dark alcove, shivering uncontrollably, holding my breath until Dr. Vance and my mother exited the corridor and the heavy magnetic fire doors slammed shut. As soon as the electronic lock beeped, I crept out from behind the cabinet.
I didn't run for the exit. I couldn't leave Corinne.
I rushed into the observation room and pressed the emergency manual override switch on the cubicle door. The glass slid open with a soft hiss. I ran to Corinne's bedside and grabbed her limp, trembling hand. ‘Corinne,’ I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks. ‘Corinne, wake up. It’s Megan. I’m here.’
Her eyelids fluttered weakly. Her pupils were dilated from heavy sedatives, but as her gaze focused on my face, a sudden spark of terrified recognition ignited in her eyes. ‘Megan...’ she rasped, her voice dry and cracked. ‘You... you have to get out... they brought you here for your blood...’
‘I’m not leaving without you,’ I sobbed, pulling the adhesive telemetry leads from her chest and carefully clamping
her IV line. ‘Can you stand? Can you walk at all?’
‘My legs... they’re numb from the spinal block,’ she breathed, gripping my forearm with surprising strength. ‘In the desk drawer... Dr. Vance’s master security keycard and the vehicle gate fobs... take them...’
I sprinted to the nursing station desk, wrenched open the center drawer, and found a heavy leather key ring holding three electronic RFID fobs and a set of emergency exit keys. Beside the keys was a manila folder labeled 'STERLING PROTOCOL - PHENOTYPE HARVEST ARCHIVE.' I shoved the folder inside my cardigan—it contained the forged death certificates, the Cayman Island offshore wire transfers, and the surgical harvest logs.
I wheeled a transport wheelchair from the corner of the room, gently lifted Corinne’s frail, eighty-pound body into the seat, and wrapped her in three warm hospital blankets. I checked the hallway monitor: the corridor was clear.
I pushed Corinne down the back service corridor toward the basement loading dock, using Dr. Vance’s master keycard to bypass two electronic fire barriers. The cold night air hit us as we reached the exterior concrete ramp behind the facility’s commercial laundry bay.
Parked near the generator enclosure was a clinic transport van with the keys sitting in the ignition console. I hoisted Corinne into the front passenger seat, secured her seatbelt, and jumped behind the steering wheel. I slammed the door,