Sometimes I see him when I blink. Sometimes I'll see his body lying in the shadows,just out of complete focus. Sometimes, I see him behind me in the reflection of my mirror.But I can always count on seeing him when I sleep. I see the light fading from his browneyes that glazed over. I see the blood pooling around his body. Mostly, I see his armraising as I beat him, begging me to stop. 

That night, when I got home, I showered, thinking of nothing else but Makai beingutterly amazed that I was alive and the relief he felt and the way I clobbered FrederickBronski. I tried to go to sleep after the shower. I was exhausted. I crawled under thesheets and tried to sleep, but I could see nothing but the body, lying there lifeless andlimp. So I stayed awake, trying now and then to nap, but I still see the body andhear his plea and hear his skull-splitting.

So I didn't sleep all night – the purple bags under my eyes tell me so. I add extraconcealer to the area. On the outside, I look alright – a floral dress with a white cover-upand sandals. But on the inside, I'm tearing myself apart. I don't even have the excuse of "itwas self-defence." Freddie was totally innocent and probably paid off or threatened todress and say the things he did. I bleached the crowbar around 3:00 this morning to cleanthe memory rather than hide the fact that I killed a man.

I didn't call the cops. I didn't call anyone. How would I explain myself? Where would Istart? 

"Bye," I call to my mom who cooks in the kitchen, heading out the door. 

 "Goodbye, Rey! Have a good day."

I don't respond. I forge through the doorway and into my car. I play the CD the killerleft me again, sucking up the information. 

"I told him there was nothing anyone could do..." the trembling voice says on the disc. 

"But he said no one tried. Said that someone had to be 'the type.' He's been chasing meever since. I'm able to stay at a nice home, renting a room out from Roma Copulas..." theman chuckles. "She has the sweetest little girl, always picking me flowers or offering mefood. Her name is Reyna." I cringe when the voice says my name.

 I almost think the killerhas taken over and called for me. The next part of the disc is what gets me, and rightfullyso. "But the boy is a bit protective. He's the girl's twin, I think, though they differ greatly.She's smarter and logical, while he is bolder and always looking for a laugh. Often, I hearthe parents fighting about the boy. The father doesn't want him for some reason – theproduct of an affair, I believe. But the only way that's possible is if Roma had intercoursewith two males at different times, and both sperm cells reached the egg simultaneously...I've seen it a few times in the hospital. The case of the famous 'Dallas Twins' is the samescenario as well..." There's a pause here and the door opens. "Hey, Rey," the man says.The man who killed himself, I assume. "Where's your brother?" 

And this is when I fall apart. When everything I've ever known comes into question andI start to wonder if my parents have ever told me the truth.

 My three-year-old little self replied to the suicide man: "Makai is playing out back." 

The disc stops about then. That night, the man "killed himself" and I don't think Makaiever knew. He would've told me. Makai and I are twins...the killer doesn't taunt us withfalse pretences. It makes sense that we don't remember each other. Scientifically, we don'tremember anything until we're four. It also explains the lack of childhood VCR tapes ofmy first five years of life.

If Makai and I are really related...really half-twins...then my mom cheated on dad, andMakai's dad cheated on Mrs Keanu. Is that why she always gave Makai an extraupbraiding than he needed? She must despise him and Makai has no idea why.

I reach the school parking lot, and Frederick's slot is decorated in flowers and picturesand letters. I stop right next to it. A tear falls from my cheek as I say, "I'm so sorry." I rushinside the school, and the first thing I notice is a cluster of people blocking Fred's locker,which has also been decorated.

Freddie's best friend, I don't know his name, puts a hand on a picture of the twotogether. "I don't know who did this, but I'll figure it out...and I'll make them pay." 

It was me. I killed Freddie and they found the body in the street of 4512. Policesearched phone records around the time and location of the killing. They found nothing,which means they didn't find my call to Triple-A...someone on the inside is covering me,and I'm sure it's Enzo...which means he knows that I'm involved in some way...whichmeans I'm going to have to come clean to him. Why is he helping me?

I look down the hallway and I see Aero, who looks at me like he wants to tell me he'ssorry. He looks down at my leg – the one I cut on the broken board at 4512.

That's the other thing – police looked for blood or any trace of a killer. Not THE killer...just me. Someone replaced the broken board with another rotted one. My blood wasnowhere to be found and my tire tracks washed away by night. No doubt, this was Enzo aswell.

Something registers in Aero's eyes as he looks at the cuts. He moves towards me and Iturn away on the verge of tears. I shove through the halls and shoulder past teens whodon't get creepy killer mixtapes and surprises that they have a half-twin. Lucky them

I move back out to the parking lot and find my way to my red car that has new tires. Aman, tall and lithe – slender but fit – coolly leans against my car, taking a sip of water. Hiswavy black hair is a bit long and his skin is a light bronze. He wears a black V-neck shirtand some faded jeans. He's slightly bruised and I don't quite recognize the handsomestranger until he turns to me with a charming smile and amber eyes.

He smiles even wider when he notices my confusion. 

 "I think we need to talk," he tells me, voice attractively a little raspy. "But mostly you."