Chapter 26

("So, you believe there's someone else just like him?")

("A sibling, yes, but I hear it's just a rumor. It could just be someone who looks similar. Afterall, they say that everyone has someone in the world that looks just like or similar to themselves.")

("But someone this close in distance? Not to mention they're of different genders. You don't think they got separated by mistake, do you?")

Jonathan awoke in his large bed of the Ashford Mansion. In his room, shadows clung to the walls, and he felt unsafe. He sat there, breathing heavily for a moment, then letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Everything seemed okay now.

"Dammit," he whispered. "Why do I keep having these nightmares?"

His breathing returned to normal, and he climbed out of bed, lying his feet down onto the soft carpet. He followed the long trail to Alex, his father's, room, and he stepped inside.

"I'm wondering if I should need therapy, Pops," Jonathan said.

Alex was sitting in a large, leather chair, facing away from him and staring at a burning fireplace, books piled on shelves on either side of it. Alex turned his chair around towards him. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Calling you what?"

"I wish you would call me father."

"I'll call you whatever I like," Jonathan mumbled. "I'm having these dreams," Jonathan said. "I've mentioned them before, but you never listened."

"Father doesn't want to listen to you," Alan said, entering the room. "Were you coming in here to sleep with Daddy?" mocked the younger, snobbish blonde.

"Shut up, Alfred," Jonathan said.

"Jonathan, I've told you not to call him that," Alex scorned.

"Why not?" Jonathan asked in defense. "That's what you called him in your journal, and you called me Chris. Why do we go by different names? Why does your journal name something about another sibling? A girl?"

Alex opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.

"Why don't you want me to call him by his real name, old man?" Jonathan continued. "And what's wrong with calling him that? You're the one giving me these nightmares, Pops."

Jonathan walked out of the room, and back into his. He slammed the door, frustrated with confusion.

He had found his father's journal the night before. He hadn't realized what it was until he started reading it, but once he did, he couldn't put it down. He read about how "Chris wasn't the child of his own, and he belonged to another family." He always wondered why he and Alan never did get along, and why they seemed so different. He was starting to conclude why: he was adopted. Rather, perhaps even belonged to the wrong family.

Alan had always said it was true, but he never listened to his bratty little brother. It was typical of a younger sibling to say that anyways. If anything, he said that Alan was the one who had been adopted. Even though it was played back and forth between them as a rash joke, now it seemed to be a possibility.

Alan had had a smile on his face when he entered the room. He had been proud that he annoyed his older brother, but now he was starting to wonder.

"Father," he asked, "is what he says true? Is there really another sibling?"

"It is none of your concern, Alan--"

"Or is it really Alfred, father? And whose sibling is it? Mine or his?"

Alex, who had turned his back on Alan, now looked him in the eye. "What do you mean?"

Alan smirked. "Both you and I know that he's not my brother, father. There's no use in hiding it anymore. We have no similarities. Sure, it's expected that siblings don't get along, but he and I don't even share the same traits, not the same interests. Not even one."

Alex turned away from him, and merely said, "He is sixteen. A teenager. He is just difficult. You'll accept that one day."

"Or maybe I'll accept the truth." Alan walked to the doorway. "They say there's a twin out there for someone. Someone who looks just like them. Strange how the twins of each of us, both Jonathan and I, live under one roof."

Alex said nothing.

"Maybe I'll soon see the surface of your error."

"There is no error to see, son."

"Sure, father."

Alan left his father's room, and headed upstairs for his own. Strange, he thought, that he had his own room next to a vacant room that was right next to his, and both were connected by a turning door that led into the next. Why wouldn't Jonathan occupy it?

The more he thought about it, the more he pondered if he actually did have a sister. He had just tested his father's will and defense, but recently, it seemed to crumble. Maybe he would, indeed, search the surface or his father's error, because it seemed that there was an error to investigate.