I had to put the date I posted the new chapter in the chapter title because the app won't let me use the same chapter title twice...

Faith

I've been in the confines of this house for twelve years. That includes the time I lived with the General at the Company hangar to learn how to fly planes for the Company. I was at the hangar for a year, so I can fly planes almost as well as any pilot.

Stupid Paul won't even let me leave the house, which should be child abuse. That child abuse charge should go through with everything else they've done.

I know everything about anything, yet I know nothing. I'm twelve years old and I've never been into the outside world, just locked in this basement and slipped some stale and expired food every once in a while. I talk, I get a slap in the face.

The only freedom I get is an hour in the backyard every day so I don't die of a lack of vitamin D. It's great, because I actually can hold a decent tan, regardless of how pale my parents are.

The horrible people I live with aren't my parents, and I wouldn't wish my worst enemy to be their child. They argue over what to do with me, to give me to someone else or keep me in these nightmarish confines. They've agreed to get rid of me; I guess they're tired of slipping the bare plates under the basement door and taking care of me.

Paul and Gretchen don't let me have any friends; I don't go to school, I can't play sports, I can't even talk to anyone that walks by our house. Even though I spend an obsessive amount of hours shooting on the full size hoop downstairs, I'm still not allowed to play on teams. They're worried that I'd "make friends". I can't make friends because they're afraid I'll blow their secret.

I know everything about my parents, but my "parents" claim that I know nothing. I've spent hours on the laptop in the basement where I stay 23 hours of the day researching my parents and brother, making profiles and personalities out of what I can find. But Paul tells me more stories, and he tells them from his point of view. "They're bad people, and that's why we're keeping you safe here," he says, even though this is a complete lie. You can't really see it in his expression, but from what I've read, they're heroic, they'll go to the ends of the earth for each other. They'd probably do the same thing for me; if they knew I even existed.

There's one day soon that I'm going to get out of here and run, just run to my family, run for my life. Because my life won't be long if I don't run. I've been planning my escape for the past month, drawing it out, researching. My parents live half a mile from this wasteland, which is close enough to sprint for me. The only problem; I'm never left alone. Either Paul or Gretchen is always here, so I'll have to get past them to escape. Unless that window...

I'm measuring. The window, to see if it's big enough for me to fit through. I think they intentionally put a rose bush in front of the window to prevent me from getting out, but I just use the rope from the corner to wrap around my hand and break the branches off. I'm getting out now. I look at the clock; no one will come down for another two hours. It's now or never.

I use the duct tape that they leave in the corner and make a square with an X through it (this silences the sound of the smashing window) and prepare to break through. I slam the measuring tape into the cross of the X and the window shatters soundlessly.

I'm halfway out the window when the downstairs door opens. I've had it now, and there's nowhere to go.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The next thing I remember is sitting in a wooden chair in the middle of the concrete floor in the basement. The dumb hanging lightbulb on the also concrete ceiling is right over my head, and I reach up to turn it on when I realize that I can't move anything. My arms are tied with bungee cords around the back of the chair, and my legs are duct taped to the legs. "You know," Paul says, materializing from the shadows, "your family would be chomping on the bit and risking their lives to get you out of here; that is, if they knew you existed." I grit my teeth. I can't tell him that I know everything about them; he can't find the notebook of the profiles and information either. I bite my tongue and let him finish. "You're just like your father; blue eyed, incredibly genius. Heck of a runner, too," he says almost tauntingly. He reaches over my head and clicks the lightbulb on. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust my vision to the light, but I work up a glare of hatred at him. "And that. That too," he says, referring to my stare. He looks away, toward the window. "Smart. The duct tape trick. But see, I've seen it too many times. The rose bush, you figured that out too," he recognizes. He paces the perimeter of the small basement. I'm not scared of him; he won't kill me, I know this. He's cold blooded, but not cold enough to kill a child. That's my only hope, is that he has the decency to keep a child alive.

I've decided; tonight. That's when they don't care, they don't come down ever. The only peaceful time, I'll just have to keep planning. "Oh, and this," he says, walking toward the laptop where I hide the notebooks with everything about my family. He grabs the notebooks, and a lighter, and sets the corner on fire. I sit still, reactionless and staring right into his beady eyes. That's the only thing that hurts, the notebooks.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I wait until 2 am to make my escape. The only thing blocking me is the shards of glass from the broken window. That's an easy fix; break them off and climb through. Now I'm out, just a few cuts and scrapes from the glass and rose bush. I run for my life. There's no looking back, no I forgot this now.

I'm sprinting as fast as I can through the pitch dark streets. I've memorized the streets of the neighborhood for hours, so I could do this blindfolded if I had to. I'm at my family's front door when I start to have second thoughts. What if they don't believe me? And, the most nagging question, What if they don't want me? I knock on the door rapidly and as hard as I can. I hear a door opening inside, then quiet footsteps from down the hall. And then, standing at the door, is my father.

"Hello?" He looks wide awake, his piercing blue eyes visible even in the pitch dark night. "Can I come in? I have something to tell you," I say, nervous that at any second Paul or Gretchen will be running after me. "Sure... I guess..." he answers, unsure of me. I walk inside and find the kitchen table. "I'm not sure how to say this, but... let me put it this way. Do you see any resemblance?" I wave him over in front of the mirror that I'm standing in front of. I look pretty much like his opposite gender younger twin. "Oh my... Hold on a second," he says, retreating upstairs to what I'm assuming is wake up everyone else.

My uncle, mom, and twin brother all come down the stairs at the same time, my uncle looking like he's about to punch someone in the face, particularly me. "What-" My uncle looks like he's about to say something, but then my dad waves him over to me and then stands right beside me. "Anything familiar?" He asks, putting his arm around me, which makes me almost flinch. But I don't. This is where I'm supposed to be. "Are you sure, Michael?" Linc is surprisingly chill now, because just a few seconds ago, he looks like he was ready to fight someone. "How... Why now?" My mom- the words "mom" and "dad" still sound foreign in my mind- asks. "I'll tell you," I say shyly, and then I sit at the kitchen table tentatively. "Hi. I'm Faith Scofield, and that's about all I know right now," I'm doing it. I'm talking to my family. "I was told that if I ever got back to you, which I was also told was highly unlikely, that all I was to tell you were the names Paul and Gretchen and that would be all you needed to know. But I did some research, and I know that that's not true. You have an interesting past, and that's not what those stupid liars told me. I found out that I'm your missing... daughter. Your twin, actually," I say, acknowledging Mike. Mom and dad (should I call them that yet?) exchange a look, then take each other's hands under the table. "I never died. I've been with Kellerman and Gretchen all this time, kidnapped and not allowed outside. I lived with the General at the Company hangar for a year, learning to fly Company planes. If I didn't fly them, they'd kill me. They locked me inside, didn't care about me at all. Hence my back," I say, lifting up the back of my shirt to reveal the scars on my back. My mom gasps, probably remembering her own. "The only thing keeping me alive sometimes... was the possibility of finally meeting my family one day," I finish, waiting for everything to register. Uncle Linc looks the most confused, dad looks fine; it's happened to him before, but I'm pretty sure the scars bothered him. Mike is grinning; I'm pretty sure it's excited, but there's a part of me that wonders if it's just not being an only child anymore that's the reason for his excitement.

"I overheard a conversation that I'm sure I wasn't supposed to hear. I know what you're worried about; they're going to come after me, they'll come find me. They won't. They were going to let me go at noon today, giving me the option to stay or leave. They don't know where you live, so we're safe. I made sure of it, deleted the history from the computer and then smashed and buried the drives. They won't come because they were sick of me," I say with a small grin. "I annoyed them so bad that they were going to let me go."

"So, you're telling me, you're the twin from twelve years ago that we were told didn't make it past childbirth?" I understand dad's question, because it's the same one I had when I was old enough to understand my story. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure that it was one of Kellerman's minions posed as a nurse that took me, then put me in a specific alley beside a specific dumpster, then I've lived in that house with Kellerman and Gretchen posing as my parents since," I answer. This is an awkward topic of conversation, and I'd rather just answer questions than tell the story. "How far have you been?" Mike, from what I know, is incredibly smart, so from what I can imagine it seems right for him to want to know all the little details. "Umm... I studied this neighborhood for a couple weeks, so if I calculated right, it's about... half a mile," I reply. Mike slaps the table with his fist. "You mean to tell me that my twin sister has been living half a mile away for TWELVE years and I didn't know her?" I nod slowly, then he smiles and gets up from his chair. "Well, then, hey," he says, high-fiving me. This is how it's supposed to be. This is what the word family means.

Linc and Sara are tired, but Michael and Mike look like they could stay up for another month. Mike decides he's going to pull an all-nighter, because "it's not every day that you get a twin sister". Dad agrees and stays in the living room with us. "I can't stay in these clothes anymore, they probably put a tracker in them. I know they're not up now, so they haven't checked the location in a while. But if I wash them, it'll drown it," I say. Dad smiles and looks up from his 2 am coffee. "You are my daughter," he chuckles. It's now that I'm absolutely sure: this is home.

I change out of my clothes and dad- that doesn't sound right- Michael gives me a pair of Sara's. Mom and dad sound like a foreign word in my mind. I've never dared utter those words in my life, because that would open the gates to a smack across the face.

I'm in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that are slightly too big, but they'll work just for the night. Mike's already dead asleep on the couch, leaving Michael drinking coffee at the table. "What do you know about us?" I decide that this was the most fair question that he can ask, so I answer it honestly. "I've spent the past couple years researching and finding, but what they told me completely contradicted what I found out about you guys. Fox River, the infirmary," I emphasize infirmary, hinting at what I know about it. "The only enjoyable part of that place," Michael laughs, as if he's moved on. But his eyes darken immediately; he's trying to fake his happiness. "I... shouldn't have said anything..." That's one of the most difficult parts, and it's what I brought up first. Dumb idea.

Michael grabs my hand, gently but enough to make me look into his eyes. "Don't apologize, please. I asked you first. In our family, we have a rule: don't apologize for anything in the past, because there's nothing we can do," he reassures me. There's one thing that stands out about this sentence; he said our, as if that includes me. He sees what I'm thinking. "Yes, your family too," he confirms. He pulls me in for a hug, which I gladly accept. My shirt slipped up a slight bit, and he feels the exposed scar on my back. "Is that... did that hurt, sorry..." he trails off. "They're not fresh, they don't hurt. They're from last year. And besides, we don't apologize for the past," I repeat. It's fun to point out people's hypocrisy. He smiles at me, then I smile into his shirt, completely content and happy with my escape.

"Can I ask you one thing, though?" I look up to face Michael. "Anything," I reply. He takes a breath and asks. "How did it happen?" He's referring to the scars. I don't mind talking about it; the topic doesn't bother me after a year. "It was from Kellerman. One day, I asked about his past, and dinged a nerve there. He grabbed a piece of rope and smacked me with it a few times, leaving the scars, then tied me to a chair so tight I couldn't move for two days," I explain. He seems heartbroken, and I get it. It's the second time that he's been through this, but when I look over Michael's shoulder to see Sara standing at the corner of the stairs, smiling, I know that he'll be okay. I offer her a smile back, still hugging Michael.