Page 20

Dylan

W e weren’t supposed to stop.

We were heading toward a historical museum, or whatever came next on Jennifer’s charmingly chaotic tour of Millridge—but then she said, “There,” and pointed with the kind of urgency usually reserved for spotting a fire. “Pull over, Steven. I need to know what that is.”

And I saw it.

Wedged into the corner of a red brick building, like someone had installed it mid-anxiety attack or photoshopped it awkwardly into reality, there was a door. Narrow. Crooked. Painted a color that might once have been gray but had given up halfway to blue.

It didn’t look like it led anywhere. There was no depth behind it.

The brick wall ended almost immediately due to the narrow triangular nature of that portion of the building.

It was like someone had placed the building too close to the train tracks that were behind it and sliced a portion of the building off as one would remove a section of a cake. No door belonged there.

Steven slowed the car. “That’s a meme— You had one job. ”

“It’s magical,” Jennifer said. Her voice had that breathless edge that made my stomach tighten.

“That’s one word for it,” Steven muttered.

Bethany leaned over the dash, sunglasses slipping again. “Is this one of those roadside attractions? Like the world’s smallest jail cell or a portal to Target?”

I stared at it, my mouth going dry.

Jennifer exclaimed, “If it’s not, it should be. How can anyone drive past and not want to know what’s behind that?”

Not everything needs to be known.

We shouldn’t do this.

Jennifer was already halfway out of the car. “Do you think it’s unlocked?”

“This is how people get shot.” Steven groaned. “Can we not break into random buildings today?”

Pushing my feelings aside, I rushed to follow Jennifer and assess the area. It wasn’t a good neighborhood, but there weren’t many people out, and it didn’t feel particularly dangerous. Don’t be a coward, Dylan. Face the unknown—head-on, the way you always have. “Stand down, Steven. It’ll be fine.”

Bethany sprinted after Jennifer. “If we get shot, we need a cover story for my hospital. I’m too smart and have seen too many things go wrong to think this is a good idea.”

Jennifer paused and turned back toward us. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, no,” Bethany said, “I’m invested now.”

I followed them to the entrance because—I had to.

The sidewalk, cracked and uneven, tilted slightly toward the weeds. A dying bush clawed at the edge of the wall, like it had tried to reach inside once and failed.

Jennifer stood in front of it, frozen.

I came up beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Should we do this? Do we really need to know what’s behind that door? It could be anything from trash to—”

“A human corpse,” Bethany finished, then quickly added, “Oops, sorry. I told you that I’ve seen it all.”

Jennifer took a step back. “Now I’m really questioning if we should do this.”

Steven interjected, “My opinion doesn’t appear to be swaying anyone today, but I vote no ...in capital letters. N.O. Any possible benefit is far outweighed by the risk.”

Bethany waved a dramatic flourish. “Unless it leads to another dimension where we are all rich and you smile more.”

“In this hypothetical dimension, are you still able to speak?”

Her hands went to her hips. “What?”

“If not, that might be the reason I’d be smiling.”

Mouth round, she sputtered, then burst out in laughter. “Oh, buddy, you sure are rusty when it comes to flirting.”

For once he didn’t argue with her.

Jennifer’s voice rose an octave. “This was a silly idea. Sorry. Let’s go back to the car.”

Her fear was tangible and echoed what I was pushing through. I reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Knock. Even if the person who answers isn’t happy, you’re safe. We’re all here. Nothing bad will happen.”

“You sure?”

I was and I wasn’t, but this now felt like something we needed to do.

She knocked softly, then louder. No answer. “Okay. Well, we tried.”

She was right to be cautious. Although it looked more like a storage place than someone’s home, the world was a crazy place. Still, if we walked away without knowing what was behind it, wouldn’t we always wonder?

“If it’s locked, we leave,” I said with finality, then met her gaze. “Agreed?”

Eyes wide, she bit her bottom lip. “Yes. Knowing isn’t more important than our safety.”

Her words were meant to be reassuring, but they bolstered my resolve not to back down. “We try it together on three.”

“Okay.”

“One,” I said.

Steven stepped closer.

“Two.” Her hand closed over the doorknob. Mine encircled hers.

She whispered the final, “Three.”

The door creaked open like it hadn’t been touched in years, revealing a cramped, triangular space lit by a single flickering bulb that buzzed faintly overhead.

The air inside was thick with the scent of dust and old paper, a musty tang that made my nose wrinkle.

I squinted into the dimness, expecting the worst.

Instead, a wooden shelf leaned against the slanted brick wall, groaning under the weight of dozens of vinyl records.

Their faded covers peeked out like forgotten treasures—old jazz, classic rock, even some obscure bands I vaguely recognized as being from the 70s and 80s.

A rickety stool sat in the corner, holding a small, portable record player, its needle poised as if it were waiting for someone to bring it back to life.

A pair of cracked headphones dangled off the side, swaying slightly in the draft.

Taped to the shelf was a faded sign with an arrow that pointed down to a notebook beside the record player.

The sign read: Pick a record, take a spin—then leave a memory.

Jennifer let out a soft gasp, her fear melting into a wide-eyed grin. “No way is this real.”

Bethany edged past me, removing her sunglasses as she went. “A hidden record nook. I’ve heard of these. They were like geocaching. It’s dusty. I wonder if people forgot this one was here.”

Steven hovered in the entrance, arms crossed, but even he couldn’t hide the curiosity in his eyes. “This isn’t what I expected. At all.”

Bethany shot him a smile over her shoulder. “Never give up on remarkable being possible.”

I stepped inside, the floor creaking under my weight, and ran a finger along the edge of a record sleeve—Miles Davis, the cover yellowed but intact.

“It’s like a time capsule,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.

The tension in my chest started to unravel, replaced by a strange warmth.

We’d been so afraid of what might be behind this door, but this? This was... safe. Charming, even.

Jennifer pulled a record from the shelf—Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours —and held it up like a trophy. “This one’s a classic. Should we play it?”

“Let’s do it,” Bethany said, already fiddling with the record player.

She set the vinyl down, the needle scratching softly before the opening chords of “Dreams” filled the tiny space, crackling with that warm, nostalgic hum only vinyl can give.

Jennifer swayed a little to the beat, her smile brighter than I’d seen all day.

Steven finally stepped inside, shaking his head but smirking. “No one would ever believe this.”

Bethany grabbed the headphones and plopped them on Steven’s head before he could protest. “Your turn, grumpy. Pick a song, make a memory.”

He rolled his eyes but flipped through the records, pulling out an old Rolling Stones album. As he swapped the vinyl, I caught Jennifer’s eye. She mouthed, Thank you , and I felt a surge of relief. We’d faced the unknown together—and found something worth discovering.

“I was afraid of nothing,” Jennifer started laughing first, then me, then all of us—except Steven, who tried very hard not to.

“Because the unknown can be scarier than the known,” I said, the ridiculousness of it sinking in.

Her smile wavered. “Yes.”

A memory slammed back to me with a force that rocked me onto my heels. A man with my face, not my reflection. Mark. His name was Mark. He was why I was in Maplebridge. He was who I’d stayed behind to protect.

But from what?

“Are you okay?” Jennifer said urgently.

Steven tossed the headphones aside. “Get him outside.”

I stumbled out into the light and bent over, gasping for air. Not a stranger. Not a doppelg?nger. A twin. “I have a twin,” I rasped.

Jennifer placed a hand on my back. “Bethany, what’s happening?”

Bethany’s hand was around my wrist, taking my pulse. Her tone was cool and guiding. “Breathe, Dylan. Let the memories return. Don’t fight them.”

I straightened and swayed as snippets of an angry conversation returned.

I’d gone to tell him he wasn’t safe because.

.. Why can’t I remember why? He accused me of making things worse.

I could hear myself snarling at him, throwing truth bombs at him with complete disregard of how he’d receive them.

Is that who I am?

Like a movie replaying, I was standing in his driveway again, uncaring that his parents were hurting because I’d let their secret out. Mark didn’t know he was adopted.

I’m adopted.

I’ve always known it, though.

Why was I so spiteful?

The answer to that rocked through me. Because my brother had been kept from me, and I’d always felt his absence.

And my parents?

I’d cut them from my life. Walked away from them. I was angry that Mark had not only been blissfully unaware of my existence but was still living in the bubble of his parents’ love.

And, like a child smashing something he couldn’t have, I lashed out.

Shame at my actions descended. I stepped away from Jennifer. “I need some air.”

Bethany was asking me diagnostic questions I ignored. Instead, I looked at Steven and said, “I have a twin.”

Jennifer made a nervous sound from beside Bethany. “He doesn’t have a twin. Are we supposed to correct him or let him believe whatever he thinks he remembers?”

Steven cleared his throat, “Actually, he does. His name is—”

“Mark,” Dylan answered.

“Yes,” Steven confirmed.

With hands shaking near her mouth, Jennifer said, “Is that who left the stuffed elephant with the note at the hospital?”

“Yes,” Bethany said. “I don’t want to pull rank here, but Dylan, you should get back in the car and we should get you somewhere calm. This might be the crack in the dam of memories, and if it is, the side of the road in a questionable neighborhood isn’t where you should ride that out.”