After Bringing Home My Sister, Comments Said She Died

After I made it as an entrepreneur, I finally found the younger sister I'd lost fifteen years ago.

When I went to bring her home, she was in the back of a diner, washing dishes, her hands soaked pale.

I told her who I was, brought her back to my downtown penthouse, and stroked her hair as I said,

You've got a big sister now. I'll never let you suffer again. I'll give you the best of everything in the world.

The words had barely left my mouth when a few lines of text drifted across my vision,

"Wake up. She's not your sister. She's the one who killed your sister!"

"She found out you'd struck it rich, so she stole your sister's identity to live the good life."

"Your real sister's body is buried under the crooked pine tree on the hill behind the orphanage."

"She doesn't just want to take your sister's place. She wants to kill you and seize everything you own!"

I stared at those lines, frozen for a full half minute.

But the girl in front of me wore a hoodie washed nearly white, and her face was Leila's, down to the last detail, exactly as I remembered.

If this wasn't my sister, who was she?

She tugged timidly at my sleeve and said in a small voice,

"Sis? What's wrong?"

I shook my head.

When I looked again, the words were gone.

I told myself it was probably a hallucination, from a solid week of no sleep hunting for her.

I pushed down the strange feeling and pinched her cheek with a smile.

"Nothing. Come on, let's go home."

I took her to buy new clothes and a new phone, and cleared out the sunny master bedroom for her.

At dinner, she cupped her bowl in both hands, tears welling in her eyes.

"Sis, I never even dared to dream I'd get to live like this."

"Thank you. I've never had a room this nice in my whole life"

My chest ached, and just as I was about to comfort her, another line flickered past.

"Don't fall for it! She's acting! The real Leila is already dead, she shoved her off the hill!"

My chopsticks stopped.

That was when I knew for sure this wasn't a hallucination.

Because the next second, the text came flooding in, dense and unbroken.

"Your sister has a crescent-shaped burn scar on the inside of her left arm! She got it as a kid when she knocked over a kettle of boiling water!"

"Hurry, pull up her sleeve and look, this is killing me!"

My fingertips went cold, and I lifted my eyes to Leila across the table.

She had her head down, eating, the picture of a sweet, well-behaved girl.

Fifteen years apart, and my memory of Leila was still stuck at the year she turned five.

That scar the messages mentioned, I'd watched her get it with my own eyes.

Because I was afraid our parents would blame me for not looking after her, I'd never told a soul.

The next morning, I carried a hot latte past her.

I let my foot slip on purpose, and the whole cup splashed square across her arm.

"Ah!"

She cried out from the pain.

I scrambled to blot it with napkins.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry, I was thinking about work and got distracted, I didn't see you."

"Take your jacket off, quick, I'll get you some ointment."

She bit her lip and pulled off the hoodie.

And there, on the inside of her left arm, was a crescent-shaped, pale brown scar.

The place, the shape, all of it matched my memory exactly.

Only the color was a good deal fainter.

I froze on the spot.

The text exploded.

"Holy crap! She actually made herself an identical one?!"

"This woman is ruthless, she'd burn her own arm for money!"

"Don't panic! A birthmark can be faked, DNA can't! Get her hair and run a test!"

I looked at that scar, my mind a tangled mess.

Fifteen years. A scar fading in color was perfectly normal.

But the messages were so vivid and specific I couldn't ignore them.

Leila was the only family I had left in this world.

Even if there was a one-in-ten-thousand chance, I had to find out the truth.

That afternoon, the clothes she changed out of after her shower landed in the laundry basket.

I plucked two long hairs from the collar, then pulled one of my own.

I sealed them together in a bag and drove them over to my assistant.

"Take this to get a DNA test done for me. Rush it. I need it fast."

I watched the assistant leave, and when I turned back the bullet-screen was going wild in front of my eyes.

"She can see us!"

"There's hope for her now! Someone can finally hear us!"

"Throw her out, quick! Once she has your fortune it'll be too late! She's going to kill you!"

I pressed my fingers to my brow and got out of the car for some cold air.

Under my breath I called myself ridiculous.

They were just a few strange floating shadows. How had I let myself take them seriously?

What if it was all a hallucination from too much stress?

But then again, the bullet-screen knew about Leila's birthmark.

I couldn't gamble with my own life.

The test results would take a few days.

While I waited, I went to work and came home as usual, buying her all sorts of things.

On the surface I gave nothing away, but underneath I never stopped watching.

The way she talked, the foods she liked.

Even the little way she frowned matched the Leila in my memory exactly.

More and more I felt I was the one losing my mind.

But as the days went by, the bullet-screen's warnings grew more and more urgent.

I couldn't keep waiting in peace.

On the third night, I told her the company needed me for overtime, that I might be out all night.

She nodded obediently. "Take care of yourself, sis. Don't wear yourself out."

I drove off and set the navigation straight for the orphanage from all those years ago.

The whole way, the bullet-screen kept guiding me:

"Yes! Go to the hill behind it! Under the crooked pine!"

"Out the back gate of the orphanage, go left two hundred meters and you'll see the tree!"

"A little farther in! Don't let the old gatekeeper spot you!"

Following the bullet-screen, I circled around to the hill behind the orphanage.

Sure enough, there stood an old crooked pine, standing alone in the tall weeds.

The night was deep, and the wind pushed through the trees with a low moaning sound that made my skin crawl.

I took the newly bought shovel out of the trunk.

Following the spot the bullet-screen gave me, I dug down one shovelful at a time.

"Half a meter more to the left! Yes! Right there!"

"Dig down! About a meter deep and you'll see the bones!"

I dug the whole night through, until blisters broke and bled on my palms.

The pit was nearly two meters deep.

But all I turned up was yellow earth and tree roots. Not even a sliver of bone.

As the sky began to gray, I threw down the shovel and sat at the edge of the pit, gasping, worn out.

The raw smell of the earth hit my nose, and I actually laughed out loud right there.

Cursing myself for being truly insane.

I had a perfectly good life, and instead I'd believed some floating nonsense on a screen and come out to this wilderness in the dead of night to dig up a body.

The bullet-screen was still flooding the screen:

"How can there be nothing? That's impossible!"

"Did she move it ahead of time?"

"Don't refuse to believe us! We can see how it ends! In the end she really does kill you!"

A hallucination. It had to be a hallucination.

I stood up and brushed the dirt off myself.

Ignored it all and drove down the hill.

I took a detour to the breakfast restaurant at a five-star hotel and got two breakfasts to go.

It wasn't until the food was in my hands that it hit me: Leila had been allergic to seafood since she was little.

When we were kids, our parents died and we ended up on the streets.

I went begging at the back door of a seafood restaurant and got a bowl of noodles cooked in seafood broth.

Leila was starving, and she ate a little less than half the bowl.

That very night she swelled up red all over, couldn't breathe, and nearly went into shock.

I looked at the seafood-stuffed pastry in my hand and frowned.

Well, I'd already bought it. Worst case I'd eat it myself; she could have the other dishes.

Back home, she was already up, crouching by the door, waiting for me like a good girl.

"You're back, sis!"

"It smells so good."

She ran over and took the bag from my hands.

Sitting at the table to eat, she opened the container, her eyes lit up, and she reached straight for the seafood-stuffed pastry.

My chest went tight, and I lunged to stop her.

"Wait, that one's got seafood in it."

She looked up at me, blank.

"I know."

Then she pouted, took my arm and gave it a little shake, all coax and sweetness.

"Sis, didn't you say you wanted me to have a good life? Can't you even spare me one seafood pastry?"

Slowly, I drew my hand back out of the air.

In the end I said nothing about the allergy.

I watched her finish the whole pastry, then reach for a second.

So I got up, set out the allergy medicine, and poured a glass of warm water too.

A full half hour passed. Nothing.

No rash on her skin, her breathing steady, and she even drank a cup of hot milk.

My heart sank, inch by inch.

The bullet-screen went wild.

"Now do you believe it? The real Leila is allergic to seafood! This is not her!"

"She's a fraud! A murderer!"

"If you don't make up your mind, next time it's you who dies!"

My head buzzed, and the scenes from childhood pushed up whether I wanted them or not.

A narrow alley. Leila on the ground.

Burning hot all over, struggling to breathe.

Gripping my hand, sobbing over and over, Sis, it hurts.

I'd carried her all the way to a clinic and dropped to my knees, begging the doctor to save my little sister.

That memory is carved into my bones. It doesn't lie.

I was still lost in it when she set down her chopsticks and stood.

"Sis, I'm full. I'm going to lie down for a nap."

I nodded.

The second she was in her room, I pulled out my phone and called the testing lab.

"Hi, I wanted to check. That rush test I put in earlier, are the results back yet?"

The voice on the line had just said "still running the comparison" when footsteps came from behind me.

"Sis, who are you on the phone with?"

My whole body locked up, and I killed the call.

She was standing in the doorway, clinging to the frame, too sleepy to keep her eyes open.

"I wanted some water and just heard you on the phone. Is something up at work? If it's urgent, go take care of it, I'll be fine on my own."

I steadied my breathing and slid the phone back into my pocket.

"Yeah, there's a problem with a project. I need to deal with it."

She gave a small "oh," didn't ask anything else, and turned back into her room.

Cold sweat soaked through the back of my shirt in an instant.

"She heard! She heard all of it!"

"She wasn't asleep at all! She was at the door listening!"

"Run! She knows you're looking into her! She's going to move tonight!"

"Get out now! Do not stay in that house! Go straight to the police!"

I sat in the chair, heart hammering.

On one side, the little sister I'd searched for over fifteen years.

On the other, this eerie bullet-screen floating in front of my eyes, every line of it coming true.

Who was I supposed to believe?

My phone buzzed.

A message from my assistant.

"Ms. Fox, the lab says the results will be ready this afternoon. I've already pushed them. The second it's out, I'll send it to you."

I stood, picked up my car keys.

Whatever the truth was, getting out of here first couldn't be wrong.

I called toward her room.

"Leila, something urgent came up at work. I'm heading out. Take care of yourself."

Her voice floated back.

"Okay, Sis, drive safe!"

I left like I was fleeing.

A light rain was falling outside, the road slick with it.

I drove out of the complex, and ahead was a long downhill stretch.

At the intersection I saw the red light and pressed the brake.

The pedal was soft as cotton, no bite to it at all.

The car ran with the slope, faster and faster.

Something dropped in my chest, and cold sweat broke out all over me.

I pumped the brake, yanked the handbrake, tried every trick I had.

None of it did anything.

The number on the speedometer kept climbing, and all I could hear was the wind screaming past.

The bullet-screen flooded past my eyes, packed tight:

"It's over, it's over! She messed with the brakes!"

"I told you she'd make a move! Jump out of the car, hurry!"

"There's a sharp turn ahead! The ocean's right there! You go off the edge, you're dead!"

I gripped the wheel with everything I had, my palms slick with cold sweat.

The car was going too fast. Jumping now was as good as suicide.

The turn was almost on me.

I clenched my teeth and cranked the wheel all the way over.

The tires shrieked against the road.

The car slewed sideways and slammed into the guardrail with a crash.

The rail, rusted and neglected for years, tore open at the impact.

The nose of the car hung out over empty air, the whole body teetering, one breath away from going over.

I was shaking all over.

I unclipped my seatbelt and crawled out the passenger side.

Then I sank onto the ground, dragging in one huge breath after another.

Rain hit my face, freezing, cutting to the bone.

Seeing this, the bullet-screen finally let out a breath.

"Scared me half to death... good thing you're tough..."

"Now do you believe it? This was no accident!"

"She wants to kill you and take everything you have!"

I sat on the ground for a full ten minutes before I moved.

Only then did I pull out my phone, call the dealership for a tow, and file the insurance claim.

I hung up and got to my feet, my eyes going cold.

I wanted to see exactly who this little sister of mine really was.

I hailed a car straight to the hospital.

Over the hours I waited for the results, my phone kept buzzing.

All of it from Leila:

"Sis, why haven't you answered me?"

"Weren't you going to the office? I called and you didn't pick up. I'm so worried about you."

"Sis, just reply when you see this, okay?"

I stared at the screen, my fingertips ice-cold.

The bullet-screen was seething:

"Worried about you? Worried you're not dead yet, more like."

"Crocodile tears."

I sent back one line:

"Was busy, didn't check my phone. I'm fine, I'll be back later."

Once it went through, I switched my phone to silent.

Three in the afternoon, the test came back.

The technician handed me the report.

"Ms. Fox, based on the DNA comparison, the two samples do share a blood relationship. We can confirm that the other party is your biological sister."

Something buzzed in my head and everything went blank.

The bullet-screen blew up too, a wall of question marks.

"?????"

"What is going on? The DNA actually matched?"

"That's impossible! She's a fake!"

I held the report, my hands trembling.

And yet I let out a long breath.

Maybe I really had been reading too much into it.

The birthmark was real. The DNA was real.

She was Leila.

Fifteen years. Maybe her body had changed as she grew up, maybe the seafood allergy had gone away.

As for the brakes, maybe it was just old and worn out, and it happened to fail then.

I was still thinking it through when my phone rang.

The mechanic from the dealership.

"Ms. Fox, we checked your car. The brakes show signs of deliberate tampering. This wasn't a natural malfunction."

The heart I'd just set down jumped straight back into my throat.

I clenched the phone, my knuckles white.

No matter how I turned it over, I couldn't make it make sense.

I decided to go home and ask her face to face.

I'd barely stood up when the bullet-screen erupted across my vision:

"Do not go back! She's got a knife ready at the house, and she's drugged the food with sleeping pills. Go back and you won't come out again!"

"She definitely tampered with the DNA! She dug up Leila's body and probably pulled out her hair to make herself a wig!"

"Go to the police! Go to the police right now!"

I stood frozen, my feet refusing to move.

A wig made from a dead girl's hair. The idea was absurd.

But everything from the last few days made it impossible not to believe.

I set my jaw.

I walked out of the hospital and hailed a car straight for the police station.

We hadn't gone far.

In the rearview mirror I saw a black sedan, following behind us, steady and unhurried.

My chest went tight.

"Could you drive faster, please?"

The words were barely out when the black car surged forward and rammed into our rear.

A crash, and the car shuddered hard.

The driver swore.

"Is this guy insane?"

He tried to steer clear, but the black car sped up and pressed in on us again.

I clung to the grab handle, my heart slamming to get out of my chest.

Who wanted me dead?

Was it her?

But how did she know I was going to the police?

And how did she happen to be right behind me?

That birthmark, Leila's little habits, why could she copy every single one of them exactly?

A thousand questions detonated in my head.

Right then, the black car cut the wheel hard again and came at our side.

The driver wrenched us out of the way, cursing without a break.

A flash of white light went off in my head.

Every fragment snapped into place at once.

I shouted, "Stop the car! Stop the car now!"

The driver flinched and stamped the brake all the way to the floor.

The car lurched to a halt at the roadside.

I sat in the back seat, cold all over.

I'd finally worked it out.

So that was it.

It was that, all along.