Twisted Fate

3.

Chapter 3: Chasing Ghosts

The note’s words burn into my brain: You were never meant to meet. Leave him, or you’ll both pay the price. My hands shake as I clutch the crumpled paper, standing in the dim frat house bedroom with Ethan and Mia. The shadow outside the window is gone, but my skin’s still crawling, like whoever—or whatever—was watching us is still out there, waiting. The party’s muffled bass thumps below, a cruel reminder of how normal the world feels when mine’s falling apart.

“Emma, you okay?” Ethan’s voice cuts through my haze, his green eyes sharp with worry. He’s close, his leather jacket brushing my arm, and I want to lean into him, but that note’s got me all twisted up.

“No, I’m not okay,” I snap, waving the note. “Someone knows my name, Ethan. They know we’re together, and they’re freaking threatening us!”

Mia snatches the note from me, her curls bouncing as she reads it. “This is some stalker-level crap,” she says, her voice low. “Who even writes notes anymore? Why not just text?”

“They did text,” I say, pulling out my phone to show the earlier message: Stay away from him. You don’t know what you’re getting into. “Same vibe, same creep. And that woman downstairs? She’s gotta be part of this.”

Ethan’s jaw tightens, his hand still gripping the hospital bracelet with my last name on it. “Caldwell, Infant Girl,” he mutters, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “And my birthday. This can’t be random.”

“Okay, time out,” Mia says, holding up her hands. “You’re both adopted, born on the same day, same hospital, and now you’re getting creepy notes and bracelets? This is beyond weird, Em. It’s, like, conspiracy weird.”

I glare at her, but she’s not wrong. My heart’s racing, and not just from the party’s chaos or Ethan’s closeness. It’s the feeling that we’ve stumbled into something big, something dangerous. “We need to find that woman,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “She knows something.”

Ethan nods, his eyes flicking to the window. “Agreed. But we can’t just run around chasing shadows. We need a plan.”

“Plan?” Mia scoffs, crossing her arms. “You two are acting like you’re in a spy movie. Maybe call the cops?”

“And say what?” I shoot back. “Some lady’s following us with a bracelet that might be mine? They’ll laugh us out of the station.”

“She’s right,” Ethan says, his voice calm but firm. “This is personal. We handle it ourselves.”

Mia groans. “You’re both insane. But fine, I’m in. What’s the move?”

I glance at Ethan, and he gives me a small nod, like we’re already a team. It’s weird how natural it feels, like we’ve been doing this forever. “We search the house,” I say. “Top to bottom. She was heading upstairs, so maybe she left something else.”

We slip out of the bedroom, the hallway’s dim light casting long shadows. The party’s still raging downstairs, but up here, it’s quiet, eerie, like the house is holding its breath. We check every room—empty bedrooms, a bathroom with a flickering light, a closet stuffed with beer cans. Nothing. No dark coat, no steely-eyed woman. Just the ghost of her presence, making my skin prickle.

“Okay, this is pointless,” Mia says, leaning against a wall. “She’s gone, Em. Maybe she just dropped the bracelet and bailed.”

“Then why the note?” I counter, my voice sharp. “Why the texts? She’s not random, Mia. She knows us.”

Ethan’s quiet, his eyes scanning the hallway. He’s holding the bracelet like it’s a lifeline, his knuckles white. “There’s a back staircase,” he says suddenly. “I saw it earlier. If she went anywhere, it’s there.”

We follow him to a narrow door at the end of the hall, half-hidden behind a fake plant. The staircase creaks as we descend, the air getting colder, mustier. It smells like damp wood and regret, and my heart’s pounding so loud I swear it’s echoing. At the bottom, we find a small storage room, cluttered with old furniture and boxes. A single bulb swings overhead, casting jittery shadows.

“Creepy,” Mia mutters, sticking close. “If this is where we get murdered, I’m blaming you, Em.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, but I’m smiling despite myself. Ethan’s ahead, moving like he’s done this before, checking corners with a focus that makes me wonder what he’s not telling me.

“Over here,” he says, crouching by a box in the corner. He pulls out a file folder, its edges yellowed, labeled St. Mary’s Records – 2005. My breath catches. This is too convenient, too perfect.

“Is that… real?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Ethan flips it open, revealing a stack of papers—hospital forms, birth records, adoption agreements. My name’s on one, clear as day: Emma Caldwell, born October 12, 2005, St. Mary’s Hospital. Next to it, another form: Ethan Harper, born October 12, 2005, St. Mary’s Hospital. Our names, our birthdays, side by side, like they were always meant to be.

“Oh my God,” Mia says, peering over my shoulder. “This is insane. You’re, like, twins or something.”

“Don’t say that,” I snap, my stomach twisting. The word feels wrong, heavy, like a door I don’t want to open. But the papers, the bracelet, the photo—they’re all screaming the same thing: Ethan and I are connected, and not just by some cosmic spark.

Ethan’s face is pale, his eyes locked on the forms. “There’s more,” he says, pulling out a handwritten note tucked in the back. It’s in the same sharp, black ink as the envelope upstairs: Keep them apart. The truth will destroy them.

My blood runs cold. “Who wrote this?” I ask, my voice shaking. “And why the hell are they so obsessed with us?”

Ethan doesn’t answer, his eyes scanning the room. “Someone wanted us to find this,” he says. “They left it here, knowing we’d come looking.”

“Or they wanted to scare us,” I say, my mind racing. “That woman—she’s playing games.”

Mia’s phone buzzes, and she jumps, cursing. “It’s just my mom,” she says, but her face changes as she reads the screen. “Wait, no. It’s another text. Same unknown number.”

She shows us, and my heart stops. You found the files. Now run, before it’s too late.

“We need to go,” Ethan says, shoving the folder into his jacket. “Now.”

We bolt up the stairs, my pulse hammering in my ears. The party’s still a blur of noise and bodies, but it feels like a trap now, like every face is hiding something. We push through the crowd, out the front door, into the chilly autumn night. The street’s quiet, too quiet, and I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting that dark coat to appear.

“Where to?” Mia asks, her voice shaky but determined.

“My dorm,” I say, glancing at Ethan. “It’s close, and we need to read these files.”

He nods, but his eyes are distant, like he’s piecing together a puzzle I can’t see. “We need to be careful,” he says. “Whoever’s doing this, they’re not messing around.”

We head down Comm Ave, the city lights casting long shadows. My dorm’s only a few blocks away, but every step feels like we’re being watched. Mia’s muttering about how she’s never going to another party again, but I’m barely listening. My mind’s on the files, the note, the bracelet. And Ethan—his hand brushing mine as we walk, sending sparks I don’t know how to handle.

At my dorm, we pile into my tiny room, locking the door behind us. The files are spread out on my bed, a mess of names and dates that make my head spin. Ethan’s flipping through them, his face intense, while Mia paces, her phone clutched like a weapon.

“Okay, so what do we do?” she asks, stopping to glare at us. “You can’t just keep chasing creepy notes, Em. This is dangerous.”

“I know,” I say, my voice sharp. “But we can’t ignore this. Someone’s trying to scare us, and I want to know why.”

Ethan looks up, his eyes meeting mine. “There’s something else here,” he says, holding up a page. It’s a photocopy of a letter, addressed to someone named Claire Ramsey. The words jump out: Your twins were taken. The hospital was paid to cover it up.

“Twins?” I whisper, my heart sinking. “Ethan, what if… what if that’s us?”

He doesn’t answer, but his hand finds mine, squeezing tight. For a second, it’s just us, holding onto each other in this storm of secrets. But then my phone buzzes again, and I flinch, dreading what’s next.

It’s another text, and this one’s worse: You’re not safe. They’re coming for you. Tonight.

I show it to Ethan and Mia, my hands shaking so bad I almost drop the phone. “Who’s ‘they’?” I ask, my voice breaking.

Ethan’s face hardens, and he grabs the files, shoving them into his jacket. “We need to move,” he says. “Somewhere public, where they can’t touch us.”

But as we turn to leave, there’s a knock at the door—sharp, insistent, like it’s demanding to be let in. Mia freezes, her eyes wide, and Ethan steps in front of me, protective. My heart’s in my throat as I reach for the knob, the note’s words echoing in my head: Leave him, or you’ll both pay the price.

I open the door, half-expecting that woman in the dark coat. Instead, it’s my adoptive mom, Diane, her face pale and her eyes wild. “Emma,” she says, her voice trembling. “We need to talk. Now.”

Behind her, in the hallway, I catch a glimpse of movement—a dark figure slipping into the shadows, holding something that glints like metal. My breath catches, and I know, with sickening certainty, that we’re out of time.