My twin brother was bullied to death in high school. The rich kids who did it hid behind their "minor" status, got a slap on the wrist, and went right back to their luxury cars and parties. They thought the problem was buried six feet under. What they didn't know was that I exist. I was born with Antisocial Personality Disorder, locked away in a psych ward for being too dangerous. But now, I know the truth. I’ve escaped. And I’m walking through the school gates wearing my dead brother’s face. Time to teach them what a real monster looks like. 1 After our parents died, it was just me and my twin brother, Jacob. Neither of us won the genetic lottery. Jacob was born with an intellectual disability—he was innocent, slow, a permanent child. Me? I was born wrong in a different way. The doctors called it Antisocial Personality Disorder. I had violent tendencies and zero empathy. When I was little, I hurt people. My parents, terrified I’d kill someone, pulled me out of school and locked me in a dark room. In that darkness, Jacob was my only light. Everyone feared me—even Mom and Dad—but not Jacob. He’d sneak in, giggle, call my name, and feed me butterscotch candies through the crack in the door. At night, he’d hug me, singing nursery rhymes to calm my rage. When our parents died in an accident, the relatives didn't want a psychopath. They shipped me off to a state mental hospital. Jacob was left behind to fend for himself in the public school system. I missed him. So, I learned to act. I wore a mask of sanity. I suppressed the violence. I played the model patient for years, just so I could get out and protect him. I finally escaped. I ran all the way home, clutching a piece of candy a nurse gave me, imagining Jacob's smile. But when I got to our old neighborhood, the neighbors told me Jacob had been missing for two days. Some classmates had "taken him to play." Mrs. Higgins next door, the only one who ever pitied us, touched my head. "Go find him, Caleb. Those kids didn't look right. Your brother is slow... don't let them hurt him." Panic, a rare emotion for me, seized my chest. I followed her directions to an abandoned textile factory on the edge of town. That’s where I found him. Jacob was curled up in a corner like a broken doll. His legs were snapped. His fingers were bent at impossible angles. He was covered in blood, cold and stiff. One of his eyes was gone—shattered by a rusty nail driven straight into the socket. I didn't feel sadness the way normal people do. I felt a cold, black void opening up. My brother was gone. The only person who treated me like a human. I fell to my knees beside his body. I pulled him into my arms and screamed until my throat bled. "Jacob! Wake up!" I shoved the sticky, half-melted candy into his slack mouth. "Eat it, Jacob. It’s sweet. I saved it for you. Look at me! Caleb is back! I’m here!" He didn't move. I pried his fist open. Inside was a crumpled, blood-soaked piece of paper. A "confession letter" they forced him to write. It listed his "crimes": being stupid, breathing too loud, existing. They killed him for fun. 2 I carried Jacob’s body back to our run-down apartment. I boiled water and cleaned him, wiping away the blood and grime. I pulled the nail out of his eye. I sat there from dusk until dawn, staring at the five names scrawled at the bottom of that bloodied note. My hit list. I needed a plan. But before I could even formulate one, a rat scurried into my trap. Late that night, a window creaked open. Someone was breaking in. It was one of them. Doug. He probably went back to the factory, saw the body was gone, and panicked. "Shit," he whispered, tripping over a bottle. "Did the retard actually die? That was scary as hell. Whatever, even if he croaked, I'm a minor. Can't touch me." He turned on his flashlight and screamed. I was sitting in the corner, staring right at him with wolf eyes. "Jacob?!" Doug fell on his ass, scrambling backward. "You—you’re alive? You freak, don't scare me like that or I'll beat you again!" I stood up and flicked the light switch. Doug paused. "Who are you? You... you're not Jacob." I smirked. "Smart kid. You can tell us apart even with identical faces." "Jacob's eye is messed up," Doug stammered, realizing his mistake too late. "You... are you his brother?" I didn't answer. I kicked him in the chest. I’m stronger than the average person. Doug flew back, coughing up blood. He crawled backward until his hand touched something cold. Jacob’s body. He screamed like a banshee. I squatted down in front of him. "As you can see, my brother is dead." I slapped his sweaty face with an icy hand. "You killed him. Now, how should I punish you?" I beat him until his face was unrecognizable. He broke. "Please! Stop! It wasn't me! Chloe stabbed his eye! Trent broke his legs! Gavin broke his fingers! I just... I just tricked him into going there!" Four names. The list had five. "Who is Henderson?" I asked, squeezing his throat. "Henderson... cough... he's our guidance counselor... and homeroom teacher!" My blood ran cold. The teacher was in on it? I didn't kill Doug. Not yet. I needed him. I dragged him to the basement and threw him down the stairs. Then I carried Jacob’s body down and laid it next to him. "No! Don't leave me with a corpse! Help!" He was too loud. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a cleaver, and went back down. I sliced the corners of his mouth and used the handle to smash his front teeth out, one by one. "Quiet," I whispered. He passed out from the pain. I locked the door. Let him rot with the guilt and the ghost. I went upstairs, found Jacob’s spare uniform, and cut my hair to match his. The next morning, I walked into the high school as Jacob. 3 I found Jacob’s desk. It was in the back, next to the trash cans. The surface was covered in permanent marker: Retard. Waste of space. Freak. The chair was sticky with glue. I sat down, my face expressionless. The other students whispered. "Weird... Jacob doesn't look stupid today. Did he get a brain transplant?" "Jacob," a boy with glasses walked up, looking terrified. "Mr. Henderson wants to see you." I stood up. The boy looked at me with pity, like I was walking to my execution. I walked into Henderson’s office. It was empty. I started rifling through his desk. Why was a teacher on Jacob's hate list? The bottom drawer was locked. "Looking for something, Jacob?" A greasy voice slithered from behind me. I turned. Henderson was leaning against the doorframe, his gold-rimmed glasses glinting. He looked like a viper. He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. "Bad boys who snoop get punished." I wanted to snap his neck right there. But I had to play the part. I cowered, protecting my head. "Sorry! Sorry, don't hit me!" He slapped me twice. Then he sat in his chair and pulled me onto his lap. "Baby, I missed you. Why didn't you come to school? Was it because we played too rough last time?" His hand slid down my back, towards my pants. I froze. My brain short-circuited. This sick, twisted animal assaulted my brother? Henderson’s breath smelled like rot. "Are you still sore?" I stood up abruptly, suppressing the urge to vomit. Henderson narrowed his eyes. "What? Are you defying me now?" I clenched my fist. Just as I was about to crush his windpipe, the bell rang. Henderson sighed. "Get to class. We have plenty of time later." 4 I walked to the door. Henderson stared at me, smiling that predatory smile. He thought I was the prey. I turned and smiled back. A smile void of any humanity. "You're right, teach. Plenty of time." I didn't go to class. I went to the boys' bathroom. Jackpot. The Trio—Trent, Gavin, and Chloe (who had walked into the boys' room like she owned it)—were vaping in the back. I hid in a stall and listened. "I heard the retard is back. How? I broke his leg," Trent said. "And Doug is missing," Chloe whispered, her voice shaking. "You don't think... is it a ghost? Did he die and come back?" Trent smacked her head. "Shut up! There are no ghosts. If we can break him once, we can break him again." I pushed the stall door open. They froze. Chloe screamed. Gavin dropped his vape. Trent tried to act tough, but his hands were shaking. "Jacob? You... how are you walking?" I huddled into the corner, shaking, mimicking Jacob perfectly. "Don't... don't hurt me..." Trent laughed, relief washing over him. "See? Same old pussy." He walked over and grabbed my hair. "Where's your psycho brother, huh? Usually, you cry for him to save you. Why so quiet?" My fists clenched at my sides.
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