Part 2I've Been Dead Three Years My Sister Kicked Down My Door for a Final Battle

For a moment, Ava froze. Then, with a snarl, she stomped on the voice recorder, crushing it under her heel.

“You think a cheap trick like that is going to scare me? Leo, you haven’t changed at all!”

But when her eyes fell on the videotape, she hesitated. After a long three seconds, she drew her foot back.

“Let’s just see what other pathetic games you have planned.”

The screen flickered to life, revealing my pale, gaunt face.

The moment she saw me, Ava’s expression soured with disgust.

In the video, I gave a wide, unnerving smile.

“Ava. It’s been a while. You’re still alive? What a shame.”

“But don’t get too comfortable. I have a little gift for you.”

“Watch it. Then you can die.”

The camera’s view shifted, panning around a small, cramped bedroom. I was bent over, carefully organizing a stack of canvases. The sleeves of my oversized robe fell back, revealing arms that were nothing but skin, bone, and a constellation of needle marks.

I held up the topmost painting to the camera. It was the family portrait. A version of it.

In the painting, there were four of us. A younger me was holding Ava’s hand, my smile shy but blissfully happy.

The date painted in the corner was July 8th, 2013.

The day before I came home to the Ashfords.

The police had just busted a major trafficking ring. My “adoptive parents”—the couple who beat me for breathing too loud—were taken away in cuffs. They told me the man and woman who had raised me weren’t my parents at all. They were my kidnappers. They were the monsters who had ruined my life.

A kind social worker stroked my hair, her touch so gentle it felt alien. She pressed a few photographs into my hand.

“Don’t be scared, Leo. We found your real family. As soon as the paperwork is done, they’re coming to take you home.”

That night, I was too excited to sleep. I stared at the three faces in the photos and painted the family I imagined. A beautiful, gentle mother. A tall, strong father. And a big sister who would protect me and play with me.

When I finally walked into that house, I saw they had a family portrait of their own hanging over the fireplace. It was almost exactly like the one I had painted.

Except I wasn't in it.

My father, Mr. Ashford, explained awkwardly, “After you were taken… your mother was never the same. She was so heartbroken.”

“We… we adopted a boy from the local orphanage. He was about your age. It was the only thing that helped.”

My mother pulled me into her arms, her tears soaking my shirt.

“It’s okay, Leo, my baby. You and Noah are both my sons now. God has given me back what I lost.”

“We’re a family again. We’ll never be separated again!”

They hired therapists to help me adjust. They scheduled appointments at the best cosmetic clinics to treat my scars. Noah, my new brother, was the first to notice the whip marks on my back and my missing tooth. When he found out my kidnappers had done it, he broke down and sobbed, clutching my hand and repeating over and over, “I’m so sorry, Leo. I’m so sorry.”

There was no dramatic rivalry, no fighting for affection. My new family did everything they could to treat us equally. Anything Noah had, I had too. Anything I wanted that Noah didn’t have, they gave me without a second thought.

I could always feel it, though—a faint, invisible barrier between us. But after a lifetime of starvation and pain, having a full stomach and people who loved me was more than enough. I was content.

Watching the video, Ava’s hands clenched into tight fists.

“Leo, I knew you were a manipulative bastard.”

“Mom, Dad, and Noah… they were so good to you. And you…”

“After all these years, you’re still using that stupid painting to torment me.”

“You’re shameless, Leo. You deserve to rot in hell!”

Ava shot to her feet, raising her hand to smash the VCR.

But just before her fist came down, she stopped dead, her eyes wide with shock.