Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“It’s after hours.”
“I need to see her,” Logan seethes.
“I’m sorry, sir. But we can’t have people wandering in and out all night. The staff is limited, and they need to give their attention to the patients.”
I come up behind Logan (or Carter). “It’s fine. We’ll come back tomorrow.” Or never. Because honestly, at this moment, I wouldn’t put it past him to select some random old woman and claim she’s his mother. Oh, but miraculously, she won’t be able to wake up. Or, if she did, she wouldn’t recognize Carter, so he can claim she’s just forgetful. And miraculously, she’ll have a different last name, but he’ll have some clever reason. This guy is a master grifter. I don’t know why I gave in to my hope that Logan is real.
“You won’t believe me until you have proof,” he says.
“Well, yeah, but if I really did just mess up your life, then what good will proof do now?” I shrug. “So if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to bed. Some of us have real jobs with real people in the morning.”
“You will issue a retraction and apologize publicly.” Logan points at me bitterly.
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. For what? And did I get a public apology? No. I got more bullshit and lies with a plea to have me gulp down another serving. But no one came and issued a public apology to me, did they? My life was violated. My home was violated. Hashtag privacy rapist.”
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s something Sofie came up with. Totally trending right now. Never mind.”
“No. Not never mind. I might be many things, Mila, but I am not a scam artist.” He grabs my wrist, and I jerk it back.
“Hey!” I protest.
“You’re coming with me.”
“Why? So you can chop me to bits and secretly film that, too, Carter?” I say.
“I’m Logan. Not Carter.”
“Oh. Is this like that reality show Do or Die?” the security guy asks.
I roll my eyes. “Some protector you are. Also, what kind of crap show is that? Sounds awful.”
The security guard shrugs.
“I’m taking you to my mother’s house,” Logan says.
“Why?”
“Because my crazy coward of a brother has been camping out in his old room.”
“While your mother’s here?” Dying?
Wait. Hold on. I can’t start buying into his stories, no matter how much I wish Logan was a real person.
“I’m merely asking that you allow me to prove what I’m saying. If after this, you don’t believe me, then I’ll never darken your doorstep again.”
“What about Carter?” I ask with a smirk.
“I can’t control what he does.”
“Right. Because twinsies,” I say snidely.
Logan sighs exasperatedly. “Please, Mila.”
“Fine. I’ll come, but I’m taking my own car, and I’m still recording everything, so no funny business.” I point to my glasses.
Logan looks at me with disdain. “Now who’s the one invading privacy?”
“Fight fire with fire, buddy. We going or not?”
He leaves, and I follow.
Just after one a.m., I arrive to a small brown house with a big front yard. He parks in the driveway, and I park on the street. He goes straight for the front door, unlocking it with a key from his pocket. He flips on the lights inside and waits for me to come in.
I hesitantly approach the porch. So this is where he grew up? It’s a cute little house in a cute little neighborhood.
“Come on.” Logan urges me inside.
I poke my head in but stay on the porch.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I’d rather stay out here.”
“Fine, I’ll go grab my idiot brother.”
Logan disappears to go find…himself? Of course, I already know that Carter won’t be here. Why? Because Carter and Logan are the same man!
Logan returns to the door, looking slightly panicked.
“Let me guess; Carter isn’t here.” I shake my head at him.
“I think something happened to him.”
“I’m beginning to think you actually believe there’s another person running around who looks exactly like you and is named Carter. Do you have…a personality disorder?” It actually never occurred to me, but maybe Logan is telling the truth in his mind.
Oh shit. If he’s unwell, I need to…to… I actually don’t know. I’ve never met someone with that issue. God, I hope he’s not like Norman Bates and pretends to be his mother, too. That would be really creepy.
“No, Mila. I don’t have a disorder, and cut the crap. There’s blood on the hallway floor, and Carter’s room is ransacked.”
“I, uh,” I point to my car over my shoulder, “should be going now.”
Logan looks genuinely perturbed—crinkled brows, lips flat, jaw pulsing. He gets out his phone and dials. Before I know it, he’s calling the police. He tells them he’s at his mother’s house and there appears to have been a break-in and a possible assault.
“Are you calling the real police?” I ask.
“What the hell do you think?” Logan finishes giving the address and ends the call. He goes back inside and starts flipping on more lights.