Chapter 8 - The First ChildNobody touched the folder.
It sat on the table in the hidden basement room like it was something alive.
Like opening it would unleash something that could never be put back.
The label stared at me.
ORIGINAL SUBJECT.
Below it:
The first child was never lost.
My grandfather, the man who had spent the entire night speaking with confidence, looked different now.
Smaller.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
The certainty had disappeared.
“Give me that.”
His voice was sharp.
The officer immediately stepped between him and the table.
“No.”
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed.
“You don’t understand what you’re holding.”
The officer looked at the folder.
“Actually, I think I understand enough.”
My father reached for it slowly.
His hands were shaking.
“Raffaele…”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He opened the folder.
The first page was a medical report.
The date was the day my mother gave birth.
Two babies.
Two names.
Then another line.
A third entry.
My father stopped breathing.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
I took the paper.
And read.
Subject C-00
Status: Successful birth.
Identity: Withheld.
Location: Unknown.
My eyes moved down.
The next sentence made my blood run cold.
Unlike Subjects A-01 and A-02, Subject C displayed natural adaptation without conditioning.
I looked up.
“What does this mean?”
Nobody answered.
Then Marco spoke.
“There were three of us.”
The room went silent.
My father looked at Alessandro.
“You said there were only twins.”
Alessandro didn’t respond.
“You lied.”
My grandfather stared at the floor.
For once, he had no explanation ready.
“No.”
My father stepped closer.
“You knew.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“I protected you.”
My father laughed.
A broken laugh.
“You have used that word your entire life.”
He pointed at the documents.
“This is not protection.”
“No.”
Alessandro’s voice became colder.
“This is survival.”
I looked through the papers.
There were photographs.
Notes.
Measurements.
Observations.
Not of a person.
Of a project.
My stomach turned.
“They were babies.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“You were potential.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“We were children.”
He didn’t answer.
That was worse.
Because there was no regret.
No shame.
Just calculation.
I closed the folder.
“Who is Subject C?”
My grandfather looked at me.
Nobody spoke.
Then Evelyn whispered:
“I know.”
Everyone turned.
She stood in the doorway.
She had followed us downstairs.
Anna was beside her.
Evelyn looked at the papers.
“I’ve seen that name.”
My heart jumped.
“Where?”
“In the room below.”
The hidden room beneath the house.
The one with the photographs.
“The room with the pictures?”
She nodded.
“There was one picture he kept separate.”
She looked at Alessandro.
“You told me never to look at it.”
My grandfather’s expression changed.
“What picture?”
Evelyn stared at him.
“The one you were afraid of.”
A silence fell.
“Describe it.”
Evelyn swallowed.
“It was a family photograph.”
“Who was in it?”
She looked at me.
“Your mother.”
My chest tightened.
“Who else?”
Her voice dropped.
“A baby.”
Marco frowned.
“A baby?”
“Yes.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“Where was I?”
Evelyn looked at the folder.
“I don’t know.”
My father grabbed another stack of documents.
He searched through them quickly.
Pages.
Reports.
Dates.
Then he froze.
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
His face was destroyed.
“I remember.”
“Remember what?”
“The hospital.”
I stared.
“You were there.”
He nodded.
“I was.”
“You said you weren’t.”
“I lied.”
Everyone was tired of that word.
Everyone had used it.
Everyone had survived because of it.
And everyone had destroyed something with it.
My father sat down.
“The night you were born…”
He looked at Marco.
“And the night you were born.”
He took a breath.
“Your mother was unconscious after delivery.”
“Why?”
“Complications.”
“And?”
“There was another baby.”
Marco stepped forward.
“What happened?”
My father looked at him.
“Your grandfather took him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
My grandfather suddenly spoke.
“You were never supposed to know.”
My father stood.
“No.”
His voice was different.
Stronger.
“You were never supposed to tell me.”
Alessandro stared at him.
“I raised you.”
“You controlled me.”
“I made you powerful.”
“You made me afraid.”
The words hit harder than shouting.
My father looked at him.
“I spent my entire life trying to become the man you wanted.”
He looked at me.
“And I failed my own sons because of it.”
Marco looked away.
I knew why.
Because hearing an apology from someone you needed years ago was not the same as receiving it when the damage was already done.
I opened another file.
This one had a different symbol.
Not the Moretti family logo.
A simple circle.
Inside it:
A line.
Like a fingerprint.
The title:
SUBJECT C: OBSERVATION LOG
The first entry was dated twenty-nine years ago.
Subject displays unusual memory retention.
The second:
Subject demonstrates emotional attachment beyond expected levels.
The third:
Subject refuses separation from biological siblings.
I stopped.
“What?”
Marco came closer.
“What does it say?”
I handed him the page.
His eyes moved.
Then widened.
“He knew.”
“Who?”
He pointed at the page.
“Subject C.”
I frowned.
“What about him?”
Marco looked at me.
“He knew about us.”
I felt a chill.
“Before we knew about him?”
He nodded.
“He was there.”
My father looked confused.
“Who was there?”
Marco flipped the page.
The next entry was dated six years after our birth.
Subject C continues observation of Subjects A and B.
My heart stopped.
“Observation?”
Marco whispered:
“He was watching us.”
I looked at my father.
“Who?”
Nobody answered.
Then the basement lights flickered.
The same way they had upstairs.
Everyone froze.
A sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Calm.
Someone walking like they belonged here.
The officers raised their weapons.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
Then a voice.
Not my grandfather’s.
Not my father’s.
Not Marco’s.
A voice I had never heard.
But somehow recognized.
“You finally found the room.”
A man stepped into the doorway.
Older than me.
Younger than my father.
His face was unfamiliar.
Until I saw his eyes.
My eyes.
Marco moved backward.
“No.”
The man looked at him.
“Hello, brother.”
Then he looked at me.
And smiled.
“Hello, Raffaele.”
I couldn’t move.
“Who are you?”
The man looked at Alessandro.
My grandfather looked away.
For the first time, he looked defeated.
The stranger answered.
“My name is Luca.”
The room went silent.
“I am the first child.”
Marco stared.
“That’s impossible.”
Luca smiled.
“No.”
He looked at the files.
“It’s the one thing in this house that was never a lie.”
My father stepped forward.
“What did you do to your brothers?”
Luca looked at him.
A strange sadness crossed his face.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Then why have you been watching us?”
He looked at me.
“Because I was waiting.”
“For what?”
His eyes moved toward the folder.
“For you to discover the truth.”
I held the document tighter.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Luca took a breath.
“Because I was the only one who remembered everything.”
“What everything?”
He looked at Marco.
Then me.
“The night they took us apart.”
My body went cold.
“There was no accident.”
“No.”
“There was no missing baby.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Luca’s expression hardened.
“Because our mother didn’t choose one son.”
He stepped closer.
“She chose a secret.”
Nobody spoke.
Then he said the words that changed everything.
“Raffaele…”
He looked directly at me.
“Your mother wasn’t protecting you from your grandfather.”
A pause.
“She was protecting you from me.”
Behind me, Evelyn whispered:
“What does that mean?”
Luca smiled sadly.
“It means she knew which child would become the monster.”
May you like
His eyes stayed on mine.
“And she was right.”