Page 51 of Two Sticky Nuts

“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.

What is he doing?I step into the foyer. There’s a little kitchen with a farm-style sink off to my left and a living room to the right. In the living room, there’s a ton of medical equipment next to a red-and-pink floral armchair.

It’s only ten feet away, so I walk over for a better look.

The room has all sorts of doilies on the coffee table and bookshelf. At the far end is a hutch with dozens of photos.

Two boys in baseball uniforms.

Two boys holding up fish next to a lake.

Two boys in graduation caps and gowns.

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