Chapter 1 - The Diagnosis Exposed
Dr. Andrews pulled a slim penlight from his pocket, checking their pupils while his junior assistants noted the lack of color in their cheeks.
“It’s psychosomatic,” Dr. Andrews announced, standing up and dusting off his knees. He spoke as if the girls were not in the room. “A classic delayed grief reaction combined with sensory hypersensitivity. The twins are feeding off each other’s anxiety. Every time one wakes up, she terrifies the other. The noises they hear are likely auditory hallucinations driven by extreme sleep deprivation.”
Rory’s hand tightened around Claire’s photograph in his pocket. The edge of the frame cut into his palm, but he didn’t feel it.
“They are screaming at the exact same second, Doctor,” Rory said, his voice dropping an octave into a low, rumbling threat. “Every single night. At three o’clock on the dot. Are you telling me their internal clocks are synchronized to hallucinate in stereo?”
“Children under stress exhibit strange behavioral synchrony, Mr. Starks,” Andrews insisted, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “I recommend immediate separation. Put them in separate rooms on opposite sides of the house, prescribe a heavy course of pediatric sedatives, and remove all toys. The toys are acting as trigger objects for their regression.”
As if reacting to the word toys, Lily’s hand gripped the blue ribbon of Mr. Honey tighter. Her small frame began to shiver.
“No,” Lily whispered. “Don’t take Mr. Honey.”
“See? Attachment fixation,” Andrews sighed, scribbling on a notepad. “Cut it out of their lives entirely. Within a week, the episodes will stop.”
Rory stared at the doctor. For twenty years, Rory had read men like this. He knew when a man was brilliant, and he knew when a man was simply wrapping ignorance in expensive vocabulary to protect his reputation. Dr. Andrews was terrified of failing, so he was diagnosing them with madness to cover his own helplessness.
“Get out,” Rory said quietly.
Andrews blinked, his pen halting. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Pack your leather cases, take your assistants, and get out of my house before I have my men throw you off the eastern cliff.” Rory stepped forward, towering over the physician. “My daughters are in agony, and you gave me a textbook answer because you don’t have the stomach to look for the truth.”
Flushed and offended, Andrews snapped his notebook shut. “You are making a grave mistake, Mr. Starks. Without medical intervention, those girls are going to end up institutionalized!”
The heavy oak door of the nursery slammed shut behind the retreating medical team. Their hurried footsteps echoed down the marble hallway, fading into silence.
Left alone in the nursery, Rory sank onto the edge of the rug. The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating. He looked at his daughters. Lily and Rose stared back at him with hollow, exhausted eyes.
“Daddy,” Rose whispered, her lower lip trembling. “Are we crazy?”
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Rory pulled them both into his arms, burying his face in their tangled hair. “You are the strongest girls in New York,” he murmured fiercely against Lily’s ear. “And I am going to find out what is hurting you, even if I have to tear this entire house down to the foundation.”
Little did Rory know, the monster wasn't hidden in the walls, the ventilation, or the floorboards. It was sitting right between them on the bed, staring blankly with two black button eyes.
