They Traded Me For Dead

On my twenty-second birthday, a voting poll suddenly appeared on our family’s shared smart-home hub. [Are you willing to exchange Jack for Wright from the parallel universe?] My mother and father both clicked “Yes”. They always said that if it weren’t for my older brother’s tragic death all those years ago, I wouldn’t have been born in the first place. Because of that, they believed it was only fair that I should be the one to bring him back. A moment later, the same poll pinged on Lauren’s phone. She had been my girlfriend for five years. She was also the little girl my brother had pushed out of the path of that oncoming car before he was killed. I stared at her, my heart hammering in my chest. If she just said no, if she just gave me one reason to believe I mattered, I could keep holding on. But she stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, her eyes cast down as she whispered, “Jack, it’s just a test.” “Your brother saved my life.” “I can’t refuse to help him, even if it’s just a test.” The next second, she tapped “Yes”. The screen flashed a cold, bright notification: [All votes recorded successfully.] [Jack Callahan will be replaced in five days.] My father finally let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. He reached over and gently patted my hair, his touch softer than it had been in years, exactly like the way he used to comfort my brother in the old home videos. “Good boy, Jack.” “When your brother gets back, we’ll remember what you did for us.” I looked at them, blinking hard to keep my eyes from burning, and forced a smile. “Sure.” “I hope the brother who comes back is exactly who you wanted.” 1 My father leaned against the edge of the dining table, exhaling slowly. “Thank God,” he muttered. His eyes were rimmed with red, but a genuine smile was finally breaking across his face. “Wright is finally coming home.” My mother nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “We’ve waited so long for this day.” The candles on my birthday cake were still unlit, melting slowly into the frosting. I stood frozen in the middle of the dining room, a sharp, high-pitched ringing filling my ears. “How long is ‘so long’?” I asked quietly. My father looked up, his eyes flickering with a momentary discomfort. “Since you were six, I guess.” “That was when you started looking less and less like him.” I tried to swallow, but the air caught in my throat. I began to cough, doubling over as tears stung my eyes, but neither of them looked up. Ever since I turned six, my father constantly complained that I wasn’t enough like Wright. He would dig out my brother’s old clothes from the attic and force me to wear them. When I outgrew them, the collars choked me and the seams dug painfully into my skin, but my father would only frown in disappointment. “Wright didn’t look like that in them.” He made me watch Wright’s old home videos over and over, pausing them halfway through to critique me. “Wright didn’t show his teeth when he smiled.” “Wright held his pencil like this.” “Wright spoke softly, with manners.” So I copied him. I learned how to part my hair exactly like Wright’s with my eyes closed. I memorized his gestures, his posture, and his tone of voice better than any school lesson. I tried so hard to erase myself and become my brother. I thought if I could just be a little more like him, my parents would finally look at me with love. But no matter how hard I tried, they would only shake their heads. “Still not him.” “Not even close.” Once, when I was ten, I dressed up in my brother’s favorite sweater and called out “Dad” in Wright’s soft, quiet voice. He stared at me for a long time, and then tears suddenly spilled down his cheeks. “Stop it, Jack,” he said, his voice cold. “No matter how much you copy him, you’ll never be him.” I cried under my blanket all night. But the next morning, I still got up and went right back to studying the videos. It was Lauren who had finally pulled me out of that darkness. In high school, she found me sitting in the hallway, reading Wright’s old childhood diaries to copy his handwriting. She grabbed the notebook and threw it straight into the trash can. “Jack Callahan,” she had said, looking me dead in the eye, “you are not a ghost’s shadow.” Those words had kept me afloat for years. Which was why, when the voting page popped up on her phone, I had still held onto a stupid, desperate shred of hope. But she had voted to replace me anyway. I looked at her now. “Lauren, do you really think I should be traded for him too?” Her throat worked, her eyes darting away from mine. “Jack, it’s just a test. It might not even work.” My tongue felt entirely numb. “But when you clicked “Yes”, did you think about me at all?” She scowled, her patience wearing thin. “Can you not take that tone with me? Your dad has suffered enough. He just misses your brother.” My mother walked over and snatched my wallet from my bag, sliding my ID card out. I reached out to stop her, but she shoved my hand away. “Wright will need this when he gets back.” I stared into her cold eyes. “What about me?” She locked the drawer with a sharp click, her voice dripping with irritation. “You’re brothers. You don’t need to keep such strict scores.” I went back to my room and pulled out my college diploma from the desk drawer. The moment my fingers brushed the paper, the black ink seemed to dissolve under my touch. The name “Jack Callahan” began to fade, letter by letter, and “Wright Callahan” slowly bled through the paper. Even the photo on the ID card blurred into a misty, unrecognizable silhouette. I stared at the shifting letters until my eyes burned, and then I slowly closed them as a tear rolled down my cheek. The door pushed open. My father walked in, and when he saw the diploma, a spark of genuine excitement lit up his face. “Wright never got the chance to grow up,” he whispered. “I guess this makes up for it.” I looked up at him, my face wet. “Dad, what if I actually die?” His fingers tightened on the doorframe, his nails scratching against the wood. After a long, agonizing pause, he said, “Don’t say such morbid things.” When the door shut, I slid down to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. On our family group thread, my father had just changed my nickname. From “Jack” to “Wright’s Vessel”. 2 The next morning, the kitchen island was piled high with food. Garlic butter crab, a beef stir-fry heavy with cilantro, and hot seafood chowder. The steam rose in thick waves, making my head spin. I have a severe shellfish allergy, and I can’t stand the taste of cilantro. My father knew this. Yet there he was, carefully cracking open crab legs and placing the meat into a small blue bowl. “Wright loved crab,” he murmured to himself. “And he always said you can’t skimp on the cilantro, or there’s no flavor. I need to practice making his favorites so he feels at home when he gets back.” I sat with my fork in my hand, frozen. I forced a mouthful of plain white rice down my throat, desperate to swallow the lump in my chest. My throat throbbed with a dull ache. I took a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Dad, do you even remember I’m allergic to shellfish?” I kept my eyes glued to the white rice, too terrified to look up. My father’s hand froze over the ladle. “At a time like this, you’re really going to throw a tantrum over food? Your brother is going to have a lot of adjusting to do when he gets back. What’s wrong with you skipping one meal?” I nodded slowly, set my fork down, and went back to my room. In the afternoon, Lauren came over. When she saw how pale I was, her brow furrowed slightly. I gripped the hem of my shirt, staring at her for a long time. My voice was barely a whisper. “Lauren, will you go to the beach with me? Just once. I’ve always wanted to go. Since… since I’m going to die anyway.” She froze. For a second, I thought if I begged, she might actually say yes. But then she sighed. “You shouldn’t be running around right now. If something goes wrong with the transfer, your dad won’t survive the disappointment.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Are you really that afraid of him not coming back?” Her expression hardened. “Jack, stop talking like that. I’m doing this because I care about you.” I looked up, forcing my mouth into a wide, painful grin. “You care about me? Is that why you didn’t hesitate to vote to send me to my grave?” She looked down, avoiding my eyes, her lips pressed into a tight, silent line. Suddenly, I realized there was no point in arguing anymore. I went back to my desk and opened the mysterious app on my phone. Using my dad’s go-to password, I actually managed to log in. There, I saw my health reports, my sleep tracker, my emotional logs… They had been tracking my vitals and preparing for this for a long time. My stomach twisted violently. I gripped the desk, a metallic, copper taste rising in my throat. At the bottom of the screen, a red audio file appeared. With trembling fingers, I tapped it. A soft, hesitant boy’s voice played through the speaker. “Don’t choose me… Dad, please don’t make him take my place. He’s your son too.” Like a madman, I grabbed the phone and ran out, thrusting the screen in front of my dad’s face. “Dad, listen! It’s Wright. It’s his voice!” At the first sound of “Dad,” the spoon slipped from my father’s hand, clattering onto the floor. “Wright…” But as the recording played to the end, the excitement on his face curdled into stone. The next second, his hand slapped across my face. My head snapped back, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears as my cheek burned. “Jack! How dare you fake your brother’s voice just to keep him from coming home?!” Mom snatched the phone from my hand and deleted the file. “Your brother died once. Do you want him to die again?” I looked at Lauren, completely numb. “You heard it, didn’t you? He said he doesn’t want this.” I pushed the cancellation screen toward her. “Cancel it. If you cancel your vote, I can live.” Lauren’s finger hovered over the screen. Suddenly, Dad fell to his knees, grabbing the hem of her sleeve. “Lauren, please, I beg you. Wright saved your life. You can’t abandon him now.” Lauren closed her eyes. After a long, agonizing silence, she let her hand fall. “Jack… I’m sorry.” My hands began to turn translucent. Lauren gasped, reaching out to grab me. I stepped back. “Don’t touch me. This is what you chose.” 3 I had nightmares all night. When I woke up, my hand instinctively reached for the side of the bed, looking to hug my little cat. But there was only empty space. My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw off the blanket and dropped to my knees, searching under the bed, then checking the balcony, the closet, behind the sofa. Finally, by the trash can near the front door, I found his little collar bell. A few orange hairs were still stuck to it. I knelt to pick it up. When I stood back up, the world spun. Dad walked out of the kitchen, spatula still in hand. “Stop looking. I gave the cat away,” he said, his voice entirely flat. “Wright is allergic to cat dander. He’s coming back soon, we can’t have that stuff in the house.” I squeezed the bell, the metal digging into my palm. I tried to speak, but my voice shook so hard it didn’t sound like mine. “He’s been with me for seven years… He’s a coward. He gets terrified in new places.” The last words were a sob. Dad frowned. “Jack, your brother is terrified too. Can you stop only thinking about yourself for once?” I gasped for air, but my lungs refused to expand. I leaned against the wall, waiting for the dark spots in my vision to clear, and then I bolted out the door. “Jack!” Dad called after me, but I didn’t look back. I asked the security guards, the neighbors, posted in our neighborhood group chat, and begged the property manager to let me see the security footage. A guard said he saw someone carrying an orange cat out this morning. By the time I reached the back gates of our neighborhood, my legs were shaking. Sweat soaked through my shirt. I dug through every dumpster and searched every bush, but I couldn’t find him. At dusk, a message popped up in the neighborhood chat. [There’s an orange cat shivering under the awning of the back gate. Anyone lose their pet?] When I saw the photo, my whole body trembled. It was my cat. He was curled up next to a cardboard box, his fur soaked, but his eyes were fixed on the entrance of our neighborhood. I grabbed my jacket to run back out, but Dad blocked my way. “You’re going to bring him back?” Mom rushed out of the study. “Jack, how can you be so cruel? Your brother isn’t even back yet, and you’re already trying to make him sick!” She raised her hand to strike me. I stood frozen. In that moment, I almost wanted her to hit me. A stinging face was better than the suffocating weight in my chest. But Dad lunged forward and caught her arm. “Don’t!” he gasped. “What if you mark his face? What will Wright do when he gets back?” Mom’s hand hovered in the air. Staring at the way Dad held her back, the taste of iron filled my mouth. So even this face didn’t belong to me anymore. They dragged me back to my room. I fought them, my fingers clawing at the doorframe until Mom pried them loose one by one. Dad stood like a brick wall in the doorway. The door slammed shut in my face. I threw myself against it, twisting the handle, but it was locked from the outside. Late that night, the neighborhood chat pinged again. A photo was uploaded. My cat lay on the wet asphalt by the back gate, a dark pool spreading into the rainwater beneath him. [Just got hit by a car. He was already gone when I found him. He was staring at the gates the whole time, refusing to budge, like he was waiting for someone.] I stared at the screen, wanting to scream his name, but my chest felt like it had been carved out. All my grief was trapped inside. I opened my mouth, but only broken, ragged whimpers came out. I squeezed my fists so hard my nails cut into my skin, but I felt nothing. It wasn’t until a warm wetness dripped down my fingers that I realized the edge of the bell had sliced my palm open. I curled into a ball on the floor, shaking. Seven years. He had been with me for seven years. When everyone else ran toward Wright, he was the only one who sat by the door waiting for me to come home. And now, they had discarded him too. My phone buzzed. [Would you like to use your final veto to cancel the replacement?] I stared at the picture of my cat’s wet fur. After a long time, I tapped “No”. [Replacement will proceed.] 4 After I selected “No,” a strange peace settled over me. I leaned quietly against the back of the locked door, listening to the muffled voices in the living room. “Why is there still a whole day left?” Dad asked, his voice strained. “It’s already moving fast,” Mom replied. Dad sighed. “It feels too slow. Every minute Wright spends over there, my heart breaks.” Strangely, the pain was gone. The heavy boulder that had crushed my chest for years seemed to melt away. I began to count down the hours in perfect silence. In the afternoon, Dad came in holding a bakery catalog. “Help me pick a cake.” I pointed to a simple white frosted one. He handed me a box of colored candles. “Pick the candles too.” I pulled out the candles and carefully counted eight of them, lining them up neatly on the desk. Dad froze. Wright had died when he was eight. His eyes welled with tears, his gaze shifting to me with a complicated mix of emotions. “Is this a farewell for me,” I asked quietly, “or a welcome for him?” He turned his face away quickly, though his hands shook. “Don’t talk like that.” Later, Mom began packing up my room. My journals, my polaroids, my school certificates—everything went into heavy black trash bags. Dad replaced my bedsheets with a light blue set. “Wright loved this color.” They dragged my desk out, replacing it with Wright’s old art easel. The dust made me cough, a sharp pain blooming in my ribs. Dad looked back. “Don’t inhale too much dust.” He paused, then added, “Keep yourself healthy.” I reached into one of the trash bags to pull out a journal. Dad immediately pinned my hand down. “Don’t keep those. It’ll make him uncomfortable if he sees them.” I let go. The cover of the journal ripped against the plastic bag with a soft tear. Lauren came by in the evening, holding a notebook. “Jack, can you write down some notes about me for him?” Her voice was hoarse. “Like… how my stomach is sensitive and I can’t drink iced drinks. Or how I don’t like people touching my laptop.” My throat felt dry. “You want him to use these notes to get to know you? To love you in my place?” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m just afraid he won’t adjust well.” I took the pen and wrote down every single detail she asked for. I felt absolutely nothing. Mom came in next, holding my debit card. “How much do you have in your account?” Dad whispered, “Wright will need clothes and paperwork when he gets here. It’s going to cost a lot.” The money in that account came from my part-time jobs, my scholarships, and my savings. Without a word, I opened my phone and transferred every cent to my father. When the transaction confirmation popped up, I closed the app. Dad saw the notification, and for a fleeting second, his expression softened. “Jack, you’ve really grown up.” With only two hours left, they made me record a video. Mom handed me a script. “I am Jack Callahan.” “I consent to this replacement of my own free will.” “I was not coerced in any way.” “Please do not blame my family.” “Welcome home, brother.” Dad held up the phone. “Smile a bit. Don’t let people think something is wrong.” Lauren stood to the side, her throat tightening. “Mr. Callahan, maybe…” Tears streamed down Dad’s face. “What are we going to tell people when they ask where Jack went? Do you want Wright to be hated the moment he gets here?” Lauren fell silent again. I looked into the lens and forced my lips to curve upward. The muscles in my face felt stiff and sore. “I am Jack Callahan. I consent to this replacement of my own free will. Please do not blame my family.” I paused, looking directly into the camera. “Welcome home, Wright. But this family… I don’t want it anymore.” Dad’s face went pale. “Delete that. We’re re-recording.” But before he could touch the screen, the mysterious app lit up on its own. [Don’t… don’t make him record that.] [Dad.] [I don’t want to come home like this.] The living room fell into a deathly silence. A second line of text slowly drifted across the screen. [Do you actually remember what kind of person I was?]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537551”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel