On the scrubby hills around Bakersville, California, the oil deregspulled the shrinking black lake far below.

Way down below, where an answer to a secret may lie, or a victim, or a ghost.

Whatever is down there, it called up to a sister's devotion.

I don't go a second, a minute, an hour of a day, without a new alarm.

The buried secret took that. Took it at dark places, no one should tell.

There was guns around, and there was bullets. It was the scariest moment in my entire life.

And in the end, the secret led to the lowest place of all, a human heart bent on murder.

You want me to do anything else, if I'm bumping the f***ing hand, droggle off, and have a breath for a sister?

A dark tear, but one illuminated by the unconquerable love shared by twins.

There was still a uniqueness between us that I can't hardly describe.

It was like she was a part of me, definitely.

Growing up in the 60s, Theresa and Lisa Seabolt were inseparable,

sharing late-night confidences and clothes.

They're born to refuge from a troubled family.

Eventually, their parents split three older brothers,

remained in California with their grandfather.

But the twins, just three years old, were sent away to live with relatives in Oklahoma.

They're like two sides of a coin.

They developed into two very different people.

She liked hanging out with the guys and going outside all the time.

I like to stay in my room and reading books and doing my homework.

Rick Seabolt was one of three brothers that had been forced to leave behind.

...