Only Daughter: A gripping thriller of deadly deceit. Anna Snoekstra

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      I nod. The less I say the better until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

      “Do you know the person or people who took you? Before you were taken, I mean.” I can see the eagerness in his eyes.

      I shake my head.

      “Do you remember where you were held? Any details would be helpful.”

      “It’s all blurry. I can’t really remember,” I say slowly. He watches me calmly, as though he expects me to say more. The silence swells between us.

      At last he looks away, flicking his notebook shut and returning it to his pocket. “I’ll give you some time, and we can resume this after your tests are done.”

      “Then I can go home?”

      His eyes fix on mine, as though he’s waiting for something.

      “Is going home what you want?” he asks finally.

      “Yes, of course.”

      I try to smile reassuringly, and after a few moments, his lopsided grin returns.

      “The nurse will be in soon.”

      The door clicks shut behind him and I jump out of the bed. My head swims but I ignore it. Letting the drip trail behind me, I go to the window first. It’s just a panel of glass, sealed on all sides, no way of opening it. I guess they’re afraid of people jumping; three floors could still do some damage. Outside, people stream around the entrance. Doctors and paramedics enter; sick people hobble out. There are cars and taxis and ambulances. Even if I were to put on the clothes Rebecca’s parents left, it would be a stretch to be able to just walk out of here.

      I go over to the chair and hold out the pink T-shirt and cat-print pyjama pants that the parents left in front of me. Looks like I am about her height and weight. They’d just about fit. Lucky. I pick up the brush. Glinting copper hairs are caught between the bristles.

      When the nurse comes in to take me for tests, I’m back in bed, innocent as a baby lamb. If I can get through this, I’ll have earned a new identity. The rewards of this game are just too great to give up on.

      I keep my fists clenched as the doctor prods me. He’s worked his way down my body, looking for any kind of injury. Now he talks loudly to me from between my legs.

      “This will be a little cold.”

      “It might sting a bit.”

      “Almost done now.”

      I wear a humiliated expression, but really I’ve gotten used to having men poke around blindly down there.

      “Thank you, Rebecca. You’ve been a good sport,” he says. “You can get up now.”

      He pulls the curtain closed behind him, as though I have any modesty left to preserve. I pull on my underwear, listening as he talks to the nurse.

      “Can you prepare the swab for a mitochondria? We’ll need three vials for the syringe, as well.”

      I don’t think so. There’s no way I’m giving them my DNA or my blood, and not just because they’ll know I’m not Rebecca Winter. But because then they might find out who I really am. The curtain opens.

      “Ready, then, Rebecca?” the doctor asks.

      The nurse meets my eye as she scampers back in, then quickly looks away.

      “I need to go home now.”

      Putting my head down, I let my hair cover my face. I’m preparing.

      “I know it’s all a little intrusive, but we’re almost done. We just need a swab of the inside of your cheek and some blood.”

      “No more pain, please. I can’t.” My voice is pitch-perfect, all panicky and high.

      Woven between my fingers is a clump of copper strands from her brush. I tug at my own hair, nowhere near hard enough for anything to come out.

      “Will this do? I can’t deal with any more.” I raise my hand, the clump of her hair dangling downwards. I don’t look up but I hear the tiniest intake of breath from the nurse.

      Then I start crying. Really bawling, like a little kid. Letting the sobs roll out on top of each other. My whole body shakes with it. It’s not hard once I start; I’ve had a lot to cry about these last few weeks. The nurse steps forward, carefully taking the hair out of my hand with her plastic gloves.

      Easy.

      The car climbs the steep hill of Rebecca Winter’s street, and finally, I can see them: a middle-aged couple who look totally ordinary. My new mother and father. Their backs are braced, their heads down. They are standing in rigid silence in front of their big white house. An old gum tree next to the garage throws dappled light onto the facade. Idealized middle-class suburbia just waiting for me.

      The mother’s head snaps up as she hears the car. My heart hammers harder. The hospital could have been a fluke. Unconscious, with a bruised face, maybe they’d seen what they wanted to see. Now that my eyes are open, now that I’m moving and walking and talking, there is no way I’ll fool her. I can sense Andopolis’s eyes flicking up at the rear-vision mirror to look at me. She’ll realize my deception the moment she lays eyes on me. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. Surely a mother would know her only daughter.

      “Usually we would have a support agent here for something like this,” he says. “Your parents didn’t want it, though.”

      I nod. I’m too nervous to be appreciative, although this almost definitely will make it easier. Convincing the parents was going to be enough of a feat. It wouldn’t do me any good to have some bleeding-heart liberal with a smile slapped across their smug face trying to “help.” They’d know how victims really did act in this kind of situation.

      “You will need to talk to a counselor soon, okay, Bec? But we’ll take it all one step at a time.”

      I smile weakly at him. No way I’m talking to a counselor.

      We pull into the driveway. For a moment I wish I could stay there; I wish I could hide in the back seat for just a little longer. Andopolis gets out and walks around to my door, opening it for me. Now that I see them, I’m not sure if I can do it. Rebecca—Bec—was a person, not a character, and I’d never even met her. Never even heard her voice.

      I can’t look at the mother as I step out of the car. I keep my face turned downwards, my eyes focusing on the white geraniums flowering by the path.

      “Becky?” she says, moving closer. She touches my arm tentatively as though I might not be real.

      I look up; I have to look up. Her eyes stare into mine. They’re filled with such fierce love, it’s like the rest of the world has disappeared. It’s just her and me; nothing else matters. She wraps her arms around me and I can feel her heart against my ribs, her warmth mixing with mine. She smells of vanilla.

      “Thank you, Vince,” I hear the dad say over her shoulder.

      “You’re more than СКАЧАТЬ