"Me? Why?" I ask. Why anybody would want to kill me, I don't know... "And what's the killer's name? It doesn't say it on the screen..."
"Derek Vaughn. Fifty-two years old."
"Huh?" I stop right there when she holds up a paper-my birth certificate. I take it in my hands and read it:
Kylie-Rae Elizabeth Vaughn
Born the Tenth of October, 1995.
"Look. Your father's name has been shaded out in ink." She points to the spot where Dad's name should be. "And we took a DNA sample, your mother was the one who shaded it out."
"My mom did?" I ask. "Why the hell would she do that?"
Leah's face is serious when she says, "Maybe she didn't want you to know who your real father is."
"What do you mean, Rogers? Er, Agent?" I ask, confused. Playing 20 questions isn't going to get us anywhere.
"Rogers is fine, Kylie. But look at your last name. Vaughn. I thought you said your last name was Haven?"
"It is..." Suddenly it clicks. I jump up. "Derek Vaughn's my DAD?!"
Rogers nods sadly. "It seems so," she says. "Unless you're a different Vaughn than he is. But it's highly unlikely for a serial killer to be striking your family for no reason and they preserve you from the same last name. And how would he know that?" She takes the birth certificate from my hands and points to my name and the scribbled-out part that should belong to Fredrick A. Haven.
"Can't we take a DNA test or something? Because I have a bag of my father's blood..." I say, knowing that I sound insane.
"That depends. Which father?"
"Well-- Wait. Did you say you have a bag of his blood?!" she asks.
"I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out before you stick me in one of those padded-cells. My mom kept it, slept with it, even ATE with it. So stick HER in a crazy cell, not me," I explain.
"Well, considering we technically can't either way... A DNA scan will work for now. Where's the bag?"
"In my purse..." I say, pulling a small canister of the red liquid from my gray shoulder bag.
"And you-you keep it with you?" she sounds apphalled.
Rogers sighs, frusterated. "Ugh, Kylie. Let's just get you to the nearest DNA testing lab." She grabs my hand and takes me to her Subaru Outback. 2011. Good make.
We drive to DNA Today! and walk inside. Rogers removes her dark sunglasses once we're at the front desk. She shows the lady her badge. "I need a lab. Now," Rogers says.
"Um, okay...?" the lady, whose nameplate reads Madge, says. "Right this way, Agent Rogers."
I don't know why, but when she said 'Rogers' it really ticks me off. I'm the only one who can call her that, I think. I shake off that thought and walk with Madge and Rogers down to a door with the number 2 on it. I pull my father's canister out of my bag and hand it to Madge. For the numerous time today, I get that are-you-sure-she's-not-crazy-after-all look. That makes me bite my lip so I don't smile. I don't want to smile today. Or ever. Never again. I have to remember that I'm an orphan now. Or am I? That thought sends chills down my spine. I am an orphan. Derek Vaughn is NOT my father. I refuse to believe it. While I'm thinking, Madge takes DNA tests that I don't even notice because I'm so deep in thought.
I look down at my black skinny jeans and think, He'd better not be my father. I am not the killer's daughter.
An amount of time later, (I don't know how long I've been thinking about Rogers' idea) Madge wipes her hands with a wet wipe and says, "All done! You'll find out the results of the test next week, sweets."
Ugh, I hate waiting. I wonder who I got that from?
Suddenly, I'm extremely mad at, well, everyone: my mom for not telling me, my dad for not defending himself, at Derek for killing them and possibly being my biological father, and the whole world. Maybe I've gone bipolar. Sigh, dreaful thing to test me for. My life is falling apart at the seams. Maybe I should be locked up in a padded-cell. At least I'd get a jacket that makes me hug myself and keeps me warm. And I'd be in a room with pillows. Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad...