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

strange bed out of my clothes?

      The detective snorts a loud snore, waking himself up.

      “Bec,” he says, rubbing his eyes and smiling.

      I stare at him. No way I’m getting out that door now.

      “Do you remember me from last night? Vincent Andopolis.” He looks at me carefully. This is happening too fast. I have no idea how to answer him.

      “Everything’s a bit fuzzy.” My voice is still thick with sleep and painkillers. Best to keep it simple while I try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

      I do remember him. He’s the missing persons detective who’d called my two chauffeur cops “morons.” I hadn’t been able to make out much of him last night; he looks different in the cold, sterile hospital lights. His grey eyes and wide shoulders hint at the attractive man he must have once been, but his gut pushes tightly against his shirt and his hair is more salt than pepper.

      “Have you been here all night?” I ask.

      “Couldn’t have you disappearing again. Your mom is ready to sue us as it is,” he says with a lopsided grin. “How is it feeling?” He motions to my arm.

      “It’s fine,” I say, although it’s throbbing painfully, then notice a small pile of things on the chair next to his. He follows my gaze.

      “Your parents are talking to my partner.” He clears his throat. “There are a few things we still need to do before you can be reunited.”

      There is a pair of pyjama pants, a T-shirt and some underwear all neatly folded on the chair, with a hairbrush on top.

      “They’ve already been in here?” Surely not.

      “They couldn’t really believe it until they saw you.”

      My mind reels. They’ve been in here. They watched me sleep. Yet they still believe I’m their daughter. I guess the bruise on my face worked on them, too. The biggest hurdle was already over and I wasn’t even conscious for it. I can’t help but smile. Andopolis beams back at me.

      “I have to be honest, Bec. I couldn’t be happier to see you. It’s like a miracle.”

      A miracle. What a dope. How could this guy be a missing persons detective? The panic I felt a few seconds ago flushes out of me. Perhaps it won’t be so hard to go through with this.

      “It is a miracle,” I say, flashing him my best shit-eating grin.

      He says nothing, just gazes at me. I guess he thinks we’re sharing a moment.

      “When can I get out of here?” I ask.

      “Probably by the end of the day. We’ve just got a few things to get through and then you’ll be all set.”

      “Like what?”

      “Well, I’ve got a few more urgent questions for you. Then there are some tests to run, just to make sure you’re well.”

      I try not to blink. I’m screwed.

      He pulls a notebook out of his pocket. “The New South Wales police informed me you stated that you were abducted.”

      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