28. Rae

Crave's footstepsecho through the house. Each step above me is like another cinder block smashing my chest.

I don't move.

Glass crashes outside. His distorted voice ricochets across the parking lot, like a crow cawing into the bleak desert.

I'm sitting at the bottom of the stairs with a million steps to climb. In a basement where I've seen him kill people. A masked killer that blended in with the rest of the people at the mall.

I need to leave. I need to run far away from here.

Ten minutes pass. Finally, I stand on weak legs. Put my clothes back on.

At the top of the stairs, I take off running to my car. I hold my breath.

The tires are flat. The windshield is shattered.

A headache screeches across my temples.

Am I upset that Crave is Officer Gaines?

Am I disappointed?

Or am I relieved? Relieved that he's been with me this whole time, even when I thought I was alone?

I scream, falling to my knees. The asphalt digs into my skin. I half expect Officer Gaines—Crave—to step out of the shadows and put me in handcuffs. To arrest me for being an accomplice to murder.

Then a paper flutters, landing on the dashboard. A stack of wrinkled papers is scattered across the front seat, each paper littered with glass shards.

I unlock the car, then carefully open the door, reaching over the glass to collect the papers. They're paternity tests. I asked Crave to get the DNA sample for Michael Hall, but I didn't ask him to test the samples. I stare down at the results, flipping through them until I see one I'm looking for.

Michael Hall. Probability of Paternity 0.00%

Not my father.

The next one is topped with a name I don't recognize; it has the same result. Then another. And another. How many DNA samples did he test?

Then I find a folded paper with his writing on top. The edges of the red letters are faded, like he was running out of ink. His neat handwriting reveals his note:

We're the same.

My heart thumps in my ears. Instinctively, I know what's there before I even read the results. I don't want to see it.

Maybe I do. Maybe I need to know.

Maybe I don't.

Is it better to live in the dark?

"Fuck!" I scream.

I rip it open.

John Doe. Probability of Paternity 99.999998%

The biological father.

Mybiological father.

I don't need to see his name there to know the truth. I shake my head so hard that I stumble, tripping over my feet.

Crave is my father.

No. He can't be my father. He probably took my own DNA sample and used it against me to freak me out, to fuck with my head on a whole new level. To make me think that we're related when it's not true. It's just me against me. Another twisted game to play. It has to be.

Crave can be Officer Gaines. It's disgusting, and I hate myself for wanting him, but I can accept that he's the mall cop who raped me. I can allow myself to like him with a mask on. Maybe I can even enjoy his actual face one day.

But he's not my father.

He's not my father.

He's not?—

Tears burst through me. I'm not upset. I'm not sad. I'm not even mad or scared.

I'm overwhelmed.

I can't stop shaking my head.

I dial Penny. The call goes straight to voicemail. My fingers quiver, vibrating so hard, I accidentally dial my mother. I hang up and call Ned instead. He picks up on the first ring.

"Rae? Hey," he says. "Wow, it's late. What's up? Are you okay?"

"I'm having car trouble," I say. My voice cracks. I huff, trying to get the weakness out of my system. Then I let go of that strength, because Ned will be more likely to help me if he thinks I'm in trouble. It's better this way.

"Where are you?" he asks.

"I'm at the mall."

"I'll meet you out front."

I clutch my hands around myself and walk toward the front of the building, my eyes scanning the darkness, searching for that mask—for the mall cop's uniform, for Crave, for Officer Gaines, for whoever the fuck he is. It's inevitable; he's going to kill me now.

As soon as Ned shows up, I jump in his car, clutching the paternity results to my chest.

"I'm glad you called," he says. "I was hanging out with my brother. He's addicted to this new video game, and I swear, he made me promise to play with him for his birthday. I was bored out of my mind…"

His words fizzle to white noise. The street signs swirl into rainbow blotches. It's like I'm not here anymore; I'm simply a color.

Officer Gaines harassed me. Raped me. Looked down on me.

But is Crave right? When he forced me to say that I wanted to lick his ass, did I actually want what he was going to do to me?

Did he know he was going to rape me like that the entire time?

How can Crave be my father?

"Are those the DNA tests?" Ned asks, gesturing to my lap. "Did you find anything out?"

I shake my head vigorously. Ned raises a brow.

"That sucks," he says. "Gaines said you had a lot of results."

Results. Gaines.

"Gaines?" I whisper.

"Yeah, Officer Gaines said you got a lot of mail at the mall or something."

It doesn't matter if I'm Craven Gaines or Michael Hall or some stupid masked killer named Crave. You are made for me. From me. With me. And I will always own you, he had said.

Craven Gaines.

I bite my lip, then blurt out: "You want to come over tonight?" I sway slightly. "I just—I guess I want company."

No. I don't want the company. I don't even want Ned. But if Ned is with me, Crave won't do anything. Not until I'm alone again. And maybe there's something about Ned that's supposed to be comforting. He's the kind of man who will take care of me, who always respects me, who wants to do everything for me. He makes me feel like a bird kept in a cage, but at least that cage is safe. At least the master comes to feed the bird. The master even lets the bird out sometimes.

If Crave is my father, there's a chance he's stalked me my whole life. To Crave, I'm not a pet locked in a cage. I'm his prey.

He can't be my father. He just can't.

"Rae?" Ned asks.

He puts a hand on my thigh, and I jolt from the contact. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"I can't tonight," he says. "But do you want me to come by in the morning?"

My eyes glaze over. I nod. Ned checking on me is a good thing. Even if I don't care about him, he cares about me. If something happens to me, he'll report it. He'll make sure justice is served.

Won't he?

"Thank you," I say.

Inside of my apartment, I pace back and forth, gawking at the cameras on the wall. Then I physically unplug all of them.

I need to go.

I need to leave this place.

But your father is alive,my brain argues. He's here. He's protected you all of this time. He's helped you embrace who you really are.

"No," I say out loud. "He's been manipulating me this entire time. He's just messing with my head."

He wants you,my brain says.

I dial my mother. I blink, then squinch my eyes shut. With each drumming ring, my skin gets clammier. I've been clinging to the name Michael Hall since my mother first spoke that name.

But Michael Hall is not my father. My real father—Craven Gaines—may have killed the real Michael Hall.

The phone clicks. "Sweetheart?" my mother asks. "Are you okay? Thank god you're?—"

There are a million things I could say to her about what I've been up to. About why I've been avoiding her phone calls. I could explain that I needed some time to myself to figure out who my father really was.

And fuck, I did find out.

"He's not the father," I say. "Is he?"

"Who's not?"

"Michael Hall," I say, raising my voice. "When I left, you said that I acted just like my father, Michael Hall. You meant the same Michael Hall who killed his wife, then killed himself in Pahrump the year I was born, right?"

My whole body vibrates with shock. I don't know if what I'm doing is right, but I have to know. I have to confront her.

"There are other Michael Halls, right?" I say. "Someone else who you had sex with. It can't be him." The tears gather in my voice. "It just doesn't make sense."

There's a long pause that pulls at my insides, each nerve ripped from the threads of my spine.

My mother clears her throat.

"Yes, that's the same Michael Hall," she says in a quiet voice. "Your father wasn't a good man, sweetheart, which is why I didn't want you to know who he was. But he is your father. Why doesn't that make sense?"

I tell her that I've been in Pahrump since I left Vegas. That I got a retail job here. That I've got an apartment. I tell her about the murder-suicide anniversary party, about interviewing locals, about wanting to know more about my father. I tell her about Ned and his brother, and how the sheriff canceled his appointment with me. I tell her about how someone stole DNA samples from the police department. I tell her about the paternity tests. I tell her I wanted to find out where I belong and why I am the way I am.

I don't tell her about Crave. The fake identities. The masks. I don't tell her that if the paternity tests are real, then I've been fucking my own father.

Tension coils inside of me like a spring, ready to smash into a wall.

"Then there's a chance that whatever you had tested is not his DNA, right?" my mother says, her voice so gentle, so trusting, that it scrapes my ears like nails on a chalkboard. "Even criminologists make mistakes, sweetheart. I wouldn't hold onto that knowledge like it's the absolute truth."

Truth.

I hate that word.

Are you afraid she'll find out the truth about you?Crave had asked.

That's the only truth that helps me make sense of this stuff, Penny had said. There is no reason. No nature. No nurture. It is what it is.

"Who is my father?" I ask, raising my voice again.

"Michael Hall," my mother says, her tone filling with aggravation too. "I told you that."

My eyes water. Panic fills my veins all over again.

I couldn't have slept with my own father. It's?—

It's—

God, I can't even bring myself to say it.

"Why didn't you tell me years ago?" I cry.

"Do you think you would've been able to handle knowing that your father killed his wife and himself?" she snaps. "He was a bad person, Rae. He cheated on his wife, probably more than once, and he raped me. He hurt me. My guess is that he beat his wife too. But I didn't let the pregnancy get in the way of giving you a good life." Her voice cracks; I've hit a nerve. "He's dead. You're a good person. You've got so much potential. You've got your whole life in front of you. You don't have to let your past control you like this."

A good person.

Potential.

A life.

Have I somehow always let Crave control me like this?

Someone mumbles in the background, and my mother responds to them in a hushed voice.

"I've got to go," she says to me. "But come home, okay? We need you here. I talked to the general manager, and she says you can come back; you've just got to stay out of the rooms. You're on admin work only. Nothing with the suites or the penthouses."

I blink the tears away. There's nothing I can do or say. My mother only knows what Crave told her. He must have lied to her and pretended to be Michael Hall.

If we test our DNA again, it'll have the same result. Deep in the crevices of my soul, I know that.

"I worry about you," my mother says. "Come home."

"Okay," I say.

I hang up, then book a bus ticket from Pahrump to Vegas for the morning. I'll ask Ned to tow my car to a mechanic in Vegas. It'll be a pain in the ass, but I need to get out of this place as soon as I can.

I try to sleep. I can't.

I stare at the ceiling.

Crave is my father. Officer Craven Gaines. The sad little mall cop. A man who has been tricking me. Watching me. Hunting me.

And I walked right into his arms.

The logical part of me wants to be shocked. Disgusted. Ashamed. Mad at myself for falling for a man like him.

Another part of me is relieved. Comforted. A twisted sense of strength curls inside of me, knowing that Crave could have killed me long ago, but he didn't. I have some sort of hold on him too, just like he has a hold on me.

The lack of remorse makes sense now. The only guilt I've had was when I was caught. And that's why I never turned Crave in. I didn't care about the people he killed. I only cared about what he could do for me.

He must've known for awhile that he was my father. That's the only way I've lived for this long. Otherwise, he would've killed me sooner.

I look out my bedroom window, expecting to see him on the sidewalk.

The apartment parking lot is empty.

I search the cupboards until I find cold medicine. It's not a sleeping pill, but it'll make me drowsy enough to stop these thoughts. I need silence. I need to sleep.

In the morning, I'll go to Vegas. It'll clear my head.

I'll pretend like Michael Hall really is my father.

I'll pretend like Crave doesn't exist.

Everything will make sense again.