Page 56 of Good and Gone

It’s just after dawn, and except for a dog barking in the distance, the street is empty and quiet. Tyler stirred when I darted from the bed. I told him I was going next door and last I heard, he was in the bathroom washing up. Undoubtedly, he’ll be watching me on the cameras. I give the thumbs up and a short wave. My mother, who has been sleeping in our guest room, watches me from the window. I feel like a child. My food intake is managed meticulously. My bathroom habits are closely monitored. And I can’t even leave my house without the Spanish Inquisition taking place. It’s not as bad as being in that room, but at least then I could count on the drugs to numb me from what was really going on. Now, there’s just the cold hard truth: I am not in charge of my own life.

Kenneth answers the door, looking half asleep and a little disheveled. “I’m sorry if I woke you,” I tell him, which is not exactly true. “But it couldn’t wait. Can I come in?”

He blinks his eyes several times and then looks toward my house and then down the lane. “Now?”

“Now is perfect,” I say. “Remember when you said you owed me?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I need to call in that favor.”

He opens the door wide enough for me to step through and waves me inside. I am not prepared for how different it looks. “Reese wanted to redecorate,” he tells me, shutting the door behind me. “Her mother would hate it.”

It strikes me that he never uses Sarah’s name, and I get that familiar pang in my chest that comes whenever I think of her. “Yes,” I say. “She would.”

Kenneth follows me into the living room. I don’t wait for him to offer me a seat. I’ve spent ages in this house. It may look a little different, but it still feels like home. “I was hoping you could answer a few questions…”

“Sure. Anything.”

"Is it possible to get DNA from a fetus?"

His brow furrows in confusion. “Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting that.”

I can see that he thinks I am acting a little strange—a little manic—and maybe I am. But he's a reproductive endocrinologist, which means he knows the answer. "I was thinking we could match it with the man who raped me."

He looks at me sort of funny like. Like he is afraid to say the wrong thing. Like he's wondering if he should call Tyler. Like he's a little afraid. “Sure, it's possible.”

He glances toward the stairs and then back at me. “Are you—are you okay, Hailey?”

“I’ve had better days,” I say. “But I’m managing. Anyway—can you do it? The DNA test?”

He thinks about what I’ve asked for a long beat before he offers an answer, which does not surprise me. “Well, first of all, you would need to match that DNA with the database of offenders. It would be quite complicated.”

"Complicated—but not impossible?"

Kenneth perches himself on the edge of his couch and folds his arms across his chest. "I suppose anything's possible."

"How long would it take?"

He gives me a curious look. “Are you thinking of continuing the pregnancy?”

"I haven't decided."

"I'm sure it's a lot to think about."

"What do you know about nature versus nurture, Kenny?"

"What do you mean?"

“I mean, what are the odds this child will turn out to be a monster like its father?”

“That's a tough question for me to answer,” he tells me with a shake of his head. “I’m not sure I'm qualified.”

“Come on,” I say. “Give it your best shot.”

“Well, technically, there's no ‘psychopathy gene,’ but research tells us that psychopathy tends to run in families.”

“In other words, I'm taking a risk if I have this child.”

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