Only Daughter: A gripping thriller of deadly deceit

It would be scary for your worst fears to be coming real all around you and everyone to just dismiss you as crazy. Their next-door neighbour, Max, used to yell all night. Her mom told her he must just be arguing with someone on the phone, but she’d peered through her curtains when he’d woken her at 4:00 a.m. one morning, and there he was, screaming at no one in the dark. He threw a rock through their kitchen window a few weeks later. Her dad made a call that night, and Max was taken away. When he came back, he didn’t yell anymore. He just sat on his stoop and stared into the middle distance, slowly getting fatter and fatter.

Would it be better to feel afraid all the time or to feel nothing at all? She hadn’t decided yet.

The sun glared down at her through a milk skin of clouds. She would probably be burnt if she stayed out here much longer. But she liked this image of herself. Lying on her back in Lizzie’s swimming pool. Green bikini, freckled arms outstretched, belly button filling up with water as she breathed. She wondered if she was being watched right now. The bedrooms of Lizzie’s brother and father looked down onto the pool. She’d caught both of them staring at her a few times over the past year. It should gross her out, but it didn’t.

The sound of feet slapping against the concrete, a moment of stretched silence and then the surface of the water exploded as Lizzie cannon-bombed. She came up for air giggling madly, her wet hair plastered over her face.

“I almost got you!”

“You’re such an idiot.” Bec laughed, trying to dunk her back under the water. Lizzie grabbed her waist and they screeched and cackled as they attempted to wrestle, slippery limbs like eels tangling together. Bec dunked Lizzie hard and she came up spluttering.

“Truce?”

Lizzie held out her pinkie finger, still coughing. They gripped pinkies and Bec swam quickly out of the way before Lizzie changed her mind. Bec leaned over the tiled edge of the pool, getting her breath back. She wished this was her house and Lizzie was her sister, although they looked nothing alike. While Bec was lean and relatively flat-chested, Lizzie’s body was all soft and curvy in the right places. Sometimes when Lizzie put on red lipstick Bec thought that her best friend looked just like Marilyn Monroe, but she never told her.

“Oh, now my head is spinning again.” Droplets of water clung from Lizzie’s eyelashes as she stared intently at Bec.

“It’s your own fault.” Bec rested her head on her arm. Her hangover was slipping away. The dizziness was gone and her stomach was beginning to calm.

“Last night was awesome, wasn’t it?” A dangerous little smile crept over Bec’s face as she said it. Lizzie didn’t even know the best bits.

“We’re so lucky.” Lizzie sighed and pushed herself off the edge. “You’d better go, dude. You’re going to get in the shit with Ellen.”

“Crap! What time is it?” Bec pulled herself out of the pool, the baked concrete searing her bare feet as she hopped toward the lounge room. She grabbed her phone off the kitchen bench. It was two thirty; she would only just make it if she hurried. She had an SMS. It was from him. Just woke up. Always have the most amazing nights with you.

Bec was glad Lizzie wasn’t there to see the goofy smile that plastered her face as she ran up the stairs to grab her work clothes. The message ran over and over in her head. It must mean he liked her. She was sure now. She slammed into Lizzie’s brother, Jack, on the landing. His door was open and the grinding sounds of his metal music pumped from his bedroom. He had put a hand out instinctively; it felt hot on her lower back. For a quarter of a second they were so close it was like they were embracing; she could feel his breath, smell his smell. He jerked his hand away.

“Sorry!”

He looked awkwardly at the floor, his face colouring. She realized suddenly she was basically naked and gave a little shriek of laughter as she ran into Lizzie’s room. Pulling off her bikini, she left it a wet green lump on the carpet and put her work uniform on. It stank of deep-fryer oil and stuck to her wet skin. She wished she’d given herself time to have a shower and wash her hair. Bec would usually never go anywhere without straightening it. Grabbing her makeup bag, she smudged on her concealer, smeared on the thick foundation, blush on top, then mascara. She liked to wear liquid eyeliner these days, too, but it was too easy to muck up if she was in a hurry. She’d gone to school looking like a panda once and never wanted to repeat the experience. Pulling on her ballet flats as she walked, she grabbed her bag and took the stairs down two at a time.

“See ya, bitch!” she called to Lizzie, who stuck her middle finger up from the swimming pool.

The gate banged shut behind her as she rushed down the street. It was now 2:43 p.m. She should make it. Her pace slowed. It was too hot to run. The air felt heavy, pushing her down into the road. This was a stinker of a summer. Day after day of over forty degrees. She ran her fingers through her hair; it was almost dry already. Hopefully it wouldn’t frizz.

Sunday was his day off. She wished he was going to be there anyway. They could compare hangovers, rehash the events of last night and laugh. Her thumbs flashed across the keypad: On my way to work now. Boo, wish you were there :). Reading over it again and again, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to be too obvious, although she’d read in a magazine once that obvious was good. You have to give them the confidence to make a move. The smiley face had to go, she decided; it was too childish. Her finger hesitated over the send button, her heart racing. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to push it. The private little smile crept over her face again and Bec wondered if Lizzie had any idea. She liked having this secret. It felt dangerous, like playing with fire.

For a moment the other secret leapt into her mind. The memory of it was like red-hot metal, searing and violent. She tried to push it back down; she shouldn’t be thinking about that.

Gum leaves crunched under her feet as she turned the corner onto the main road. The smell of baking eucalypt was pungent. It made her eyes water. The leaves were crisp and black around the edges, like the heat in the air had burnt them. For a second she wondered if she might vomit, if last night’s beer was going to make a reappearance after all. She stopped walking and held on to a branch to steady herself, squeezing her eyes shut.

Last night had been fun; it was worth feeling a bit sick today. The best nights out always happened by surprise. She’d been closing up. Mopping the floors and washing out the deep fryer with two fingers pinching her nose. Matty was doing the grill. His thick fingers were black from the grease. She didn’t understand why he never wore gloves. She used to be a bit scared of Matty, with his hulking frame and tattooed arms, but then she realized he was one of the sweetest men she’d ever met. More like a teddy bear than a biker.

“I’m meeting Ellen and Luke at the pub after this. Do you want to come?”

“Do you reckon we can sneak Lizzie in, too?” He’d said yes, but she would have gone even if he hadn’t.

The five of them played pool, Matty and Luke taking it in turns and buying her pots of beer. She hated beer, but didn’t want to ask for cider; she loved feeling like one of the boys. The pub was dark and smelt musky. When she’d opened the doors to the toilets, she saw her own dilated pupils in the mirror, before they responded to the bright fluorescents. She’d smeared on a bit more makeup, wishing she’d brought something to change into. But she hadn’t let that spoil the night.

Bec had tried not to stare at Luke. But she was willing him to come over, to get closer. Eventually she sat a game out and so did he.

“How are you going, mate?” She loved it when he called her that, as if they were complete equals. She hated nothing more than being treated like a little girl.

When he sat next to her, she could feel the radiating heat of his body. They made smutty jokes as they watched the others play; she lit up when she managed to make him laugh. He told her secrets. She listened. She wished he would kiss her. He didn’t. But he took her hand once and squeezed it, his eyes staring at her intensely. He didn’t have to say anything; she could guess what he was thinking. She was too young. When they were working late one night he’d told her that a friend of his had a rule. You could date someone half your age, plus seven years. Any younger than that was wrong.

“So, when do you turn seventeen?” he’d said, like it was a joke. It had been three months away then. Only one now. She would just have to be patient.

Bec’s foundation was starting to melt off. She pushed herself to walk a little faster. McDonald’s had air conditioning. Not that it helped much in the drive-through. Fingers crossed she was just at the main counter today. Then she felt it again, that prickling feeling. She turned. There was no one behind her. The street was strangely empty. Everyone was locked away in air conditioning. She quickened her pace, the back of her neck still prickling.

When she got off the bus after work the sky was black. The air was still heavy and hot. Her suburb was always silent when she came home late. When she walked around Lizzie’s street at night, it felt like it breathed—lights on, windows open, people laughing, music playing. There was the welcome smell of hot dinners wafting out of the screen doors.

In Bec’s suburb, everyone shut their curtains tight, so you could just see the blue glow of televisions around the edges.

She couldn’t wait to get home, to open her front door to a cool house. Her family sitting in front of the television, laughing along to some dumb sitcom. To feel the relief of being comfortable, included and safe. Of being home.

At least, she wished that’s what it would be like. But that was someone else’s family. Not hers.

Her limbs were starting to ache as she walked up the hill to her street. It had been a long shift. Ellen was angry with her; she’d been ten minutes late after all. When she’d seen her reflection in the stainless steel, she saw her running makeup and frizzy hair. There was nothing she could do about it either. Sitting in the drive-through window, she could feel her forearms starting to burn; she hadn’t even put sunscreen on.

That doomsday feeling started to creep up on her. That feeling when she was so tired that everything started to feel wrong. She tried not to think about Luke. If she did, she would start to pick it apart; to worry. To realize he didn’t like her at all, that she was being an idiot and everyone was laughing at her.

She approached her house slowly. It was dark. Every window pitch-black.

3

2014

A tube of white light surfaces in the thick black. I close my eyes again. It’s too bright. My throat is dry and my head throbs. Groaning, I rub my eyes. Something catches on my cheek. Blinking the blurriness away, I look at my wrist. Around it loops a plastic hospital band, with the words Winter, Rebecca in bold type. Looking around groggily, I see the officer from last night asleep in a chair at the foot of the bed.

Oh, God. This is going to be so much more difficult than I’d thought.

Standing in that dark toilet block, the cold and fear and exhaustion had seemed like the bigger of two evils. But now, waking up in this hospital bed with a sleeping detective blocking the door, I realize that maybe I’d made a mistake. I’d been so stupid to think that I could just start a brand-new life, that it would be that easy.

The room is quiet. There is only the sound of the cop’s sleeping breath and the muff led chatter from a few rooms away. There’s a window to my right. Maybe I could make it.

As quietly as I can, I push myself up to sitting. My arm is bandaged and stinks of antiseptic, but it barely hurts. Must be because of whatever is in the drip attached to my hand. Looking down, I see that I’m wearing nothing but a thin hospital gown and underwear. Someone undressed me. For a moment I could laugh—how many times have I woken up in a 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 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 welcome,” says Andopolis. “Bring her in around three.”

“See you then, mate.”

I hear the door open as Andopolis gets in his car. Then the engine starts and he drives away. The mom releases me and the father looks me up and down. He’s the ultimate white-collar worker, with his suit and open shirt, his dark eyes and clean-shaven face. He must have dressed for work even though he knew he wasn’t going, still in shock that he was taking the day off because his long-lost daughter was coming home.

“I don’t know what to say, Becky.”

He pulls me in for a hug. It’s different from the mother, a little awkward. I can smell his aftershave and, behind that, a strange rotting smell.

The mother turns and pulls open the door. I think I see her wipe her face.

“Come inside, Bec.”

Her voice cracks and I realize I’ve passed the test. I’m in. This is my house, my life.

From now on, I am Rebecca Winter.

* * *

I’d forgotten how amazing a hot shower is. Being able to wash my hair and shave my legs feels fantastic, even though I have to do it with my injured arm sticking out of the stream. I wrap a towel around myself and happily breathe in the steam. If I’d made the other choice, I’d be cold and alone somewhere right now, wearing my dirty clothes that would probably be still damp from the rain. The thought makes me shudder.

Walking out of the bathroom, I realize I don’t know which one was Rebecca’s room. I open the door next to the bathroom. It’s a cupboard full of folded linen. I slowly open the door opposite, hoping they can’t hear me from the kitchen. This one is a bedroom, nothing on the walls and no furniture except for two single beds. Was this meant to be my room? There’s one more door, so I decide to try that one, walking softly on the carpet so they won’t hear my footsteps from below.

Posters of Destiny’s Child and Gwen Stefani glare at me. The bed is made with pink sheets. A Cabbage Patch doll perches on the bedside table. Year Ten textbooks are stacked on the desk, the first four in the Harry Potter series are aligned neatly on the shelf above, and everywhere, there are photographs. There she is, smiling and posing, her arms around various friends, mostly another girl with long blonde hair. It’s like life stood still in this room, waiting for the same sixteen-year-old to return.

I peer at the pictures of her, gripping the towel around my naked body, my wet hair dripping on the carpet. Even in photographs you can see the life and vitality of this girl. She looks confident and at ease. Looking at her face from all angles, I realize she looks a little less like me than I originally thought. Her nose is smaller, her eyes are bigger—even the shape of her face is slightly different. A decade can change a face a lot, though. I can blame any differences on time.