AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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"Do you want to kill me?" Milton asked.

Andrea groaned and ran her fingers through her hair. At the rate she was going, she feared she was going to end up ripping all of it out before the day was done. The tugging sensation felt good. The harder she pulled on her hair, the more grounded she felt. The less she felt like she was just going to shrivel up or something.

"No," Andrea growled.

"Do you want to kill me?" Milton repeated.

Andrea swallowed back her desire to cry over the question.

"No," she repeated.

"You don't want to kill me?" Milton asked.

"No," Andrea repeated quickly. She sucked in a breath and intentionally put her hands under her legs—pinched between her thighs and the chair—to keep from fidgeting anymore. She let the breath out as slowly as she could and focused on breathing a few more times. She was pleased to find it almost as soothing as tugging at her hair had been moments before.

"What if I took the baby away from you?" Milton asked.

Andrea stared at him.

"Would you want to kill me?" Milton asked.

"No," Andrea repeated.

"You wouldn't want to kill me if I took the baby away from you?" Milton asked.

"No," Andrea repeated. "I wouldn't want to kill you. I don't want to kill you. I've never wanted to kill anyone, Milton." She shook her head at him. "I don't think I'd ever want to kill you."

Milton nodded his head and jotted something down on his legal pad.

"But you would kill me?" He asked.

"Yes," Andrea said, barely letting the word come out with sound behind it.

"I'm sorry?" Milton asked.

"Yes," Andrea said a little louder. "I wouldn't want to kill you. But—if I had to? I would kill you."

"Would you have to kill me?" Milton asked.

"Yes," Andrea said.

"You wouldn't have to kill me," Milton said. "There would be nothing that would require you to kill me."

"If you took my baby," Andrea said, "then I would have to."

"Why?" Milton asked.

"To get my baby back," Andrea said.

She rocked in the chair, but she kept her hands firmly trapped under her legs.

"Would you kill someone else?" Milton asked. "If it were another person that took your baby? Would you kill them?"

"Whoever I had to," Andrea said.

She normally wouldn't be so candid. If I were Hurricane Maggie asking the questions, Andrea would never be so candid. But she could tell the truth to Milton. She could tell the truth to Melodye and to Alice. They expected her to tell the truth when they asked her questions and it was the truth—it was Andrea's truth—that would set them all free. That's what they told her.

She would be the one that ultimately gave them all their freedom.

What she was suffering was her sacrifice. She was doing it for them. For all of them. At the end of it all, she'd be the one that gave them their freedom.

She only had to keep from losing herself in the process.

"If the baby is taken away from you," Milton said, "you won't get it back. Do you understand that, Andrea?"

Andrea stared at him.

"You won't get the baby back," Milton said. "If the baby is taken from you, you'll never get it back. Do you understand me?"

Andrea swallowed against the choking sensation in her throat.

"Yes," she said.

"You'll never see the baby again," Milton said. "Do you understand that? If it's taken from you, you'll never see it again. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Andrea repeated, forcing herself to swallow repeatedly. She hated when she fell apart during Milton's questioning.

"How would you feel about that?" Milton asked. "How would you feel, Andrea? If the baby were taken away from you and you were never to see it again?"

Milton repeated the question two more times when he felt that Andrea was taking too long getting around to her answer. She sucked in a breath.

"Devastated," she said.

"Enough to kill?" Milton asked.

"Yes," Andrea said.

"Why would you kill?" Milton asked. Andrea shook her head at him. She freed one of her hands to wipe at her face. "It wouldn't get your baby back," Milton said. "You understand that, right? If you lost the baby, killing wouldn't get it back. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Andrea offered quietly.

"Do you think that killing would make you feel better?" Milton asked.

"Yes," Andrea said.

"Would it make you feel better?" Milton asked.

"I don't know," Andrea admitted.

"But you think it would?" Milton asked.

Andrea shook her head.

"I don't know," she said. "But I think—it would be worth a try. Maybe—at that moment? I would think it was worth it. Just to try. I'd have to try something."

"To get the baby back?" Milton asked.

"Yes," Andrea responded.

"But it wouldn't get the baby back," Milton said.

"But I'd have to try," Andrea said.

"You realize that they would kill you," Milton said. "If you killed me. If you killed anyone. You'd be killed immediately."

"I know," Andrea said.

"But still you believe that you'd try to kill someone, knowing full well that you'd be killed?" Milton asked.

Andrea sucked in a breath and considered it. When Milton started to repeat the question, she nodded her head at him to make it clear that she'd heard him and that she'd understood the question. She only needed a moment to consider her answer. He sat back in his chair and waited quietly while she thought.

"I think I would hope that they killed me," Andrea said. "Honestly—if I was going to lose my baby? Again? After—after what I went through losing Andrew? I think I'd know that they were going to kill me and, maybe, that's what I would want. If I knew there was no chance of getting the baby back? Maybe I'd kill someone just so they'd kill me."

"Assisted suicide, essentially," Milton offered.

"Essentially," Andrea responded.

Milton nodded his head at her and jotted down a few more items on the legal pad. Andrea sat back in her chair, stretched her back, and then rubbed her hand over the swell of her belly. They could do these interviews all day, every day if that's what Milton needed for them to do, but for right now? Her baby was there. He was with her. She could feel the gentle thumping feeling of an elbow or a foot or something as he moved around. He was unbothered by the conversation taking place, but he didn't like when she was tense. Any time she got tense, he responded by reminding her that he was there.

"Would you commit suicide?" Milton asked.

"What?" Andrea asked.

"If someone took the baby," Milton said. "And there was no chance of regaining custody of the child. But you were provided a way—even if it wasn't, perhaps, an obvious tool to use—would you commit suicide?"

"I don't know," Andrea said.

"That's the idea, Andrea," Milton said. "You don't know any of this. Not for certain. I'm not asking you to know. I'm asking you to—tell me what you believe."

Andrea nodded her head.

"I might," Andrea said. "I guess—I probably would?"

"What if you were isolated?" Milton asked.

"Isolated?" Andrea asked. "You mean like—like I am now?" She laughed to herself.

Milton shook his head.

"Complete isolation," Milton said. "The baby is taken. You'll never see it again. You're completely isolated. Your only interaction is with myself or someone who took your baby. You acquire a weapon. Do you kill the person who took your baby? Or do you kill yourself?"

Andrea swallowed.

"Both," she said. "I would—kill them first. Then? I'd kill myself."

Milton nodded and returned to his notes.

Andrea sighed.

"I'm sorry, Milton," Andrea said. "But—I'm really tired and...I'm hungry. How much longer do we have?"

"Not much longer," Milton said.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" Andrea asked.

"You're not allowed to leave once we've begun," Milton said. "You know that."

"I have to pee," Andrea said.

"Your discomfort enhances your ability to answer the questions honestly," Milton said blankly.

Andrea swallowed and nodded, accepting Milton's response. She didn't have to go that badly. She could hold it.

"I'm sorry that I don't know—I just don't know how to answer the questions like you need them answered," Andrea said.

"Actually," Milton said, flipping back through pages he'd filled with his scribbling, "you've given me a great deal of information. Good information. Information that I can use."

"For the project?" Andrea asked.

"What else would I need the information for?" Milton asked.

Andrea laughed to herself.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Can you tell me—what it's for?"

"I cannot," Milton said.

"Can you tell me—what you've learned from me, at least?" Andrea asked.

"I cannot," Milton said.

Andrea growled to herself.

"Will I ever get to know what it's all for, Milton? What it's all about?" Andrea asked.

Milton stared at his notes.

"All in good time," he offered.

He reached around and fumbled around in the bag that he'd brought in with him. He took an envelope out of the bag and put it on the table. Andrea reached for it and Milton put his fingers down on the envelope, pinning it to the table. Apparently Andrea wasn't meant to take it, so she withdrew her hand. Milton tapped the envelope.

"In this envelope are the results from the genetic testing," Milton said.

"Is everything OK?" Andrea asked.

"The envelope is sealed," Milton said. He flipped the envelope over to show that it hadn't been opened before. Andrea was smart enough to know, though, that the seal didn't mean that Milton didn't know the contents of the envelope. It only meant that she didn't know the contents of the envelope. "Scientific findings suggest that being wild is a mutation of the virus that causes posthumous animation. In short, you spent more time among the infected and, as a result, you contracted a strand of the virus that, essentially, mutated. As a result, those that are wild could, arguably, be described as something closer to the ambulatory corpses than the actual living human beings. Do you believe that?"

"Do you believe that?" Andrea asked. "That I'm more like the dead than the living?"

"I asked you a question, Andrea," Milton said.

"Was the scientist who discovered this information Kreegan?" Andrea asked.

"Indeed," Milton responded.

"Then I think it's bullshit," Andrea said.

Milton laughed to himself.

"I'm inclined to agree," Milton said. "However—what I believe has very little merit until the project is complete and I've got scientific evidence to back up my opinion. Science is all that matters in the end. If Kreegan was right, though, then he would also be right about his belief that the mutation would, in essence, be passed down to the offspring of those who were wild, rendering their children completely wild. It would appear as a genetic mutation. You see? A clear genetic mutation."

Andrea sucked in a breath.

"Is there a mutation?" She asked.

"The envelope is sealed," Milton responded. "Do you believe there's a mutation?"

"I don't know," Andrea said. "I'm not a scientist."

Milton laughed to himself. It was only recently that he was beginning to find Andrea funny, but she was starting to believe that Milton, perhaps in spite of himself, was beginning to enjoy her company.

"If Kreegan is correct," Milton said, "and the mutations appear, the government has ordered that every fetus to test positive for the mutation be destroyed in utero. The Wild population is too large already and, therefore, they need to be handled before they're born to create a potentially larger population problem."

Andrea swallowed against the churning feeling in her stomach that she couldn't blame on her son's moving about.

"Abortion?" Andrea asked.

"Involuntary termination," Milton said.

Andrea swallowed again. She could feel the tears prickling at her eyes, but she did everything she could to hold them back. She didn't want to cry. She was tired of crying. It exhausted her and made her eyes burn, but it did little else for her or her situation.

"How does that make you feel?" Milton asked after a moment.

"How do you think it makes me feel?" Andrea asked.

"I don't appreciate when you answer a question with a question," Milton said.

"Horrible," Andrea said. "Sick. Afraid."

"Angry?" Milton asked.

"Honestly? No," Andrea said. "I think—I feel too many other feelings. There isn't room for anger."

"Do you want to open the envelope?" Milton asked, pushing it toward Andrea.

"You already know what it says," Andrea said.

"I do," Milton confirmed.

"You can just tell me," Andrea said. "Unless science requires me to open the envelope?"

Milton picked up the envelope himself and looked at it, but he didn't slide his finger under the flap. He simply stared at the white envelope.

"The baby showed no genetic abnormalities," Milton said.

Andrea released her breath.

"What would you have felt, Milton, if he had?" Andrea asked. "Would you have felt anything at all?"

Milton didn't take his eyes off the envelope, even as he lowered it to rest on the table in front of him.

"I feel a good many things, Andrea," Milton said. "As much as you do. Perhaps more. But—like you? It doesn't matter what I feel. My feelings change nothing."

Andrea swallowed and nodded her head. Maybe it was the most honest answer that she'd ever received from Milton about anything.

"Do you want to know the sex of the baby?" Milton asked.

"What?" Andrea asked.

"The sex," Milton said. "The tests revealed it. Would you like to know the sex of the baby? Or would you prefer to—be surprised?"

"Would you like to tell me?" Andrea asked.

Milton sat there for a moment, still staring at the envelope. Then he packed it and his notepad into the bag that he'd carry upstairs with him to work for a while before their meal arrived. As soon as Andrea saw him packing his things away, she knew that the question session was over and she relaxed a little in her chair.

"You will call me for the meal?" Milton asked.

"Of course," Andrea said.

She stayed seated as Milton walked past her, headed for the staircase. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her muscles letting go of some of their tension.

"Andrea?" Milton said from behind her.

"Yes?" Andrea asked.

"My mother's name was Arabella," Milton said. "I know it's an unusual name, but...if you were to consider it..."

"It's a beautiful name," Andrea said, her throat tightening up in a way that she hadn't expected it would.

"I wouldn't be offended, either way," Milton said. "You understand?"

Andrea smiled to herself. Her throat felt so tight that she worried there wouldn't be room for her voice to come through, but she tried out her vocal chords at any rate.

"I understand," she said. "And I'll call you for dinner."