Chapter 10: Not Who You Say You Are

Stella is seated at Mac's kitchen table, eating a bowl of Cheerios (there was nothing better in his pantry) when her phone rings. "Bonasera."

"We have somewhat good news," Mac says.

"You caught my father?"

"No. Jane ran the DNA on the hair Sheldon took from the hotel room. We got the same name as we did with the fingerprint from the rime scene with your mother."

"I already knew he killed her," she puts another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

"The DNA on the hair was tested against your DNA in CODIS. There was no match. You aren't related to this guy that's after you."

"And you want me to be happy about this? I'm still all alone."

"Your father could still be out there. If you ask me, I'd bet your mother was having an affair and ended up pregnant. When she told this man that all the records claim to be your father, he got upset and left her. She believed he really was your father. Somehow he found out that he wasn't your father and has come to kill her, which he's already done, for cheating on him and probably to kill you too," he explains his theory.

"Whatever," she says, not caring about her parents anymore; one was dead and the other probably didn't know she existed.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes to pick you up."

"See you then," Stella hangs up, and just as she finishes her cereal, someone knocks on the door. Thinking nothing of it, she answers it, coming face to face with the man who had kidnapped her. Frozen, she stands there stupidly as he brushes past her to get in.

"I thought you'd have a better hiding spot than this."

"You're not my father," she backs away from him, right into the door.

"What do you mean? Of course I am," he grabs her arm.

"They did a DNA test; I'm not related to you. That's why you want to kill me and why you murdered my mother. She had an affair so you left her. You didn't know she had gotten pregnant. She might not have known at that time either," Stella explains, standing smugly at knowing something about her past before he can tell her. "Mac is on his way here now; you can't hurt me."

"Would you like to make a bet on it?" he surprises her by pulling her arm, jerking her forward.

She doesn't answer, just smiles sweetly at him. He frowns, not sure why she's smiling when he's about to kill her. Without warning, she punches him in the nose.

"Ow," he covers his bleeding nose with his hands. "You're going to pay for that." He tries to grab her with a blood stained hand.

"Get away," she hits his arm off her and runs to her suitcase.

The man follows her, blood dripping a trail on the floor. "You don't deserve to live," he pushes her from the bag, keeping her from her search. "Need your gun to kill me, Stella? I thought they taught you how to defend yourself in police training."

"In case you haven't noticed, you're twice the size of me. Any weaponless attack I try isn't going to work; you'll easily overpower me."

"You would never hurt your father, would you, Stella?" he places his hand on her cheek, covering it in blood.

"I already told you were not related," she surprised him by pushing him with all her strength, knocking him to the ground. Not wasting a second, she continues to rummage through her suitcase until she finds her gun. When she turns back around to point it at him, he is standing right behind her.

He grabs the barrel of the gun and tries to pull it out of her grasp. "Your mother was mad that she got pregnant with you. I was the best thing in he life, and because of you, I left her. That's why she got rid of you; she wanted me back."

"That's not true," Stella yells, continuing to struggle over the gun. Suddenly it goes off, sending a bullet through his stomach. She watches in horror as the only person who possibly knows the truth about her past dies.

A/N: Everyone in my history class hates me. And it's because I have an A in the class and no one else does. It's not my fault they don't know how to study or take good notes to study from. Most people have a C or D. The one girl who always has the same percent as me or one very close to mine is about ten percentage points lower than me. Of course the teacher hasn't added the big project when we had to interview someone who lived during the Depression or WWII in yet because she hasn't finished them yet. That should hopefully raise these people's grades. My fat, retarded cat is in the computer chair, and she won't move. And my group for the dissection in bio has elected me the writer, I think. No one else volunteered to do so unless I really, really wanted to dissect. I might have the one girl write one of the days and I'll fill out the packet the other. I'm not quite sure why she does write if she thought all the pictures he showed us were gross. Anyway, I got an A+ on the first part of my trig test and I missed one on the other part, which was two points because she doubles the score. And it's a miracle: my bio and trig grades are higher than my Spanish grade percent wise. I always, always have the highest percent in Spanish, which is funny because I hate the class. People always do bad in classes they hate, but I guess I'm adnormal. I think dinner is ready, and I have to eat now because my brother has baseball and I have karate. Hope you liked this chapter.