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They had come to her apartment to draw the blood. Two months ago. A nurse and some other guy. A needle prick to the baby’s heel, half a teaspoon of blood collected, a mournful sobbing for two minutes.
Dr. Schnieder had set it up. Some kind of research, he’d told her. On babies under one. She still didn’t know why. All she knew for certain was they had paid her a thousand dollars. That’s right. A thousand. Just to look at Micah’s DNA. She’d forgotten all about it until yesterday when she’d received the text. From someone named Travis Lusk.
You have an appointment tomorrow at 1:15 p.m. about the DNA study in which your son is enrolled. Please come with Micah to room five on the fourth floor of the 33402 building in the warehouse district.
She didn’t want to go, but she had signed a document on a computer tablet saying she would meet with a rep from the research company if asked. So, she worked the breakfast shift, picked up Micah from daycare, rushed home to change her clothes, and loaded up the car.
She found it. The 33402 building. In between two other four-story red brick buildings.
She pushed the stroller inside and spotted the elevator immediately. Right across from the entrance, the doors opened as if waiting for them. She hit button number four. The doors shut. Ding. They passed the second floor. Ding. They passed the third. Ding. The doors opened. She rolled the stroller into the hallway.
A strong paint smell filled the air.
Now which way? No signs. No other people.
She looked right, left, and right again, finally heading left down a long corridor covered in glossy white paint. Her eyes scanned the ceiling for surveillance cameras. She couldn’t find any.
They must be up there somewhere. Always
