Chapter 4

When I woke with a start, my pillow was soaked through.

Outside the window, dawn was just breaking, everything a gray-white.

As my consciousness gradually returned, I realized I couldn't just sit here waiting for doom.

All my fear and suspicion stemmed from one question with an uncertain answer.

Who was I, really?

To find the answer, I just needed to get my father's DNA sample for a paternity test, and all the mysteries would be solved.

Scientific evidence was the only weapon that could end all this suspicion.

I didn't want to believe that the father who had raised me for over twenty years, who loved me with his entire life, could be a monster.

As long as I could prove my father and I were biologically related, then everything would just be coincidence, just Zachary's occupational hazard acting up.

I had to get my father's DNA sample.

Hair—hair with follicles attached would be best.

Or his nails, blood, even a toothbrush he hadn't cleaned properly.

I took a deep breath and made an incredibly firm decision.

Whatever the truth was, I would uncover it with my own hands.

Even if the result would completely destroy me, I needed to know what kind of world I was living in.

I quietly opened the door and listened carefully to the sounds outside.

Soft snoring came from my father's room.

A plan quickly formed in my mind.

As soon as dawn broke, my father went to work at the farm.

I snuck into his bedroom like a thief.

My heartbeat thundered like drums, making my eardrums buzz.

My father's room was still as I remembered—simple but unusually tidy.

I rushed to the bed, lifted the pillow, turned over the sheets, searching carefully.

Nothing.

Not a single hair.

Clean to an unreasonable degree.

Unwilling to give up, I went under the bed and checked every corner, but still found nothing.

How could a man in his fifties, whose bodily functions were starting to decline, not shed any hair?

That ominous premonition in my heart grew stronger and stronger.

I ran into the bathroom.

The bathroom was equally, eerily clean.

The sink was spotless, towels hung neatly.

I picked up my father's toothbrush—there wasn't even a trace of toothpaste foam on it.

I got down on the floor again and carefully checked the cracks in the drain.

My father had clearly showered last night, but the drain was completely empty. Forget hair—there wasn't even a single strand of anything.

A widowed, over-fifty old man living alone, yet his home was as clean as a sterile room.

That itself was the biggest horror story.

Despair slowly gripped my heart.

I was about to give up.

Just then, my gaze swept to the table in the living room.

There was a nail clipper sitting there.

In the trash can next to the nail clipper, there were several crumpled tissues.

I rushed over and unfolded the tissues.

Inside were several crescent-shaped nail clippings with yellowed edges.

These were nails my father had clipped after showering yesterday.

"Dad, I'm going to town to buy some feminine products!"

I sent my father a voice message. Without waiting for his reply, I fled from the house.

Running all the way, I caught the bus to town.

My heart was pounding. The truth would soon be revealed!