Most Wanted (2 page)

Marcus looked over, chopsticks poised.
I made a decision. I think we should go with a donor.

You sure?
Christine hid her emotions. It was what she wanted, too, but she didn't want to pressure him.

Yes. We tried everything else.
Marcus set down his chopsticks, moved his plate aside, and pulled his laptop toward him.
Let's find this kid a father.

Not a father, a donor.

Whatever. Let's do it. Let's make a baby.

So they'd gone on the websites of sperm banks, which had the profiles of their donors online, so you could search the physical characteristics of each donor before you chose, and in the beginning, Christine and Marcus felt uncomfortably like they were on Zappo's, shopping for people. They wanted a donor who matched their blood type and phenotype, their
physical traits
, so the child would look like them. Marcus was an ash blonde with a squarish face, heavy cheekbones, and a strong jawline, and his parents were of Swedish ancestry. Christine was petite, five-three, with an oval face, fine cheekbones, a small, upturned nose, and long, straight, brown hair; her father was Irish-American and her mother Italian-American. Christine and Marcus both had blue eyes, his rounder in shape and hers more squinty but wide-set, and they both had decent teeth, never having worn braces.

Christine got used to the idea of shopping for a donor online, admittedly sooner than Marcus did, and she became obsessed with checking the bank websites, like Facebook for the infertile. She could “Like” and “Favorite” donors, and the banks refreshed their pages throughout the day—
New Donors Daily!
—although the tall blond donors were often
Sorry, Temporarily Unavailable! Try Again Soon!
Finally, Christine narrowed it down to three choices, the way she had when they'd bought their first house.

Donor 3319,
Marcus had said, which was Christine's first choice as well. Donor 3319 was on the Homestead Bank and had kept his name and identity anonymous, but he had nevertheless, like many of the donors, provided two photos of himself, one as a child and one as an adult. Donor 3319 had round blue eyes like Marcus's, lemony-blond hair a shade darker than Marcus's but more like her highlights, and a medium build, like a combination of them both. He reportedly had an outgoing and friendly personality, plus he had been accepted to medical school, which had been the clincher for Marcus. What had made the decision for Christine was that she'd loved the expression in his eyes, an intelligent and engaged aspect that showed interest in the world around him.

So they had phoned Dr. Davidow, who ordered Donor 3319's sample, and when Christine was ovulating, she returned to Families First, where Dr. Davidow performed IUI, or intrauterine insemination, injecting the pipette of sperm inside her while she held hands with the nurse. Unfortunately, Marcus had been called back to a job site in Raleigh the night before and so was out of town when their child was conceived, but that was form over substance. He was back for the home pregnancy test, which they weren't supposed to take but did anyway, its happy result confirmed later by the doctor. And in the end, Christine had gotten pregnant and Marcus was going to be a father, a fact he was still trying to wrap his mind around as he stood before the teachers in the lounge, about to make a toast.

“Everybody, let's raise a glass, or a paper cup, or what have you.” Marcus grabbed a Solo cup of Diet Coke from the counter and hoisted it high. “To all of you, for being such good friends to my wonderful wife. Nutmeg Hill is a great school, and she will miss all of you, I know.”

“Aw,” Christine said, feeling a rush of love for him.

“Hear, hear,” Pam said, nodding.

Marcus turned to Christine, smiled at her with love, and raised his cup to her. “And to my amazing wife, whom I love more than life, and who truly deserves the happiness and joy to come.”

“Thank you, honey.” Christine felt her throat catch at the glistening that came suddenly to his blue eyes, and she put her arms around him while he set the cup down and hugged her back, emitting a tiny groan that only she heard.

“Love you, babe.”

“I love you, too.”

“Get a room!” Lauren called out, and everybody chuckled. The party swung into gear, and Christine circulated with Marcus, introducing him to those who hadn't met him and saying good-bye to all of her colleagues, whom she would miss. They exchanged teary hugs, and the party wound down until only a handful of people were left: Christine, Marcus, Lauren, Pam, and Trivi-Al, who turned on the TV while they cleaned up.

Suddenly Trivi-Al gestured to the TV screen. “Oh look, they caught that serial killer.”

“What serial killer?” Christine asked idly, gathering her good-bye gifts.

“That serial killer they've been looking for, they caught him in Pennsylvania.” Trivi-Al pressed the button on the television to raise the volume, and the voiceover said, “Zachary Jeffcoat, here being transferred, remains in custody outside of Philadelphia for the stabbing murder of nurse Gail Robinbrecht of West Chester, which took place on June 15. The FBI and Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia authorities also link him to the murders of two other nurses…”

“Al, really?” Lauren said, annoyed, as she picked up dirty cake plates. “Don't be so weird.”

The voiceover continued, “The first alleged murder took place January 12, of Lynn McLeane, a nurse at Newport News Hospital in Virginia, and the second alleged murder was of Susan Allen-Bogen, a nurse at Bethesda General Hospital in Maryland and took place on April 13—”

“Al, please turn it off,” Pam chimed in.

Trivi-Al ignored them, glued to the TV. “Oh this guy's a freak, let me tell you. They call him the Nurse Murderer. I've been following this guy.”

Christine finished her task and glanced at the TV, then did a double-take at the screen. It showed a young blond man in a rumpled jacket, his hands handcuffed behind his back as he was escorted to a police cruiser. A cop put a hand on the man's head to press him into the backseat, then the man glanced up with round blue eyes.

Christine felt her heart stop.

She recognized those eyes.

She would know that face anywhere.

The serial killer was their donor, Donor 3319.

 

Chapter Two

“Did you see that?” Christine asked, almost breathless, as soon as they left through the exit doors, alone outside the building. All she had been able to think about during the cleanup was Donor 3319, inwardly freaking out while everybody gathered the presents, and then finally turned out the lights.

“See what?” Marcus asked, squinting to read his smartphone in the bright sun, as they headed down the walkway to the parking lot. He'd slowed his usual lengthy stride to account for her since she had shorter legs.

“On TV, the prisoner, the serial killer?” Christine glanced over her shoulder, to check if anyone was within earshot, but nobody was around. The scene was calm and idyllic, in contrast with the tumult inside her. Nutmeg Hill Elementary was in a rural pocket of Glastonbury, Connecticut, and though it was a Title I school, meaning it had an underprivileged segment, the building was relatively new, two stories of yellow limestone with modern windows, surrounded by acres of open pasture and cornfields.

“No, I didn't see him.” Marcus pulled his car keys from his pants pocket. “You drove in with Lauren, right? My car is right over here. We can load the presents into my car.”

“Okay, but Marcus, the serial killer—” Christine couldn't finish her sentence, suddenly feeling that to say it aloud would make it real, and Marcus was barely listening anyway, scrolling through his email. They passed the playground with its new red, yellow, and cobalt plastic chutes and weather-treated timber, set on a square of perfect mulch. In front was an asphalt play area with bright yellow lines for the walking track and foursquare games.

“That was a nice party,” Marcus said idly, still checking his email.

“Right, yes, they really went over the top,” Christine heard herself saying. She couldn't stop thinking about their donor and the serial killer. She couldn't believe that something could go so horribly awry. Her heart fluttered like a panicked bird in her chest. She telescoped away from the playground with its newly planted trees, their slender trunks protected by white plastic sleeves. She wished she had a plastic sleeve of her own, one that would encircle her body, protecting her and the baby from harm, from threat, from everything, forever and ever.

“Babe, are you okay?” Marcus asked, pocketing his phone. They crossed to the visitor parking lot and reached his black Audi sedan.

“I'm fine,” Christine forced herself to answer.

“But your face is red.” Marcus opened the car door for her. “Is it the heat? Are you gonna faint?”

“No, I'm okay.”

“Get in, and I'll turn on the air-conditioning.” Marcus gestured at the passenger seat.

“Okay, great.” Christine let him guide her into the seat, then she put her quilted purse on her lap.

“Okay, hold on.” Marcus closed her door, hustled around the front of the car, climbed in the driver's side, and started the engine, which blasted the air conditioner. He aimed the vents at her, which blew initially hot, but cooled surprisingly fast. “Better?”

“Yes, thanks.” Christine felt the chilly blast as a relief on her cheeks, which were burning. It had to be her blood pressure. She felt as if she were bursting, as if the news had an explosive force of its own.

“What's up? Is it the heat?”

“No.” Christine had to tell him. She couldn't keep it to herself. “Marcus, the serial killer on that TV report looked like our donor. He looks like Donor 3319.”

“What?” Marcus blinked.

“Did you see him? I swear, I think I recognized him.”

“What are you talking about?” Marcus frowned in confusion, but Christine was already reaching for her phone, tucked in the side pocket of her purse.

“He looks like our donor. Let me check that video—”

“Of course he's not our donor.” Marcus snorted, then faced front, shrugging it off.

“But he looked a lot like him.”

“Don't be silly.” Marcus put the car in reverse, still shaking his head.

“I know what I saw. Did you see the video?”

“No, and what's up with Al? What kind of guy follows serial killers?” Marcus backed out of the space, then drove toward the side entrance of the school, where they had left the gifts and leftover cake, because teachers never wasted anything.

“Hold on.” Christine tried to log onto the Internet, but couldn't. Cell reception was spotty around the school, which drove her crazy.

“What are you doing?” Marcus pulled up at the side entrance and parked.

“Going on CNN. They probably have the video on their website.”

“You're not serious, are you?” Marcus looked at Christine like she was crazy or hormonal, which was an expression she'd seen on him in the past, not completely unjustified.

“I don't know, it was just weird.”

“What was weird?” Marcus let the car idle, readjusting the lattice vent so that it blew on Christine.

“I just took a look at the TV, and it struck me all of a sudden—that's him. It was like I recognized him.”

“You think that guy was our donor?” Marcus's lips parted in puzzlement. “He's just a guy on a news story.”

“But he was blond and tall, and he had those eyes, his blue eyes—”

“A lot of guys look like that. My dad does. I do.” Marcus opened the car door, and the hot air blew in. “Stay here. Try to relax. I'll load the trunk and drive you home. I don't want you driving like this. We'll get your car later.”

“I can drive, I'm fine.”

“No, sit tight.” Marcus got out and shut the car door, and Christine returned her attention to her iPhone. She tried again to get online but there was no service. She knew she'd have better luck near the office, so she opened the door and got out of the car. She walked down the sidewalk until she saw a bar pop onto the top of her iPhone screen, then logged onto the Internet. She typed CNN into the search function and tapped through to the news of the day until she got to the third story, with the heading SUSPECTED SERIAL KILLER APPREHENDED.

“Christine, I thought you had left!” Pam emerged from the front doors with a surprised smile, carrying three tote bags.

“Marcus is just packing up. Thanks so much again.” Christine tried to put on a happy face, but she was dying to look at the CNN video. She slipped the phone into her pocket as Marcus returned to the car with the bags and started loading the trunk, which caught Pam's attention.

“Oh, I could've given him a hand,” Pam said, waving to Marcus, who shut the trunk.

“Thanks. He's got it, and you're carrying enough.”

“When are we ever
not
carrying enough? Did you see my new bag, by the way? My daughter gave it to me.” Pam held out her largest tote bag, a floral Vera Bradley pattern, which was the real version of Christine's knockoff purse.

“Gorgeous. Teacher porn.”

“Hey ladies!” Marcus called out, striding toward them, his hand in his pocket. “Pam, you sure know how to throw a party, thanks again.”

“Happy to do it.”

“Honey?” Marcus took Christine's arm and they walked as a threesome toward his car, which was in the same direction as the parking lot. They said good-bye to Pam again, and Marcus opened the door for Christine, then went to the driver's side of the car and got inside. “Why did you get out of the car?” he asked, putting the car in gear.

“To see the video.”

“You're being silly.” Marcus pulled out of the drive and headed for the exit.

“Maybe, probably. Let's just head home. In three blocks I'll be able to get better reception, on Glastonbury Road.”