D.N.A: Does Not Assimilate

She spent the night.

Some time had passed-hours? Minutes? She didn't know since Detective Gerald had left the interrogation room. Leaving Niyota all alone, with only the sandwich and her thoughts to occupy her mind. Neither of which were much in the way of good company. Head cradled in the palm of her hands, fighting against the tears determined to be allowed free to fall down her face, Niyota anxiously waited for him to return.

Having no appetite for food, too sick at heart to be able to eat anything at the moment, she pushed the chair away from the table with a loud squeak. Coming to stand on her own two feet again, and tugging down the blue gown threatening to ride up her back, Niyota stepped around the oblong table. Walking barefoot on the cold tile floor of the room, too numbed by shock to feel the chill in the air, hands fidgeted nervously in front of her.

Though why she was so anxious and eager for the detective to come back to the room, to her as he'd promised to do, Niyota didn't know. Nothing would change when he did. Everyone thought she was crazy, trying to lay claim to a life and family that already belonged to someone else. It didn't matter how alike the two girls looked and how convincing her story might be to them. None of them may have said as much out loud, at least not where she could hear, but it was clear as day in their every word and action, the looks on their faces.

She was the imposter. The criminal in their midst. The girl determined to lay claim to a life that didn't belong to her. Ha. What a joke! If only they knew the truth.

The door came open and a woman walked into the room, auburn hair and amber eyes, no older than Gerald. She smiled softly. "I'm Leslie Kane, Gerald's partner." "Hello," she drawled politely.

"Gerald had me bring you this," she explained, hurriedly crossing the room and placing a plastic bag down on the corner of the tabletop. "He thought you might be more comfortable in a change of clothes."

Yet another attempt by him to build a bond of trust and friendship between them. The man never quit. Then again, it would be nice to get out of the dirty gown. Mentally promising herself that this changed nothing, Niyota crossed to the table and dumped the bag out. Inspected what had been brought to her. Black cotton jogging pants, white t-shirt and socks. Waiting until Detective Krane had turned around, offering her the privacy that she needed at the moment, Niyota gingerly undressed and changed into the clothes provided.

Once she was dressed, the hospital-like gown she'd woke up in neatly folded, was placed into the bag. Securely tying up the bag, Niyota walked around the corner of the table and tossed it at the woman. "There."

Krane frowned. "What's this?"

"The hospital gown that I was wearing," she calmly admitted, nonplussed, knowing what had really compelled the detective's actions tonight. "It's what you really wanted. Send it to the labs and see what evidence you can find on it. I dare you." "If you wish," Krane promptly agreed and placed the plastic bag underneath her arm, as if it hadn't even dawned on her that this could be a possibility. Yeah, right. She walked across the floor and brought open the door, motioning the teenage girl closer to her. "Come on."

Bowing her head in acceptance at the woman's statement, she walked around her and out into the hallway. Watching as Detective Krane closed the door behind them, the questions mounting up inside of her, Niyota spoke up, "Where am I going?"

"Booking," the female detective told her carelessly, not the least bit bothered by what she'd been commanded to do tonight. "Breaking and entering is a crime."

He hadn't believed her.

Of course, he hadn't. Niyota hadn't honestly expected that the detective would believe one word of what she'd said to him, but she'd thought that he would at least look into it first. Obviously, not. So much for trusting in the system and being innocent until proven guilty. It's all a big joke. That's what she got for thinking that innocence won out in the end. That there were such things as justice.

Guess you were right, Lane.

Lance had once warned her that she put too much faith in believing that the good guys or girls always triumphed in the end. That evil always found a way to win. In this instance, he'd be right. Because evil was winning, in a big way. Evil had stolen her life, her friends and the love of her father and no one was even batting an eye.

When she was escorted to the main area of the precinct by the detective, en route to booking, she saw him. Sitting down in one of the hard plastic chairs at one of the desks and talking to one of the other detectives. Probably filling a report on the night's events.

A woman, tall and brunette, a real classical beauty dressed in a burgundy pantsuit and jewels dripped off of her. The same one from the house, Niyota realized. Her father had called her Heather. She stood directly behind him, a hand placed on his shoulder, and offering him the strength and support. A loving gesture.

Who was she?

Why did Dada trust her?

Charles glanced up as the detective escorted her through the precinct close by. That same look of dumbfounded confusion and uncertainty glimmered in his eyes.

"How can you do this?" Niyota choked out passed the lump of emotion welling up in her throat, unable to hold her tongue in his presence. This could very well be her only chance to talk to him, to get him to see the truth with his own eyes and she couldn't let it pass by unnoticed. "Do I mean so little to you, that you can turn your back on me? Mami would be ashamed of you."

Charles visibly flinched at the words that came out of her mouth, the shadows haunting his eyes right then said he was thinking of the past. The wife he'd loved and lost, in the most cruel ways. Slamming a door on those thoughts before they could take root, he shook his head, sad and sympathetic. "I'm sorry for whatever happened to you, but you are not my daughter." "Get going," Krane ordered.

Niyota stubbornly resisted the hands trying to get her moving forward again, determined to have this out with the man. She stared him down. "I am. I'm the real Niyota Y'Fell. And no matter what you say, how many times you protest it, deep down you know I speak the truth."

"You are not my daughter," he insisted.

Her head whipped around to the side as if the man had slapped her it sure as hell felt like he had-at those words, more painful than any of them could ever understand. To hear her own father deny her as his own. It was an aching pain that would never go away. Niyota tilted her chin, expression hardened, eyes boring right into one. "Those words are going to haunt you for the rest of your life. Because one day everyone is gonna see that I'm telling the truth and you'll never be able to forgive yourself."

Incapable of hiding the tremor that shook his body, Charles slowly rose from his seat and towered a good foot over the girl, shaking his head sadly. "A father always knows their child and I have mine."

Niyota laughed hauntingly, mocking him. "So you think. I'd be careful if I were you," Niyota whispered only loud enough for him to hear, looking around him to see as a detective escorted her look-alike out of a side room, done speaking to her. Then she looked back at him. "She's not who you're so convinced she is and the second you've outlived your purpose I'm afraid of what she'll do to you."

"Get going now," Gerald snapped, coming up beside her as he noticed the commotion in the middle of the precinct. A situation that his partner seemed incapable of handling on her own. "Now!" "Bye, dada."

He jerked back at that. "What did she....?"

Grinning smugly as she noticed that her farewell had hit the spot. She tilted her chin up a few snatches and let Detective Krane lead her away from him. It'd been done on purpose. Niyota knew that her last words to him would continue spinning around in his head for days to come, unable to get them completely out of his mind.

Of course, she'd already known that. In his desperation to find out how she could possibly know something so intimate and personal, as her nickname for him, he'd dig until he found the answer. Found the truth. Charles was an analyst by birth, finding the impossible was his life's work and something he was exceptionally brilliant at doing.