'Parents || B.D.H.

1

{Let me start with this story is based of a theory I have about Billie Dean and who her parents are. I could be very wrong, but I thought it would be fun to write this idea out. Enjoy reading my loves, E}

I sit across from a detective I met while I was doing my interview at the hotel. I think his name is John. He said he would be able to help me find out who my birthparents are.

"Do you know where you were born?" He asks.

"Somewhere in Massachusetts, that's all I know."

"Okay, and Howard, that is your birth given last name, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"What year were you born?"

"Nineteen-sixty-seven," I answer and he looks up at me.

"Really?" He seems shocked.

"Yes," I nod.

"Okay, you just seem a lot younger than that." John says as he types on the computer. "Okay, I can call you in a few days and see what my team has found."

"Okay, is there anything else I can give you?"

"A blood test. Sandy will take you to the lab down the hall for that. Hopefully with that we will be able to match things up quicker." He explains.

"Okay," I go with the woman, and she draws my blood and takes a sample of my spit.

-

Three days has passed and I still haven't heard anything from detective Lowe. I was starting to feel doubtful about ever finding my parents. I've always wondered why they gave me up...

My phone rings, and I grab it quickly answering it. "Hello?"

"Miss Howard, its John Lowe."

"Have you found anything?" I ask.

"Yes, I think you should come to my office so we can talk."

"Okay, I'll be there soon." I say before hanging up and grabbing my keys.

I rushed over to the detective's office, and upon arrival he lets me in. I take a seat at his desk, and see a file with my name on it.

"What have you found out?" I ask eagerly.

"Well," He sits and opens the file. "Your father was a priest, and your mother was a nun."

"Was?" I cock a brow at him.

"Yes, I'm sorry Billie, but both of them are dead."

"Oh..." I feel the excitement that once filled me fade with sadness.

John hands me the file and I read that my mother, Mary Eunice McKee died and I was a c-section and taken out from her at six months, and my father, Timothy Howard committed suicide a few years after. They both worked at an insane asylum in Massachusetts, I'm guessing that's how they met.

Suddenly a tear rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away. "Did you find anything else?"

"I did find someone who knew both of your parents."

"Who?"

"Lana Winters, the author."

"The one who wrote about the Bloody Face killer?" I ask.

"Yes, and I've talked to her. She would be happy to talk to you if you have any questions about them." John explains.

"Really?"

"Yes, but you will have to fly to Massachusetts to see her, she's not able to fly anymore."

"Okay," I nod. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He says and gives me Lana's information so I can talk to her, and hopefully set up sometime when we can talk.