Hannahwhere

by John McIlveen

  She watched them from where she knelt in shadows beneath the stairs. There had to be a million-trillion bugs sharing the space with her, she imagined. She was sure that she felt them moving on the floor beneath her legs, those little black pill bugs that the boys called roly polies, with their little armadillo bodies and countless millipede legs, making a home under her as they did in the moist earth beneath stones and rotting boards.

  “Come on, Red! We don’t have time for games,” the voice called.

  The man was in the house, walking the floors above them. She watched the two boys as their eyes followed the progress of the man’s footsteps above them. They all started as the basement door swung open, spilling custard yellow light over the stairs.

  “You down there, Red?”

  After an elongated silenced, the younger boy conceded to an inner struggle and blurted out, “No, it’s just us.”

  The older boy jabbed him with his elbow, a look of inflated contention on his face. There was another quiet moment, and then the man started down the stairs, each step creaking in protest as he descended.

  Dread spilled over her when his beige work boots appeared through the opening before her. She carefully shifted closer to the old basement wall, forgetting the creeping insects and spiders. Being found was far more frightening. The two boys remained motionless, watching the man as he stepped onto the packed-dirt floor and faced them.

  “What are you boys doing down here?” asked the aged man.

  “Playing,” said the older boy. “Playing coal miners.”

  “Hmmmm, quite industrious,” said the man, with forced appreciation. “Now, you boys wouldn’t know where Red is, would you?”

  “That’s not her name!” blurted the younger boy, earning another glare from the older boy.

  “It’s just a nickname, kiddo, nothing to get up in arms about,” the man said with a disarming chuckle. His eyes studied the boys as if looking for a hidden symbol. “She’s forgotten a very important appointment. I need her help and I’m running short on time. Are you sure you don’t know where she might be?”

  The younger boy’s eyes unconsciously shifted to meet hers for a fraction of a second and then instantly returned to focus on the old man. It was hardly perceptible, but it was enough. The man’s eyebrows rose as if intrigued, and the young boy’s face lit as the realization of his error hit him. The man leaned forward slightly and peered under the stairway, meeting her frightened eyes.

  “Well, hello, sweetheart,” he said. “What in the world are you doing under there?”

  “She doesn’t want to go,” the older boy pleaded, nearly whining.

  “Nonsense! She’ll have a good time just like you do.” The man said, glaring at the younger boy. He reached under the stairs and took her by the wrist. “Come on, honey. You’re all filthy now and that will never do. That isn’t attractive at all, is it? How about if we go for an ice cream after? We can get you a new dress.”

  He led her to the stairs and she knew better than to resist. Once they were away from other people, he changed. He would pull off his belt and beat the defiance out of her. He always did.

  “Please don’t,” she whimpered. “I don’t like it, it hurts!” She looked at the two boys beseechingly.

  They only watched, frightened and confused as the friendly old man led her upstairs and out of their view.

  Debbie knelt beneath the basement stairway, sobbing and staring through the gap in the risers. She frantically crawled out and across the dusty floor, too aware of the cobwebs that crackled in her hair. She had no recollection of crawling under the staircase and knew that she would have never crawled there willingly. A cricket skittered along the base of the wall not a foot away from her. Still on her hands and knees, she backpedaled, landing on her ass in the center of the basement floor. She knew crickets were harmless, but she was still terrified of them.

  She rose from the floor and wiped her hands on her pant legs. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the intermingling of cobwebs… or were they spider webs? Ken had argued that they were one and the same. More shivers wracked her body and she rushed upstairs, killing the lights and slamming the cellar door. Her nerve endings were crackling with the fear of a reoccurrence.

  Who were the boys? Who was the baleful man? What was going on with her lately?

  It was late. Maybe she was too exhausted. It had to be close to four in the morning and she needed to be out of bed by eight, but she needed to shower and clean the webs and dirt from herself. She figured sleep would not come easily, if at all, so she took a quick shower and popped a Tylenol PM. She brushed her teeth, closed the bedroom door securely, and then climbed into bed. Jefferson Starship assured her that if only you believed in miracles, baby, you’d get by. Despite her fears, Marty Balin’s crooning voice soon caressed her into oblivion.

  Chapter 5

  Elm Creek, Nebraska

  “Fuck,” Travis said. He sounded frightened. “Jesus, what the fuck is this?”

  Jarring movements from the front seat brought Anna back to the present. She had been lying on her right side, still nestled on the floor in the rear of the car. Trauma, severe fatigue, and the cold had disoriented her thinking and she had settled firmly into her fugue. It took her a few moments to remember where she was, but when she did, all the terror of the previous day came rushing back to her—the blood, her mother’s cries of pain, and the sounds. Shhcck… Shhcck… Shhcck!

  He stabbed her with the big knife! Is Mom dead, or did Travis say it just to be mean? Is Hannah okay? Mom can’t really be dead, can she?

  The panic built in her and she started to rise, but her mind alerted her… Don’t! Don’t move your arm and don’t let Travis know you’re here! She settled down and the front seat shook again with frantic jolts that made the whole car convulse, followed by more juddering and exaggerated movement.

  “Oh fuck!” Travis cried. “Oh God! What did I do?” He sounded as if he were about to cry.

  It was still dark outside, and so cold that moving her toes even the slightest bit was painful. She tried pulling the edge of the blanket down with her feet, but they were too numbed to feel anything except the icy pain when she moved them. She drew her legs up, pushing her knees partway under the seat, and tucked her feet against her bottom.

  She thought Travis was coughing at first, but it intensified and then the sounds coming from the front seat were unmistakable. Travis was crying big, mournful sobs and Anna hoped he stabbed himself with the big knife, but then felt guilty for thinking like that and took it back. It was hard for her to comprehend how someone who yelled, hit, screamed, and stabbed huge knives into someone, had the capacity within themselves to cry. It was short-lived, and soon all Anna heard from Travis was heavy breathing, almost like a panting dog.

  Travis started the car and Anna willed the heat to find its way to her. Once the car warmed, Travis lit a cigarette, but when the smell—kind of sweet, but a little like cat pee—made it to the back of the car, Anna knew it was pot, the stuff Mom made Travis smoke in the shed. Anna actually preferred this smell to that of cigarettes… but not much. The more Travis smoked, the more he mumbled to himself.

  “You really screwed up this time, Ulrich,” he said. “How the hell will you get out this?”

  The heat of the car mixed with the sweet cloud, seeming to thicken it and make it heavier. Within half an hour, feeling slowly returned to Anna’s extremities. The painful numbness in her toes had ramped up to excruciating before finally reverting to nearly normal. She dared straightening her legs, but another sense of urgency registered with a sharp jab in her lower abdomen, causing her to wet her pants a little. She seriously had to pee, which was especially troubling to her because she knew that pee was liquid and if she peed her pants and it got really cold in the car again—and she was pretty sure it would—she’d have a real problem on her hands.

  “Shhhit!” Travis complained. He popped the car into gear and the familiar crunching of the tires on the dir
t pathways vibrated up through the carpeting of the car’s floor and against Anna’s delicate cheek. It might have been comforting if not for the tremors it sent through her tender left arm and distended bladder. Mercifully, the dirt surface soon transitioned to the welcomed smoothness of Route 183. The car picked up speed, adding a lulling hum that combined with the comforting heat, and within a few minutes, Anna felt like she was floating. The pain in her arm and feet was still there, but seemed distant and gauzed over. She felt Hannah was nearby, calling her, and Anna thought things would be better if she sang… the same way she, Mom, and Hannah would sing when things got ugly. Things were definitely ugly, so Anna sang.

  The car jerked to the shoulder, decelerating with the blatting of the rumble strip. Travis must have heard her singing. Anna knew she had messed up, but it had seemed all right at the time. Dread washed over her as the car came to a jolting stop and the dome light flared to life, bathing the car in a blinding haze. Travis’s head appeared over the back of the seat, his expression changing from confusion, to alarm, and then to irritation.

  “Which one are you?” he asked with slow, thick words. He’d never been able to tell them apart.

  Her answer was barely audible, her voice hiding behind her fear. “Anna,” she said.

  “How the fuck did you get here?”

  His eyes were squinty, not wide and crazy like yesterday, but Anna was still petrified. Her chin started quivering as she tried to speak. “You made me…” A tractor-trailer sped by, buffeting the car in its wake.

  Travis stared at her, his top lip curling in distaste. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

  Anna held his gaze, too frightened to look away or to speak. Travis spun back around and sat in silence for a moment, then slammed the steering wheel with his open palm, startling Anna. The urgency in her bladder increased and she released another quick stream. She managed to stop it, but the pain and her desperation got too much.

  “I have to go pee!” Anna blurted in agony.

  “Fucking-A!” Travis bellowed.

  Another truck hurtled past them. Travis turned the dome light off and pulled back onto the highway, the tires squealing and the engine roaring. Anna willed her bladder to hold, but the pressure overwhelmed her and her resistance failed. She surrendered to the sweetness of release as a warm rush of urine escaped her. Overcome by shame and dread, Anna pressed her face to the carpet and wept. Again, she retreated into the darkness within herself.

  They didn’t drive for long before Travis swerved off Interstate 80 so swiftly he nearly had to lock the brakes at the end of the exit ramp. Anna braced herself with her free arm, reigniting the pain.

  “Hey,” Travis suddenly said. Anna almost replied before he continued, “I’m in Kearney. I need a favor. Yeah, I know what time it is… midnight.” The interior of the car flared as Travis lit a cigarette and exhaled loudly. “Three-forty-five? Fuck… sorry, man, but it’s important. Yeah. I need you to front me a little.” A short pause followed and then Travis’s voice elevated. “Come on, you know I’m good for it.”

  Anna could hear the tinny response from Travis’s phone, though the words were incomprehensible.

  “What do you mean, no go?” Travis replied. A sense of urgency colored his words. “What do I owe you? Four hundred? I’ll have six hundred for you next week… guaranteed, man! It’s only been a month!” Travis was desperate and nearly hyperventilating. “Seriously!” he nearly whined. “The Bitch just got a tax return for more than five thousand. I promise you’ll have six hundred dollars by Wednesday! I’m right in town… I’m going to hole up at the empty work shed on Coal Chute Road.”

  Anna heard a few more tinny words that elevated Travis’s agitation to a new level. “Shit. Fuck, no! I ain’t squatting there again. No… she didn’t kick me out!” It was silent for a while, and then Travis went into a frenzy. “FUCK YOUUUUUU!” he roared into the silenced phone.

  He floored the gas and the car lurched onto the street as he repeatedly bashed his phone against the steering wheel. The car swerved dangerously, and then corrected.

  “WHERE’S THE FUCKING MONEY, YOU WHORE?” Travis bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  Anna had no idea what a whore was, and didn’t know if Travis was yelling at her or at nothing tangible, as usual, but the insanity in his voice was unmistakable. Anna pushed against the floor of the car, wanting to disappear into the weave of the carpet and as far away from his craziness as possible.

  They barreled around a few more turns before the car slowed, left the pavement and drove onto gravel. Anna had the dreadful impression that they had returned to Sandy Channel, but the car pulled to a stop and Travis got out. He swiftly closed the door, but not before frigid air churned through the car, instantly sucking the heat away and turning Anna’s sopping pants glacial. Anna heard the sound of something metallic moving outside, and then Travis was back in the car. The buffeting wind faded away as he drove forward and Anna had the sense that they were pulling inside somewhere, like when Mom drove the car into the stall at Jet Wash. Travis turned off the engine and jumped out of the car. The metal rumbling occurred again and Anna recognized it as one of the large roll-up doors, like the ones on the buildings where Mr. Janakowski kept his tractors.

  Travis returned to the car, climbed back in and closed the door. He growled in frustration as he lit up and the more and more familiar smell of marijuana filled the car. He reclined the seat back until it pressed painfully against Anna’s left arm. She repositioned herself and the aching ebbed.

  Travis’s snores soon resonated through the car and Anna found an odd—if minimal—sense of comfort in the confines created by the reclined seat. She pulled the blanket tighter to herself, and for the first time considered the probability that she may never see her mother or Hannah again. She returned to the only safe place available to her—within.

  Thursday

  March 13, 2008

  Chapter 6

  Riverside, Massachusetts

  Debbie needed to be present for the discharge of Ricky Lourdes, who was looking a lot better since his mother and her beau no longer had access to him. She had set up temporary placement in Amesbury with a very nice family named Massey. Ricky was quiet during the ride and upon meeting his new hosts, as is expected in such cases, but the introductions went well despite his caution. Ken Massey, a jovial and ursine man in both stature and furriness, had actually coaxed a couple smiles and one genuine laugh out of the boy within minutes. Debbie left feeling good about the match, temporary as it might be.

  Feeling uplifted but famished, she surrendered to the lure of shrimp with lobster sauce and pork fried rice, so ordered takeout from Lo King, even though it would mean an extra hour on the elliptical. At some point during the ride home, the smell of the food had lost its appeal and become cloying. By the time she pulled into the garage, she was nauseated—even with the windows rolled down.

  She triggered the overhead door and climbed out of the car, pulling the bag of Chinese food after her. Keeping it at arm’s length, she entered her house, switched on the kitchen light, and quickly stuffed the offensive bag into the refrigerator, where it would probably remain untouched until a formation of culture forced her to throw it away.

  She closed the door and her stomach rebelled loudly at its rejection. She would have to appease it in some way other than the mere addition of lobster sauce and pork fried rice. A second look in the fridge presented her with the same nothing as the previous night… only a day older. She opened the bag of Chinese food and removed two fortune cookies.

  She removed her coat, draped it over a chair and went into the living room. It was the largest room in the house, the hub of her existence, and home to her corner desk, couch, recliner, two haphazardly loaded bookcases, and a twenty-seven inch Panasonic television that had probably existed before she did. She couldn’t recall the last time she had turned it on.

  Debbie had designed the room with autumnal colors and decor, which lent it warmth e
ven on the coldest nights. The couch was a rust-colored, microfiber catchall buried beneath dozens of case files, a half-full—or half-empty—laundry basket, and a forgotten Market Basket shopping bag that hopefully contained nothing perishable. She could have used the huge coffee table as her work surface, but instead piled everything on the couch. She hated when the couch was visible, yet she’d never been emotionally strong enough to get rid of it. It had belonged to her and Kenny, who had insisted they buy it because it agreed with Debbie’s coloring, almost exactly matching her hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, and even complementing her pale, densely freckled flesh. When lying on the couch, she had blended into it, yet stood out.

  Bare perfection, Kenny used to say.

  Barren imperfection, it turned out. Damaged goods.

  Prudence would suggest that if she hated the couch she should get rid of it, but it was her most intimate connection to the man she had been with since her sophomore year in high school. They had made love on that couch regularly. They had made love on it the night before he walked out. Swan song sex. A memento fuck to store in his memory as a keepsake, or maybe to simply show her how little it meant. One final fuck you and the only man she ever fully trusted was gone.

  It was a slap in the face. No, that didn’t even come close. For Debbie it had been a full assault; a flying kick to the solar plexus that had knocked her dreams and hopes from her with one blunt, insufferable act. She supposed there was a psychological contradiction at play here, maybe a little self-abuse or mental masochism. She refused to lie on the couch and had even denied it to Brian, her three-month, whirlwind rebound relationship that had been doomed before it even started. On the floor, in the shower, in the bedroom, even on the counter if you must, but never on the couch! That was sacred land and accursed land… no man’s land. The only male to lie on the couch after that ill-fated final night with Kenny had been the cat, and now the cat was gone, too.