Hannahwhere

by John McIlveen

  Davenport didn’t move, and it was obvious he had no intention of leaving.

  “I’m not done,” he said.

  “Go!” snapped Debbie, much too loudly. She was feral in her need to protect the child. Her lack of control disappointed her, but the regret was quickly dismissed when reality slipped another notch and Hannah fully disappeared from sight.

  Davenport lurched backwards as if evading a sword thrust. He jumped up and backpedaled around and behind his chair, his terrified eyes shifting back and forth from Debbie to where Hannah had been.

  Reality buckled again, returning and becoming almost too intense for Debbie. She could feel nothing at all where Hannah had just been sitting, beneath her arms or on her lap. Debbie felt like she was coming apart at the seams, as if she was watching everything from outside reality.

  Essie’s hand flew to her mouth, distorting whatever words tried to escape her. “What… was…?” She moved slowly around the bed, looking like she was ready to dart at any moment.

  “Shit!” Debbie cried. She started to rise, but Hannah thankfully returned, her full weight pushing Debbie back onto the chair.

  “What… what was that? What just happened?” asked Essie. She reached out to touch Hannah, rested her hand on Debbie, but immediately pulled back as if touching either of them might burn her. “Did…?”

  “I don’t know,” Debbie admitted, her tears coming against her will. “But if we don’t stop, I don’t think she’ll be here much longer. Please, let’s just give it a rest!”

  “What the fuck was that?” Davenport asked, moving tentatively from behind the chair as if Debbie was holding a lapful of cobras. “Did she…? No way! Christ!”

  He looked uncertain and nearly frantic. Debbie feared he might want to pull his gun.

  “Mind your words in front of the child, both of you!” reprimanded Essie, but Davenport was out the door and bolting down the hallway.

  “Don’t come back!” Debbie said, her words chasing the terrified detective. She settled back in the chair and held the child tightly to her breast. “Damn it,” she said, seeing the blank stare on Hannah’s face. “She’s gone again.”

  “It did happen, right?” Essie asked, still dumbfounded and not looking very reassured. “How is this possible?” She probed Hannah’s arm with her forefinger. An unusual light crept into her eyes, which concerned Debbie.

  “Essie, remember… everything for the good of the child,” Debbie said cautiously.

  “My God!” Essie gasped, her eyes electric. She squeezed Debbie’s arm firmly and asked, “Could you feel it happening?”

  Debbie imagined what Essie must have been thinking and it didn’t seem to be Hannah’s wellbeing. “Essie, don’t you dare make her a specimen!” Debbie said, her words straddling between a command and a plea.

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Essie, gathering herself. She reached out and gently probed Hannah’s leg and abdomen with her finger. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, but I’ve heard about it!”

  “What?” Debbie asked warily.

  “Dissociation. Not internal dissociation, but external! This is not inversion, but projection, the ultimate response to traumatic experience.” Essie was breathless with excitement.

  “You mean astral projection?”

  “Yes, but so much more! I’ve read articles about it from the Monroe Institute and attended a couple consciousness seminars at Goddard. I thought most of it was a bunch of bunk or wishful thinking, but this… this…” She was a woman possessed. She stared at Debbie and took a deep breath. “This might confirm a hypothesis that astral projection is much more than out of body experience. This looks like full-body projection!”

  Fumbling, Essie picked up her purse and carryall. She stared at Hannah and Debbie for a moment and said, “My God! What better way to disassociate from adversity than to disappear? You won’t be going anywhere, will you?”

  “I’m serious!” Debbie warned her.

  “I have to do some major research. I’ll be back very shortly, probably first thing in the morning,” she told Debbie.

  Debbie watched Essie dash out the doorway and wondered whom she would call first, Harvard, MIT, or Time Magazine… or The National Enquirer?

  “God, what a nightmare,” she muttered. And the worst of it was just starting!

  “What are we going to do, Hannah?” she asked.

  She watched the child’s vacant stare, reflecting on the lack of control both she and Davenport had just exhibited. If Essie wanted to, she could have them either jobless or at least suspended. The temptation to take Hannah and run away was almost painful, but she wouldn’t know where to start, and she knew how far she’d get if she did try. Resting her chin atop Hannah’s head, Debbie stared into the dim corner of the room, wondering what her next move would be. If only they could disappear.

  If only they could fly away…

  Chapter 18

  Hannahwhere

  Anna walks towards Debbie through the floral fields. She is wearing an airy white sundress with blue flowery trim. Her long hair, blindingly white in the blazing sun, flows behind her in the breeze. Debbie looks at her more carefully, this time concentrating on her features. She is just as beautiful as Hannah is, and if not for the length of the hair, it would be nearly impossible to distinguish between them. Even the light spray of freckles on the bridge of her nose and high across her cheeks looks the same.

  Anna’s eyes glisten with happiness. She smiles radiantly and says, “Miss Coppertop! You came back!”

  “Why wouldn’t I come back?” asks Debbie.

  “We were afraid you wouldn’t like it here,” Hannah says.

  She is standing to Debbie’s left, and was unseen until that moment. She is dressed in mint-green overall shorts and a yellow-and-white-striped shirt, all topped with a white dress hat with a mint-green ribbon. From her right hand, suspended by the stem, is a large bunch of grapes that are as golden as the summer sun. Hannah bites into one and it emits a snap much like a pinch of Bubble Wrap.

  “Who wouldn’t love this place?” Debbie asks.

  “We were afraid you wouldn’t like us,” Hannah admits sheepishly.

  “My God, honey, how could I not? You’re sweethearts.”

  A smile transforms Hannah’s face and she rushes forward to hug Debbie, who kneels down to accept her. Anna watches hopefully, but remains hesitant.

  “Come here, sweetheart,” Debbie says and extends an arm towards Anna. “There’s plenty of me for both of you.”

  Anna steps forward into the shared embrace. From this vantage point, the differences between them are visible, but far from stark. Hannah, as small as she is, is easily two inches taller than Anna, and the bluish shadows around Anna’s eyes are unmatched on her sister. Hannah is simply healthier looking than Anna, who is once again distressingly cold to the touch. Debbie rubs her hands briskly over the child’s small shoulders and Anna leans into her, shivering.

  “Anna, sweetie, why are you so cold?”

  Even sandwiched between Hannah and Debbie, Anna inherits no warmth from them. Debbie inspects her hands, cupped behind the child’s back. They retain the ache from Anna’s cold body. She presses a palm against Anna’s icy forehead and then rests it on her cheek. Is the cold she feels genuine, and if so, how can she tolerate it without suffering hypothermia?

  Debbie sits down on a cushion of meadow flowers and motions for the two girls to follow suit. “Hannah. Is this all real?” she asks.

  “This is Hannahwhere,” Hannah says.

  “Annaplace,” Anna offers with a giggle that floats in the air like the ringing of a wind-chime. A small rabbit emerges from the flowers and settles near Anna. She lifts it, crosses her legs, and sets it into the bowl of her lap, where it rests in nose-wiggling contentment.

  “Okay, but I’m not sleeping, am I? Because I can also see the hospital room, and I can see Hannah sitting on my lap, too. I can pull it in and out of focus if I want, like twisting the lens of a cam
era.”

  Hannah looks at Debbie, her expression clouded in thought. Brightening suddenly she says, “The zone!” repeating the description both Debbie and Essie have used.

  “Your zone, but why am I here?” Debbie asks. She reaches out and pats the rabbit.

  “You’re there, just like me, but we’re here, too. Just our…” Hannah hesitates, at a loss for words. “The thinking us is here.”

  “Spirit!” pipes in Anna, “Like Mom says.”

  “Yeah, spirit!” echoes Hannah with a nod. “Half here and half there. Just like I told you and Essie.”

  “How did I get here? Did you bring me?” Debbie shakes her head in bewilderment and wonder. She is flabbergasted by how willing she is to accept it all, but thinks Isn’t that how dreams are?

  “I don’t know,” says Hannah. “I asked you to come and you came because you wanted to come.”

  “How could you tell I wanted to?”

  “You wouldn’t come if you didn’t want to, right?” Anna says. “Anyway, you’re Miss Coppertop. You’re supposed to come.”

  Debbie chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Of course, that makes total sense to me… not! When did you ask me to come?”

  “I think-asked you in my head when I thought you were asleep,” Hannah says.

  “Mom says that people listen most and answer best when they’re asleep,” says Anna.

  “Telepathy?” asks Debbie. Both girls stare at her, uncomprehending. “ESP.”

  Hannah shrugs.

  “Okay,” Anna says noncommittally. Neither girl has any clue what Debbie’s talking about.

  “Never mind,” Debbie says. “What have you got there?” She points to the odd, golden grapes Hannah is holding.

  “They’re yummy. Want some?” Hannah offers.

  Debbie pops one of the little orbs into her mouth and is stunned as the delightfully rich flavor stimulates her senses.

  “Oh my, these are exquisite! What are they?”

  “Alice’s Butterscotch Chews,” Hannah says.

  “I’ve never tasted butterscotch that delicious. Where’d they come from? ”

  Hannah holds out her open palms as if cradling a wounded bird and another bunch of golden orbs materialize.

  “How did you do that?” Debbie asks.

  “I like butterscotch,” Hannah explains.

  “Of course you do,” Debbie says and laughs. It’s exactly the type of answer she expects.

  “I like Reese’s Cups,” Anna says, displaying a similar bunch of light brown spheres.

  “Those don’t look like cups to me,” Debbie says playfully.

  “Neither do Reese’s Cups,” Anna says and giggles. The sound floats on the air like the tinkling of a wind chime.

  “So you can think what you want into existence?” asks Debbie. Both girls stare at her, again not comprehending.

  “What’s existence?” asks Anna.

  “You think about what you want and it becomes real?”

  “Yeah,” says Hannah. She rubs at her nose, leaving a small butterscotch streak that makes Anna laugh.

  Anna nods. “Mom said we can do almost anything. We just have to know we can do it.”

  “Believe,” adds Hannah.

  “I’m thinking your mother was quite a woman. You said she wasn’t able to come here.”

  “She wasn’t,” says Anna.

  “Didn’t you ask your mother here, like you asked me?”

  “Yup,” says Hannah. “Lots. And we tried to bring stuff like these candies back to her, but we never could.”

  “So why am I able to come here like you?” Debbie asks.

  Anna shrugs. “We knew you could. Maybe you’re like us in a way Mom wasn’t.”

  “No duh!” says Hannah, mocking Anna.

  “Duh, yourself, mutt-face,” Anna retorts.

  “We have the same face, doofus,” Hannah says. They stick their tongues out at each other.

  “Has anyone else ever come here with you? Have you ever asked anyone else?”

  “We only asked Mom and Linda, our babysitter. Mom couldn’t, and Linda thought we were just being silly and making all of it up,” says Hannah.

  “I didn’t want Linda to come here,” says Anna.

  “Why not?” asks Debbie.

  “I didn’t trust her,” says Anna. “She was Mom’s friend, but not that good of a one. This is our place and I was afraid she’d ruin it.”

  “What about me?” Debbie asks. “Why do you trust me?”

  “I didn’t, but Anna did,” says Hannah.

  “Fair enough,” says Debbie, understanding, but feeling a mild sting nonetheless.

  “But you’re different,” adds Hannah.

  “How?”

  “You made it here, like us,” she says.

  “I always knew Miss Coppertop would come, didn’t I Hannah?” Anna says.

  Hannah nods and says, “Anna’s weird like that. She knew you were coming a long time ago.”

  “I don’t understand,” says Debbie.

  ”Me neither,” Anna admits.

  They both turn to Hannah, who says, “Don’t look at me!”

  “If I’m the only one to ever travel with you, this means I’m like you in a way others aren’t,” Debbie says. “And don’t say duh!”

  “Maybe,” Hannah says. “See if you can make some candy, like we do,”

  “I bet you can do it, too,” Anna says, “If you believe you can.”

  “Go ahead,” Hannah encourages.

  “I don’t think…”

  “You can!” Anna insists.

  Debbie opens her palms just as the girls did and wishes, but nothing happens. “I don’t have the magic.”

  “You don’t believe in yourself,” Anna says.

  The comment is so mature sounding coming from this pixie-sized girl, Debbie has to remind herself that Anna is only nine… or is it seven? Reality is so distorted it seems anything is possible. With that in mind, Debbie figures, why not me? She stares at her open hands and wishes again, focused and without thoughts of impossibilities.

  “Ewwww!” says Anna.

  “Oh, shi-oot. That didn’t go so well,” says Debbie.

  Hannah wrinkles her nose and says, “That looks like dog poop!”

  “I know what it looks like! It’s supposed to be Godiva chocolate!” Debbie says.

  “You should have wished for Godiva chocolate grapes,” Anna suggests.

  “Anna’s Reese’s kept melting in her hands, so she made Reese’s grapes so she could hold it by the stem. I did it, too. My butterscotch chewies kept sticking to my teeth, so I made them softer. Plus I thought it was a cool idea.”

  “Very clever,” says Debbie, depositing her unsightly creation into the flowers and wiping her hands on them. She figures since she’s successfully conjured a convincing Godiva dog turd, then why not grapes? Debbie holds out her hands and concentrates on exactly what she wants. A small cluster of rich, brown globes appear in her hands and Hannah and Anna explode into cheers.

  Is it witchcraft? Is it the power of the mind? Even the Bible claims that all things are possible with faith, and isn’t that exactly what Hannah and Anna had said? Believe.

  If so, how many people have been tormented or put to death as witches and conjurers only because they’ve discovered a new level of consciousness and have overcome the limitations of doubt?

  She holds her opened hand palm up and concentrates on a can of Wilson tennis balls in her garage. A fuzzy yellow ball appears in her hand and falls into the flowers. A frigid can of Diet Sprite appears next.

  Generic items, thinks Debbie. There’s no guarantee that the tennis ball or soda are from my house. They could be anyone’s. Did I create them?

  Debbie closes her eyes and focuses. Her favorite Montefiore pen, her name engraved into the marble barrel, appears balanced on the palm of her right hand.

  Did I truly conjure this from my desk, or did I create a duplicate, she wondered. Or am I just having a remarkably vivid dream
? How deep can this consciousness run? By just believing, can I move mountains, divide a sea, or feed multitudes?

  Jesus!

  She smirks inwardly at her pun and concentrates on the brilliant green leaves of a tree far across the field. The leaves turn cherry red for an instant, and then change to a soft apricot color.

  “Did you change my leaves?” she playfully accuses the girls.

  “We don’t like red,” Hannah says soberly.

  The reason hits her and it occurs to her that there isn’t a touch of red anywhere in this Technicolor wonderland.

  “Okay, no more red,” Debbie promises. She looks to the sky and a perfect dove with baby-blue feathers materializes from thin air and perches on her shoulder. “What about the cardinal?” she asks. “It’s red.”

  “We can’t change that red,” Anna says. “We didn’t make it.”

  “Who did?” Debbie asks and both girls respond with a shrug.

  The dove takes flight and Debbie wonders if it is real, or an illusion since it’s the cerebral part of her that’s present—the thinking her, as Hannah put it—and if this ability extends outside of the zone, beyond the boundaries of this arena.

  A far more momentous revelation presents itself—one that explains the bold simplicity of Hannahwhere and Annaplace, with their bold primary colors, the vivid pastels, the minimalism of the shapes of the flowers, trees, and the glassy smoothness of the mountains. It also explains the harmless surroundings with its bunnies, kittens, butterflies… and the lack of anything red.

  “You created this place!” Debbie says. “A place your energy—your spirit—can hide when things are bad. This, Hannahwhere and Annaplace, really exists!”

  “I think we made it, but we had help,” Hannah explains.

  “I think it’s your place, too,” says Anna.

  “No. I didn’t create this. You did.”

  “Yeah, but there’s stuff here that wasn’t here before you came,” Hannah says. “So you must’ve, too.”

  “What stuff?” asks Debbie.