Hannahwhere

by John McIlveen

  “I also want to talk about what happened the night before last. Before you talk to anyone, and I hope you haven’t. I think we…”

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone,” Essie said.

  “Well, you were very excited by what happened. I was afraid you’d want to report it.”

  “Of course I was excited.”

  “Still… I’m afraid it could put Hannah and Anna in so much danger… not to mention, me,” Debbie pleaded.

  “I understand,” said Essie. “But you need to understand the sensitivity of my position. In addition to our fears for Hannah and Anna, we need to consider what happened from a professional angle as well. Not reporting something of this magnitude would unquestionably put our licenses at risk. On the other hand, people aren’t as open to extraordinary experience as some would think, especially in professional or clinical circles. You could present indisputable evidence, and most of them will find reasons not to believe, and question your stability to boot. Either way could potentially put my career at risk. There is also the matter of a certain detective who reacted rather intensely.”

  “I know,” Debbie agreed, forlornly.

  “Right now my job is to protect Hannah and her sister, not exploit them,” Essie said. ”I won’t report anything until I have more of a grip on what’s happening.”

  Debbie still wasn’t sure if she should trust Essie, but considering what she already knew, it was moot. “I feel there’s more to it regarding Hannah and Anna,” Debbie said.

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it for a moment,” Essie said sincerely. “Remember, I was there Sunday night. I saw.”

  “Yes, but it goes even deeper than Hannah disappearing. I think there’s a commonality between Hannah, Anna, and me.”

  “Clearly between you and Hannah,” said Essie. “No question. Was it you or Hannah who initiated it?”

  “Initiated what?” Debbie asked. “Disappearing? That had to be Hannah. How could I make her disappear?”

  Essie gave Debbie a questioning look, and then said, “Debbie, you do realize that you disappeared, too?”

  She looked at Essie as a river of thoughts and fears raged through her. “I disappeared, too?” Debbie asked.

  “My God, you didn’t know that? You both faded. How could you not know?” Essie asked, animated in her excitement. “Couldn’t you feel it? What did you feel?”

  “I’m not sure. I only felt Hannah disappearing,” said Debbie. “It was surreal, like everything else lately. I was panicking. I was afraid that if Hannah disappeared, she would never return. I just wanted to keep her there.”

  “So Hannah triggered it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess,” Debbie said. “That wasn’t the first time Hannah started disappearing, and it makes me wonder if it wasn’t my first. I thought I was just traveling with them in my mind.”

  “Traveling? With them?” asked Essie. “Wait. What do you mean by travel?”

  Debbie was afraid she had already said too much. Would Essie have her committed to the booby hatch?

  “Are you talking about Hannahwhere?” Essie went on. “Are you saying that you project with Hannah?”

  Debbie shrugged sheepishly and nodded. “I think so.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Essie said, sounding truly intrigued, not condemning. “Two people dissociating together. Is that possible?”

  “And Anna,” Debbie said.

  Essie gave her a disbelieving look.

  “I mean it,” Debbie insisted. “I was with Anna. We—Hannah and I—were with Anna. We spoke with her. I braided her hair. It’s exactly like Hannah’s, but quite a bit longer.”

  “Okay. Wait a moment. Are you sure your hopes aren’t skewing your perception, here?” Essie asked. “What you are suggesting is beyond telepathy. I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “And disappearing is?” Debbie said emphatically.

  “True,” Essie agreed. “But if you were actually interacting with Anna as you say, then you would know where Anna is.”

  “No. That’s one of the problems. It’s a long, confusing story. Anna doesn’t even know where she is physically.” Debbie knew it sounded weak, but she knew no other way of explaining it.

  “This is too much,” Essie said. She still looked dubious, but an edge of confusion tinted her suspicion.

  Debbie leaned forward on the couch, intense in her conviction. “You’re being like the people you just talked about, who are not open to the extraordinary and find reasons not to believe. You saw it! My God! And there’s so much more. Part of me wants to say everything… to spill my guts. Another part of me wants to climb into bed and sleep forever, and a third part of me knows I have to protect Hannah and Anna with every fiber of my being.”

  Essie looked distraught and Debbie understood what she was feeling. Debbie had been feeling it for days herself… ontological shock. Essie and Debbie were both questioning their view of what reality is.

  “I’m listening,” Essie finally said, though hesitantly.

  Debbie told her everything… almost.

  It was well past 4:00 p.m. when Debbie left Essie’s office. As she drove away her usual thread of doubt weaved into her comfort zone, and the further away she got the thicker the thread became. Was Essie trustworthy, or was she gathering proof for the DCF that Debbie was going bug-shit in the head and should be locked away? Was Essie collecting information so she could present it for research somewhere, like Harvard, The Monroe Institute, or some sleazy tabloid?

  Debbie intended to visit Hannah and play a game or go for a stroll through the hallways, but realized she hadn’t eaten anything but a protein bar earlier that morning. She detoured into the hospital cafeteria, built a rather respectable salad, and grabbed a bottle of iced tea. For Hannah, she selected a Frisbee-sized chocolate chip cookie that could have come with a deed.

  As she was cashing out at the register, her iPhone came to life. She fumbled nervously in her pocketbook. By the time she found her phone, Alanis had sung a stanza for her.

  You live, you learn

  You love, you learn

  You cry, you learn

  She always felt a sense of embarrassment when her phone rang in public, for reasons she’d never understood. Debbie answered with a hushed, “Hello?”

  Other people’s cell phones chimed just about everywhere.

  “Davenport,” the voice on the other end of the connection grumbled. He sounded pissed off, exactly as Debbie expected.

  “Good evening, Detective,” Debbie said. “I apologize for calling so early this morning. I hope I didn’t disturb anyone.”

  Davenport gave a huff, but said, “It’s all right. It’s not like I’ve been getting much sleep since your little performance the other night. Excuse my French, but what the fuck happened there?”

  “I wish I had a decent explanation for you,” Debbie said.

  “Essie Hiller saw it, too, right? It wasn’t just me?”

  “Essie saw it too.”

  “So, what’s going on with you and the girl? It’s like something from Star Trek. I haven’t touched the bottle in twenty-five years, but I could have used a couple of shots after that let me tell you. Christ!”

  Debbie quickly moved to a table in the emptiest corner of the cafeteria. “Phil,” she said, “I hope you’re not thinking of making a media circus of this. Do you know what that would do to Hannah?”

  “Miss Gillan,” he said. “I know I often come across as a soulless prick. It’s one of the hazards of this trade, but I do have some compassion and some common sense. I haven’t called anyone… yet.”

  “Yet?” Debbie asked.

  “My superiors wouldn’t believe me for a second. They might think the pressure’s gotten to me and I’ve gone over the deep end. Shit, what I saw sincerely has me questioning my sanity, or you and that little girl’s reality. I’ve thought of little else since.” He paused, taking a deep breath and releasing it. “However, if I don’t report it, then I’m guilty of withhold
ing vital information. Either way, both Hannah and my career are potentially at risk.”

  The same as Essie, Debbie thought. She was foolish to hope it’d be different.

  Debbie said. “Well, if you’re nuts, then you’d better save two more seats on that bus for Essie and me.”

  She resisted the slightest urge to hint about all the inexplicable things she’d seen, but didn’t know Davenport well enough to trust him, and especially to that degree. Such talk could ruin her career as well. Right now, the safest route was to take a conservative approach, go bare bones, and not mention anything regarding Hannah and Anna that seemed any further beyond the real.

  “I’ve been talking with Anna quite a bit, and doing a lot of research,” Debbie said.

  “Anna?” asked Davenport.

  “I mean Hannah,” Debbie amended, aggravated at her unconscious gaffe. She had to be more careful. “I think we’re close to uncovering some information that may help with the case. Is it possible to hold off on any definitive actions that would affect Hannah and Anna until we, or you, check some potentially vital information out with the FBI, the Elm Creek Police Department, or whoever is handling this?”

  “The Kearney Police Department,” said Davenport.

  “I thought you had said that the other day. Why Kearney?”

  “It’s Kearney, Nebraska jurisdiction. Elm Creek is too small to support a police force. Might be why they don’t seem too particularly interested in this case.”

  “Dear God.”

  “Indeed,” said Phil. “And regardless of the indifference of their police department, what you’re asking is a mighty big request.”

  “I’m aware of that, Phil, but can you hear me out first, and then decide?” Debbie took a sip of iced tea and grimaced, checked the sell by date, checked the label, and sighed. Organic, it figures.

  “Will whatever this theory is make things easier for our little girl over there in Riverside Hospital?” asked the detective.

  “I think so,” Debbie said.

  Was he being sincere? she wondered. Was he really concerned for Hannah? Maybe seeing us disappear the other night changed him. It certainly changed me. She took a hearty gulp of iced tea, shuddered, and set it back down.

  Davenport hesitated and Debbie was sure he was going to deny her after all, but he released a long breath and said, “You do understand that I’m putting my job at risk, here. In three years, I’ll be sixty. My goal is to retire then with full pension, not a premature relief of duty. Understand that I will listen, but I cannot promise anything.”

  “Thank you,” Debbie said gratefully. It was a start in the right direction. If the odd, greasy detective had been there at that moment, Debbie would have hugged him. “My first concern is with Travis Ulrich. Has anyone spoken with him since Hannah verified he took Anna?”

  “I relay all relevant information to the Kearney Police Department and the NCMEC, who work closely with the FBI. I can, and will suggest it. Beyond that, I have no power. As for Kearney, they closed the case. With Hannah turning up, they’ll probably reopen it, but I doubt they’ll make it a priority… not without irrefutable proof of Travis Ulrich’s guilt concerning Anna. The fact that Hannah has been found alive actually puts Travis in a better light and strengthens his plea of innocence. They may not do anything.”

  Debbie huffed in disgust. “But it’s a missing child case with the child still missing! How can they not at least look into it?” she asked, her voice rising.

  “The case is still alive with NCMEC. It’s their baby now, if you’ll pardon the pun. Ulrich already has life in prison without parole. Any added penalty would be inconsequential.”

  “They could hang the bastard,” Debbie mumbled.

  “Nebraska uses lethal injection,” Davenport said. Debbie released a dramatic sigh. The detective continued. “This is a ‘he said, she said’ situation with no solid evidence and the testimony of an impressionable nine-year-old child. Juries will already be skeptical about her dependability as a witness due to her age. For what it’s worth, I agree with you. They should hang the bastard and save the taxpayers a boatload of dough.”

  “God! Did they at least perform a DNA test on the car’s interior?”

  “Of course they did. It was Elizabeth’s car and it was soaked with DNA from her, Hannah, Anna, and Travis, but only Elizabeth’s blood.”

  Debbie wanted to pursue the Travis connection, but wasn’t sure how. She wanted to shake Davenport and make him understand what she already knew. Even if Travis didn’t outright kill Anna, he may as well have. He was just as guilty—even more so, considering how much she was still suffering—but there was no good way to reveal this without hard evidence or a confession, both of which were near impossible.

  “I think Travis took Anna,” Debbie said, “just as Hannah told us. She told us Elizabeth came into some money. Probably not much, but enough to make Travis hopeful for a couple fixes, which was what he wanted most… enough to kill for. I think he holed up in the car with Anna, hunted for those fixes, and spending a good amount of time sleeping off his high, and essentially forgetting Anna was there. This would be especially easy if Anna had lapsed into dissociative states similar to Hannah, which I have little doubt she could since they are twins. I think that when Travis came back to earth, after he murdered Elizabeth, he realized what he did and figured the best way to hide from it was with another high. I’m sure he was Jonesing and all he craved was another fix. He surely had no desire for the responsibility of looking after, or in his case putting up with, a seven-year-old child, so he booted her out of the car somewhere.”

  “We would need more than that. Thinking Travis took Anna is too weak. I think he took her, too, but it’s just a mountain of speculation,” Davenport said. “And anyone else at NCMEC, that’s only one of countless scenarios and I’m sure they already heard them all. No money was found at the house, on Travis, or in Elizabeth’s bank account. Travis didn’t have a bank account. This, of course, doesn’t mean Travis didn’t take money and stash it, squander it, or that there was any money in the first place. In fact, chances are all of this might have zero impact on Anna’s situation.”

  “Maybe,” said Debbie. “But why was Travis found five days later only a few miles away? Why would he risk returning to Elm Creek? Surely he knew they were looking for him and Elizabeth’s car. I don’t think even the smallest part of him wanted to bring Anna home. I don’t think he gave a shit about her or them. Something else lured him back.”

  “Or after he came down from his high, maybe he felt remorse for what he did and wanted to be caught. There’s no tangible proof that he took either girl. You’re still running on assumptions,” Davenport pointed out.

  “Why haven’t they found her body?” she asked.

  “We don’t know if she’s even dead. Remember, Hannah turned up alive,” Davenport said.

  She ached to tell him Anna’s story of how Travis dumped her at the juncture of Route 183 and the Route 30 connector road. But how? Seeing her and Hannah disappear had rattled Davenport’s reality. Would he believe she’d communicated with Anna? The detective scratched his stubbly cheek and it sounded like distant maracas to Debbie.

  “They are twins, Phil, and twins are usually inseparable. They would have stuck together if it were humanly possible,” Debbie said. Like they have even when it’s beyond humanly possible.

  “Maybe, but this is all conjecture,” Phil said. “There’s nothing concrete enough here to change their direction. Travis knew what he had done. He was undoubtedly trying to hide when they found him, and if there was money at the root of it, that adds weight to his reason for returning to town. Drug addicts aren’t known for being rational. Still, it adds nothing solid to Anna’s situation.”

  Debbie was silent. The frustration of knowing what she knew and not being able to express it had her feeling tense and powerless.

  “Another thing, and correct me if I’m wrong,” Davenport went on. “Why would Hannah being Anna�
�s twin have any bearing on whether Anna suffers dissociation, too? Isn’t dissociation psychological, not genetic?”

  “According to most studies,” explained Debbie. “But there are different views leaning towards genetic connections, especially regarding twins. By studying the way Hannah acts and what she says, I feel I have a good idea as to where Anna is.”

  “And where would that be?” Davenport asked.

  Debbie hated his patronizing tone. She felt like hanging up on him, but instead she said, “Phil, you’re coming across as a soulless prick.”

  To her surprise, Phil erupted into a hearty bout of laughter that even sounded sincere. He said, “I warned you, charm isn’t one of my stock features. I was trying to answer as the other agencies would, but now that you’ve called me on it, I owe you a listen. Where do you think Anna Amiel-Janssen is?”

  “Phil, do you know who lives in the house where Elizabeth, Hannah, and Anna lived?”

  “No one,” answered the detective.

  “I figured that. Nothing comes up on the web in real estate, and according to Zillow.com, the last time the house sold was in 1997. Nor does anything come up searching the reverse listings. On Google Earth, the house looks small, possibly a modular. Despite the poor resolution of close-ups, the yard looks somewhat unkempt… not horrifically so, but a few years abandoned. It’s also somewhat remote from the surrounding properties and homes. Elm Creek is a small town, so I’m sure the news traveled fast to all corners. People aren’t quick to forget when tragedies as grisly as this happen, so I’m betting that house is considered cursed land, and that no one has resided there since. I sure as hell wouldn’t live there.”

  “Granted, but if you’re implying Anna’s inside the house, I can assure you they have combed the house extensively and repeatedly. If it is abandoned, regardless of how small the town is, I’m sure local kids have entered there on dares, to party, to make out, and God knows what else.”

  “Not in the house, Phil… under. Do you remember Hannah telling us that Elizabeth told them to meet in the crawlspace under the house if things got ugly?”