Hannahwhere

by John McIlveen

  Hannah started to respond but Debbie held up a finger, stopping her.

  “I know. It can’t be more important if it’s second, but logic has no place here—especially the way things have been lately. So secondly, I think you did something extraordinary… well, even more extraordinary than usual.”

  Debbie jumped off the bed, rooted through a laundry basket of folded clothing, and quickly dressed. She dragged a brush through her hair ignoring the static halo she had created.

  “I want you to bring yourself back to your room at the hospital and I’ll take the car.”

  “I want to go with you, please… please!” Hannah begged, terrified at the prospect of being alone if even for a moment. “I don’t want to go back there even if it was a dream.” She got onto her knees, with her hands clenched in supplication. She looked despondent, and Debbie felt terrible about it, but it was the only sensible option.

  “Honey, if you came with me, we’d have to go past the outpatient desk or through the emergency room. Everything in there is locked up, and we’d have to be buzzed in, which would be impossible. I’ll be there just a few minutes after you.” She paused a few seconds and then said, “Shoot. That won’t work either if people are already looking for you. We can’t have you just popping up where nurses and orderlies might be crawling all about.”

  Debbie could imagine the hullabaloo that would ensue if Hannah unexpectedly materialized. It made for an amusing scenario, but it’d be devastating. There had to be an alternate place to play it safe. The cafeteria? The visitor’s lounge?

  Debbie glanced at her clock, which displayed 3:17 a.m. Hannah’s room was the best option, but even as late as it was, it was still too risky… or was it?

  There’s another way, Debbie told herself. It’s nuts, but it could work.

  Debbie cinched her belt and tucked the remaining flap into a loop. She sat on the bed near Hannah, who was forlorn, but no longer hysterical.

  “Listen, Hannah, this is important. We need to get you back fast.” Hannah started rejecting it, but Debbie said. “Hannah! I said listen, so please hear me out, okay?” The intensity of her voice startled Hannah and she immediately conceded, as Debbie knew she would.

  “Thank you. As I was saying,” Debbie continued. “I don’t think you have to go through Hannahwhere to get back to the hospital. I believe that when you’re in your hospital room and you go to Hannahwhere, it’s only your essence—the spirit you—that goes. I’ve seen it… your body stays at the hospital. It’s when your spirit goes from Hannahwhere to somewhere real, or maybe in this physical realm, then your body follows. Both times that you started to disappear in the hospital you were panicking. I believe you just wanted to get away. Not just your mind, but all of you—just like this time.”

  Hannah mulled this over but looked confused and doubtful. “You disappeared, too,” she said.

  “I know… which is really odd. Maybe you were bringing me along, like you did with your cat. I bet that’s why you can’t be changed in Hannahwhere or Annaplace. There is no physical there,” said Debbie. “It may also be why you dissociate in the hospital, why I can’t cut Anna’s hair, and why we can’t warm her up. You know what I mean?”

  “I think so,” Hannah said. “In Hannahwhere we are like 3-D movies of our real selves?”

  “Excellent! Yes, smart girl! And if the physical—the body—isn’t in Hannahwhere, you can’t be hurt.” Although you can feel pain, she mentally added.

  “Then, how come we can feel when we’re in our places, like Anna’s cold or hugs?” asked Hannah.

  Damn!

  “My God, you’re a thinker, but so am I. I think we feel our energy and share it. If we want to feel a hug, or if we want to convey something, our desires let us feel things as if we are really experiencing it. Get it?” asked Debbie.

  “No,” Hannah said blankly.

  Debbie said, “I know it’s confusing, but this is why I’m so sure you had a nightmare. The other reason is you said you were so scared you wished yourself out of there. Where did you wish to go?”

  “Here,” said Hannah. “But the body me is here and it can’t go anywhere without going to Hannahwhere first.”

  “That’s my point. It can and it did!” Debbie took Hannah’s face gently in her hands. “I don’t think you would have willingly gone through Hannahwhere after a nightmare like the one you had. I’d bet you were so frightened you panicked and came straight here. I know your mom told you to go to Hannahwhere first, but I think that was for your safety. She figured Hannahwhere was a safe place between two uncertain places. You can always jump quickly back to the safety of Hannahwhere if there was anything dangerous or unexpected at either end, I think.” A line of doubt etched Debbie’s face. “Holy cow, this is confusing. Come here.”

  Hannah hesitantly got off the bed and moved beside Debbie, who gripped her hands. “I want you to try going straight to the hospital from here. Don’t worry, I’m going with you, but I want you to think yourself into your hospital room’s shower on three,” Debbie said.

  As Hannah had done to her earlier that day, Debbie counted to three before Hannah could hesitate. The jaunt was nearly effortless, with no nausea and just a hint of vertigo. They stood inside the shower stall in a nearly pitch-black bathroom, save for a barely visible strip of less-darkness at the base of the door.

  Debbie reached out for Hannah and found her shoulder. Shhhh, she hissed quietly, and slowly stepped from the shower. Feeling blindly before her, Debbie found the light switch, flicked it on, and then twisted the deadbolt lock above the handle. They squinted at each other in the dispassionate glare of the bathroom light. The gray pallor of sleep deprivation and the darkened crescents beneath Hannah’s eyes made her look ill and depleted.

  She is ill, Debbie realized, and in a concerned whisper said, “Honey, you need to get some sleep. You’re completely wiped out.” She ran a hand over Hannah’s head, pushing her hair back. “You’re safe here in the hospital.”

  “What about Anna? What if he’s with her?”

  “He’s not,” Debbie assured her, still whispering. “Have you tried communicating with her? The way we did when I called you?”

  “She can’t hear me, but I know she’s still there. I can feel her, but I think he has her.”

  “Come on, let’s go see Anna.” Debbie said and grabbed Hannah’s hand. It seemed the only way to win Hannah a little piece of mind and much-needed sleep.

  “We’re supposed to sit!” said Hannah. “Or our bodies fall when our spirits leave them.”

  “Makes sense,” Debbie agreed. As soon as Hannah’s bottom hit the cool tile floor, Debbie pulled them to the flowery fields. It stunned her how quickly she had caught on to traveling, as if it were a hidden talent. She was also aware that she had dragged Hannah along before she could protest.

  “You pulled me!” says Hannah, looking around, a hint of panic forming on her pretty but tired face.

  “That’s right. You’re in Abracadeborah… my place,” Debbie says. “But you’re in Hannahwhere and Annaplace, too. They’re all the same place.”

  Hannah looks around warily. “Really?”

  “Positive.”

  “Okay, but don’t leave without me.”

  “Promise,” says Debbie.

  The day is clear, as it always is here, but Anna is nowhere in sight. There’s a new sound, like the muffled Thoom—Thoom—Thoom—Thoom of a bass drum, reverberating all around them as they wade through the flowers, looking for Anna’s signature sundress or long white braid.

  “There,” Debbie says, pointing to a large tree with metallic blue-green leaves. “You see? I told you. No one has her.”

  They walk towards Anna, who is cradled in the crook of a sturdy branch. As they get closer, it becomes clear she is not entirely right. The changes that were once subtle have become severe and more accelerated, and she looks so achingly frail that Debbie can’t quite retain her gasp. Something surely has Anna. Hannah pauses to collect herself
before resuming her steps.

  “Hi,” Anna says weakly, yet still good-naturedly from dry and puckered lips. “I don’t feel that good.”

  Glazed and sunken eyes stare at them from hooded lids. She is draped along the length of a branch with her arms dangling to either side, her pasty cheek pressing the smooth bark surface.

  Thoom! Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!

  Debbie puts her cheek to Anna’s forehead expecting the blazing fever of influenza, but finds the same freezing flesh beneath the coat of sweat. Hannah’s chin quivers and she blinks rapidly, trying to hold back tears. She reaches out to take Anna’s hand.

  “You look like shit,” Anna says to Hannah. Her voice is tired and rattles with her words.

  Debbie barks a pained laugh. Hannah also looks bad, and now that it’s brought to her attention, it seems Hannah is mirroring Anna’s decline, be it delayed. The state of both girls terrifies Debbie.

  Thoom! Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!

  “We have to go back,” Hannah says.

  “Yes, Hannah, we’re wasting time.” Debbie brushes her fingers along Anna’s cheek, and then leans down to kiss her. “Anna, you stay strong, honey. Please. If there’s any way I can figure this out, I will, but I have to get on it right away.”

  Hannah again says, “We have to get back now!”

  “Okay. Let’s go,” says Debbie.

  They returned to the hospital bathroom where the sound was magnified tenfold.

  Thoom! Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!

  “Hannah, are you in there, sweetie? Are you okay?” a woman’s concerned voice called from beyond the door.

  Hannah looked nervously at Debbie, who pointed to her lips and mouthed, say something!

  “I’m here. I was trying to take a poop but fell asleep,” Hannah replied. Debbie rolled her eyes and Hannah shrugged.

  “Oh! Okay, honey,” the nurse said with a chuckle. “You had me worried. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m okay. My legs are asleep, but I’ll be out in a minute when the tingles go away.” Hannah flushed the toilet for effect.

  “You’re surprisingly good at this fibbing thing,” Debbie said, using the flush to cover her voice. She hugged Hannah and kissed her on top of the head. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  Debbie was gone before Hannah could protest.

  Chapter 26

  Lying on her side, Debbie hugged her pillow like a long-lost lover. There were eight pillows surrounding her… a fortress of comfort. She opened her eyes and looked at her alarm clock. 8:55 a.m. Five hours sleep, a veritable slumberfest by recent standards. She rubbed her eyes, plucked sharp pebbles of sleep from the corners, and then settled her head down on another pillow.

  Her attention was drawn by the lyrics spilling from her old radio…Owner of a lonely heart (much better than an) owner of a broken heart.

  “Screw you, YES,” Debbie groaned. She rolled over and depressed the alarm plunger, which was set to launch its cranky salutation in three minutes at 9:00 a.m. She never liked the song much, anyway.

  Her mind was a thoroughfare of thoughts, barraging her as she tried to prioritize her schedule. Dozens of chores needed doing that day… dozens of chores that wouldn’t be done. She needed to swing by the DCF office for an update before four o’clock that evening. That wouldn’t be happening either. For Debbie, all that mattered was Hannah and Anna. All else could, and would, wait.

  The next day, Thursday, she had the important meeting with the doctors, Essie, and DCF at 1:30 in the afternoon. She needed to prepare for that. They would be discussing Hannah’s condition and plan for her future placement. Debbie knew how that would most likely go; Hannah would remain a ward of state, be placed with hopefully nice foster parents in a hopefully nice foster home with hopefully nice foster siblings, and have a fifty-fifty chance of coming out of it in better shape than she went in. It was the second fifty percent that concerned Debbie. She had to have multiple recommendations and alternative placement plans handy that would agree with Essie’s and the specialist’s evaluations of Hannah. Debbie had only one plan in mind, and it was a self-serving request. It was anyone’s guess if it would float or fall onto deaf ears, but Debbie would slay dragons to make sure they heard her. If any of those involved knew of her recent experiences, or if Essie, God forbid, spilled the beans, Debbie knew she could punt that dream right out the window. She was determined not to let that happen.

  She knew exactly what they sought when screening potential foster parents, and for Debbie fostering was the only place to start, and the safest for Hannah and Anna. Adoption was out of the question at this point, and would be for quite a while… maybe a year, three years… maybe never. She’d climb that mountain once it loomed closer.

  Fighting the need to get up, Debbie rolled onto her belly and bunched a pillow beneath her head.

  You know how doggies do it, Little Red?

  The words were whispered directly behind her ear. A warm breath washed over the back of her neck, carrying with it the stink of hard liquor that mingled with the reek of sex and filth emanating from the grossly stained pillow beneath her cheek.

  “No… no… no fucking way!” Debbie sneered. She shoved herself upwards, tossing the covers from her and scattering pillows to the floor. She jumped to her feet and spun to confront her tormentor.

  “Get out of here! Stay out of my fucking head!” she screamed, her body tense beneath her nightclothes.

  The rage boiled within her, drowning out the fear. Breathing heavily, she coiled with clenched fists, ready to spring. Debbie stomped into the living room and screamed towards the ceiling, “I won’t live like this! I’m done with this shit! Come back, you bastard! You degenerate! You repulsive pig! You… fuck! Try to get me!”

  Get you? We’ve already had you… over and over and over again, said a raspy voice from the spare room.

  “Well, no more!” Debbie grabbed the stapler from the top of her desk and hurled it toward the voice. It struck the door, leaving a formidable dent, and ricocheted into the room.

  We’ll always be here, a deeper voice promised from her bedroom. You’re ours whenever we want.

  “Then come and get me, you bastard!” Debbie took a large pair of scissors from the top drawer of her desk and ran to her bedroom door, arm lifted and ready to attack. “Come on, you cowards!”

  She stood in the doorway, panting and scanning the room. No one was there.

  Whenever we want, someone whispered behind her.

  Debbie spun and lashed out with the scissors, impaling only air.

  “You’re only in my head,” Debbie said breathlessly.

  Not in your head… but I have something that can be.

  “Prove it!” Debbie challenged, walking to the spare room.

  She grabbed the bottom edge of her pajama top with one hand, pulled it over her head, and threw it to the floor. She stood naked from the waist up, staring into the shadows.

  “I’m here, you pussies! Are none of you man enough to take on a woman?” Debbie taunted. “You’re afraid! You cowards only want children?”

  Debbie caught her breath, and as she settled down and gathered her senses, a realization came to her. Regardless of all the voices and flashbacks she’d had, none had physically harmed her. How could they? They had no substance. They’re…

  …only in my head, she thought. Let’s exorcise some childhood demons. Let’s find out what it’s all about.

  For Debbie to be considered a suitable foster mother she would have to be unequivocally present and emotionally collected. Flashbacks or visions in the middle of the meeting would not go over well.

  Leaving her shirt off, Debbie walked through her home and she could feel her fear dwindling. In her bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen, she encountered only silence. She reached for the basement doorknob and halted. That can wait, she decided. Start with baby steps.

  She returned the scissors to her desk, retrieved her nightshirt from where it lay near the spare room door and pulled it back on. S
he sat down at her desk and yanked open the bottom drawer of her oak, two-drawer file cabinet. Shuffling through the folders, she scanned the tabs and removed one labeled Vital Docs. She fished through its contents until she came across her birth certificate. It was dog-eared, but otherwise looked new and formal with its stamped seal, scrolled blue border, and indistinct watermark. At the top, two lines of bold, block letters read State of Ohio - Office of Vital Statistics. Beneath that in a slightly smaller font was printed Certificate of Birth. This was not the original. Where that was, even the gods probably had no clue. She was fourteen when she had ordered the copy she held in her hands. She had needed it to work at the local donut shop.

  Debbie knew all the standard information: Deborah Rose Gillan, six-pound-fourteen-ounce Caucasian female with blue eyes and red hair. Born 8:59 p.m., August 28, 1979, at Lakewood Hospital, Lakewood, Ohio, to Patricia Jean Gillan—father unknown.

  What she hoped to find was any clue linking her youth to the flashbacks or visions that she had been having. Whatever had happened with Bernard Prioulx she had blocked from her memory, yet she knew it happened and she remembered Bernard’s face too well. There was the difference. Regardless of how vivid her flashbacks were, they were of places and men whose faces she could not remember.

  But weren’t flashbacks memories?

  Another detail Debbie could not deny, although every iota of her wanted to, were the sneakers. She was thirteen when she resided in Mad Mother Prioulx’s home, but the sneakers in her flashbacks were those of a child of maybe six or seven. The implications were beyond nightmarish, and her not remembering was probably for the best, but it also scared the shit out of her and didn’t bode well on the psychological front. Misplaced childhoods were usually blocked out childhoods, which frequently meant there was a lot of crap in the cupboards that you didn’t want anyone to see… even yourself. If these evocations were any forecast as to what was in her cupboards, then Debbie had a mighty big pantry.

  As for Lakewood, Ohio, Debbie knew near to nothing about the town, and this had always been fine with her. She opened her laptop, waited for it to return from sleep mode, and searched Google Earth. Lakewood was a small city on the southern shore of Lake Erie, about five miles west of Cleveland… trivial facts that were of no help to Debbie. If her intent were to discover anything personal, she would have to make the search more personal, which she was avoiding. Relenting, Debbie released a stifled breath and toggled to a standard search window. Searching child molestation and Cleveland, Google turned up three million hits, the most prevalent and relevant ones linked to a prominent case in Cleveland, England in 1987. Adding Ohio whittled the hits down to just fewer than 1.9 million. Well, that simplifies things, Debbie thought, feeling dwarfed by the colossal task ahead, assuming any wrongdoing even occurred.