Hannahwhere

by John McIlveen

  Hannah lifted something from inside and backed out carrying a trophy topped with the figure of a baseball player in full swing. Hannah stared impassively at it, and then swung it at the closet door with a savage shriek. Debbie jumped back as Hannah lashed out again, repeatedly slamming the trophy against the door. She waited as Hannah ranted on, hoping that she didn’t injure herself, yet knowing the show of anger was due—maybe far past due—and an essential part of Hannah’s healing process.

  Hannah whirled and launched the trophy with every ounce of her being, following it with a bellow of rage and anguish so total that Debbie literally felt the energy project from her. An impressive heave, it left the trophy embedded halfway through the drywall and Debbie grateful she wasn’t in line with the toss. Hannah stood rigid, moving her hands reflexively, still vibrating from the outburst.

  “That was his. He loved it more than anything. If anyone touched it, he’d flip out.” The acid in her words was almost visible. “Fuck head!” she screamed at the embedded prize.

  She stared at it for a while and then her whole body sagged with the departure of her anger. She looked at Debbie and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Am I in trouble for what I just said?” she asked.

  “No. Those are pretty much the same words that come to my mind when I think of him,” Debbie assured her. She pushed some tousled strands of Hannah’s hair back into place and smiled. “I bet that felt good.”

  “Yeah,” Hannah said and offered her own awkward smile.

  Again, Debbie wondered how a woman who loved her children as much as Elizabeth apparently did let someone like Travis Ulrich into her life.

  “C’mon,” Debbie said.

  Hannah took her hand and they returned to the living room. The day had shifted slightly and exaggerated slants of sunlight exposed empires of newly disturbed dust motes as they traversed the room.

  Debbie moved to another door. “What’s this, a closet?”

  She opened the door to a little utility room, tightly populated by a heating unit, a water heater, an electrical panel. A network of copper and PVC pipes rose upward, penetrating the ceiling and upper wall at various points.

  “Boring guy stuff,” Debbie said and closed the door. “Is there an attic here?”

  Hannah shook her head and pointed to the cathedral-style ceilings. “They go all the way up.” Hannah’s eyes shifted upward along the wall near the bathroom door. “The Travis dog is gone,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The Travis dog.” Hannah nodded up to the doghouse plaque.

  “Good! It doesn’t deserve to be there,” Debbie said. “It’s on the floor near your foot.”

  Debbie lifted the Hannah dog from the pin inside the doghouse, and moved it between the Anna and Mom dog. “Why are you in the doghouse? I can’t imagine you being bad.”

  “Not really bad. Mom said I was rambunctious and not careful enough. She caught me running across the roof and put me in the doghouse.”

  Debbie blinked and said, “The roof? How’d you get up there?”

  Hannah just stared at Debbie.

  “Oh, right. Well, your mom was right!”

  “Yeah, I was always in the doghouse,” Hannah said.

  “Not Anna?”

  Hannah let out a good-natured scoff and said, “Ha! Anna? She’d have a heart attack if her dog ever ended up in the doghouse. She used to burst into tears and think Mom was mad at her if Mom forgot to kiss her goodnight. Anna wouldn’t disobey if her life depended on it!”

  Ironically, Debbie thought. Hannah took the Anna, Hannah, and Mom dogs from their pins and put them in her pocket. She picked up the Travis dog and stared spitefully at it.

  Something danced on the edge of Debbie’s mind, but she couldn’t call it forward.

  “What’s wrong?” Hannah asked.

  Hannah’s words kept replaying; Anna wouldn’t disobey even if her life depended on it. Debbie rubbed her forehead as if she were trying to erase thoughts or massage new ones into existence. “Hannah, honey, I’m sorry,” Debbie said. “I thought Anna would be here, but clearly I’m wrong. You said you felt it, too. Is there any place nearby you think Anna might have gone?”

  Hannah paused, looking thoughtful yet uncertain. Her eyes diverted almost imperceptibly as Debbie watched the curious inner battle. An ugly feeling of ineptitude blossomed within Debbie like a virus, expanding slowly and weaving its blackness around her thoughts.

  Any place.

  Annaplace.

  No place…

  Debbie peered into the bathroom… not large, but larger than Debbie had expected. It was a common bathroom turned quaint by Elizabeth’s talented hands. Four paintings with an ocean motif added atmosphere to the little room’s walls: a shoreline with a lighthouse over the towel rack, two seagulls silhouetted by the summer sun over the toilet, a leaning buoy near the sink, and a beached lobster trap on the narrow closet door to the right of the bathtub. She stepped into the room and noticed something protruding over the lip of the bathtub. She told Hannah to stay back and inched toward the tub.

  Could Anna be there? Undiscovered?

  It wasn’t logical, but an anxiety bloomed through her nonetheless. The shower curtain had either fallen or been pulled down inside the tub, covering something beneath it. Gingerly reaching forward she pinched a small section of the curtain and started lifting it, exposing a pile of maybe eight bath towels. Soaked and sodden, someone had tossed them into the tub to dry like papier-mâché cow patties. Debbie released a pent-up breath and shook her head at Hannah.

  Hannah copied Debbie’s sigh from the doorway.

  “Maybe we should head back,” Debbie suggested.

  Hannah gave a disheartened nod of agreement and another peculiar flick of her eyes. Debbie ran her hand appreciatively over the painting on the closet. They were exceptional, and it seemed a shame the art was painted directly onto the walls and doors. Debbie knew little about art, but she felt that Elizabeth Amiel’s was worthy of framing.

  “How long did it take your mother to paint this?” she asked.

  Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know. She was always painting and making things, like that closet and those shelves.”

  Debbie pulled on the handle to open the closet, but it held fast. “Does it have a lock?” she asked Hannah.

  “Pull hard. It’s a magnet,” Hannah instructed.

  Debbie yanked harder, surprised by how strong the magnet was, but the door finally obliged. She looked in the closet and saw the two-foot-long magnetic strip on the jamb, which explained why it took a Herculean grip to open the door. She also saw the back of the door and started laughing. Despite her difficult life, Elizabeth Amiel had had a good sense of humor. Centered on the backside of the door was another one of Elizabeth’s paintings. It was a very good portrait of Tom Brady, looking as if he were leaning against the companion steel strip to the magnet. He had his thumb and index finger at his chin as if he was observing a masterpiece, one eyebrow raised in an expression of shameless appreciation. Debbie understood the humor. With the closet door fully open, Tom would have a direct, front-row view of whoever was exiting the bathtub.

  “Your mom was funny,” Debbie said.

  “Whenever we’d take a bath she’d say, say hi to Tom for me,” Hannah said.

  “What a hoot,” Debbie said.

  She pushed the door closed, which slammed with a loud CLACK as the magnet strip took hold.

  Hannah froze.

  “What’s wrong, honey, did you hear something?” Debbie asked.

  Hannah said nothing, but moved to the closet. She tugged open the door and let it slam shut again.

  CLACK!

  Hannah started to say something and balked.

  “What is it, honey?” Debbie asked, squatting to meet her gaze, but Hannah’s eyes were locked on the closet door as she opened and closed it again.

  CLACK!

  Hannah’s eyes darted quickly to her right, as if something only she could hear had moved outside th
e room.

  “What is it, Hannah? Why are you doing that?”

  A huge tear ran down Hannah’s cheek as a look of profound grief and confusion contorted her face. She rushed from the room.

  “Hannah!” Debbie called. She rushed after her through the living room and into the kitchen. “Hannah, what?”

  Debbie caught up to her, pulled her into an embrace, and held her tightly.

  “Honey, what’s going on?” Debbie asked. “Something’s eating at you. Why won’t you talk about it?”

  Hannah said, “I can’t.”

  “You can’t talk about it? Why?”

  “Mom made us promise to never, ever tell anyone.”

  “Tell anyone what?” Debbie released Hannah and then held her at arm’s length. “Look at me, Hannah. Is there something you’re not telling me about Anna? If your mom could, I’m sure she’d want you to talk for Anna’s sake.”

  ”No one is supposed to know where it is,” said Hannah quietly.

  “Where what is?” pressed Debbie.

  “Our secret place… where we hide.”

  “Under the house? I checked.”

  Hannah stared at Debbie with terrified eyes.

  “Is there another secret place, Hannah?” Debbie asked.

  “I’m not supposed to…”

  “Do you think Anna’s there?”

  The horror on Hannah’s face amplified, showing she had not considered that possibility. She yanked herself free and darted into her and Anna’s bedroom with Debbie stumbling behind her. Hannah yanked open the closet door and rushed in, crashing hard into the rear wall. She slammed into the wall again and then dropped to the floor. Sitting with her legs in the closet and her bottom in the bedroom, she hammered against the baseboard with both feet.

  “What are you doing, Hannah? It’s just a closet!” Debbie shouted, afraid that Hannah would hurt herself.

  “She’s in there!” Hannah cried, still kicking at the wall.

  “Where, Hannah?” Debbie asked, reaching for her.

  “The chimney! Where Mom told us to be!” Her voice cracked with desperation and a nuance of defeat.

  “I checked. She wasn’t there.”

  “It isn’t real,” explained Hannah. “We’re supposed to hide inside!”

  Hannah jumped up and ran for the door, but Debbie grabbed her arm. Hannah yanked, and unable to free herself, started to fade. Debbie felt the change in her wrist. Fighting panic, Debbie hollered, “HANNAH, STOP!”

  Hannah stopped, distraught and shaking so badly Debbie feared she might start convulsing. Debbie pulled her into a tight embrace and said, “Honey, please calm down and breathe.”

  Once Hannah seemed calmer, Debbie said, “Please tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “The chimney isn’t real,” Hannah said.

  “I don’t understand. I saw it under the house.”

  “Mom made it with real blocks and cement. It’s for when things get ugly, so we can travel and come back and no one can see us. Mom made us promise never to tell anyone about it, and I told you! I’m stupid! I’m stupid!” Hannah drove her fists into the side of her head and her control started slipping again.

  “Hannah, stop it!” Debbie demanded, grabbing her arms. “You are not stupid and you are not in trouble. Please settle down and I’ll help you. I’m positive that your mother would not be upset with you. I know she’d be proud.”

  She held Hannah in an embrace and watched her as she tried to process Debbie’s words. She finally felt some of the tension leave Hannah’s body.

  “Why were you banging on the closet wall like that?” she asked.

  “It’s a door,” Hannah said. “The closet used to be a lot bigger, like Mom’s walking closet.”

  Debbie didn’t correct her, but thought about the closet in Elizabeth’s room. It wasn’t quite a walk-in closet, but it was much larger than the one in Hannah and Anna’s room. Debbie released Hannah and looked into the closet. It was ordinary looking, with an upper shelf with a hanger rail attached, and carpeting up to the baseboards.

  “I don’t see a door,” Debbie said.

  “It’s a flap, you know, like the back of a dump truck. It has really strong magnets like the ones on the bathroom closet, so we can kick it open and go in fast if we have to.”

  It took Debbie a few moments to see how well designed it was. The only giveaway was that there was corner molding at the rear wall junctures beneath the shelf. Who puts molding on the real wall of a closet?

  Looking closer, Debbie could see an ever-so-slightly exaggerated gap behind the molding. Again, it was not obvious to those not looking for it. Debbie pushed against the rear wall and felt the slightest give. This enlightened Debbie to an oversight on her part. When standing at the access to the crawlspace, the chimney was at the far right corner of the house, directly below the girls’ room. The house had no chimney protruding from the roof, only the PVC pipe standard with modular homes. The average manufactured home did not have brick or cinderblock chimneys unless they were owner installed for woodstoves or fireplaces, of which this home had neither.

  The things you don’t notice if you’re not looking for them, thought Debbie. “How do you open it?” she asked.

  “There are two ways… well, three ways in,” Hannah said. “You have to push really hard at the bottom where the magnet is, or the other way is the metal door on the chimney under the house.”

  Debbie pushed against the wall, harder than the first time, but it held fast. “Either those are insanely strong magnets or it’s jammed,” she said.

  “It locks, but only from inside,” Hannah explained. “Mom made it that way so…” Her words trailed off when she saw Debbie understood. “If Anna is there, it’s really bad, isn’t it? If she’s still there, it means she isn’t alive anymore, right?” She started sobbing.

  A chill rushed through Debbie as the guarantee of what lay behind the wall became valid. She wished she could hide from Hannah’s anguish, yet abandoning her was not an option and never would be. The desperation that radiated from her eyes was painful for Debbie to see, and must have been a living hell for Hannah. For a nine-year-old child to face the possibility that she was all that was left of her family was unimaginable, yet here it was. She pulled Hannah to her, hoping that the simple gesture would not only convey a sliver of comfort, but that it would hide her own tears.

  Hannah had been through enough, Debbie decided. The rest could prove too difficult for her to handle. Debbie would have to come back and do it herself.

  “You are a very brave and special young lady,” she assured Hannah. “I am so proud just to know you, and you should be very proud of yourself, too. We have to go back, now. We’re going back on three.”

  She didn’t give Hannah time to argue.

  Chapter 28

  When Hannah and Debbie returned, Essie was standing near the water’s edge at the base of the ramp looking worried and a little lost. Hannah was entwined in Debbie’s arms, grief and defiance wrestling for precedence on her face.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God! Where’d you go?” Essie blurted. Her words gushed forth in a frantic outpouring, seeking explanation. “I… this is unbelievable! Did you really go to Elm Creek? This is really screwing with my worldview!” Essie then noticed Hannah’s tears. “My goodness, you’re crying! Did something happen? Are you all right? Is she all right?”

  “She’s had a shock,” Debbie said. “I think we may have found the answers we are looking for, but I need to go back to verify something. I need you to take care of her. It’s been a very emotional experience for her.”

  “I want to know!” Hannah said through gritted teeth. Tears flew as she angrily tried to pull away from Debbie.

  “I’ll tell you as soon as I know, but it’ll be better if you stay here,” Debbie explained. “Please stay with Essie. Please! It’s getting late and they’ll be expecting us back soon.”

  This was not likely true since she had told Doctor Farren and the ward nurses
they’d be back at the hospital by five-thirty for dinner, and they hadn’t been gone much more than two hours.

  “What do you want to know, Hannah?” Essie asked.

  Hannah scrutinized Debbie’s eyes and set her jaw. “We know where Anna is.”

  “It’s just speculation so far. It’s just a guess, honey. But if it’s true, I don’t think you should…”

  “I’m not stupid and I’m not a baby! Whatever we find, I can handle it!” Hannah said with blazing eyes. “Remember, I made it two years without your help!”

  Debbie could not deny the truth of that. Hannah had witnessed the grisly death of her mother and had somehow made it through on her own, sanity intact.

  “Okay. I’m sorry I insulted you, but I’m only acting as I would with any nine-year-old girl or boy, regardless of how crazy this whole mess is. If you were any other kid, I’d insist you go back to the hospital,” Debbie said. “What am I saying? If you were any other kid, nothing like this would be happening. My God! If anyone knew what we’re doing, I’d be out of a job… if they could believe any of it.”

  “I won’t tell anyone if you let me go,” Hannah said.

  “I think Essie may have an inkling of an idea that something is not exactly normal here,” Debbie said. She looked at Essie and raised a questioning eyebrow to accentuate her point and their good fortune. “She hasn’t blown the whistle, which means she cares about your well-being. I think she’d agree that it would be best for you to stay here this time.”

  “Why did you bring her there in the first place? You are too good at your job to not know the risks,” Essie said, not completely able to control the accusation in her words.

  “Essentially, Hannah brought me there. It’s a long story, but trust me… they were necessary steps,” Debbie said. “You have to agree that this is a unique situation. The rules and laws we operate by don’t necessarily apply here. I’ll tell you everything later, but you’ll have to believe us and be prepared to open your mind to the truly extraordinary, okay?”

  Essie stared at Debbie as if she’d just sprouted horns. “Sweet baby Jesus! Sister, you’ll have to be shooting rainbows out your backend for this to get any more extraordinary. Open-minded? I think empty-headed is a better description for me for getting involved in this.” Essie shook her head in wonder.