Hannahwhere

by John McIlveen

  Debbie knelt before Hannah and held her gaze. She said, “Hannah, I need you to stay with Essie until I get back. No argument. You understand?”

  “Yes,” Hannah answered. She was clearly not pleased, but Debbie knew she would obey.

  Debbie sat in approximately the same place on the ramp and watched Hannah and Essie as the world around her faded to black. In seconds, she was sitting on her bed in her house.

  She rummaged through her night table drawer until she found her chrome and red plastic flashlight that looked circa 1960. She tested it and a strong circle of light appeared on the ceiling, reinforcing her faith in Duracell… more expensive, but worth it. Debbie repositioned herself on her bed and prepared to travel back to the crawlspace in Elm Creek.

  Hey, Little Red on the bed.

  “Fuck you,” Debbie said indifferently and left for Nebraska.

  Daylight still flooded through the access, so it was not as dark as the first time she and Hannah had traveled there, but the light had shifted away from the concrete enclosure, leaving the crawlspace deep in shadows. She couldn’t dismiss how cold and alien it felt without Hannah by her side. She was a foreigner in a bizarre land where Hannah was her connection.

  She clicked on the flashlight and ran the beam along the extent of the crawlspace, hesitating in the corners, at the woodpile, on the paint cans, and on the brick pile, dreading the appearance of anything with any combination of four legs, fur, and teeth. Relieved, she settled the beam on the cinderblock enclosure Elizabeth Amiel had built for her daughters. It looked authentic. The cinderblocks were evenly placed, and the cement mortar was groomed, giving it a professionally done appearance. The common soul would have never stopped to think about the placement of the chimney in relation to the rooms in the house, or that a base this size would normally foot a fireplace and a large chimney. It seemed Travis hadn’t figured it out either, though he was about as bright as an eggplant in Debbie’s opinion.

  She crawled towards the enclosure, struggling to keep the light trained on her target, when a sudden thrashing of wings sent her sprawling to the dirt floor in a panic. Bats terrified her and the thought of one of those flying rats becoming tangled in her hair sent spikes of terror coursing through her. When the fluttering stopped, she lay flat on her belly, sweeping the light’s beam throughout the crawlspace in search of the little bastard. She heard rustling ahead of her and to the left, and when she aimed the light she saw it perched on a black iron pipe just to the left of the enclosure.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she said, holding the light on the familiar red-feathered bird. “I don’t need a kick in the ass to convince me you’re not just your average Yogi. You have a message for me?”

  Chirby-chirby-chirby-chirby-djou-djou,

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” Debbie asked.

  The bird shifted a little, watching her with undisguised interest. Djou-djou-chirby-djou, it proclaimed, as if they were truly conversing.

  “Whatever you say,” Debbie said. She rose onto her hands and knees and resumed on course. “Love it if you could hold the flashlight.”

  She rounded the left side of the enclosure and peered into the gap between it and the rear wall. There was less than two feet between the cinderblocks and the wooden apron of the house, enough for a child or small woman to fit. It would be tough for someone Debbie’s size, and damned near impossible for most men. She steadied the light on the cast-iron clean-out door. It had a plain, unadorned cover and its base was about two feet up from the earth. The look of it disturbed Debbie and she found herself thinking of the oven doors of World War II concentration camps.

  Djou-djou!

  “I know I know… I’m moving,” Debbie said.

  She wedged herself between the walls, trying to clear her mind of thoughts of spiders and rodents and failing miserably. When the iron access was within reach, she lifted the small nub of a handle and swung the door open. Two small L-shaped brackets were fused to the inside of the small door as a makeshift hold so it could be internally secured. From within the enclosure came a waft of dust and abandonment, carrying beneath it a mild but unmistakable hint of decay. Mice or a squirrel, Debbie hoped, but her gut said different.

  Debbie shined her light into the portal illuminating the cinderblock wall inside, which was more painstakingly mortared than the outside, and then painted. So as not to injure the occupants, Debbie realized. She took a couple of deep, calming breaths, wriggled closer to the opening, and looked at the floor of the enclosure. A large pile of blankets covered most of the bottom of the enclosure, though the outer edges faded off into obscurity. Maneuvering her arm through the small opening, she shined the flashlight on the material and saw a navy-blue sleeping bag that was wrapped around something.

  Something about the size of a seven-year-old child.

  Beneath it was another sleeping bag, or maybe a quilt, maroon in color, atop a small cot mattress. It seemed Elizabeth Amiel had tried to make the concrete box comfortable.

  With a shaking hand, Debbie reached for the top edge of the sleeping bag and pulled gently back, just enough to expose the silver-white head of hair, and to let her know that she had found her.

  Anna.

  The sob escaped her like an arrow. She had known Anna would be here—there was little reason to doubt—but seeing the snowy hair brought it all rushing home. Debbie reached out and lightly ran her hand over Anna’s head.

  “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry this had to happen to you. It’s all so unfair to you and Hannah,” she cried. If only someone had been here for her. If only she could have flown her body from here, she could have been safe and warm.

  Djou-djou!

  Safe and warm, Debbie thought. If Anna had made it all the way here and wrapped herself in the blankets, shouldn’t they have kept her warm enough to stay alive? How unfair, to have the drive and stamina, even if running on autopilot from dissociation, to make it through the bitter cold and into this enclosure, only to die once she had reached her destination. Was it just too much for her young body, or did something else keep her from persevering?

  Debbie tugged at the top sleeping bag, releasing it from Anna’s body, and drew it back to expose Anna’s desiccated shoulders and baggy, light blue shirt, stained brown by a patch of blood. Protruding from between her shoulder blade and spine, the wood and chrome handle of a large screwdriver stuck out from her tiny back like a mammoth and obscene accusation.

  “You son of a bitch!” Debbie said, quietly at first and then louder. “You murderous, hateful son of a bitch, she probably would have lived!”

  Don’t touch it! Debbie thought. His fingerprints will be on it.

  What good would that do? Nothing would change for him. Maybe he’d get the death penalty, but what would that accomplish? To give him a tiny puncture, a nearly painless death by injection, would be the vilest of insults to these poor children!

  The cardinal, to Debbie’s amazement, fluttered off its perch on the gas pipe and dropped down onto Debbie’s shoulder.

  Chirby-djou-djou!

  It looked into the enclosure, and with a series of jerky head movements, cocked its head as if it was staring directly at Debbie. It bobbed its head a couple of times, gave one final djou, and took flight, leaving through the access at the far end of the crawlspace. Debbie squeezed ahead to watch its departure. She whispered a goodbye, somehow feeling that it had thanked her.

  Debbie looked at the two slide bolt locks that were holding the rear closet wall in place and wondered if Anna had locked them. She kissed Anna’s withered hand and touched the top of her head, saying a silent prayer and asking whichever god, goddess, or divine influence oversaw the spirits of the young and innocent to guide Anna. Debbie quietly closed the metal door and wiped her tears on her forearm. She returned to the spot where she and Hannah had traveled to and from the house and returned to the boat ramp in Riverside.

  She had a lot to do, but the appearance of the cardinal in a nearby tree ma
de the reality and unreality of everything so suddenly overwhelming that she was compelled to sit riverside to think it over. She stared over the water and into the trees on the opposite bank for nearly an hour, contemplating what she had discovered in that little home in Nebraska. Denial or disbelief would benefit no one. She felt as if she was in the center of a huge blizzard, stranded and unsure of which way to move, but she knew that moving was the best way to handle it. She pulled her iPhone from her pants pocket, called Essie and asked to meet her at the hospital cafeteria at twenty past five, which worked out well since dinner normally arrived in Hannah’s room around five-thirty.

  Debbie led Essie to a far corner of the cafeteria, well away from the other patrons. She knew she was taking a huge risk, but she told Essie everything about Elm Creek, the enclosure, the amazing mural in Hannah and Anna’s room, and about Anna’s body. She told Essie all that she had refrained from telling her in her office and asked her not to be swayed by the potential offered by what she now knew, but to be an ally for Hannah’s benefit. To Debbie’s great relief a very dazed Essie agreed.

  “Honey, after hearing the story you just told me and seeing what I saw today, I’m not so sure I’m steering straight,” Essie said. “But I know I didn’t choose this profession for fame or fortune. I chose it to help those who need help, and Hannah, Anna, and you clearly need help.”

  “Thank you,” Debbie gushed.

  “Now, don’t hear me wrong,” Essie cautioned her. “If we come to a place where I think Hannah and Anna—and you—are safer with this in the open, I’m morally bound to do just that. For now, and this could be my professional demise, I won’t say a word to anyone. What do you intend on doing?”

  “I have to let the authorities know where Anna is,” Debbie said. “And then I have to tell Hannah… which I dread.”

  “How will we do that?”

  “Fucked if I know,” said Debbie. “But I’m glad you said we.”

  Debbie pressed her cheek to Hannah’s head and shared a sad smile with Essie. Hannah had cried bitterly when they told a softened version of what Debbie found in Elm Creek. It was a grief-saturated cry of revelation, the kind that usually came on when dreadful long-standing questions were answered. Hannah said she had known Anna was there since she had felt her presence so strongly. There had to be a connection on the subconscious level… a psychic link. Debbie didn’t even hesitate at the possibility of it. She had traveled fifteen hundred miles in less than a minute. A psychic link? Why the hell not?

  Hannah slept sporadically, twisting and repositioning on Debbie’s lap. She absorbed the reality of Hannah, her warmth, weight, and her sadness. Tomorrow she might have to let her go and that possibility was a huge callused hand that clenched her heart. Hannah’s life was fraught with sorrow and loss, and the idea of throwing her into an unfamiliar environment with absolute strangers—regardless of how nice and sympathetic they might be—seemed unusually cruel, especially when she had someone who would protect her with her life, and would give up anything to have that chance. The DCF could make curious decisions and go in unexpected directions, away from what seemed like the best and most obvious decision. Of course, I’m biased, Debbie thought.

  Hannah desperately wanted to travel to Hannahwhere and check on Anna, but Debbie had convinced her to wait until she was rested and less upset. It would be too emotionally risky to take a trip yet, and when they did go, they would go together. Debbie had no idea if the discovery in Elm Creek was a form of closure, or just another piece of a greater puzzle for Anna. Anna had looked so diminished the last time they had been there, lying draped over that branch like an ill cat. Was she still in Annaplace, or had she moved on? If so, Debbie hoped she was in a less lonely place. Every time Hannah twitched, Debbie wondered if not knowing would be too much temptation for Hannah to resist traveling.

  The whole state of affairs had Essie straddling a fence between exuberance and utter confoundedness. She had more questions than a month of Jeopardy and she’d been peppering Debbie with them since they returned to the room. What does it feel like? Can you change mid-route? Why do clothes and jewelry travel as well? Can you bring someone else with you? Are Hannahwhere and Annaplace physical realms, and if so, where? Debbie and Hannah could not answer most of the questions, which frustrated Essie.

  “You said you could physically feel Anna when you’re there… not just a feeling of intense cold, but her actual body?” asked Essie.

  “Yes,” Debbie said.

  Hannah shifted, scratched her head, and looked up at Debbie who gratefully welcomed the distraction. Hannah sat up and rubbed her red-rimmed eyes and a troubled expression crossed her face.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Debbie asked and immediately wanted to kick herself. Her father, whom she never knew, is dead, her mother was murdered by an abusive, drug-addled lunatic… the same one that later murdered her twin sister, she has no home, she has no family, and her caseworker was an insensitive dolt… other than that, life is fucking grand!

  “What’s going to happen to Anna’s body?” Hannah asked, knitting her brow. “We’re not going to leave it there, are we? I don’t even know where my mom or dad is buried. They should all be together.”

  Essie quietly clucked her tongue, an audible companion to Debbie’s thoughts. A nine-year-old child should never have to concern herself with such thoughts or utter such words.

  “Essie and I already called Detective Davenport,” Debbie said. “Anna will be treated respectfully.”

  “Did you tell him you went there and found Anna?” Hannah asked.

  “No,” said Debbie. “We can’t exactly tell them we traveled to Elm Creek by astral projection or teleportation, can we?”

  “What’s that?” asked Hannah.

  Debbie looked at Essie and smiled. It was yet another contradiction in this paradox named Hannah… being so adept at something and not even knowing what it was called.

  “That’s what you do,” Debbie said. “Astral projection is when your spirit leaves your body, and teleportation is when your body instantly goes from one place to another.”

  Hannah’s expression was slightly pained. “That’s confusing. Mom just called it traveling. I like that better.”

  “Then traveling we shall call it,” Debbie said. “You’re not the first person to do it, but you and Anna may have taken it to a whole new level.”

  “You did it before me,” said Hannah.

  “I’m not so sure I did it physically. Maybe I did, but I think we should be careful where we do it. If anyone saw us it’d be big news and every lab, college, and medical research facility on Earth would be anxious to know how we did it.”

  “I don’t want to lie,” said Hannah.

  “And we won’t lie, but we won’t tell them everything,” said Debbie.

  “I don’t think we have to worry about it,” Essie said. “They wouldn’t believe it. Even you both appearing in Harvard’s Director’s office while he was sitting at his desk enjoying his mocha latte, others would be naturally skeptical.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Debbie.

  “I am,” countered Essie. “It doesn’t fit into their current worldview. It doesn’t agree with their wideworld perception, so they would reject it. There are amazing things happening all around us. There are shamans who have been doing these things for years, like spirit walking, telekinesis, telepathy, precognition, clairvoyance, psychokinetic phenomenon, reincarnation… the list goes on. All this mind-power and the greatest minds on Earth can’t or won’t relate with it. If you told them that you and Hannah teleported to Elm Creek, they’d probably laugh at you. If you showed them, many would reject it.”

  “Wow,” said Debbie. “That struck a nerve.”

  “Don’t get me going, honey,” Essie said, laughing. “We’ll talk about it later. Back to Anna.”

  “Uh, okay,” said Debbie, feeling a little derailed. She turned to Hannah. “Well, we told Detective Davenport about the cinderblock enclosu
re your mom built under the house, and that you hadn’t told us because you promised your mother. Every bit of that is the truth.”

  Hannah contemplated this for a moment, nodded in agreement, and then settled back against Debbie. “Was he mad?”

  “Not at all. He understands, and he respects your loyalty to your mother. He’ll want to ask a few questions tomorrow, once they verify everything,” Debbie stifled a yawn. She looked at Essie, and then shifted her gaze out the window. “I can’t believe there’s still daylight. It feels like three in the morning.”

  “It’s eight-ten,” Essie said. “It’s been a day like no other for me. I need to get myself home before my husband sends out an APB, but I’ll be here tomorrow… nine a.m. at the latest.”

  “Davenport said he wouldn’t come any earlier than that,” Debbie said.

  “You should both get decent sleep tonight,” Essie said. “Tomorrow’s going to be another busy one. Davenport in the morning, lunch with your cousin at noon, back to my office by one to meet with him, and then our DFC meeting at five p.m.”

  Debbie could sense Hannah’s eyes alternating from her to Essie, probably concerned and a little hesitant about being alone after a day like today. “Are you going to be here when the detective gets here?” she asked. Debbie could see the fear building in her eyes, betraying a new level of insecurity and causing Debbie to feel pangs of guilt.

  “Absolutely,” Debbie said.

  “We both will,” Essie assured her. She kissed Hannah on the cheek and hugged her, repeated the process with Debbie, and left them with the sound of her flats chuffing like a train down the hallway.

  “Are you staying tonight?” Hannah asked.

  “I’m not going right yet, but I will need to go home to take a shower,” Debbie said.

  “There’s a shower here,” Hannah said hopefully.

  “Yeah, but I need clean clothes. I feel like potatoes are starting to grow all over me.”