by A. K. Smith
Amir could’ve saved all those souls. All those students. He could have been a hero. He could have gone to the police. Instead, he let the massacre happen. He bought the gun Eric used.
After I clean myself up, I sit on the toilet lid and calm myself down. Please, please let it have worked. As I hit play on the cheap voice recorder, I’d bought at the pawn shop with the last of my money. I pray to God and ask Him to help me get this one thing right. The tears run down my face as I hear Amir’s voice clear and strong: “Eric promised me he would not shoot at you. He wasn’t even supposed to get so close.” I have him. I know I have no choice, but to come forward and reveal the truth. If I don’t, I’ll be just as bad as him. I will never be able to live with myself, Hannah or Sunday, if I don’t stop this sick killer from running around free in the world, just like Tyler. He might convince someone else to kill.
After I clean up the bathroom, I’m ready to leave.
“Well, good luck to you.” I say to both Adriana and Jamie—we were never, ever close.
“Good luck to you too, looks like you could use it more than us.” Adriana smirks.
“That’s all you’re taking?” Jamie points to my beat-up brown suitcase once stored in the Baltimore bus station, the suitcase that began Hannah’s life.
“The mattress, dresser and mirror are yours or whoever else rents the closet.”
Where I am going, I won’t need anything.
As I begin walking, I know I’m finishing the last chapter of Hannah Williams and starting a new book of Sunday Foster, whatever the consequences will be.
Life is a lot like books. Sometimes the genre is a dark family drama with no happy endings, or a thriller with twists and turns, or even a mystery where you wonder what is going to happen. Couldn’t I have an upbeat story with a happily ever after—just this once?
That’s it. I stop in the middle of the street, put my beaten suitcase and backpack down on the sidewalk, and rip my brown contact lenses from my red eyes. Instant relief, both physical and mental. The lenses are in need of replacement, and I can see better. They stick to my fingers and I shake my hand like a bee stung me, and they fall to the ground. I even stomp on the area, trying to crush what was left of the brown eyes. I can see clearly because I am blue-eyed Sunday, once again.
I don’t know how I make it to the Bellagio Fountains, because halfway on my trek there, I get paranoid, thinking Amir is following me. I stop several times, searching the throes of people clustering the walkways. In the crowded Las Vegas streets, I cannot find his face. My instinct tells me to take the long way to the Bellagio and cover my tracks. I’m listening to my gut this time. I weave in and out of casinos, using my bus pass to take two different buses for a five-minute trip in the opposite direction. I change my hat twice, and then finally arrive circling the fountain.
There he is. Hudson leans against the wall at the far end of the fountain next to a bench. His face split open with that infectious smile he offers so generously. His forehead crinkles as he studies me.
“What’s different, Hannah?” He cocks his head. “I like the hat. Wait, look at me… your eyes are blue.”
Of course, he would notice in a split second: that’s just Hudson.
The music starts playing loudly, along with the choreographed dancing fountain show, this time to a patriotic song “I’m Proud to Be an American.” I sit on the bench beside him and once again, the tears start rolling down my cheeks. I cry through the whole song. Hudson stands there, his hand on my shoulder. I know he doesn’t know what to do, but he does what I need, he put his arm around me and lets me cry.
As the fountains settle back under water and the music ends, Hudson removes his hand off my shoulder and scoots next to me on the bench, he puts one hand on each side of my face, and my blue eyes, meet his hazel eyes full of questions. “Hannah, I need to tell you something.”
I put my finger up to his lips, unsure what he is going to say. “Can it wait? There’s a story you need to hear, and I’m afraid if I don’t tell you now, I won’t be able to.”
I can’t look at him while I do this so, I whisper the truth in his ear. Like the fountains pumping tons of water, I spill everything out. I tell him everything. He listens, his eyes now straight ahead, searching the crowds for trouble. He is not interrupting with questions. I pause when the people start lining up for the next show. I realize, I have been talking for almost thirty minutes, without Hudson saying one word.
Finally, when I confess every single detail, I lean back against the bench. Hudson grabs my hand, peers into my blue eyes, and says, “I think your parents are in Las Vegas, searching for you.”
Chapter 28
Getting Fired, The Unimaginable, and Passing Notes
Carrying my battered suitcase down the street, I would only be less terrified if I had eyes in the back of my head. I can’t shake the feeling that Amir is close, following, watching. Walking down the hot street in Las Vegas, my hair is crammed under a hat, my heart is stuck in my throat and my hands can’t stop trembling as I turn my head in every direction.
Hudson is on his way to the Magic Hat to find the note left for me by the woman and man who came into the casino, asking about me yesterday. Hudson didn’t get a great look at them, but he noticed as they walked out the door that the woman had blonde hair.
According to Nell, who was cocktailing earlier today, a couple came in and asked to speak to the manager. Nell took them to George, and then she overheard them ask if the cocktail waitress in the video was working. Nell told Hudson that she heard George ask what this was about, and did something happen to her, because Hannah never came in for her shift. All Nell heard them say was they were not with the police; they were from Maryland and just needed to speak to her. They scribbled a name and number on a note, handed it to George, and asked him to pass it on when I came in to work.
Nell went into the kitchen and told Hudson everything. She was worried something had happened to me, since she was covering my shift because I never showed up for work last night or called in sick. Hudson tried to find the couple, but they were far ahead of him in the casino, and he lost them in the casino crowd as they went out the door.
Could it possibly be HE and SHE?
Impossible.
First, there was no way in any universe that they would travel together as a couple, and second, they would never put that much effort into looking for me. It can’t be them.
NO WAY.
My life is like dropping a ball of yarn: once it starts rolling, yarn unravels, and before you know it, the whole ball of yarn is unraveled, a mess full of knots. How could anyone know about me? Did Amir turn me in? What other sick game is he playing?
I need to hide out, and Hudson’s apartment is my safe place. He gave me the key. All I need to do is make it to his apartment. I’ll try to get some sleep. Sleep. I don’t know how I can possibly sleep, but exhaustion will lead to stupid mistakes. Just to keep the recording safe, I gave the voice recorder to Hudson and he’d uploaded it to the Cloud. If anything happens to me, Hudson has Devon Perry’s number, and if I never show up at his apartment, he will call the lawyer.
I am taking no chances.
A loud noise nudges my subconscious. I try to ignore it, caught in that place between dream and reality. Jack is hugging me and kissing me, saying, “Everything is going to be okay.” I watch us in an embrace, as if from above. I have short brown hair and brown eyes. Safe, loved, and comforted, I don’t want it to end. The pounding is louder now, and I open my eyes, terrified.
Hammering thumps, as if someone is kicking in the door. Someone trying to get in. I did a full head turn assessment of my space. I’m now awake, in Hudson’s bedroom. I listen. I’ve locked the door and pushed his one chair against the door. Now fully awake, I stand in front of the door and the chair. My heart is about to break through the skin of my chest.
“Who’s there?”
“Hannah, it’s me, Hudson.”
I move the chair and open the d
oor and Hudson walks in. I let out a large sigh. “You scared me.”
Hudson hugs me. “I’m sorry. You must have been dead asleep. I was knocking on the door and you didn’t answer. You scared ME. Are you all right?”
I nod. What was the definition of ‘all right’?
“George is an asshole. I don’t know why I’m working there. Well, why I was working there.” Hudson smirks, and hands me a piece of paper. “But at least I got the note.”
I stare at the piece of folded paper. The note my parents left. It can’t be from them.
“George fired you? All because of me? Hudson I feel terrible.”
“Open it,” Hudson says. “It’s the least you can do for me getting fired over it.”
I rub it in my fingers and then slowly open it up. I gasp and fall back to the bed.
“What?” Hudson asks. “Is it your parents?”
“No, it’s Jack. Jack and his parents. They found me.”
I read the note again.
Ed and Marcia Grant
410-758-9989
Sunday,
Jack’s here, and we want to help you. Please call, we are here for you.
How could they possibly know I was alive? Jack, my Jack, Ed and Marcia here in Vegas.
Did Devon Perry call someone? Did Amir turn me in? Confused, I’m having a hard time believing this is real. “How did they find me?”
Hudson sits beside me on the bed. “Well, they are the good ones, right?”
“Yes, they are the only family I’ve ever really known.”
“See, that’s good. Family doesn’t have to be biological. They know you’re alive and look, they want to help you. Family never gives up.”
How could Ed, Marcia, and Jack know where I worked, or, for that matter, that I’m even alive. What if it is Amir trying to set me up?
“What did they look like? Hudson, describe what they looked like.”
“I just saw the back of them. The lady had dark blonde shoulder length hair, and the guy wore a baseball cap. I didn’t see their faces.”
Ed always wears a baseball cap. “But, how? How do they know I’m even alive?”
“I guess you are going to have to call them and ask them. Do you think the lawyer guy called them?”
“I didn’t even mention Jack or his parents.”
“Well, its four in the morning. Why don’t we get a few hours of sleep and we can call the lawyer in the morning and see what he suggests.” Hudson tosses a comforter on the floor. “Okay?” Hudson rubs his chin. “You look exhausted, you need to get some sleep.”
There is nothing I can do until I speak to Devon. I lean back on the bed and grab a pillow to lay down on the comforter on the floor.
“Hey, what are you doing? You’re sleeping in the bed.”
“Hudson, you don’t have to sleep on the floor.”
“Yes, I do.” Hudson smiles and give me a cute boyish look as he grabs the pillow from me. “My mother would disown me if you slept on the floor.”
“Did you really get fired?”
“Yes, I did, but I knew that note was important to you, and he said he wouldn’t give it to me. So, I grabbed it out of his hand and ran. You should have seen his face. Blown up and red. George yelled, ‘if you walk out that door you’re fired.’ I turned around and said ‘Okay, have it your way.’”
“That sucks, Hudson.”
“No, don’t worry about it. Lots of the rich and famous were fired before they made it big. I’m in good company—Steve Jobs, Oprah, Lady Gaga, JK Rowling, Jerry Seinfeld, and even Walt Disney. You don’t experience losing a job until you’re fired. It has to happen at least once. There’s mine. Like my mom says: when one door closes, another one opens.”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but I’m really going to miss you, Hudson.”
Hudson is quiet. He plucks at the cuff of his shirt. “I think it’s going to be okay, and I think we will be friends for a long time.”
“You think so?”
“I do. I just need you to answer one question.”
“What?”
“What should I call you?”
Chapter 29
The Truth Will Set You Free
The phone rings and rings and then goes to voicemail, I hang up and call again. I can’t sleep, and I want to get the recording to the authorities.
Every minute counts. After waiting a few more minutes, I try for the third time. I text ‘please call me, urgent’ about five times. Finally, Devon answers the phone. It’s 4:45 a.m.
“What’s so important?” Devon shouts into the phone.
I take a deep breath to calm my voice. “Devon, it’s me, Hannah. I mean, Sunday Foster. I have a recording of Amir admitting he knew about the school shooting. He admits he had a hand in planning it. He knew, and he didn’t stop it. He even bought the gun with a fake ID.” I exhale, trying to slow my speech. “I am supposed to meet him at the Greyhound bus station at nine a.m. today, and if we want the authorities to stop him or question him, then I need to meet with you as soon as possible. They can arrest him, right?”
There is a long chunk of silence on the phone. Finally, Devon sighs and clears his throat. “Slow down. Listen, a recording may not be admissible in court if he doesn’t identify himself or give his consent. Did you use an app on your phone? Is it a recording or video?”
“No, I have a cheap burner phone. I bought a digital recorder.”
“Too bad it is not a video, but it might be enough to bring him in for questioning.” I can hear Devon mumbling to himself. “Bus station, something….”
“I’m sorry, what did you ask?”
“You said nine a.m.? You’re supposed to meet him at the bus station? Okay, okay, bring the recording with you and let’s meet in my office in forty-five minutes.” He pauses. “Sunday, can you get here safely?”
“Yes, thank you, Devon, but there’s one more thing. My boyfriend’s family and my boyfriend Jack are apparently in town, looking for me. I don’t know how they know, but they know I’m alive. They left a message at my work. Did you call them?”
“No, I haven’t contacted anyone. You and I were supposed to meet this morning. Much later this morning. What boyfriend? Is this a boyfriend from back in Maryland?”
“Yes, he and I were on the school trip together. During the shooting, I pushed him off the raft. He made it.” Dead silence. “Devon?”
“Yes, I’m thinking. Something else important is that you forgot to mention to me yesterday was that you’re only seventeen. The authorities will want to call your parents immediately.”
Oh, my god. “But…”
“I know that’s not what you want to hear. There’s much to discuss. This is a very serious situation.”
If Devon didn’t tell Ed and Marcia, how could they possibly know? Calling my parents terrified me as much as Amir, but in a different way. “What about having a parental figure there with me? Jack’s mom and dad have been more family than my mother and father have ever been, and they are supposedly here in Las Vegas.”
“It’s a start. If you can find them, see if they can come to my office. Sunday we’re going to have to contact your parents.”
I put the phone down. My hands are shaking. How can I call Jack? What would I say? Hey, I’m alive and living in Vegas under another identity. Sorry you thought I was dead.
I can’t do it over the phone. I just can’t. Hudson, awake now, looks up from the floor leaning on his elbow, concern written all over his face as he notices the phone shaking in my hand.
“Who were you talking to?”
“It’s really happening.” I manage a half-smile. “I never thought I’d be Sunday Foster ever again. I thought Sunday Foster was dead.”
Hudson jumps up, and gently takes the phone out of my hand and extends his right hand, with a goofy smile. “Well, Sunday Foster, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Hudson Wagner. I’m sure glad you’re alive.”
I grab his hand with both of mine and clo
se my eyes. I need his optimistic strength, more than he’ll ever know. “Devon Perry, my lawyer, said the authorities are going to call my parents, since I am only seventeen. My parents…”
“Oh damn, that’s right, you are seventeen—what can I do to help, Sunday?”
I truly hate buses, and here I am again on a bus, my heart thumping in my chest as if I ran the track. My chest rises and falls in quick succession. Hudson is beside me, both of us scouring the crowds for any sign of Amir. Before we left Hudson’s apartment, Hudson called the cell phone listed on the note and Ed answered. Hudson held the phone, so I could listen.
I knew that voice with the Philly accent: it was Ed Grant, no doubt in my mind. I nodded my head yes and sat down on the bed, so I wouldn’t fall over. Hearing his kind voice is something I never thought I’d hear again; I can’t imagine how they found me in Vegas. Regardless, I can’t talk to them yet. I need to keep myself together until I hand Devon the recorder.
“I’m a friend of Sunday’s and she needs your help. Can you meet her at the law office of Devon Perry at 7:00 a.m.?” Hudson reads them the address off the card. “Yes, sir, she is fine, but she needs some support for what she is about to do. She asked me to call you. She’ll explain everything.”
After a short pause, Hudson relays that Ed was silent a moment on the phone, and then he repeats Ed’s words, and my heart swells. “Tell Sunday we will definitely be there, and we love her.”
Everything is about to change. My life of making plans is over. I have no idea what is about to transpire.
Will I be arrested?
Will Jack ever forgive me?
A thousand questions swarm around me. I need to move forward and take one step at a time. The first step—getting the recording to Devon and the authorities.
