by Natalia Hale
Something jabbed into her back, a small cylindrical piece of metal. “Gimme the purse.”
Hannah froze for a moment. The man jabbed what she assumed was a gun harder into her back. She inched forward from the pressure when his hand slammed down on her shoulder, grabbing at her purse strap. As he yanked it off she turned, completely in shock that she was getting mugged again. What was happening to this town?
In the few seconds between turning to her assailant Hannah caught a glimpse of a dark baseball cap and hoodie, and a black bandana tied around his nose and mouth. She didn’t think she should recognize anyone from such a small amount of their face showing, but she knew the scar that crossed over his left temple. And as the Pastor’s son, her childhood friend, recognized her his eyes widened. “Shit!” he shouted.
Bart lifted his right hand, the one that held a small silver gun, and smacked Hannah in the face. The butt of the gun struck her cheekbone and nose, and she went down easily, already seeing stars. She fell onto her back and managed to keep her head from cracking open on the sidewalk, the sounds of fast footsteps rushing away from her. Blood gushed from an open cut on her face as well as from her nose, filtering into her mouth. The metallic taste was sickeningly familiar.
Hannah sat on the ground and tried not to throw up. It wasn’t that someone she knew had just attacked her, or even that she had been attacked twice in the same week, in the same place, that made her sick. It was the strange sense of anger coursing through her that made her sick.
Of course she would feel angry at this. She was covered in her own blood, attacked by someone she should have been able to trust, and now she was in immeasurable pain. Her head throbbed with each beat of her heart, and she didn’t even have a phone to call for help.
Bart hadn’t hit her as hard as he could have, but he could have just run away, too. He’d taken karate since he was a kid, and he was on the track team in high school; he could have easily escaped. So why did he resort to hitting her? Hannah knew the answer, but refused to admit it.
Hannah grabbed hold of the nearby bench and hauled herself to her feet. They still hurt even though her mind had something else to focus on, and she hobbled her way, blurry eyed and desperate, back to the hotel. She debated going through the front door, but the thought of all eyes being on her again made her think otherwise. Instead she stepped down the alley and knocked her fist against the door to the kitchen, oddly hopeful that Dane would answer. She wasn’t sure anyone would even hear her frail knocks, let alone open the door. But after another knock the door opened, and someone jumped back.
Stephan, the busboy. Hannah thought she saw him blinking at her, but it was too hard to tell. Her vision was still dotted with stars. When Stephan just watched her she ordered, “Call an ambulance already!” Her voice was nasally and uneven. Stephan jumped into action, the only thing her ever seemed to do.
One of the chefs came to Hannah’s aide, and she felt guilty for not knowing the woman’s name. She didn’t associate much with kitchen staff because they were always too busy. But this woman approached her and helped her into the break room where she grabbed some cloths to clean up the blood and some ice to help with the immediate swelling. She’d barely said a word, and left as soon as the EMT’s and police came into the hotel for the second time that week.
When Hannah awoke the next day she found an email from her boss suggesting she take a leave of absence. He didn’t state for how long, but Hannah knew it wasn’t going to be temporary.
Hannah did all the things she normally did in the morning in an attempt to have everything stay the same, but as she put her watch on she noticed it didn’t match the clock on her computer; it was two minutes behind, and that had never happened before. She quickly set it to the right time, and found it a little easier to breathe.
Hannah’s original plan was to go to the hotel and demand she be allowed to work. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, but it had somehow ended up with her being fired. “Let go,” was the word Mr. Cavan had used. There was a problem of overstaffing at the moment and without more guests to fill the rooms he had to make the tough decision. Mariana returned to work at the same time, and mentioned that nobody else had been let go. In fact, three new people were hired, and Hannah got the message. She’d known overstaffing was a lie because they didn’t have enough rooms to fill recent demand, but she didn’t want to actually say that out loud. That would mean she lost her job because of what happened.
Because she was labeled a killer.
Mariana tried to make it better and offered to rally anyone that would listen and go on strike, but Hannah knew that was useless. Instead she suggested they go out to dinner, anything to get her mind off of work and off of her parents who had yet to call her back. It had been ten days since they talked, and Hannah was starting to feel like there was more to the story. Even when she’d stopped going to church they still talked to her.
In an attempt to keep things good between them, Hannah ignored the dread that weighed in her stomach and stepped up her parent’s front porch. It was a small house, only two bedrooms and one bathroom, but it would always be home for Hannah. She could still remember how it felt when she’d chipped her front tooth on the very porch she stood on, and how terrified her mother had been at the sight of the small white chip. Surely Jessica couldn’t forget her love for her own daughter.
Hannah knocked on the door rather than using her spare key. The last time she’d just walked inside Jessica had reamed her out for some misplaced privacy concern. “You don’t live here anymore,” she’d said. “You can’t just waltz in whenever you like! I didn’t raise you to be so impolite.”
As much as Hannah disagreed with that, she listened. But there was no immediate answer now. Both her parents were either at home, church, or Stormi’s. And at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon Hannah knew they’d be home preparing dinner. They should have been to the door by now.
Hannah knocked again, worry beginning to creep through her body. It made the hairs on the back of her neck raise—something was wrong. If neither of them was able to get the door, something was very wrong. With images of them falling down the stairs or slipping in the kitchen, Hannah began to dig in her purse for her keys. She tossed every spare receipt, torn off note, and even her wallet onto the porch until she found the silver ring. She shoved the key into the lock when she heard someone on the other side rattling the chain across the doorframe. Hannah quickly pulled back.
Jonathan’s face came in the crack, the rusty gold chain striking across the bridge of his nose. “Hannah, what are you doing here? I thought we agreed to call first.”
“I did call,” Hannah replied, tucking the keys into her purse before Jonathan could see them. He hadn’t looked at her hand, but she knew he’d spotted the key. His eyes fell to the papers scattered across the porch. Hannah began to pick them up. “I was worried when you weren’t answering…or calling back.”
Jonathan let out a small grunt. He shut the door and Hannah heard the rattle of the chain again, and when the door reopened she found her father in his usual button down shirt and slacks. His slippers were the same pristine navy blue, and not a single thing on him was out of place. Except Hannah had anticipated a smile on his face, his daughter finally coming home to see his wife. Instead she was met with a grimace.
“Is Mom home?” Hannah asked hopefully. She held the small stack of papers in her hands, clutching them and her wallet to her chest. Her heart was thumping irregularly hard, her entire hopes centered on one single word.
“Yes,” he answered. Hannah let out a relieved sigh.
“Can I come in?”
Jonathan’s lips pursed and his nose wrinkled. Not a sneer like her apartment would get, but it wasn’t not a sneer. Finally, he replied, “Of course.” He took a step back and once Hannah was inside he shut the door, leaving it unlocked.
Hannah felt obsessed with locks lately. Both her own and others. She eyed the small thing, wondering how one little change in behavio
ur could make it feel like her world wash crashing around her.
“How are you feeling?” Jonathan asked. He looked at the bruise on her cheek and the small cut that ran across her nose.
Instinctively Hannah pressed two fingers to it. “Oh, it’s healing fine. Nothing to worry about.”
“I think you should get some mace,” he suggested, “and stop walking home at night. That hotel attracts the wrong kind of people.”
Jonathan shuffled into the living room. Hannah waited to hear the sounds of her mother clattering dishes in the kitchen, but the house was silent. Jessica was incapable of making any meal without dirtying at least twenty dishes, and it was never a quiet affair. Hannah felt a small squeeze in her chest, realizing how much she missed being annoyed by her mother’s habits.
“I think it’s just coincidence,” Hannah said. “But…I’m looking into a new job, one with nine to five hours.”
Jonathan gave a single nod as he sat down in his chair. It was a large corduroy sofa with a matching ottoman. Ever since she was a kid it had been for his enjoyment and his enjoyment only. “I heard.”
“Word travels fast,” Hannah muttered. She sat down on the floral love seat and looked at the many knickknacks her parents had collected over the years. Some were small porcelain animals, others were shot glasses friends had brought home from vacation, and some were spoons. Most were religious paraphernalia, another thing in the house that Hannah was never allowed to touch. She’d never let anyone know, but when she was a teenager and finally left home alone she would poke each and every one, as if that made her stronger somehow. She even went as far as switching some of their places, and to this day her parents hadn’t noticed. Hannah ripped her eyes away from the bible that sat atop the fireplace. “I think it’s for the best.”
Another nod. Jonathan’s hands gripped the end of the armrests, short nails digging into the fabric. If he dug any harder Hannah thought he might tear into it.
“So where’s Mom?” Hannah wondered aloud. She chuckled. “I can’t hear her making dinner.”
“She’s on the back porch,” Jonathan answered instantly. “Reading.”
“What about dinner?”
Jonathan arched one brow at his daughter. “Are you planning on staying?”
“No,” she replied just as quickly as he did. “I’m just…you guys have a routine is all. I’m surprised.”
“We’re probably just ordering in tonight.” Jonathan sighed. “Your mother hasn’t been feeling herself lately.”
Hannah didn’t know what that meant. There were too many options and it felt like all of them led back to her. Hannah stood to go speak with Jessica when her father waved his hand at her. “Stay here, leave her be. She doesn’t want to talk yet.”
Hannah pulled her lips towards her teeth but listened, lowering back onto the hard couch. Jonathan grabbed the remote that sat on the wooden coffee table and turned the news on, the only channel that came through on their ancient television; it still had an antenna.
“People will move on soon,” Jonathan told his daughter. He rested his chin on one fist, eyes on the TV. “Something will happen and they’ll forget all about you.”
Struck by his words, Hanna’s lower lip let out a small quiver. She furrowed her brow to try to keep her emotions in check, but all she could think about was screaming, “No!” She didn’t want the town to forget about her, not yet. She didn’t want them to move on so easily from an event like this. But she kind of did want them to…or she knew she should have felt that way.
“Did they identify him?” Jonathan asked. “The one that did that?” He turned to her and waved the remote towards her face.
Hannah shook her head. “No, not yet.”
Jonathan arched his thick brow once more. Hannah looked towards the news and read recent reports of cats stuck in trees. It was usually the most exciting thing in Garnet’s Lake. Jonathan cleared his throat, forcing Hannah to look at him. He stated, “You can’t lie to me, kid.”
“I know.” But she wasn’t going to give up the man that had mugged her; no matter how much damage he did to her face. She knew that if she identified him Jonathan would either go and give him a proper punishment, or do nothing because he was the Pastor’s son. Hannah wasn’t sure which one she wanted, but at the moment she didn’t want to know what her father would do. She didn’t want to know what the town would do, because she had a feeling they wouldn’t do much of anything.
Bart could say he feared for his life when he struck her, and that he was scared she was going to kill him just like she did Belleveau. Nobody would convict him for that, Hannah thought. She ground her teeth, hating the way Garnet’s Lake worked just a little more each day.
Jonathan went back to watching the news, and Hannah followed suit. It had been years since Hannah sat on that couch and watched television with one of her parents. It was nice, warm. Familiar. Something she could predict and understand, and completely different than how she’d been feeling the past few weeks. She understood her mother a little bit in that moment, to not feel like herself. It felt like someone was trying to claw their way out of her, to tell her something that she refused to listen to. The ticking of the white-faced clock distracted Hannah a moment.
“There’s been a report of a body found by the lake,” the reporter said. His name was Robert Bishop, an old classmate of Hannah’s. They’d gone on one date in tenth grade and when he got a little too handsy on the front porch Jonathan gave him a proper punishment by breaking his nose. Suffice to say all they had was one date. He’d always wanted to be a big time reporter, and it showed when he went on the air. He held a finger in his ear as if he were getting breaking news, even though the entire town knew he was reading it off of cue cards behind the camera. Hannah would have laughed at him like she always did if she wasn’t so interested in what he was saying.
Robert went on, “The body has just been identified as…as Bart Tompkins! Cause of death has yet to be discovered…” Robert’s eyes began to well with tears, making Hannah roll her own. Robert bullied Bart since elementary school—there was no love lost between them. “The police have a person of interest but they do not wish to identify them at this time. Witnesses say Bart was found with a purse, as well as multiple wallets. More will—”
The television flickered off.
“I was watching that,” Hannah stated, not looking away from the black screen.
“Bart Tompkins robbed you,” Jonathan stated back. Hannah knew that if she looked over his eyes would also be on the television.
“I didn’t want him to get into trouble,” she replied.
“I suppose that’s your purse that was found,” Jonathan said quietly. It was more to himself than to her.
“I’m probably the person of interest, too.” Hannah clenched her hands into fists, heart rate picking up. Of all the things for Bart to do before he died, he just had to mug her. He just had to steal her purse, with her identification in it, and smack her in the face to get her blood all over him. She muttered, “Prick.”
“You should head to the station,” Jonathan suggested, turning to her. She faced him as she stood. “Tell them you know it was him that mugged you.”
Hannah gave him a nod, no intention of doing so. If they were going to drag her name through the mud, call her a killer some more and accuse her of doing it on purpose this time…she wasn’t going to make their investigation easier.
When Hannah went to the front door she couldn’t help but look down the hallway to the kitchen, and through the thin screen door that led to where her mother sat. A shadow stretched across the back porch, gently swinging back and forth—the only sign that her mother was there. Hannah turned back to the door and left quickly, not waiting to hear if her father was going to lock it behind her. Not waiting to hear if he was going to put the chain over it.
She knew he would.
She knew that was the only way her mother was going to feel safe in that house again and what she had done.
“I saw on the news,” Hannah said. Despite growing up with Bart, she couldn’t muster up any tears for him. She wasn’t even that sad he was dead—he was kind of a jerk. Still, she looked to her feet, finding herself loyal to the boy she once knew. “Pastor Tompkins must be devastated.”
The officer nodded. “Do you have any idea why Bart would be robbing people?”
Hannah shook her head, letting her hair fall over her shoulders. “I know he did a little breaking and entering in high school but he never took anything.” She gave a low chuckle. “He just liked to watch TV and eat chips.”
That made the officer smile. Hannah gave her a sad smile back. “I don’t know why anyone would want to kill Bart—he was a good man.”
Hannah wasn’t sure when she’d last lied through her teeth. Small white lies came out almost every day, reminding her that there was a fine line between honesty and kindness. The lie she’d just told however was a big one.
The small officer nodded at her partner. He nodded back. The woman faced Hannah, all sympathies gone and replaced with a hardened cop. It seemed unlike all the other officers in town. Hannah searched her mind for who this woman was, but came up blank—this woman hadn’t grown up in Garnet’s Lake. “Something else was found on the body.”
The body, Hannah repeated to herself. It sounded so distant. Like Bart was no longer Bart, just a leftover piece of meat. “Something else?” Hannah asked.
“A note,” the officer replied.
Hannah arched her brow.
“It said ‘he will not hurt you ever again’,” the other officer said. His partner elbowed him but he added, “What’s more interesting is they added, ‘It takes one to know one’.”