Hannahwhere

by John McIlveen

  “Yes, they can be horrifying and even debilitating,” said Essie. “But I think the mind, if healthy, is very protective of its owner and doesn’t release more than he or she can handle. Yours may be distressed, but I believe yours is a healthy mind.”

  “Thank you,” Debbie said with a meager smile. “Though I can’t help but feel there’s more to it. I’ve seen things that I’m afraid to mention that would have people questioning my sanity. It has me questioning my sanity much of the time.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a moment,” said Essie sincerely.

  “Like people and animals appearing and disappearing?” asked Debbie. “Like the little boy in Hannah’s bathroom the other night?”

  “What little boy?”

  “I saw a little Middle Eastern boy standing in the shower stall. He was terrified but when I tried to help him, he screamed and vanished! You thought I yelled in a different language, but I swear that wasn’t me.”

  It was difficult to stop now that the cat was out of the bag, but she feared she might have said too much. Essie looked concerned now, and although she hid it well, Debbie saw uncertainty below the surface. She wondered if Essie now doubted her stability.

  “The mind is very powerful. It will do amazing things to protect you,” Essie said. “An especially tired and distressed mind can be very tricky. Looking at those purple hammocks under your eyes, I think you need sleep most of all. I’ll give you the name of a good psychotherapist. You have a lot of work to do, but you must get some rest before you can even think about confronting it.”

  Sunday

  June 27, 2010

  Chapter 16

  Detective Davenport’s revelation, her visions, and Essie’s session had rocked Debbie emotionally and physically. She had returned home from Essie’s office feeling queasy and desperate, took two Tylenol PMs, and crashed into her bed without bothering to change. She had slept for nearly eleven hours, woke at 2 a.m., and tossed and turned until 3:30. She got out of bed, showered, dressed, and made it to Hannah’s hospital room by 5:15 a.m. Sunday morning.

  Leaning on the bedrail, she studied Hannah’s face, perturbed by the unfairness of one so young having to endure such nightmares. She kissed Hannah on the forehead. She knew she was out of line but couldn’t help it. Despite DCF protocol, Debbie was becoming very protective towards Hannah and wanted to assure the safety of this little girl whose only defense system was separation from reality.

  You kissed a sleeping child. For whose benefit was that kiss, really? The question rose into her conscience like a welt. Despite her denial, she couldn’t hide from the underlying truth, buried beneath a thick foundation of professional duty. Hannah was more than another case to her. She was a fantasy in the flesh and the archetype of what Debbie herself could not create. Life. A child. A daughter.

  An opportunity.

  Hannah and Anna—if found—had no parents or other significant relationships. Of course, the same may hold true with any child in the two-foot-tall stack of case files in her office, but never had a case caused such sentimentality in her and she had handled hundreds. It seemed too coincidental, Hannah arriving in Debbie’s life as she had for it not to be serendipitous… or maybe it was a wish blown out of proportion by her own desires.

  Don’t let your emotions get in the way of what is best for Hannah, she reminded herself.

  A case review and discharge-planning meeting regarding Hannah’s future was scheduled for Thursday night at five, which concerned Debbie deeply. Hannah would need excessive attention, long-term counseling, and love. Because of the high visibility and media involvement, numerous foundations had offered to help, and many people had expressed a desire to adopt Hannah should it come to that, though most of those people were not seriously interested beyond the momentary compassion that surfaced in media-hyped cases like Hannah’s. The majority of those who were serious would falter or renege once the reality of such a commitment hit them and they discovered how much time, devotion, patience, and money they would need to care for a child in this situation. Anna turning up would only complicate it more. It would be beneficial that they stay together, and who wanted the burden of two damaged children? Who could afford it?

  The sad reality was that these children usually ended up living in foster placement, or worse, institutions because adoption required too much of an obligation. They seldom got the treatment, understanding, and most importantly, the love and dedication required for anything that even remotely resembled a normal life. Regrettably, “normal” was a word that might never be associated with Hannah or Anna in their lifetimes. The kind of trauma children like Hannah and Anna suffered could be an invisible shark that never stops grinding its teeth in.

  As demonstrated by the media, Hannah’s story was poignant and addictive. It was heroin, and once you had a taste, you needed more. How could anyone resist wanting to be part of her existence? The heart melted upon the first sight of her. The girl made you want to be her savior, her mother, her father, and her protector, even when you knew it was not feasible… as with Debbie’s thought—okay, dream—of adopting her.

  Working for the DCF had taught Debbie a truth she’d seen too many times. Those who were wealthy enough in heart, spirit, conviction, finances—or any combination of the four—often discovered other barriers when contemplating the adoption of foster children. Some wanted infants and felt foster children were too old, while others felt fosters were damaged goods, and adopting one (or more) would be akin to opening Pandora’s Box.

  Debbie knew her station in life. She woke up to it every morning and went to bed with it every night. It was her invisible mocking spouse. Her two-ton life did not include adoption. She was divorced, single, childless, and broke. That’s four strikes Mr. DiMaggio, with an extra kick in the ass for good measure. There were so many others better suited to adopt… at least in the eyes of those making the decisions.

  She was hard on herself, but she understood the system and it wasn’t always right or fair. She wouldn’t brood over it, and she wouldn’t allow herself to bask in disappointment. Any self-pity she had had gone out the window when she had taken the job… it wasn’t an option. To become a sex toy for some deviant step-parent because bio-mom had a monkey on her back, or to wear a constellation of cigarette burns on your chest because you’re a disappointment to daddy or your four-year-old hands couldn’t support the milk jug—that was where pity was justified. Compared to what many children went through every day, she knew her pitiable points were insignificant. Self-pity was non-productive.

  Debbie sat in the same chair as the previous day and pulled a Jodi Picoult novel from her laptop bag. She closed the book after ten minutes. The subject matter was too heavy at the moment—bullied boy shoots up school. She’d save that one for later. She put the book down and reclined the chair just as the dietary host—a tall, friendly woman in green-blue garb—set Hannah’s breakfast on the over-bed table.

  “Your daughter is so beautiful,” the woman said to Debbie in a strong Southern lilt and flashed a smile that could have lit up Times Square.

  “Thank you,” Debbie replied, feeling no need to correct her. She clearly doesn’t read the paper or watch the news, Debbie thought as she watched the woman leave.

  When she turned back, Hannah was lying with her head on her pillow, staring directly at her. It startled her and a quick jolt hit the base of her spine. She wondered if Hannah had heard her respond to the woman, essentially claiming she was her mother, and if so, had it offended her?

  Hannah sat up drearily, scooted to the edge of the bed, and true to routine, headed into the bathroom. The toilet flushed, the sink ran, and the door creaked open.

  “Good morning, honey,” Debbie said when Hannah reappeared.

  Instead of returning to her bed, Hannah silently climbed onto Debbie’s lap, wrapped her arms around Debbie’s neck and laid her head on her shoulder. Stunned and touched by the gesture, Debbie lightly rubbed her back as she settled, motionless except for lig
ht breaths. Her hands felt huge on her. It was alarming how petite Hannah was, especially for nine years old. Hannah’s thin arms gradually tightened, her desire for contact overriding her fear. Debbie closed her eyes and reveled in the sensation… how right it felt to hold a child. That this child looked to her for comfort was a revelation. A craving ignited within her heart and burned with raw passion. She had held numerous children in her lifetime, but never had she experienced such a need to protect, to nurture, and to love. The absolute perfectness and the all-encompassing windfall of sentiment in it involved all of the senses and every nerve ending.

  This is what being a mother must feel like, Debbie thought. Cradling Hannah, she knew it was true. She settled contentedly into her chair and kissed Hannah’s head, smelling the mild floral scent of her hair. Hannah reached up and touched her face, and…

  High on the same hillside, Debbie overlooks the floral fields and glassine hills. In the distance, several large trees with distinct bonsai shapes trim the field. Fruit and flowering buds of brilliant assorted colors adorn the branches.

  Hannah stands beside her. She reaches over, takes Debbie’s hand and they leap from the cliff, this time without fear. They fly for miles over mountains, fields, lakes, and streams, the fragrance of flowers on the wind, filling their senses. They cartwheel through God’s garden, amid the fluttering and buzzing of hundreds of butterflies, bumblebees, and small birds, laughing and intoxicated by the colors, the smells, and the day.

  They tumble through flowers unharmed and walk to a stand of trees where small mango-like fruit with nearly metallic, blue-green skin grow in abundance. Hannah plucks one from the tree, bites into it, and directs Debbie to do the same. The fruit is succulent, the flavor fills and surrounds her, unnamable and exotic, like a merging of all things exotic and delicious.

  “These are amazing, what are they?” Debbie asks.

  “They just are,” Hannah says and shrugs.

  Standing in the warm, gentle breeze, Hannah timidly takes her hand as if expecting rejection. Debbie squeezes her acceptance.

  “Where are we?” asks Debbie.

  “Here,” Hannah says. “We are here.”

  “Hannahwhere?”

  “Hannah here,” Hannah says and looks up at her.

  Debbie sees a telltale glimmer in her eyes and asks, “Hannah, was that a joke?”

  For the first time, Hannah smiles. Debbie has never seen anything more beautiful. She squats down level with Hannah and says, “I like it when you smile—it makes you even prettier.”

  She hugs the child to her, closing her eyes and losing herself to the experience. When she opens her eyes, Hannah is standing about eight feet away, yet she’s still hugging her. She pulls back, startled, and sees there are two Hannahs, but there is a difference. The second Hannah has much longer hair, a white waterfall to the back of her upper legs. The one she holds has hair to her middle back.

  “Anna?” Debbie asks. The little girl tilts her head and steps hesitantly forward.

  “She’s shy,” says Hannah.

  “What long, beautiful hair. I was with you my first time here, right?” The child stands still, a hesitant crease to her brow. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t be afraid,” Debbie says. She reaches out and offers her hand. Anna takes two guarded steps forward and then rushes to embrace Debbie, clinging to her hungrily. Anna’s body is so frigid that touching her, even through her clothing, is almost painful. It is illogical, especially considering the warmth of the day. Debbie pulls the child even closer, trying to share her body heat.

  “My God, sweetie, why are you so cold?” asks Debbie.

  “You’re freezing!”

  “We don’t know,” Hannah says. “She’s stuck.”

  “Stuck where?”

  “Annaplace. She can’t go back to where she is.”

  “Can’t go back where?” Debbie asks, but her perception starts to sway, and Hannah and Anna’s faces become blurry. Debbie hugs Anna a little tighter…

  Debbie shook her head and the imagery of Hannahwhere cleared. She was still in the hospital room with Hannah on her lap and her arms wrapped snuggly around her. Debbie felt as if she had carried the coldness over from her dream. She could sense a burning chill rising up her left side to beneath her chin. She blinked, trying to work the dreamlike sensation from her eyes and head.

  “That was all kinds of odd.”

  “What was odd?” asked Debbie. She focused in on Essie seated in the chair on the opposite side of the bed.

  “Both of you were sitting there trancelike, staring straight forward, and then both of you lost the glazed looks and refocused at precisely the same moment.”

  “Someone must have made a noise, or something,” Debbie suggested.

  “Yeah, I’d buy that,” Essie said, “if it wasn’t Hannah. A gong wouldn’t budge her if it weren’t her time. Anyhow, I didn’t hear a thing. Were you meditating?”

  “No,” Debbie said. “More like daydreaming.”

  “I’d say,” said Essie. “You didn’t even notice me walk in. You keep that up you’ll get a room of your own.”

  “I keep that up, they’ll fire me,” Debbie said. “I didn’t realize I zoned out again. How long?”

  “I just got here a few moments ago, so I don’t know,” Essie admitted. “But it was long enough. It stunned me to see you holding her. How’d you do it?”

  “I didn’t. She came to me without prompting,” Debbie confessed.

  Essie nodded, impressed. “It’s interesting and very unusual. You’ve definitely made a connection. You must present some kind of haven to her. Maybe you remind her of someone she knew and trusted.”

  “I had the most vivid and unusual dream. I dreamt I met Anna.”

  “Because you have a compassionate heart,” Essie replied.

  Hannah arched her back in an inward stretch and sat up on Debbie’s lap. She put an open palm on either side of Debbie’s face, and held her gaze for perhaps five seconds, her eyes seeking with very subtle movement. She released Debbie’s face, and with the slightest hint of a smile, pressed her index finger to the tip of Debbie’s nose and gave a little thrust… the universal nose-beep. Debbie smiled and returned the gesture, which Hannah accepted without reaction, except to briefly study Debbie’s eyes. Satisfied by what she saw, Hannah climbed from Debbie onto the bed, and went to work on her recently delivered lunch.

  “You poor thing, you didn’t eat breakfast!” Debbie said. “You must be so hungry. If you’re still hungry after lunch, I can get you an ice cream or a brownie or something.”

  Essie rooted through her duffle bag sized purse. “I have a bag of Sun Chips, a Dove chocolate bar—make that two—a bag of beef jerky, and a package of strawberry Twizzlers. I’ve got her back.” Essie smiled and patted Hannah’s leg, then looked at Debbie. “Are you hungry?”

  “All set,” Debbie said with a raised hand. “It’s no wonder you operate at eighty miles an hour.”

  “Oh, it isn’t for me. It’s for the kids who come to my office. There are a lot of them, often hungry, and some spend the better part of their days feeling that way.” Essie watched Hannah eat for a moment. “I’m bewildered by the trust she’s already given to you, it’s almost unheard of considering what she’s endured. The poke on the nose was most likely a re-enactment of something done to her by someone she trusted, a comfort act she associates with good memories.”

  “I hope she has some good memories,” Debbie said, “or memories at all.”

  “Well, let’s try to find out. If Hannah will talk to us,” Essie said. “Will you, Hannah?”

  Hannah’s expression became pained as if she were fighting some inner battle. Her little shoulders drooped with resignation and she solemnly said, “’Kay.”

  Debbie almost protested but held back.

  “Hannah,” Essie began. “When that man found you, you were hiding behind…”

  “Isaac Rawls,” Hannah interrupted.

  “Excuse me?” said Essie.

>   “Isaac Rawls,” Hannah repeated.

  Essie looked at Debbie, who shrugged.

  “Is that the man who found you? Debbie asked.

  Hannah nodded.

  “How do you know his name?”

  Hannah didn’t speak for a while. Essie was about to ask another question when Hannah said, “He said it to the policeman.”

  “I thought she was unresponsive when they found her,” Essie said to Debbie.

  “The report said she was incoherent. You’ve read it, I’d imagine.”

  “Of course,” said Essie.

  “Half here, half there,” Hannah said.

  “What do you mean, honey?” asked Essie.

  “When I’m half here and I’m half there, I can listen.”

  “You mean you can still hear us when you’re in your… states?” asked Essie.

  Hannah looked confused by the question. “What states? Nebraska?” she asked.

  “Trances,” Essie said with a chuckle. “When your body is here, but part of you goes away.”

  “Hannahwhere,” Debbie said, remembering the eerie little song that Hannah had sung just before she returned to her limbo.

  Hannah brightened slightly and said, “I can see and hear in Hannahwhere.”

  “Is Hannahwhere what you call your trances?” asked Essie.

  “Hannahwhere… Annaplace… Hannahtime,” Hannah said whimsically. If she was confused, Essie and Debbie were confounded.

  Debbie felt like she had touched a livewire. She said Annaplace! She was positive she had heard that in the dream from which she had just awoke. How would Hannah know what she heard in her sleep? Had she even been asleep? Essie had said they were both staring straight ahead, but miles away.

  “Have you heard the name Annaplace before?” Debbie asked Essie.

  “Yes. Last night,” Essie said. “It’s not uncommon for trauma victims to name their mental sanctuary. It gives it credence.”