by Bera, Ilia
“I want to be here, mom.”
Charlotte sighed, her eyes beginning to feel heavy.
“I’m tired.”
“Get some rest,” Connor said.
Charlotte’s eyes began to close.
“Good night, mom.”
“Good night, honey.”
Keeping her eyes open for a moment longer, Charlotte watched as her son packed his book into his school bag and walked through the opening in the curtain. She watched as Connor met up with Hanna, who handed Connor a coffee.
Unable to remain awake, Charlotte drifted back into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A FORSAKEN TOWN
“Is she okay?” Hanna asked.
“She’s great, considering what happened—I can’t thank you enough for saving her life. I don’t even know what to say.”
Hanna smiled. “I was just in the right place at the right time.”
“Yeah, well I’m forever in debt to you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Connor smiled at Hanna. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat from the cafeteria?”
“I should probably get home.”
“Come on—just a quick bite.”
Hanna was silent as she considered the proposition.
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Connor said.
“Okay—sure,” she said.
The two made their way through the busy hospital, following the signs towards the cafeteria. The hospital hallways were filled with people—mostly the families and friends of frostbite and hypothermia victims. The nursing team was understaffed, frantically running from room to room.
Temporary hospital beds had been set up in the hallway corners—an attempt to accommodate all of the facility’s patients. The heavy-eyed doctors looked like they hadn’t taken a break in days as they moved from room to room, seeing as many patients as their exhausted bodies would allow.
The reception area was an even bigger commotion, as the lower-priority patients argued with the nurses about the severity of their conditions. Almost every available seat was occupied.
Unnerving screams were audible throughout the whole medical complex. Desperate, crying families found consolation from whoever could spare a moment out of their busy schedule.
Away from the noise and bustle was the cafeteria—a silent, forlorn space filled with empty tables and cold chairs.
There was only one lonesome person in the large room, dozing off in a back corner as he stared out the window at the empty town streets—probably thinking about a sick friend or family member—thinking about his own complex life, complete with hopes, ambitions, anxieties and difficult relationships.
Connor scanned the room. The cafeteria’s buffet line was closed and concealed by a locked metallic cover. There was a torn sheet of paper taped to it, which read, “Currently out of service”.
Connor walked Hanna up to a series of vending machines, which contained a small selection of pre-made plastic wrapped sandwiches.
“We’ve got Ham and Swiss, tuna, or…” Connor scanned the options. “—That’s it,” Connor said, looking back at Hanna.
“I’m okay,” Hanna said coyly.
“Pick one—Please.”
“I’ll take ham,” Hanna smiled.
“Ham and Swiss coming right up,” Connor said, putting a bill into the machine. He punched in the code for the appropriate sandwich, and the machine did its task, vending the cheap food. Connor handed Hanna the meal, and then he bought another for himself.
The two wandered across the room and sat down at a table.
“Everyone says that hospital food is the worst—I honestly don’t think it’s that bad,” Connor said as he unwrapped his food.
Hanna smiled as she unwrapped her own sandwich.
“Look—I really can’t—” Connor started again.
Before Connor could finish, Hanna cut him off. “—It’s okay. You don’t have to keep thanking me. Anyone would have done it. I just happened to be there.”
“I don’t believe that’s true—I think that a lot of people would have kept on walking. People don’t want to get involved. People aren’t nice like you. You helped—I appreciate that. You’re a good person, Hanna.”
Hanna shyly looked down at the table as she pushed a strand of hair off of her face.
Connor smiled. “Sorry—I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable.” Connor took a bite from his sandwich.
Hanna did the same.
Beep!
“Doctor Flacshner, please call extension two nine three six. Doctor Flacshner—extension two nine three six,” the intercom said, cutting the silence in the deserted cafeteria.
Beep!
“Did you get in trouble?” Hanna asked softly
“In trouble?”
“With Mr. Fenner.”
“Oh—Actually, no. He gave me a break. He’s not actually that bad of a guy. He’s more understanding than any teacher I’ve had before.”
“Oh, good. You finished the test?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Connor laughed. “You know—he’s funny. He sat there marking everyone’s tests, and he did that loud groaning thing every time he came across a wrong answer.”
Hanna laughed. “And then he does that mumbling thing, as if no one can hear him.”
“Yeah! He did that too,” Connor said, breaking into his best Wade Fenner impression. “Hrm... Grhhh... God damned kids—Hrmmm—probably on drugs—can’t even read a god damned book. Grhhh.”
Hanna bit her lip to contain her laughter. “Oh my God, that’s perfect,” she said, admiring the impression. “Or the way he writes on the board—every line goes in a different direction.”
“Yeah—Yeah. And he keeps comparing everything to old hockey games, as if we were all rabid hockey fans in the seventies.”
“He keeps talking about The Seventy-Four Flyers. Everything has to do with the Seventy-Four Flyers,” Hanna said. “And what do they have to do with A Tale of Two Cities? Why does he keep comparing them?” Hanna laughed.
Connor smiled. “He’s a good guy—He means well. Besides, if it wasn’t for him, I would be one step closer to handing out flyers at the local Walmart.”
Hanna smiled and took another bite from her bland sandwich.
“Your writing—Tell me about it,” Connor said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well you told me that you liked to write. What do you write about?”
Hanna thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said sheepishly, receding back into her thick bubble. “Nothing is really finished.”
“Do you write stories? Like, fantasy stuff?”
“Not really.”
“What’s one of your books about?” Connor asked.
“I write poems.”
“Really? Poetry?”
“Yeah—but like I said before, nothing is finished.”
“That’s fine. Tell me one of your poems. I’d love to hear one.”
“I—I don’t know…”
“Please?”
Hanna looked down at the table again. “What do you like?” she asked quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“Like—Do you like happy stuff? Sad stuff? Funny stuff?”
Connor thought. “I like everything, I guess.”
“Do you know poetry?” Hanna asked.
“No—I don’t know that I could even name a poem. Just pick anything—Whatever you think I might like.”
Hanna took a breath and hesitated for a moment. “You promise not to laugh?” Hanna asked. “Like I said—nothing is finished.”
“Of course not—Never.”
Hanna nervously turned and reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a piece of paper. She looked at it for a moment as she considered putting it back in her pocket. Then, she handed it to Connor.
Connor looked at the page. On the top of the page was the logo and name of the hospital
—Hanna had written the poem on hospital stationary. Connor looked down and began to read. It was titled “This Town”.
We live by fate’s subtle vision.
To love or remain, is no one’s decision.
Lonely division.
Prayers and Gods, friendly derisions
say quiet hearts must find their position
It was my own decision.
My waking dreams forced open.
My whole life, here—the veil.
Somewhere under this snow,
my old life lays quietly down.
Eternity sleeps in this forsaken town.
“When did you write this?” Connor asked.
“While you were in the room with your mom.”
“Really?”
Hanna nodded shyly.
“It’s beautiful,” Connor said.
“It’s not really finished…” Hanna said blushingly.
“I think it is—it’s perfect.”
“Really?” Hanna asked.
“Yeah—the imagery, the choice of words—I love it,” Connor said. “I feel like it speaks to me—it’s relatable, you know? I mean—you wrote this about me, right?”
Hanna looked at Connor, slightly confused. She wanted to tell Connor it was about herself, but instead she said, “I—I don’t know.”
Connor smiled. “Maybe I’m subconsciously your muse.”
Hanna blushed as she pushed a fallen strand of hair off of her face again.
Connor read the poem again with a smile on his face. “I feel like you get me better than I do—you know what I mean? Can I keep this?” Connor asked.
“Sure,” Hanna said. “Do you really like it?”
“Yeah—It’s excellent. You’re a fantastic writer.”
Hanna smiled—her face completely red with happy embarrassment.
“Hey Hanna?” Connor said.
“Yeah?”
“I want you to know that I don’t care about your past. Everyone makes mistakes,” Connor said.
Hanna looked up at Connor and stared into his eyes. “What?” Her heart skipped a beat.
“I mean—I heard the rumours, and I just want you to know that I don’t care.”
“Rumours?”
“You know—about the other guys in high school, or whatever. Brittany told me that’s why you dropped out.”
Hanna’s heart dropped into her gut. She awkwardly looked down at her feet.
“But I’m serious—I don’t care if it’s true or not. Your past made you who you are today—and I like who you are, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“There were no other guys,” Hanna said softly.
“What was that?” Connor asked as he leaned in closer to the quiet girl.
“There were no other guys—It was a lie. The teachers wanted me to leave the school after my—after I moved into my foster home. They thought I made the school look bad. At first, I didn’t leave, so they started the rumours, knowing that I would be too embarrassed to come back to school.”
Connor watched as Hanna’s eyes began to water. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Connor said.
“I would have just transferred schools—I wanted to. But when I applied around, no other schools wanted me either. So instead, I just dropped out.”
“That’s awful.”
“When a student starts a rumour, it’s one thing. When it comes from a teacher’s mouth—everyone believes it.”
“What could make the teachers think you were ruining their reputation? That’s so weird.”
Hanna awkwardly looked away from Connor. She was silent, trying her best to keep lingering bad memories out of her mind.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to prod.”
Hanna forced an awkward smile. “It’s okay,” she said.
There was an awkward silence through the large vacant room.
“Have you ever though about submitting a poem to a magazine or a publisher?” Connor asked, changing the awkward subject.
“I don’t know—You’re honestly the first person to ever read one of my poems.”
“Really? The first?”
“I’ve always just written for myself.”
“You should look into sending one out there. My cousin is an assistant editor for a pretty popular variety magazine. If you want, I could send this poem to him and see what he thinks. They publish all sorts of stuff—poems, short stories, articles, and comics… I can’t promise anything, but I’m sure he’ll love it.”
“Do you really think he would like it?”
“It’s amazing. How couldn’t he? Plus, he’ll be honest with you. He knows talent when he sees it.”
A genuine smile slowly began to return to Hanna’s shy face as the conversation carried on.
Before long, the two had lost track of time, and were chatting into the early hours of the morning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
STARCROSSED LOVERS
In an abnormal sort of way, Kane was actually quite the gentleman with Brittany. Since they had left class together, Kane held open every door, pulled out every seat and he even kept his elbows off of the bar table.
The money he was using may have technically been stolen, but that didn’t make Kane any less charming that night. He treated Brittany to the finest drinks the bar offered, and he ordered every appetizer off of the menu for her when she struggled to make a decision.
For the first time in Brittany’s life, she didn’t feel like she was being used for sex. For once, she didn’t feel like every word that came out of her date’s mouth was to swoon her into bed.
She was painfully used to being showered with superficial compliments and strong drinks—All in the hopes of getting her into bed. Kane on the other hand never once insisted that Brittany have another drink.
As a matter of fact, he made sure she drank responsibly, ensuring that she was getting enough water between drinks. He had even insisted they switch to tea and coffee around midnight to sober up before walking home.
Like Connor and Hanna at the hospital, time slipped away from them. Before they knew it, the bar was closing, and it was nearly morning. Kane and Brittany finished their drinks and settled up.
Kane stepped away and worked his magic with the bar’s bank machine and then made sure to leave a generous tip.
Kane insisted on walking Brittany home.
“It’s a shame they didn’t have anything older than the ninety-two Merlot,” Brittany said jokingly. “I was really hoping for at least something from the eighties.”
“We should have complained! What kind of establishment are they running?” Kane agreed. “And only a single bottle of Dom Perignon? Ludicrous!”
Brittany and Kane both began to laugh, unable to hold their character.
“I don’t think I’ve ever spent a thousand dollars on anything before—never mind on Thursday night drinks at the college pub.”
“If you’re going to live large, you may as well do it at the Winter’s Den on a Thursday night,” Kane jokingly insisted.
Brittany stumbled slightly in her tall heeled leather boots, still buzzed from the liquor. Kane caught her from falling, wrapping his arm around her back and placing his hand on her side. Brittany recomposed herself and gathered her balance. The two continued to walk—Kane’s arm slyly remaining around Brittany’s waist.
“Why do you live here?” Kane asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why here? Why Snowbrooke?”
“It’s where I was raised.”
“So?” Kane asked.
“Why would I leave?”
“I don’t know—no offense, but it’s kind of a dump. It’s always cold and dark, and there’s never anything to do for fun. Everyone always just seems so miserable.”
“I like the cold, and the dark, I find lots of things to do for fun, and I wouldn’t call myself miserable.”
“You like the cold and the dark?” Kane asked. “Don’t you ever just want to go somewhere warm and su
nny? You know, on Maui, it’s almost the exact same temperature every single day—and it’s sunny from four in the morning, until eleven-thirty at night.”
Brittany forced a smile. “That sounds great,” she said with a hint of disdain behind her voice. “Have you been there?”
“No—But I want to go. It’s not easy for me to cross over the border—especially somewhere you can only get on a plane, like Hawaii.”
“Not easy to cross over the border? Are you a fugitive or something?”
“Something like that…”
“Did you rob a bank?”
Kane laughed. “No,” he said. “Well—not that anyone but you knows about.”
“What did you do? Are the police looking for you?”
Kane looked at Brittany and smiled. She could feel the hard muscles of his thick arm through the layers of warm jackets. “Not exactly. I stole something from my dad when I was a kid, and instead of sitting in juvy hall, I ran away. They were looking for me for a few years, but when I turned eighteen, my police record reset. I’m still a ‘missing person’.”
“What about your dad?” Brittany asked.
“What about him?”
“Have you seen him since you ran?”
“No.”
“Is he looking for you?”
Kane laughed. “Almost definitely not. He might be looking for that something I took from him, though—but I doubt it.”
“What brought you here?”
“Since juvy, I’ve been going from town to town.”
“You’re a drifter.”
“I prefer the term nomad.”
“So what—is Snowbrooke just another stop on your hobo tour?”
Kane thought about it for a moment. “I guess so—yeah,” he said.
Brittany looked down at the snowy ground. The air had become uncharacteristically warm—relative to its usual blood freezing temperature. “So you’re going to leave then?”
“At some point, I’ll have to.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What?”
“Why Snowbrooke? What are you trying to find here?”
Kane thought for a moment. “I guess it’s complicated.”
“Why enrol in school? Why rent an apartment?”
“How do you know that I rented an apartment?” Kane asked.
“You told me at the bank that rent was due—or was that a lie? What did you need the three grand for if you’re just a drifter with no expenses?”