second time. "Love you, Mommy," she said.
"Love you more."
It was around 8 p.m, and the sky was blush with an impending sunset when Hannah started north to Oregon. She planned to drive until midnight, hopefully reaching Janesville, a speck just on the south side of the California/Oregon border. There was a truck stop with a small motel and cafe there. Coffee would fuel her; thoughts of Marcus, her mother, and Bauer would keep her going. Hannah loved the solitude and the strobe of the golden, then dusky, scenery that flashed by the wind-shield. She made decent time and arrived at the motel at 12:45. She'd driven almost 330 miles in four and a half hours. A woman with bird legs and a uni-brow checked her in and gave her a room key.
"Free pastries in the morning," she said. "Just pay your bill and you can take some eats for the road."
Hannah opted to prepay and gave the woman her Visa card and was charged $55. She'd try to get four hours of sleep before heading out for Cutter's Landing and the penitentiary.
The last thing she thought of before drifting off to sleep were the faces of Mimi Garcia and her dead brother, Enrique. His was lifeless, chalky white. His sister's was full of fear.
I'll take care of you, she thought.
Then thoughts of Erik and Danny came to her mind, and she tried to force them back to the darkness of her memory. She started to cry. There was nothing she could do for them--not then, not now. Even so, the memories came. It was snowy. She was only thirteen.
"Hannah?"
Her eyes opened. Marcus Wheaton held his finger to his lips. His eyes were wild, and the sight of his mammoth frame hovering over her caused Hannah to cry out. She thought of how her mother and he'd been yelling out in the yard earlier. What time was it?
"Shhhhh. Don't say a word. Not an utterance. Hannah, you understand? You must keep calm and be still."
To make his point, he pressed the palm of his hand over Hannah's mouth.
Fear seized her entire body. He's going to mess with me, she thought. Mom warned me. He's going to touch me in a way that is wrong. She wriggled and bit his hand. Wheaton winced.
Not you, she thought. Not you. Don't do this to me.
"You don't understand," he said. "I'm here to help you."
Her eyes pooled, and she trembled. She had reason to, of course. Wheaton was an intimidating figure, swarthy and imposing. He was crouched over her bed like a monster of some kind. Big. Heavy. Smelly. Oddly so. Like gasoline or something.
"I won't harm you," he whispered. "Promise, no matter what, you won't say a word."
Hannah wanted his cold, fat fingers off her mouth. The smell from his hands was so overpowering she could barely breathe. She stared hard into his eyes; her own were awash with fear. They begged Marcus Wheaton to ease up, which is what he did.
"Listen to me carefully. Your mother is leaving tonight. She's going away. Far away. She's never coming back." He parceled his words in tiny batches as though he was acutely aware that the girl under her bedcovers would have a difficult time assimilating all that was going on around her.
Indeed, Hannah was paralyzed. She said nothing. She managed a nod of understanding. No words. Just the nod.
"I'm going with her," he went on. "You aren't. None of you are." Wheaton's good eye glistened with tears. Was he crying? "This is hard. This is nothing you should ever have to hear, but your mother wants no part of any of you. She's not happy here and she's going away. I'm afraid this...is...is forever."
Hannah didn't believe him. "I want my mother," she said, holding her voice to a whisper.
"I know, but it isn't what she wants."
"But I'm her daughter."
He shook his head.
"She's not made to be a mother. You know that. She doesn't have it in her. Never has. She doesn't even look at you like she even knows you."
"She is my mother and she loves me."
"Hannah, you know that she really cares for nobody."
She hesitated. The unspoken had to be said.
"But you? Is that what
"Love you more."
It was around 8 p.m, and the sky was blush with an impending sunset when Hannah started north to Oregon. She planned to drive until midnight, hopefully reaching Janesville, a speck just on the south side of the California/Oregon border. There was a truck stop with a small motel and cafe there. Coffee would fuel her; thoughts of Marcus, her mother, and Bauer would keep her going. Hannah loved the solitude and the strobe of the golden, then dusky, scenery that flashed by the wind-shield. She made decent time and arrived at the motel at 12:45. She'd driven almost 330 miles in four and a half hours. A woman with bird legs and a uni-brow checked her in and gave her a room key.
"Free pastries in the morning," she said. "Just pay your bill and you can take some eats for the road."
Hannah opted to prepay and gave the woman her Visa card and was charged $55. She'd try to get four hours of sleep before heading out for Cutter's Landing and the penitentiary.
The last thing she thought of before drifting off to sleep were the faces of Mimi Garcia and her dead brother, Enrique. His was lifeless, chalky white. His sister's was full of fear.
I'll take care of you, she thought.
Then thoughts of Erik and Danny came to her mind, and she tried to force them back to the darkness of her memory. She started to cry. There was nothing she could do for them--not then, not now. Even so, the memories came. It was snowy. She was only thirteen.
"Hannah?"
Her eyes opened. Marcus Wheaton held his finger to his lips. His eyes were wild, and the sight of his mammoth frame hovering over her caused Hannah to cry out. She thought of how her mother and he'd been yelling out in the yard earlier. What time was it?
"Shhhhh. Don't say a word. Not an utterance. Hannah, you understand? You must keep calm and be still."
To make his point, he pressed the palm of his hand over Hannah's mouth.
Fear seized her entire body. He's going to mess with me, she thought. Mom warned me. He's going to touch me in a way that is wrong. She wriggled and bit his hand. Wheaton winced.
Not you, she thought. Not you. Don't do this to me.
"You don't understand," he said. "I'm here to help you."
Her eyes pooled, and she trembled. She had reason to, of course. Wheaton was an intimidating figure, swarthy and imposing. He was crouched over her bed like a monster of some kind. Big. Heavy. Smelly. Oddly so. Like gasoline or something.
"I won't harm you," he whispered. "Promise, no matter what, you won't say a word."
Hannah wanted his cold, fat fingers off her mouth. The smell from his hands was so overpowering she could barely breathe. She stared hard into his eyes; her own were awash with fear. They begged Marcus Wheaton to ease up, which is what he did.
"Listen to me carefully. Your mother is leaving tonight. She's going away. Far away. She's never coming back." He parceled his words in tiny batches as though he was acutely aware that the girl under her bedcovers would have a difficult time assimilating all that was going on around her.
Indeed, Hannah was paralyzed. She said nothing. She managed a nod of understanding. No words. Just the nod.
"I'm going with her," he went on. "You aren't. None of you are." Wheaton's good eye glistened with tears. Was he crying? "This is hard. This is nothing you should ever have to hear, but your mother wants no part of any of you. She's not happy here and she's going away. I'm afraid this...is...is forever."
Hannah didn't believe him. "I want my mother," she said, holding her voice to a whisper.
"I know, but it isn't what she wants."
"But I'm her daughter."
He shook his head.
"She's not made to be a mother. You know that. She doesn't have it in her. Never has. She doesn't even look at you like she even knows you."
"She is my mother and she loves me."
"Hannah, you know that she really cares for nobody."
She hesitated. The unspoken had to be said.
"But you? Is that what
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