Finding Hannah (19 page)

Molly and I spent the next two hours talking in the car while Dad drove. A foster family had agreed to take her when school started in about a month. In the meantime, I was excited she was coming home to stay with us.

* * *

After supper, Aunt Jackie stopped at our house. I didn’t feel like talking, so I stayed downstairs. Molly went to bed early, sleeping on the spare bed in Amy’s room. Awhile later, I was halfway up the stairs when I heard Mom and stopped. The desperation was clear in her voice and it sounded like she’d been crying. “All I know is that I’m not helping her. She won’t eat, she won’t sleep, she cries all the time. It’s getting worse.”

“Amy needs time to heal,” Aunt Jackie said.

“But she’s supposed to get better with time, not worse. I feel like she’s shutting down. I found her sleeping under her bed again this morning.”

“You need to give her more time.”

“Hannah is gone, Dylan barely talks to me, and Amy is slipping away.” Mom choked on her words as she continued. “I’m losing my children. I feel like the worst mother ever.”

“Stop,” Jackie said. “You’re a good mother. You hang in there. You’re doing the right thing sending Amy to a counselor. Give it time.”

I felt bad that Mom said I barely talked to her. It was true. I hadn’t gone out of my way to talk to her before I found Hannah. I thought she was still mad about me going out searching, and I didn’t want to talk about it. Now I realized it would help her if I made an effort.

I thought about the man who kidnapped Hannah and how much damage he had done to my family. Hearing Mom’s pain made me want to find him and beat him to a pulp with my bat.

I waited for Aunt Jackie to leave before I went upstairs. I could hear Mom in the kitchen. Dad was outside. I found Amy sitting on the floor of my parents’ bedroom with her back to me, playing with some dolls and holding one of Hannah’s stuffed bears.

“Can I come in?” I asked.

Amy glanced at me and then jumped on the bed. She lay facedown, covering her head with her hands as if the ceiling were collapsing.

I sat down on the floor facing the bed with my back against the wall. She curled into a ball with her back to me.

“Amy, I haven’t been a good brother to you. Not only did Hannah disappear, but I’ve been gone, too. You probably feel like you’ve lost both of us. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

I stared at the floor.

“Amy, that night … the night Hannah was taken, I yelled at you. I yelled at you, and I’m really sorry. That was wrong. I never should have done that to you. You were coming to me to tell me about what happened and I … I hope someday you can forgive me for yelling at you. You were just trying to do the right thing. You did do the right thing.”

Amy rolled over to look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I continued, looking at her. “Any time you want to talk to me, just come and find me and I’ll listen.”

Amy turned her back and curled into a ball again. I took it as my cue to leave. “Anything you want to say, I’ll listen. I promise.”

I climbed into my bed feeling empty again, wondering if Amy would ever forgive me. I had hoped for something more immediate. I knew Aunt Jackie was probably right. It would take time. I just wondered how much time.

Molly had insisted I apologize, and I was happy I could tell her I did. Almost two months had gone by since Hannah disappeared, and I wondered if the person who’d suffered the most was Amy. After all, she’d been the one who’d seen the man with the gun.

* * *

Dad took Molly to Boston for the day to have a follow-up with Dr. Foster and then meet with Heidi, her social worker. I was in the kitchen as Amy ran by me, crying. I heard Mom in Amy’s room and walked to the door. Amy had emptied all of her dresser drawers onto the floor. Mom looked too exhausted to be mad as she picked up the clothes and put them back. I helped her. I found Amy hiding in the furnace room downstairs, and she ran by me again and went back upstairs to hide in her room.

At lunch, Amy looked like a zombie. Mom begged her to eat, but she hardly touched her chicken tenders, which were her favorite food. Amy spent most of lunch in a daze, staring at the center of the table with a huge frown.

I walked by Amy’s room an hour later. In the corner were two sheets she’d strung up, making a small fort. I saw the wooden jewelry box Molly had given her upside down on the floor. Bracelets and necklaces were scattered everywhere, mixed in with some of Amy’s toys. Her favorite dollhouse was flipped over and in a heap with some of her clothes. I had never known Amy to act like this. I knew she, like the rest of us, was still trying to make sense of what had happened and figured this was her way of acting out.

At supper, Mom scolded her, telling her to eat something. Amy ran crying to her room. When we were done eating, I walked by Amy’s door and found her lying under her bed, sobbing. Mom saw me and came to look, too.

“Oh, Amy,” Mom said, choking on her words as she walked into the room. She crouched next to the bed. “Amy, please come out of there,” she begged.

“No!” Amy yelled.

“Please, Amy. Please come out.”

“Get away from me!” Amy shouted. She started bawling.

Mom put her hand over her mouth. I followed her into the kitchen. She couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. She convulsed as she tried, but she could no longer fight it. She leaned on the wall for support with both hands covering her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

We hugged as she cried. I let her take her time as she struggled to calm down.

She let go and put her hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry I yelled at you for wanting to search for Hannah. I know you had the best intentions.”

“And I know it was hard for you to let me do it,” I said. “Thank you for letting me search for her.”

“It must have been awful for you to find her like that.”

I said nothing as I looked at the kitchen floor.

“A small part of me wishes you’d never found her,” she said, wiping her eyes, “and I could still hope she’d walk through the front door someday, but we needed to know. It’s a good thing we know. Her suffering is over and she’s in a better place.”

We hugged again.

Later that night, I overheard Mom say, “What do we do?” to Dad. I listened as they discussed increasing the number of Amy’s counseling sessions. I knew she had met with a child counselor shortly after Hannah disappeared. I had no idea she’d been going once a week.

What I said to Amy replayed in my mind as I struggled to fall asleep. Anger grew inside me as I thought about the man who had taken Hannah and how devastating it had been to my family. I wanted him to suffer. I pictured myself chasing him through the woods with my bat. I gained on him, and when I finally overtook him, I swung my bat again and again.

I tried to think of something else, but my mind wandered back to chasing Hannah’s killer. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

I woke up feeling the presence of someone in my room. Someone was whispering my name, and it sounded like Hannah. The clock read 12:14 a.m.

“Dylan …”

I sat up and saw Amy standing in my doorway. I leaned over and turned on my lamp. Amy turned away from the light, shielding her eyes. Her hair was matted and she wore the biggest frown I’d ever seen. Her eyes were red and sunken, like she’d cried herself dry. There was no doubt Amy was getting worse.

“Dylan,” Amy said, half choking. “Dylan, I—.” Amy slumped onto the middle of the floor and buried her head in her arms.

She was a shivering mess as I picked her up. Her whole body was cold and her nose was running. She took quick short breaths. I wrapped my arms around her. “I’ve got you. No one is going to hurt you,” I said, over and over again.

We sat on my bed and she put her arms around my neck and sniffled. She held me like she was hanging on for her life.

“I’ve got you,” I said again and again as I held her.

Amy sounded like she was having trouble breathing. “I miss Hannah so much.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

“I know.”

Amy squeezed me and whispered. “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“Promise, promise you won’t be mad at me?”

“I won’t be mad.”

Amy looked me in the eye. “You have to promise me.”

I nodded as I said, “I promise I won’t be mad.”

Amy let go of me, flopped down on the bed, and buried her head into my pillow. Her little hands closed in around her face as she sobbed.

“Hey, hey … It’s okay.” I stroked the back of her head. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Amy turned and looked at me. A look of terror spread across her face. Her voice was just a whisper. “I saw him.”

I looked into her eyes, those same big brown eyes that had told me she wasn’t messing around the night Hannah was taken. My breath left my body.

Amy’s head dropped face-first into my pillow and she began bawling. “It was him.” Amy’s voice shrieked in between breaths. “It was him.”

My insides tightened.

“I think he saw me,” Amy said as she began sobbing again.

I looked down at Amy in shock. It was clear to me now why she’d been getting worse. “Amy, look at me,” I said as softly as I could. “I’m not mad. I promise. I’m not mad.”

I scooped her up and held her like she was two years old again and said, “You saw the man who took Hannah?”

Amy was crying uncontrollably. “Yeah.” She moaned as her tears landed on my shirt.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you. Nothing is going to happen to you. I’ve got you.” I felt a rush of adrenaline and forced it aside. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Amy. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you see him?”

“At the wake.”

Her words stung. There were so many people at the wake. It was hard to draft a mental list. My insides were swelling. I let her cry, but if I didn’t ask soon, I was going to burst.

“Amy, I’m not mad at you. You did the right thing telling me this. I promise I’m not mad. Who did you see?”

Amy cried even harder. I had no choice but to hold her and wait.

When Amy calmed down, I said, “Amy, please tell me. Who is the man who took Hannah?”

Amy sniffled and hiccupped and then said, “I don’t know who he is, but he was talking to Mommy and Daddy.”

This meant the person who took Hannah wasn’t a stranger. “Did he speak to you?”

“No.”

It took all my effort to keep my anger inside. “Do you remember anything about him?”

“No.” Amy wrapped her arms around my neck. “Are you mad?”

I felt like a volcano ready to explode. “No, I’m not mad.” I reached over and grabbed the flyer with the description of the kidnapper Amy had given to the sketch artist. “Does he look like this?”

Amy glanced at it and buried her head in my chest and nodded.

“Did you see him talking to anyone else?”

“Father Whitmore. They walked in together.”

I remembered talking to Father Whitmore, but I didn’t see him with anyone. There were so many people around us. I couldn’t form a picture of the man Amy was talking about.

Amy let go and fell back facedown onto the pillow.

My whole body shook. “Amy, I’m not mad.”

“Do you believe me?” she asked.

“I believe you. You did the right thing telling me.”

I held her until she calmed down. “Dylan. Do you think he’ll come after me?”

“No, Amy. He’s not going to hurt you or this family anymore. He’s not going to hurt anyone anymore. I promise you that.”

I let her stay with me until she fell asleep. I carried her back to her room and tucked her into bed. I looked over at Molly sleeping in the spare bed and thought about the man who came into Hannah’s room and took her at gun point. Anger boiled inside me as I imagined the same man trying to do that to Amy or Molly.

My skin was on fire from the hot magma building inside me. I couldn’t stop it now. No one could. I had to leave the house and fast or it would be left in ruins. I grabbed my baseball bat and shoes and ran outside.

I ran across the highway and into the woods. I ran like the man Amy had seen was just in front of me. Two months of rage came out as I swung my bat, hitting a pine tree again and again. I screamed as I knocked off its lower branches and then attacked the trunk. Bark flew as I pictured Hannah’s kidnapper standing in front of me.

For the first time I knew how to find my enemy. Nothing could save him now!

Chapter 15

I woke early the next morning and made sure no one could hear me as I dialed Father Whitmore at home. He agreed to meet me at the church in an hour. I left the house without anyone knowing. I rode my bike to the church while rehearsing what I was going to say. I had been thinking about it ever since I finished ruining my bat last night.

The church was a collection of heavy stone, stained glass, and dark cherry wood trim. Father Whitmore’s office reminded me of a castle dungeon.

I was a mess when I knocked on his door. My hair had been shaped by my pillow and my clothes were thrown on without a hint of concern for how I looked.

“Come in,” he said.

The office walls were covered in Biblical paintings. Father Whitmore’s huge desk matched the dark interior.

“It’s good to see you, Dylan. Have a seat.”

“Thanks for seeing me.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Father Whitmore spoke slowly. His look of concern told me he was genuinely interested in me. “How are you doing?”

I shook my head. “I’m not doing so well.”

He waited for me to continue. When I didn’t he said, “You’ve been through a lot. And you’ve accomplished much more than anyone could have imagined.”

“I’m happy Hannah isn’t suffering anymore, but my family is hurting. My mom is struggling, Amy is a mess, and even my dad isn’t himself.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’ve been having some bad visions.”

“What do you see?”

I stared at his big desk. “I see myself chasing the man who took Hannah. I picture beating him with my bat. I can’t stop myself.”

“Anger is a normal reaction under a circumstance like this.”