Chapter 26
Hannah
By the time Torin and I finally leave the sheriff’s department, it’s almost dark.
My father is in a cell.
Dr Whitmore is at the hospital with a bullet wound through his shoulder, which apparently looks considerably worse than it is. And Professor Bennett is in the process of being released.
I should probably feel something about the fact that my father is sitting behind the same bars he intended for Bennett.
Mostly, I’m exhausted.
My phone rings as Torin and I cross the parking lot.
I don’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Hannah?”
I stop. “Professor Bennett?”
“Jesus Christ. Hannah, are you okay?”
Hearing his voice is such a relief. “Yes. I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“At the sheriff’s department.”
“Are you there voluntarily?”
“Yes. I am.”
He breathes out. “Okay. What the hell happened? Were you at my cabin?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it.” He lets out a groan. “Did they find you there?”
“No.”
“No? Then what…?” He breaks off. “Why on earth did they say I’d kidnapped you?”
“Because my father wanted people to believe I’d been kidnapped.”
There’s a silence.
“By me?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice cracking. “Hannah, they told me I’d been stalking you for months. They said they’d found photographs and videos of you on my laptop.”
“I know.”
“I have never taken a photograph of you in my life.”
“I know.”
“And I certainly haven’t been secretly filming you.”
“I know. He was using you as bait to get me to come home.”
He exhales sharply. “And where were you?”
“I hid in your cabin for a few days, then I…” I look at Torin. “Someone rescued me.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Actually safe?”
“Actually safe.”
He lets out a long breath. “All right. That’s the part I care about.”
His voice lifts a little. “They’re releasing me now. They say the charges have been dropped.”
Relief rushes through me. “Oh, thank God.”
“Yeah.”
“My father’s in custody.”
Silence.
“Your father?”
“He was arrested this afternoon.”
“For what?”
“He shot Dr Whitmore.”
“He—” Bennett stops. “Michael Whitmore?”
“Yes. He’s okay. The bullet went through his shoulder.”
“What the hell happened?”
A tired laugh escapes me. “How much time have you got?”
“Given that I’m currently waiting for somebody to return my clothes, quite a lot.”
I smile.
“I found out you’d been arrested,” I say. “So, I came back to make a deal with my father.”
“You did what?”
“I told him I’d retract everything if he got you released.”
“Hannah.”
“I couldn’t let you go to prison because you tried to help me.”
“And instead, you walked straight back into your father’s hands?”
“That wasn’t exactly the plan.”
“I should bloody well hope not.”
I laugh. “It worked.”
“You have an extraordinarily generous definition of worked.”
“You’re getting out.”
He’s silent for a moment.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “I am.”
Then, softer, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Never do anything like that for me again.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“You said someone rescued you.”
I glance at Torin. He’s leaning against the truck a short distance away, waiting for me.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“His name’s Torin.”
“Torin.”
There’s something about the way Bennett repeats it that makes me smile.
“And he’s with you now?”
“He is.”
“All right.” Another pause. “I look forward to hearing the considerably longer version of this story when neither of us has spent the day in prison.”
I laugh. “Okay, deal.”
“Get some sleep, Hannah. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“We will.”
“And Hannah? You never need to apologize for using that cabin. I gave you the key for a reason.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“I’m just sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
“You still helped me.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
I end the call and lower my phone.
For several seconds, I just stand there. Bennett is free. My father is in custody. This morning, both of those things seemed impossible.
Torin pushes himself away from the truck and comes towards me.
“He okay?”
“He sounds like a man who’s spent the day being accused of crimes he didn’t even know had happened.”
Torin grimaces. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
“But he’s getting out.”
“I heard.”
I slip my phone into my pocket. “Apparently I’m never allowed to get myself arrested for him again.”
“That seems reasonable.”
Torin reaches me. “What do you want to do now?”
“I need to go to my father’s house and get my things.”
“You’ll take everything, right?”
“Everything?” I echo.
“Yeah.” His expression softens. “You’re coming home now.”
Home.
I love the sound of that.
“Okay.” I break into a grin.
I look across the parking lot at his truck, then at Gunnar’s parked beside it.
“Guess it’s a good job we’ve got two vehicles.”
“You okay to drive?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll follow you.”
I climb into Torin’s truck, and he waits until I’ve started the engine before heading for Gunnar’s.
The drive to my father’s house takes a little over twenty minutes. Torin stays behind me the whole way, his headlights steady in my mirror.
When I turn onto the drive, the dark stains on the gravel are still there.
For a moment, I see Dr Whitmore sitting against his car again, his hand clamped over his shoulder while blood seeps between his fingers.
I park outside the house and cut the engine.
The porch light is on, spilling its usual yellow glow across the steps. It feels strange to see something so familiar when the life I associate with it is already over.
Torin pulls in beside me. He gets out of Gunnar’s truck but doesn’t come around to hurry me. He leans against the hood and waits.
Eventually, I open the door.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. I just want to get this done. Make sure I don’t have to come back here for any reason.”
Inside, I close the door behind us and hear the familiar hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen and the ticking clock in the living room.
“Where do you want to start?” Torin asks.
“My room.”
We head upstairs.
I pull a suitcase from the back of my closet and drop it onto the bed. I don’t bother folding anything. I empty drawers into it, pull clothes from hangers, throw shoes on top.
Torin watches for about thirty seconds before apparently deciding my system is inadequate.
“You got another bag?”
“In the closet.”
He finds it and starts packing too. I point out what I want and he takes care of the rest. By the time we’re done, the closet is almost empty.
I zip the second suitcase and look around the room.
There are still books on the shelves, a couple of framed photographs on the dresser and all the accumulated junk that comes from living somewhere for years. I thought I’d want more of it. I don’t.
Torin picks up both suitcases. “You sure this is it?”
“Yup.”
I’m halfway down the stairs when I notice the photograph on the wall. My mother and me. I must have been six or seven, sitting on her lap in the backyard, both of us squinting into the sun. Her arms are wrapped around me, and I’m laughing at something outside the frame. I take it down.
Torin is waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“Is that your mom?”
“Yeah.”
He looks at it for a moment. “You look like her.”
“I do?”
“A little.” He takes the frame from me and tucks it carefully beneath his arm. “This coming too?”
“Definitely.”
We carry everything outside.
Torin loads the suitcases into his truck while I make one last trip through the downstairs rooms, checking that I haven’t forgotten anything important.
In the kitchen, I stop. My father’s coffee mug is still beside the sink.
His jacket hangs over the back of a chair.
For most of my life, his presence filled this house so completely that even when he wasn’t in the room, I was aware of where he was, what mood he was in, whether I was doing anything that might attract his attention.
Now he’s gone.
I switch off the kitchen light and walk out. Torin has finished loading the truck. I pull the front door closed behind me and lock it. For a moment, I stand with the key in my hand.
Then I slip it into my pocket and turn to Torin.
“Let’s go home.”