Chapter Two

Hours before Hannah or her father would even consider waking up on a Saturday, the phone rang. A gravelly voice asked for Hannah, and her father was happy to hand the phone off to her and return to bed. “Hello?” she said sleepily, rubbing her eyes and glaring at her tangled locks of hair in the mirror.

The voice, that of a middle aged man, did not greet her. “Yeah, this is Martin Chipman,” he growled.

Hannah’s heart raced. “Nicole’s dad?”

Ignoring the question, the man went on, “Mind your own business, and stay away from our family. We’ve been through enough.” The line went dead. Eyebrows raised, Hannah placed the phone back in its receiver and wandered into the kitchen in search of breakfast.

It was still dark outside, but Hannah’s mind was already racing, and she settled down at the kitchen counter with a fresh bowl of cereal and her notes spread out in front of her. The list of similarities between the two missing girls that Wesley had given her had remained in the forefront of her mind since the night before, so she pulled that out first. Much to her satisfaction, the first item on it was “green eyes.” The rest were things Hannah had never even considered before.

She noticed that the first two newspapers Wesley had given her had a front page story on Gabby and Nicole, respectively. The others were marked with sticky notes where they featured either an opinion or a small news update. Wesley had been thorough.

The mail was dropped off early that day, long before Hannah’s father got up. He usually slept through most of the morning and the early afternoon since Hannah’s mother had disappeared, so Hannah was always the one to take care of the mail.

A small crate rested against the mailbox, marked only with her name, and did not appear to have been mailed. Excited, Hannah tossed the mail onto the counter inside the house  and returned to the crate. It was heavy and nailed shut, so Hannah could only shake it and pry at the edges, but they were sealed tightly.

She was shaking the crate vigorously and listening to the contents rattle around inside when she noticed the moving vans across the street. Among the burly older guys carrying boxes into the long abandoned house directly across from Hannah’s was a young man with curly black hair, dressed well and all in black, overseeing the whole process. Every now and then his eyes drifted towards Hannah, and once, he smiled and waved.

Hannah blushed and stepped away from the crate, making her way slowly across the street. “Hi,” she said shyly as their eyes met. He had a gentle smile and soft, brown eyes. “You, uh, live across the street?” he asked, sounding just as nervous as Hannah.

“Yeah,” Hannah said, glancing down at her feet.

“My name’s Michael,” he went on quietly. “It’s, uh, Hannah, right?”

Her heart skipped a beat and she locked eyes with Michael.

“It was on the flier,” Michael explained, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Oh, right.” Hannah grinned. “That’s all right.”

Although Michael seemed shy and reserved, Hannah felt the warm, encapsulating glow of charisma whenever she looked into his eyes. She wanted to just stand there all day and keep talking to him.

He glanced across the street at the crate and then looked back at Hannah. “Do you need some help over there? I have some tools in one of these boxes.” He didn’t wait for an answer but disappeared among the tens of boxes in the yard, returning with a small one marked “stuff.”

Before Michael could speak again, one of the movers reached to open a large box lying by the front door, and Michael turned and almost shouted, “Don’t bother. I’ll get them later.” The mover nodded, said something to his colleague, and then stepped into one of the vans. A dark look on Michael’s face melted away as he turned back to Hannah, and he brightened with a smile. “Let’s go.”

The moving vans pulled away from the curb, leaving the boxes lying about on the lawn and inside the entryway of the house. Hannah could barely believe the hospitality of this man she had only just met, and together they returned to the crate by Hannah’s mailbox.

Michael worked at the crate for a few minutes before finally prying out all the nails on one side of the box. “Would you like to do the honors?” he asked with a friendly chuckle, passing the crate to Hannah. She eagerly tore the lid off the crate and removed some paper packaging, only to drop everything and jerk backwards in horror. “What the hell is that?”

Michael peeked curiously into a box and seemed equally surprised. “Whoa. What the hell? Where did you get this?”

“No, it...it was just here when I woke up, I swear! I don’t think someone mailed it, but, someone...someone else left it here! I freaking swear.”

Michael laughed and the tension eased a bit. He looked back into the box and a troubled look crossed his face. The box contained, stacked upon each other, two human pelvic bones, stripped of flesh and cleaned. “Do you think this has anything to do with those fliers around town? You know, the ones with your name, address, and phone number.”

Blushing, Hannah grunted, “Yeah.” Then a sad realization crossed her mind, and she swallowed hard. “These...these must belong to those...girls…” She took a deep breath and locked eyes with Michael. “I...I knew it.”

Smiling sadly, Michael nodded. “The police will get a kick out of these, right?”

“No,” Hannah interjected suddenly, reaching for the crate and holding onto it tightly. “The police don’t need to know about any of this.

A mischievous grin grew on Michael’s face, and he let go of the crate. “I mean, if you say so.” He stood slowly and then, as if suddenly realizing something, said, “My god, you have the most beautiful eyes. They’re so green.”

Hannah blushed and smiled. “Yeah. I mean, thank you.” She gazed up into his eyes and slipped into a sort of daydream. Quite suddenly, Michael jerked her out of it; “Well, I have to go. See you around, I guess.” He hurried across the street to his multiplicity of boxes, leaving Hannah to drag her crate up to her room.

The library was usually quiet on late summer afternoons, but today a crooked smile and curly orange hair awaited Hannah at the table they sat at before. “Hey, it’s you,” he said brightly. “Did you like my list?”

“Yeah.” She had been thinking about the list all day, and it occurred to her that only someone who knew exactly what to look for could possibly find everything that he did in those newspapers. “It’s weird, Wesley. I don’t know where you got that stuff.” Her mind had been wandering all afternoon, and her trust for Wesley had nearly disappeared.

“What...What do you mean?”

“Forget it.” Hannah set her things on the table and silently got to work. “Just...stay away from me. Okay?”