“Do you feel up to talking?”
Hannah calmed herself as best she could. Mr. Mooney handed her a handkerchief, and she tearfully recounted her symptoms of the past few weeks and the results of the pregnancy test.
“It had to happen the night I got so drunk,” she said tearfully. “It had to be Tanner.”
“You have no recollection of what happened after you got home that night?” he said.
“None. None whatsoever.”
“There are certainly ways to find out if Tanner’s the father,” Mr. Mooney said. “Paternity tests. You could ask him to take a paternity test.”
“I know. I’ve thought of that.”
“If he refuses, you could force him.”
“Yes, I know. But what then? What if he takes a test and I find out it’s his?”
“Then I suppose you have him arrested for rape.”
“I can’t be certain he raped me. Maybe I let him. Maybe I wanted him to.”
“Hannah,” Mr. Mooney said, “I was there that night. I saw how intoxicated you were. As a matter of fact, I felt guilty about my role in contributing to your condition. But sex is something that’s supposed to occur between two consenting adults, and there’s no way in the world you were capable of consenting. If Tanner had sex with you that night, it was a rape under the law. And if he raped you, he needs to face the consequences.”
“No,” Hannah said. “I can’t. I won’t. I’ve worked with dozens of rape victims in the past six or seven years, Mr. Mooney. I’ve seen what they go through. I can’t put myself through that.”
“I understand, Hannah. I truly do. The system can be harder on victims than criminals.”
Mr. Mooney rubbed Hannah’s hands gently. She found herself glad that she’d made the decision to call him. It was good to have someone to talk to, especially someone as experienced, not to mention as compassionate, as Mr. Mooney.
“Have you considered the alternative?” Mr. Mooney said.
Hannah looked at him and blinked, not quite sure what he meant.
“You could terminate the pregnancy. It happens more than you might think, especially in cases of rape.”
The thought of abortion hadn’t entered Hannah’s mind. It was out of the question. She wouldn’t-she couldn’t-even begin to entertain the notion of destroying the life she knew was growing inside her. Rape or no rape, abortion was not an option.
“No,” Hannah said quietly. “I could never do that.”
“Are you sure? It’s no sin, Hannah, especially considering what seems to have happened to you.”
“No,” she whispered. “No, Mr. Mooney. I won’t destroy my own child.”
“Of course you won’t. I hope you’ll forgive me for even bringing it up.”
Hannah was silent after that, lost in the maze of thought that surrounded her latest predicament. Mr. Mooney continued to rub her hands and softly reassure her, and she was content to let him do so. A half hour passed, maybe more. Mr. Mooney knelt in front of her and pushed back from her face the hair that had matted in the tears on her cheeks.
“It’s getting late, Hannah,” he said. “I have to go now. Why don’t we sleep on it for a day or two and then decide the best course of action? There’s no sense rushing into anything.”
Hannah nodded, and shortly thereafter, Mr. Mooney left.
When Hannah had decided to switch jobs, she’d sensed she was doing the right thing. She wasn’t so certain about the decision now, but at least she’d been right about one thing.
Mr. Mooney was a kind and decent man. If anyone could help her, it would be him.
She picked up Patches, who was whining at her feet, and began to rub his belly.
“I wonder if it’ll be a girl,” she said. “No, I hope it’ll be a girl.”
39
Hannah opened the refrigerator and pulled out a cold bottle of water. She noticed the package of chicken she’d purchased at the store on Tuesday. She’d better do something with it tonight or it might spoil. She decided she’d make herself some stir- fry later and closed the door. Patches was barking excitedly in the bedroom, and Hannah called him. She poured some of her water into Patches’s bowl and bent down and petted his head as he lapped it up. She’d come to love him dearly in the short time she’d had him. He was so sweet and docile. He’d make a wonderful playmate for the baby.
It had been a difficult week. After her conversation with Mr. Mooney last Saturday, he’d called her on Sunday and said he’d completely forgotten he was leaving for vacation. He asked her to keep their conversation private. They would call Tanner into Mr. Mooney’s office when he returned to work on Monday, have a conversation, gauge Tanner’s reaction, and go from there.
Hannah had avoided Tanner the entire week. He’d called and left messages on her answering machine- the last one asked whether he’d done something to offend her-but she’d ignored him. She was looking forward to Monday and the opportunity to confront Tanner. She might not like what he had to say, but at least she’d have some answers.
She stood and walked into the bedroom, removing her red Windbreaker along the way. She dropped it, along with her purse, onto the bed.
The strap went around her neck before she could step away from the bed. Hannah felt herself being pulled back and upward. Her feet left the floor. Her hands went immediately to her throat. Something was choking her. She couldn’t breathe. What was it? Who was it?
Whoever it was, he was powerful, far more powerful than she. Hannah could feel the hair of his beard against her face as he pulled her tightly against him. She could smell the musty odor of his breath, feel the air rushing from his nostrils into her right ear. But she couldn’t get free. She kicked and wriggled and squirmed, trying her best to break his hold, but he slammed her face- first into the floor and pinned her there. She felt something warm trickle from her mouth. Blood, I must be bleeding.
When Hannah accepted the inevitability of her own death, she relaxed. She saw her mother’s smiling face, the expanse of Lake Michigan from a sandy bluff, the majesty of the purple Smoky Mountains. Lottie called to her from the kitchen. Supper was ready. Luke jerked in his bed, his eyes alight, a sure sign that he understood the joke she’d made. Aunt Mary patted her hand on the front porch swing on a moonlit summer night.
As the darkness overtook her and the white light appeared, Hannah found herself a bit surprised, even puzzled, by her lack of fear. The thought passed through her mind that perhaps she should thank this man who was taking her life. True, he was taking her unborn child along with her, but since she’d learned of the pregnancy, Hannah had caught herself-more than once-regarding the thought of a child as another tragedy in the making.
Hannah’s heart stopped beating, and the light grew brighter.
The last emotion she felt was relief.
40
The biker who killed Hannah Mills raised a beer can toward the sky.
“To gettin’ ’er done,” he yelled. Cyrus “Red” Mc-Kinney was in a celebratory mood. “The job” had gone off without a hitch. The girl had been missing for two weeks, and the cops didn’t have a clue. He was certain they would never find her.
Sitting across the table from Red was his cousin, Ricky “Barrel” Reed. Barrel had been the only person Red trusted enough to help him with the job. Red knew what they were doing was strictly forbidden by the gang’s code, but he also knew Barrel would keep quiet about it. He’d cut him in for five thousand of the twenty thousand he’d collected from the Mexican. Barrel had wanted an equal share, but because Red had done the actual wet work, he figured he earned the extra money.
It was Saturday, the last night of Bike Week in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The news had quickly spread through the ranks of Satan’s Soldiers that the officers had negotiated a fat deal with a gang in Charlotte, and the booze and drugs were flowing. They were hanging out at a bar called Dante’s, a run-down hellhole in Garden City that they took over for a week in the spring each year. Rock music was blaring, bitches were dancing topless on the tables, and two dudes had already ridden their choppers through the place. Red had downed nearly a case of beer during the day and had made two trips to the bathroom in the past hour to snort crystal meth. He was feeling like a conqueror.