Finding Hannah Read online

  We had sandwiches for lunch, then something warm for supper, but I wasn’t hungry. The helplessness had taken my appetite.

  We searched until sundown, and I was too tired to put up a fight when Dad told me we were leaving. It wasn’t fair that I was going home and Hannah was still out there.

  My mom’s desperation showed when we walked in the door. Dad shook his head and Mom started crying. My aunts had offered to watch Amy so my mom could search, but she refused, saying Amy needed her and she wanted to be home if Hannah returned.

  I retreated downstairs but couldn’t shower because I felt guilty doing anything Hannah couldn’t do. I climbed into bed and felt guilty about that too. I became aware of the cold inside me, which refused to leave. I curled into a ball under my comforter and shivered. My head felt like it had a metal band around it, a band that was slowly being tightened.

  The image of Hannah laughing at the bottom of the stairs was quickly followed by her long scream. My throat swelled and tears landed on my pillow. Falling asleep had been so easy for me before Hannah was taken. I lay awake knowing the man who had taken Hannah had stolen that ability from me as well.

  * * *

  Dad and I joined the volunteers at 7:00 a.m. the next day at the park where, again, we divided up and continued searching. It was the same the next two days, but always in a different search area.

  One evening a detective interviewed my family. He gave me a sheet of paper and told me to draft a list of names. He wanted Hannah’s former boyfriends, anyone who’d started rumors about her, or anyone who’d shown any interest in my sister at all. The detective also wanted anyone she’d mentioned who was creepy, strange, weird, aggressive, or mean. I knew he really wanted me to list anyone I thought could have taken Hannah. My list was blank the next night when he came by to pick it up.

  By the end of the first week of searching, we were down to about half the number of volunteers. No one said it, but I knew they were all asking themselves if she would ever be found. By the middle of the second week, only a few dozen thought it was possible.

  One of the volunteers who showed up every day was a girl my age. I’d overheard someone call her Molly. I noticed she arrived at the park on her bicycle. The sun was setting when Dad and I returned home. I saw Molly riding toward our house, and then she turned down a gravel road. I figured she couldn’t live very far away since she rode her bike. I thought it was strange because anyone who lived near me would have been in my school, and I’d never seen her before.

  Every day Hannah was gone brought new pain. It showed up in my joints, behind my forehead, and in my lungs. When I looked at my face in the mirror, it was as if my eye sockets were retreating inward. I looked like someone who’d given up on sleeping and eating. Even my black hair seemed to be losing its color. The invisible metal band around my head continued to tighten, and my swollen throat made it hard to breathe. My wrists and knees creaked like rusty hinges. I felt as if all of my organs were slowly shutting down.

  We’d been searching every day for two weeks when Dad and I arrived home early for what should have been Hannah’s sixteenth birthday party. My three aunts had gathered at the house to spend the day with my mom. My uncles arrived the same time we did because they’d been out searching too.

  I quickly retreated to my room, but the smell of the feast made my stomach growl. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I went upstairs and found the dining room table covered with food and the house full of people. It looked like a church potluck dinner. My uncle Harold and a man I didn’t know were talking near a table with a birthday cake. They glanced at me and kept talking as I loaded up a plate with chicken and mashed potatoes.

  “Where was Amy when she saw him?” the man I didn’t know asked.

  “She was in bed when she heard someone outside her door and thought it was her parents coming home,” Uncle Harold said. “Her door was open just a crack and she saw the man standing in Hannah’s room holding a gun. She watched him pull Hannah out of bed. Amy said she saw his face. She didn’t recognize him.”

  “The description of him is terrible.”

  “I know. That’s all they could get out of her.”

  “Did he see Amy?”

  “She didn’t know. All she said was he held Hannah by the arm as they left.”

  “How did he get in?” the man asked.

  “The door was unlocked,” Uncle Harold said.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope.”

  I moved into the kitchen to get something to drink. As I opened the fridge, I could hear Aunt Jackie talking with one of our neighbors in the hallway.

  “They don’t know,” Aunt Jackie said. “The man knew where Hannah slept. If it was a stranger abduction, he did his homework. I can’t imagine anyone, friend or family, who would have taken her.”

  “But they’re not ruling it out?” my neighbor asked.

  “No, not yet.”

  “How is Amy doing?”

  “Not good. She’s been sleeping in her parents’ room and hiding under her bed. Yesterday, her mom found her sleeping under Hannah’s bed. She rarely talks to anyone.”

  I walked back toward the stairs down to the basement. I could feel them all look at me. I thought I heard someone whisper my name and then, “. . . asleep on the couch.” I had to get away from these people.

  My cousin Shawn came down to my room. He was nineteen and had finished his freshman year at the University of Massachusetts in Boston. I had looked up to him my whole life, but now I didn’t feel like talking to him.

  “I’ve always thought of you three as my little brother and sisters.” He talked about letting Hannah get behind the wheel of his car just a few months ago when he’d come home for Easter. “Never give up hope,” he said. “You ever want to come and see me in Boston, you just say the word.”

  Father Whitmore also came into my room. When he realized I wasn’t going to talk, he told me a story about the senior high service project where Hannah and the group had volunteered to shovel snow on one of the coldest days last winter. While they were shoveling, Hannah approached an elderly woman who was having trouble getting her car out of her driveway. Without prompting, she gathered some help and they pushed her out.

  “She has such a generous heart,” Father Whitmore said. He politely told me he would be available day or night if I wanted to talk to him.

  An hour later, I was halfway up the stairs to get a glass of water when I overheard my aunts talking.

  “I’m just happy they’re finally talking about getting Dylan some help,” Aunt Jessica said as they sat on the couch. “It’s been two weeks and he still hasn’t said a word.”

  “They’re so overwhelmed,” Aunt Jamie said. “They’re pushing so hard to get the word out about Hannah.”

  “And Amy is a mess right now,” Aunt Jessica said.

  “I keep telling her it’s going to take time,” Aunt Jackie said.

  “I hate seeing her like this,” Aunt Jessica said. “She’s being really hard on herself.”

  “It doesn’t help that she’s home alone with Amy all day while everyone else is out searching,” Aunt Jamie said. “I feel so helpless. What can we do?”

  “Just give it time,” Aunt Jackie said. “They all need it.”

  All of them turned to look at me, and I retreated back to my room. I didn’t need more time. I needed my sister back.

  * * *

  On Monday at 6:30 a.m., I walked through our living room, which had now been taken over by stacks of “Help Find Hannah Beachley” items. There were flyers, posters, buttons, and T-shirts with Hannah’s info and picture. Mom and her sisters had ordered so much of each that they spilled into the kitchen and down the hallway.

  I sat at the breakfast table just as I had for the last three weeks since Hannah had been taken. This time, however, Dad’s chair was empty.

  Mom walked into the kitchen holding her purse and her car keys. “Dylan, Amy and I are heading into town. Your dad is at wor
k. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Her voice had developed a new tone since Hannah disappeared. It was cold and sharp and served as another reminder of how everything had changed. I still hadn’t said a word to her or anyone else since the night Hannah had been taken.

  She stopped digging in her purse and looked at me in my hiking clothes.

  I set my spoon down and stared at my bowl in a daze.

  “You know they’ve called off the search, right?” she asked.

  I didn’t look at her. Dad had told me, but I refused to believe it.

  “Dylan, talk to me.” Mom spoke to me with a different tone, as if she felt sorry for me. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head telling her no, I was not okay. Until Hannah was found the answer to that question would be no. I got up and took my bowl to the sink.

  Her previous tone returned. “We’ll be back soon.”

  Once they were gone, I got on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could to cover the two miles to the park before our usual 7:00 a.m. start time. I arrived to find the park completely empty. No granola bars were being handed out and no news vans were parked nearby. The park was deserted. It appeared the number of people who were still interested in finding Hannah was now down to one.

  I sat on a picnic table and developed my plan. The past three weeks had been handled all wrong. We had been searching the forest, which was fine, but we should have been searching homes, too. The police had rules to follow with their probable cause and their warrants, but I didn’t. The man who took Hannah wasn’t following those rules and neither would I.

  I pulled out my jackknife and carved on the picnic table. I would search the forest during the day and monitor houses at night. I’d go deeper into the forest and cover more ground than the volunteer search parties. I’d stay out in the forest until I found my sister.

  My parents would be furious. Their rules about curfew and showing up at meals would need to be broken.

  My plan wasn’t perfect, but I decided to go for it. I made a mental list of the supplies I would need: maps, compass, tent, flyers, sleeping bag, backpack, binoculars, water filter, night-vision goggles, and a flamethrower. Well, the flamethrower wouldn’t be needed until I found the place where Hannah was being held. It was still worth having on the list.

  I put my jackknife away. The picnic table now had “I will find you!” carved into it. I stared at it as I made a vow to never stop searching until I found Hannah. If I was the only one who still believed I could find her, then fine. I didn’t care what the rest of the world thought. I was going to find her and I’d do it by myself. I’d dress in black and roam the forest like a one-man ninja assassin, afraid of nothing, searching anywhere I—.

  “Where is everyone?” a female voice asked.

  I spun around and saw the girl I didn’t know, the one who’d volunteered every day. She set her bike on its side and walked over to me.

  “Hi, I’m Molly Beckstrand,” she said, as we shook hands. She held a water bottle and was wearing jeans and hiking boots. Molly’s blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  “I’m Dylan Beachley.” The words leaving my mouth sounded like they belonged to someone else. It was the first time I had spoken since the night Hannah was taken. Normally, I’d have been thrilled to meet someone like Molly. She was better looking than any of the girls at my school, but I had a plan to implement.

  “So, what’s going on? Where is everyone?” Molly asked.

  “I guess they called off the search.”

  “What? Are you serious?” Molly looked angry. “So that’s it?”

  “Well, no. I’m not done looking,” I said.

  “Good. I’m not either.”

  I liked the way she said it. “Do you know Hannah?”

  “No. I just moved here. I don’t live far away and I heard what happened, so I thought I could help.”

  I smiled for the first time in a long time. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. What should we do now?”

  “We need maps. I was going to go buy some at Ray’s Sporting Goods.”

  “Then let’s go.” Molly climbed on her bike.

  * * *

  Ray’s Sporting Goods was located right on the Appalachian Trail. The small shop offered the latest in lightweight camping gear and just about everything a hiker would need to survive on the trail. Molly and I dug through the selection of maps.

  “Where are you from?” I asked.

  “Boston. I grew up there.”

  “Why did you move here?”

  “My mom and her idiot boyfriend dragged me here. It’s a long story.”

  Molly and I sat next to each other, piecing together the poster-size maps on the floor. Ray eyed us from the counter. I didn’t care whether or not he liked what we were doing. All I cared about was that I had a plan to implement.

  “How big of an area do you think we need?” Molly asked.

  “I’m thinking the whole central part of New Hampshire.”

  Molly looked at me to see if I was serious. I was.

  It took ten maps to cover the area I wanted, and I bought two sets, one to hang on my bedroom wall and another plastic-coated set to use while hiking. The twenty maps, some dried food, and a water filter drained half of my rainy day cash fund. I carried the big cardboard tube filled with our maps as we biked back to my house.

  After three weeks of neglect, my room was a complete mess. Normally, I would have been embarrassed, but I didn’t have time for that anymore.

  “Nice room. I wish mine was this big,” Molly said.

  Molly helped me remove my sports posters and a small shelf I’d made in shop class to make room for the maps, which, after we pieced them together, covered one whole wall.

  “So where are we?” Molly motioned to the map.

  “Right here.” I drew a star on the map over my house. I used a yellow highlighter to mark over the squiggly dotted line labeled “Appalachian Trail” that crossed the map from the lower left corner of my wall to the upper right.

  “I’ve been thinking,” I said. “During the day it makes sense to do what we’ve been doing, hiking around, searching. At night I want to use a different strategy. If someone is holding her, then it would likely be at a home with a basement or one that is remote. It would probably be a single male with no wife or kids. I’m thinking about dressing in all black, painting my face, and watching those kinds of houses. I don’t plan on sleeping very much.”

  “I’ve got black clothes,” Molly said.

  The way she said it made me smile. She was determined to help, and I wasn’t going to stop her.

  “We need a list of supplies.” Molly sat down at my desk, found a notebook, and began writing. Soon the two of us stared at the completed list, which included everything I wanted except the flamethrower.

  “I’ve got an old pair of binoculars,” Molly said.

  “I’ll swipe my dad’s spotting scope.”

  “You’ve got your water filter and we’ll need to bring some bottles,” Molly said.

  “Just so you know,” I said, “I’m planning on staying out there for awhile. At least until we need to resupply.”

  “That’s fine. Do you have a tent big enough for both of us?”

  I hesitated for a moment. In all my planning, the idea of sleeping in the same tent hadn’t occurred to me.

  “Yeah, I have a three-man tent. It’s even camouflaged.”

  “That’s perfect,” she said. “So we need face paint, Hannah’s flyers, and sleeping bags.”

  “I’ve got some face paint from last Halloween.”

  “I’ve got a sleeping bag,” she said.

  “So do I. We have a ton of flyers upstairs.”

  “Then all we need is food and we’re all set, unless you know where we can find a pair of night-vision goggles.”

  I smiled at her. “Come with me.”

  * * *

  Molly and I turned off the highway and rode our bikes down a paved, quarter-
mile-long driveway lined with crabapple trees on both sides. A large Victorian house with a massive garage sat at the end of it. Flowers lined the front and wrapped around to the side. The house was far beyond extravagant compared to my parents’ place, but it was still surrounded by the same huge endless forest.

  “My friend Wiz lives here,” I said. “He’s basically been raised by the housekeepers. Well, really it’s more like Wiz has been raised by a computer. He’s really smart, but when you meet him, don’t be surprised if he seems a little strange.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he can’t handle being around a girl, and he especially can’t handle being around a very good-looking girl.”

  Molly blushed.

  I smiled and Molly laughed. I wondered if Wiz would just implode after I introduced him to Molly.

  “Hey, what’s up, Dylan?” Wiz said, answering the door. Wiz was short and slightly overweight. He looked like he’d just woke up because his black hair was matted down on one side of his head and standing straight up on the other. His white T-shirt had a fresh toothpaste stain on the front. “It’s good to see you, man. I was just thinking—.” Wiz spotted Molly and froze with his mouth open.

  He looked at me and then back at her. Molly seemed to be amused with Wiz’s reaction, or maybe it was the toothpaste stain.

  “You were just thinking …” I said.

  “Ah, um … it doesn’t matter, never mind.”

  “Wiz, this is Molly,” I said.

  “Hi. Nice to meet you.” Molly shook his hand. Wiz seemed to be in shock that a girl was touching him.

  “Uh, hi,” Wiz said. He looked at me and then back at Molly.

  “Can we come in?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah, sure, come on in.”

  A central staircase divided the huge house down the middle. To the right was a room with a massive fireplace and to the left a room so large it had a grand piano in the corner.

  “Wow, nice place.” Molly spun in a circle to take it all in.