Page 4 of I Would Die for You

“Hawkswood Prep,” comes the cheery voice of Miss Santos, the school secretary, who up until now I’d had down as a jobsworth. I so desperately hope she lives up to my expectations.

“Hi, it’s Nicole Forbes here—Hannah’s mom.”

“Oh, hello, Mrs.—”

“Hannah’s not on the bus. She’s supposed to be. Olivia got off,but Hannah didn’t. Jared, the driver, says she wasn’t on the list, but I know she was, because why wouldn’t she be?” It all comes out in a rush of staccato statements.

All she has to do is give a resounding sigh of relief; a reassurance that she’s got this, that she knows exactly where Hannah is… yet there’s nothing but a painful silence. It may only be a couple of seconds, but it tells me everything I need to know.

“Olivia said she’d been picked up by her aunt, but that’s impossible… So, where is she?”

I look around the front room, willing Hannah to burst out of the costumes trunk, ready to recite her favorite lines fromTangled, but her Rapunzel dress lays painfully dormant.

“Mrs. Forbes, we spoke about this last week…” she starts, talking to me as if I’m a forgetful child. “You called to say that Hannah’s aunt would be collecting her from school today.”

What?

“I’m just checking my records,” she says tightly, but there’s an underlying panic that she can’t disguise—as if she already knows she’s screwed up. If time wasn’t of the essence, I would take a warped satisfaction in waiting to be proved right.

“You need to tell me where my daughter is,right now.”

“Ah, here it is,” she says, with a smug tone. Or is it relief? “You called last Wednesday at 11:27 a.m. to give permission for Hannah’s aunt to pick her up—I have it here in my logbook, and I am most particular about these things.”

How does that even make sense?

“Check again,” I snap.

“Mrs. Forbes…”

“Someone has fucked up, so you need to tell me where my daughter is,immediately.”

“Mrs. Forbes, I can assure you…”

I hang up, not needing to hear her empty assurances, and immediately dial Brad’s number.

“Hannah’s gone,” I sob into the phone. “She wasn’t on the bus and the school don’t know where she is. They’re telling me she was collected by your sister…”

“But I don’t have a sister.”

“Exactly! So where is she?”

“I’m calling Hank,” he says, before the line abruptly cuts off.

I pace the kitchen floor as I wait for one or other of them to show up, or at least to ring and tell me how they’re going to find her. But in the meantime, I can’t help but picture where she might be. My imagination takes me into the darkest corners of my mind, and I can hear her calling out for me from a cell-like room. A steel door is holding her against her will and a stained mattress lies ominously in the corner. She knows she’s somewhere she shouldn’t be, her innocence even tricking her into believing she’ll be in trouble for being there, but still she calls out for me, her need to feel safe far greater than how mad I might be.

I torture myself by remembering our trip to the library a couple of weeks ago and her excitement at going off to find a book for us to read. When she didn’t come back within a reasonable time, I’d thought little of it—I’d often find her sitting cross-legged wherever she’d found something of interest, her eagerness to read making her forget that she was supposed to bring it back to me. But as I tracked through the aisles of the children’s section, with no sign of her, my heart grew heavy. I’d quickened my pace, wishing I had X-ray vision to see through the bookshelves to ease my rising anxiety. I knew she was there—where else would she be?—but I had an inherent need to be put out of my misery.

“Hannah?” I’d half whispered, half called out. “Come on out now. Where are you?”

When I reached the end of the bookcase, she’d jumped out. “Boo!” she shrieked excitedly.

“That isn’t funny,” I said.

“Hetold me to do it,” she said, dissolving into fits of giggles asBrad sheepishly peered around the shelves. Despite being pleased that he’d surprised us, I couldn’t help but admonish his insensitivity.

“Why would you tell her to do something like that?” I snapped. “I was going out of my mind…”

“We’re in a library,” he said, laughing as he attempted to grab my waist. “What do you think’s going to happen?”

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