They got swamped with customers in the store. Hannah worked an extra hour to make up for all her time in the back room. She didn’t clock out until six-fifty. On a regular Thursday evening, that would have given her ten minutes to get to film class, but she wasn’t going tonight. She felt bad enough that work took her away from Guy while he was sick. She needed to be with him tonight.
But she had an errand to run on her way home. She’d bought two rolls of quarters at the store. It made her purse a bit heavier as she started to take a roundabout way home.
There was a phone booth outside a little mom-and-pop grocery store four blocks from her house. It was on a quiet street; in fact, so quiet the little grocery store had recently closed from lack of business. Of course, maybe their charging $1.59 for a can of Coke had something to do with it.
Tonight, Hannah was sorry they were closed. There was something sad and creepy about the boarded-up store. The light from its RC Cola sign used to illuminate that section of the sidewalk. Hannah had made calls to Chicago friends from this phone booth, but never when it had been this dark. The light above the phone was dim and flickering.
She took out her rolls of quarters and dialed directory assistance for Green Bay, Wisconsin. She asked for the non-emergency number for the Green Bay police. Hannah dropped fourteen quarters into the slot, and was automatically connected to her party.
“Green Bay Police, City Precinct,” the operator answered.
“Um, yes,” Hannah said. “I have a question about a potential missing person.”
“One minute while I connect you with a detective.”
While she waited, Hannah glanced around. The sidewalk was deserted except for a cat lurking around a dumpster halfway down the block. Most of the trees had lost their leaves. It was so dark it seemed more like midnight than seven P.M.
“This is Detective Dreiling,” a gravel-voiced man piped up on the other end of the line. “Can I have your name, please?”
“Yes, I’m Deborah Eastman,” Hannah said, using the name of a favorite customer from the store. “I’m on vacation here on the West Coast. And yesterday, I ran into someone in San Francisco who I think might be a missing person from Green Bay. Her name is Hannah Woodley. I think she was supposed to have disappeared a while back or something.”
“One minute, please,” he said.
Hunched inside the phone booth, Hannah could hear a keyboard clacking faintly on the other end.
“Can I have your phone number, please?” he asked.
“Where I am now, or my home phone?” Hannah asked. “Because I’m in the middle of moving, a divorce really. I can give you a number where I’ll be tonight. I’m staying with some friends—”
“Ma’am,” he interrupted. “I need a number where we can contact you—”
“Well, I can give you one,” Hannah replied, talking fast and trying to sound a bit agitated. “But I really don’t want to waste any more of your time or mine if they aren’t looking for Hannah Woodley. This is a long-distance call, you know. I heard something about her disappearing a while back, and I’m just trying to help out.”
“Ma’am, yes, she and her son are listed here as missing persons. Mrs. Woodley is also wanted for questioning in connection with reported kidnapping and larceny charges. Any information as to her whereabouts would be appreciated. Now, can I get your phone number?”
Hannah felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. She knew the Woodleys had probably brought up charges against her, but Scott had convinced her there was a chance they hadn’t. Now, as she listened to the police detective read off those charges, she felt so doomed.
“Ms. Eastman?” the detective said. “Are you there?”
Hannah quickly hung up the phone.
She hoped she hadn’t been on the line long enough for them to trace the call. She sagged against the inside of the booth. A couple of moths flew around the flickering overhead light. Hannah had to remind herself that she wasn’t really any worse off than she’d always figured. She just didn’t like hearing it.
Sighing, Hannah grabbed what was left of the torn-up roll of quarters on the little shelf under the phone. She started to step out of the booth, and gasped. The coins fell out of her hand.
He stood halfway down the block, by the dumpsters. He was filming her with a video camera. She couldn’t see his face, just a tall, shadowy figure silhouetted by a streetlight in the distance behind him.
Hannah backed into the booth and hit her shoulder against the edge. Desperately, she glanced around to see if anyone else was nearby. No one. She was alone. She quickly dug into her purse for her little canister of pepper spray. Then she looked toward the dumpsters again.
He was gone.
A car drove by. Hannah raised a hand to flag it down, but it kept going. Its headlights swept against the dumpsters and an alley behind them. She didn’t see him, but she had a feeling he was still there, watching.
Hannah found the pepper spray. Clutching it in her fist, she dared to take a couple of steps down the sidewalk—toward the dumpsters and the mouth of that gloomy alleyway. She hoped he didn’t notice she was trembling.
She got to a point and suddenly couldn’t move any further. Her legs froze up on her. She stood in the middle of the block.
Wide-eyed, she gazed down the line of cars parked along the curb. He didn’t seem to be hiding behind any of them. There was no sign of him by the dumpsters. Even the cat from a few minutes before had disappeared.
Hannah kept absolutely still. She could hear a very faint mechanical humming. Was it his video camera?
“Who’s there?” Hannah finally called in a shaky voice. “What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?”
No response. Then, as muted as that mechanical hum, she thought she heard a man chuckling.
A chill passed through her. She took a step back.
A woman screamed in the distance behind her. Hannah swiveled around to see a young couple weaving down the sidewalk across the street. They were coming toward her. The woman’s scream turned to high-pitched laughter. She leaned against her boyfriend and kissed him.
Hannah moved to the middle of the street. She ran in the direction of the young twosome. Passing them, she raced another two blocks toward home.
She kept running, and didn’t look back.
Eleven
Paul Gulletti strolled into the classroom. He sat back on the edge of his desk and glanced at the clock on the wall. “I don’t think all of us are here yet,” he announced. “But let’s get started anyway….”
Ben was seated behind Hannah’s empty desk. Since phoning her this morning, he’d left another message offering to walk her to class. She hadn’t returned either call.
Yesterday evening, Hannah had said she would see him during class tonight. Was that her way of brushing him off? He wasn’t sure if he should be worried, or annoyed, by her absence.
Still, he kept hoping that she’d show up. Paul Gulletti must have felt the same way. Ben noticed that as he spoke about tonight’s movie, Michelangelo Antonioni’s
