'I don't want to die here.'
'Stop saying that.' Walter then launched into another story about how 'his' Blessed Mother came and told him how I would be fine.
'Please listen to me, Walter. Will you listen to me for a minute?' He didn't answer so I kept talking. 'I've been giving this a lot of thought. I don't know where you live. You can blindfold me, put me in the car and drive me to a hospital in some other city. Just drop me off and leave. I swear to God I won't tell anyone who you are.'
His face changed and, I don't know, he looked disgusted, as though whatever was wrong with me was somehow my fault.
'I don't want to die alone,' I said. 'I want to see my father.' I begged, I cried – I did it all.
Walter waited until I was done, and then he gripped my hands and said, 'Pray with me, Emma. We'll pray together to Mary. My Blessed Mother will help us, I promise.'
Walter has just left the room. I try not to think about what will happen to me when I die.
Maybe God gives you a second chance. Maybe he lets you come back until you leave your mark. Or maybe there is no such thing as a soul. Maybe you're just like everything else that wanders the earth, alive for a short amount of time only to die alone, only to be forgotten. Please God, if you're there and you can hear me, please don't let that be true.
Hannah skimmed over the next paragraph, a long, delusional rambling of a repeated fever dream where Emma found herself wandering around dark streets at night, wondering why the sun wouldn't come out, why there weren't any lights on inside the houses, why the streets didn't have any names.
And here were the last words the woman named Emma wrote: I keep thinking about my mother. She died when I was eight. The day of her funeral, when my father and I were finally alone, I remember how he kept reassuring me that my mother's death was a part of God's divine plan. The image that comes to my mind over and over again from that day is how the traffic kept moving past us, the people in those cars going about their lives, going to their jobs, going to see their families and friends. Life just keeps moving forward. It doesn't stop for you. It doesn't even pause to offer you an apology. What scared me then – what scares me now – is how small you really are. In the grand scheme of things, you don't matter. If you're one of the lucky ones, you'll get a nice obituary and maybe a handful of people will pause to remember you for a while, but in the end they just go on, keep on moving forward and force themselves to forget until you've faded just a bit – you have to fade just enough so when they remember you you're not as sharp. You're easier to carry.
My father won't be that lucky. He'll leave my pictures up and he'll stop and stare at them and wonder what happened to me, what my last moments were like. I wish I could give him this diary or whatever it is I'm writing here so he could have some, I don't know, some final peace, I guess. I want my father to know
The entry ended.
I want my father to know. Emma's last words.
What happened to her? Had she died here, in this room? On this bed? If she died here, what had Walter done with her body?
Had he killed her?
Walter knocked on the door.
71
Hannah shoved the notebook underneath the sheets. She waited for the door to open. It didn't. The card reader didn't beep and the lock didn't click back.
Walter knocked again. Then she realized he was waiting for her to speak.
Don't speak unless he allows you to talk to Mom and Dad.
Two more knocks and when Hannah didn't answer, he opened the door.
Walter was dressed in a crisp white shirt and grey pinstriped dress pants. He was holding two items – a gift- wrapped box and, folded on top, a white terrycloth robe. He placed both items on the table.
'I thought you might want a clean robe,' he said. 'You can wear it on your way to the bathroom. You can take a shower or, if you prefer, a bath.'
Hannah didn't answer.
'I read your letter,' Walter said. 'I've prayed long and hard, and I've decided to let you call your parents.'
'Thank you.'
Walter smiled. His face changed, became more relaxed.
'It's good to hear your voice,' he said.
'I'm sorry I haven't been too talkative, but I thought…'
'You thought I was going to hurt you again.'
Hannah had anticipated the question. She knew what to say.
'I know what happened in the car was an accident. I forgive you.'
Walter placed the gift-wrapped present on the bed.
'You didn't have -'
'I wanted to,' he said. 'Go ahead and open it.'
Hannah tore off the paper. Inside the box, wrapped in tissue paper, was the black Calvin Klein cocktail dress she had admired in the Macy's store window the night of the snowstorm.
'Do you like it?' Walter asked.
'It's beautiful.' Hannah shivered beneath her pyjamas. She forced a smile. 'Thank you.'
'I was hoping you'd wear it tonight, at dinner. I'm making veal cutlets. The first course is braised scallops served in a white wine sauce.'
'It sounds wonderful.' Hannah took a deep breath and plunged. 'I'd like to talk to my parents now. I don't mean to be pushy; it's just that I'm worried about my father. He's very sick. He has cancer.'
That was a lie. Hannah had watched a Forensic Files show about a man who raped and killed prostitutes. The killer had snatched one woman and handcuffed her inside the back of his van. She kept talking about her father, how he had cancer and if she died nobody would take care of him. Her abductor raped her and let her go. After he was caught, he told police he didn't kill the woman because his mother also had died of cancer.
'Why don't you shower first?' Walter said. 'Change into the robe, and I'll escort you to the bathroom. Knock on the door when you're ready.'
Hannah wondered if Walter was watching through the peephole. She stepped behind the curtain that hid her toilet and changed quickly. She pulled the robe tightly around her, knotted the belt around her waist and knocked on the door.
Walter stepped into the room. He was holding a pair of handcuffs.
'To make sure you don't run away or, you know…'
Go along or try to fight him? If she fought him now, on this issue, he might not let her make the phone call.
'They'll be off in a moment,' Walter said.
Hannah needed to push past her fear. She needed to be brave. She turned around and Walter slipped on the handcuffs. Hannah wondered if he did this because of Emma. Had she tried to run away during her first visit to the bathroom?
Walter stepped up next to the card reader. It beeped and the lock clicked back. The card reader was set up next to his waist, she noticed. The card must be in his pocket. That way he can keep his hands free.
Hannah stepped into the hallway of a half-finished cellar. To her left was a linen closet. He turned her around and she saw, at the end of the hallway and to the right of the stairs, a bathroom of white tile. The door had two padlocks on it.
Hannah walked slowly, wanting time to process everything she was seeing. The concrete floor was cold beneath her bare feet.
'May I take a bath?'
'Of course,' Walter said.
'How long do I have?'
