Headlights(126)

For Hannah.

Blaze Foley plays on the radio.

John Denver. Dolly Parton. Static. John Prine. Static.

Dolly whines in the back.

“I’m gonna keep you safe, okay?” I say to her. “You’re safe now. Don’t you worry.”

Hannah? I call.

I near the exit, and … I hear something. Something else. Vibrations … heartbeats.

Flurries start, snowflakes appearing suddenly, landing on the windshield.

VOOM.

The Witchwalker.

It’s back. But—

Next to that pressure, that vibration, beneath or beside it. Smaller, softer.

I hear …

Two. Two heartbeats, in the dark.

I reach out, send my signal into that other-space.

Hannah, I say. Hannah! I yell.

My heart is racing.

Come on, Hannah. Please.

Time stretching, warping. Static, music, static. Dolly whimpers in the back. I console her, tell her it’s okay. Scan everywhere, try to find where they are, how it’s— Movement. Beside my window. I almost swerve to the right, but my eyes catch it, understand just as I do. It’s a bat. Just …

No. It’s a bird, in the snowfall. Flying right next to my window. Like a magpie. Or … it’s a hawk. No, I—I must …

“Hannah!” I yell.

Static.

The music stops. The vibration pulls back. It’s gone.

No. No, no, no, please—

I reach, yell, scream into that other-space, send my signal out as hard as I can.

Please, Hannah. If you’re there—

Silence.

I start to turn the wheel, start to turn back, but Dolly whimpers in the back, and— VOOM.

The radio turns back on, switches from station to station. Different voices. Some talking, some singing.

I

Static.

Here

It repeats again, using new voices, new stations, taking time between, but repeating: Here.

Static.

With

You

Static.

It’s her. She’s here. My heart. My fucking—

I call into the other-space.

Are you okay? Hannah, talk to me, how do I help you? How do I get you out? How do I bring you back?

The radio shifts again.

Can

Not

“What do you mean?” I say. “Please let me—”

Different

Missing.

But

Miss

You.

But

A hawk sweeps to my left, swerves in front of the windshield, screeching into the night.

I laugh. Cry. I don’t know.

That’s you? I ask.

The hawk sweeps by again, talons grazing the top of the car.

Lee Hazlewood comes on the radio, the song we danced to at the hotel.

I start to pull over. I can do something. I can find her, and— The song stops, static, back to switching between stations, voices: No

Fix

“There has to be—”

Different

“I know. I’m so sorry, Hannah—”

Different

But

Freedom.

And then …

No. She can’t mean …

“You don’t want me to help? You won’t let me free you from—”

That song again, Lee Hazlewood. “Your Sweet Love.”

“You don’t want to come back?” It’s a plea.

I start to push on the brake, but the pedal won’t go down. The car keeps moving forward. The hawk screeches toward the sky, and the radio goes back to static. Static, heartbeats.

Hannah—

Then just static.

Then nothing. The crackling fades. The pressure returns to normal.

Just Dolly and me, the headlights on the road.

As I take the exit for Cherry Hills, Dolly stops whimpering.

Denver night. Hannah gone. I don’t know what to do. I stretch through the other-space, but she’s not …

So I drive. Try not to feel my heart breaking. Try not to feel the worst pain imaginable.

I take the turn, into Whileago Manor.

I can’t think about Hannah, about the quiet in that other-space.

She doesn’t want to come back. Doesn’t want me to try and bring her back. Is she protecting me? We can find another way, I’ll go in her place. Or we can find a way to make the Witchwalker happy. I don’t— Dolly lets out a whimper again.

Hannah. I felt her. This can’t be the end. I won’t let it. I can’t.

“You know,” I say to Dolly, “I was just like you once. Sitting in the back seat of a car that some stranger was driving, taking me to a strange new place. To this place. I was terrified. This exact tree tunnel. It was daytime, but it’s always dark in this part. I remember that the social worker’s headlights turned on even in the day, just like they are now, that’s how dark it was.”

Hannah, please— “It was scary, but … it became home. Eventually. It became the best home a kid could ever have. Some quirks, for sure. But…”

I pull to the gravel drive, headlights shining toward the house, snowflakes in them. And I catch movement again. By the passenger side window.

The bird scrapes against the window with its wing. Again. My heart races.

Hannah.

I pull the car to a stop. Roll the windows down. And—