Headlights(32)

Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, that dark almost-not-blond. Bruising discolors her temple and left eye, and the lower half of her face is red and slightly raw from the duct tape. Wearing a dark green hoodie and sweatpants, clearly too large for her. The hospital partners with a charity that gives clothes to discharged patients whose clothing is soiled when they’re admitted, and the sweats are probably from there. She’s limping, keeping as far away from Garcia as possible, flinching back any time Garcia steps too close. She’s got that nose plug in.

“You okay?” Garcia says, her blazer wrinkle-free as always. She’s a good calming presence to put with witnesses and suspects, radiating the calm composure of someone who has her life together, who understands what you’re going through but also has no tolerance for funny business.

Hannah nods, and the movement is jerky. There’s a bandage on the top of her right hand, probably from the IV. Garcia goes to stand behind the chair facing away from us, leaving the other chair for Hannah. Hannah slowly moves over to it, lowers herself to sit, wincing.

She looks down, brow furrowed in pain, catches her breath. Then she glances behind Garcia to the mirror. Her eyes—that pale almost translucent green—widen, and I think that maybe she can see us, that maybe she has somehow penetrated the one-way glass. My pulse goes haywire. But then I realize she’s seeing herself like this, maybe for the first time, bruised, changed. By what happened.

Frazier steps into the observation room with us, stands right by the shadow in the corner. She looks shaken. The shadow moves toward her. I swallow, remind myself it isn’t real.

“Thank you so much for being here,” Garcia says to Hannah in the other room.

“Did I have a choice?” Hannah’s voice is raw, hoarse. Low and melodic, even rough as it is now.

“Um, yes,” Garcia says. “We could have spoken anywhere.”

“They didn’t tell me,” Hannah says.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Are you okay to continue?”

She glances around the room, sinks lower in the chair, covers her nose with her hand. “Hard to be indoors.” She closes her eyes, clears her throat. “Does that window open?”

Garcia glances over, then back to Hannah, shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Um, if we can do this fast—” Clears her throat again, shifts in her seat.

“Do you need anything else? Water?”

Hannah hesitates, then nods. Frazier leaves the observation room again and steps into the interrogation room with a water bottle. When she sets it down in front of Hannah, Hannah leans back as far from her as possible, face a little pale.

“All right,” Garcia says after Frazier leaves. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to walk through the last couple days that you remember and work our way up to the motel. If at any point it’s too much or you need to take a break, that’s completely fine. We can get you anything you need. And we’ll try to get you out of here as fast as possible.”

Frazier steps back into our room. Still, that shadow is there.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Garcia says.

Hannah takes a sip of the water. “Right. Um … the last couple days,” she says, “before. Pretty normal. I was clearing brush from some trails, checking backpacker permits, though there were only one or two, um, backpackers. That’s normal for this time of year. Don’t need a permit for a day hike, so it’s just…” She takes another breath. She takes another sip.

“I was down in the prairie grass. I heard something behind me, a twig snap. I turned, and then … I don’t remember anything. I heard it snap, I turned. And then I was…” She trails off. “Sorry,” she says, and it comes out more like a whisper.

“It’s okay. You’re doing great.”

“I was in the grass, then I was in the motel. That’s it. I can’t remember anything else.”

“What were you doing down there?”

“What?”

“You said you were—”

“Oh. I uh … I was trying to photograph something, a fox. Did you, or did someone, find my camera? Did I have it in the motel?”

“I’ll ask around. You were photographing a fox?”

“Desert kit fox. They’re endangered, it’s really rare to see one.”

“Would you be able to point it out to us on a map? Where you were in the prairie grass, with the twig snap?”

“Yeah. I mean … of course.”

Garcia motions with her hand, and Frazier leaves the observation room again. “You know the mountains pretty well?” Garcia asks.

“Yes?” She says it like it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

“How long have you been a ranger?”

“Five years, give or take.”

“Pretty long time. How often do you come down to town?”

“Every two, three weeks, I come down for a resupply.”

“You see a lot of people up there? A lot of foot traffic near your cabin?”

“Not really, except during peak season.”

“You ever get lonely up there?”

Hannah stares at her for a minute, and … that look again. Like Garcia’s asked the dumbest question in the world. I almost want to laugh.