Chapter Text
[From the Free-Flowing Poems of Tommyinnit: Straightened Spinal Cavities]
When he gets that look on his face,
My spine stands erect, my back stands straight.
For I know someone,
Something,
Has made a mistake.
One with a heavy price to pay.
That expression corrects my posture,
And boy, do I begin to pray.
He is the warden of this world.
I think.
Me and her are the things he keeps free,
And the world at the other side of we,
Something out there is squaring it’s shoulders,
Flatting out it’s back.
It takes a mean spirited spit and a too narrow glare,
For the prisoner to attempt to get the fuck out of there.
Running from the warden with the knife in his teeth.
Sister and I am the things he keeps free.
From the pivot of my axis to my atlas,
I thank him for glaring at the prisoner behind me.
Superior to my clavicle, posterior to my scapular bone.
—
Police arrive at Sam’s front doorstep at 11:36. Listening to his frantic explanations half heartedly. One of them yawns.
Then they start knocking on doors, asking the neighbors. This is the most activity this picket fence community has seen since the fateful underage drinking incident of last Christmas Eve.
Sam has basically been having one, long, continuous meltdown since he realized shit hit the fan. Dreading the absolute worst.
What do you do when your daughter just, disappears into the dead of night? The rest of the house in perfect order? Everything remains the same within the organism of their lives, but something made away with a necessary organ? Impeding their survival?
He’s panicking. He’s babbling to the police about it. They’re sort of just staring at him.
At 12:03 Hannah stumbles onto the front porch with leaves in her hair and pollen coated on her cheeks so heavily, it works like yellow blush. Eyes wide, pupils dilated.
Sam’s knees gets weak as he trips over himself running toward her. Ready to shower her in hugs and questions before he screams at her for so clearly having done drugs. Like, holy shit. No one can look like that much of some mystical trainwreck without the help of illegal substances. If this was a Disney movie she’d be high on pixie dust.
Yet as Hannah grips the back of his shirt with the amount of force she’s using to hug him back, he remembers that she’s way too smart for that. (And doesn’t get invited to the places drugs are.)
“Holy shit. Holy shit, you’re safe. I might not make it if you ever do this again, holy shit. Please don’t do this again-“ Sam sputters. Barely able to breathe.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry! I-. I think I was sleep walking?” she says.
Sam breaks their hug to step back, raising both his hands to cup her cheeks.
“Hannah, don’t lie to me,” he says, as sternly as he can muster.
“I’m not! O-one minute, I was in my bed, then I wake up in the woods. I truly don’t get what happened,” Hannah inhales sharply, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, “I don’t know what happened,”
Sam closes his eyes before he brings her back into another hug.
He never could force his tongue to form a lie. Tommy, ever a wordsmith, simply refuses to. Even when it’s gotten his ass in serious trouble. Hannah has sat before him multiple times and lied to his face. So convincingly that Sam only ever learned it wasn’t true by her confessing to it anywhere from months to years later.
Sam also knows she is a responsible young woman. He knows that she is far more intelligent than he ever was. This girl before him, in a dirt stained nightgown, is one of the greatest things Sam has ever had the honor of being close to.
He still doesn’t trust a single word she just said. Nor does he have any reason to.
“Mr. Fran?” one of the officers calls out.
“Yeah?” he replies.
“Your neighbor over here has security footage from last night. Might want to take a look,”
Hannah doesn’t seem shaken up further by this news. She’s shaking, yes, but she doesn’t seem afraid that there were cameras.
Sam takes her by the elbow and follows the officer to where their neighbor has the video pulled up on his phone.
Their neighbor is some old man with a hearty laugh. His husband makes good stew. Just akin to how he has no reason to trust Hannah’s story, he has no reason to remember their names.
Low and behold, when Sam is handed over the phone to have Hannah watch the footage over his shoulder, there she is. A bit after midnight. Awkwardly placing one foot in front of the other.
Her eyes, visible for only a couple frames, are zoned so far out she clearly isn’t seeing the things she’s look’ing at.
Hannah almost trips over a crack in the sidewalk, recovers, and steps out of frame.
“Typical for sleep walkers. That expression,” the officer chimes.
“That’s no weird,” Hannah grimaces, “I don’t remember doing this before,”
“Never?” they press.
“Never,” Sam confirms.
He hands the phone back. Everyone nods and goes back to their respective places. The neighbors go back inside. The officers drive away.
Hannah and Sam shuffle into the front room and shut the door behind them, with a clink that sounds like complete and utter finality.
“Are you alright?” Sam asks, flatly.
Hannah takes her shoes off at the door, “I need a shower. And food. And shit, I missed school,”
“I called them earlier. I’ll make another call, it’ll be excused,” he comforts.
She picks a leaf out of her hair as she bounds up the steps to their bathroom.
The past 24 hours were a knife point pressed against his throat. Now, it’s the blunt handle of the knife against his adam’s apple. Something isn’t working how it should. Something is happening here.
That’s heavy. Too heavy. He willingly sets it aside. Sam is going to call Tommy, then the school, then sit on the couch and feel very, very weird. Sounds like a decent enough plan for the rest of the day.