Watch Them Die (8 page)

Walking home, Hannah carried two well-laden bags by the paper handles—certain to break at any minute. Guy struggled with his little plastic bag containing two rolls of paper towels. He was huffing and puffing as if he were lugging a bowling ball. “You sure that’s not too much for you, honey?” Hannah asked.

“I got it,” he said, his blond head tilted down.

“Let me know if you get tired,” she said.

Finally, he slung the bag over his shoulder, which seemed less awkward for him. After a moment, he asked, “Did Craig know my dad?”

Hannah hesitated. “Um, no, sweetie. Craig’s a friend of mine from the video store.”

“How did my dad die?”

“I’ve told you before, honey,” Hannah said. “He died in a car accident a couple of months before you were born.”

Guy nodded. “Oh, yeah.” He was quiet for a while.

Hannah walked a step behind, studying him.

She’d decided while in the hospital, recuperating from the beating Kenneth had given her, that in her new life she’d tell everyone that Guy’s father had died in a car accident. After all, a car crash was the excuse Kenneth had given for how she’d landed in Our Lady of the Sacred Heart Hospital.

The worst part of her hospital stay was the separation from her little boy. Guy was eighteen months old at the time, starting to talk and trying to get around on two feet. Every day was a new adventure for him, and she missed out on that. Hannah whiled away the days in that hospital bed making decisions about a whole new life for Guy and herself.

She had to run away with her son and start fresh someplace else. Seattle came to mind. The TV show
Frasier
was set there, and she watched the reruns every night she was in the hospital. It seemed a good choice, and she didn’t know a soul in Seattle. Total anonymity.

She would need money, of course. Her plan was to make gradual, intermittent withdrawals from their joint account and tuck the cash away. She figured it would take about eight months to save five thousand dollars.

She’d have to change her name, erase her past, and sever all connections. Kenneth and his family weren’t going to let her steal Guy away—not without an extensive search.

The more she planned her escape, the more obstacles she saw. Sometimes it seemed utterly pointless. And there was no one she could confide in. She had people visiting her in the hospital every day: Kenneth (on his best behavior), her in-laws, and Mrs. Woodley’s country-club friends. Nearly everyone on the hospital’s staff seemed to like Hannah, and they were always dropping by her room. People kept sending flowers and cards. She’d never felt so popular—or so alone.

No one wanted to hear what had really happened to land her in that hospital, bruised and broken.

During her last week there, she was starting to eat solid foods again. One afternoon, the Woodleys came with Guy and his nanny, and some of their country-club friends. They made a big deal of wheeling her to the second-floor lounge, where an outside terrace overlooked the park and the lake. Several hospital staff members joined in what turned out to be an unveiling.

From the terrace, they all watched Kenneth, looking very dapper in his blue suit. He waved to them from the street. Then, in a showy gesture, he pulled the parachute-like draping off a new-model red Jetta. Tied around the car was one of those ridiculous large gold bows—the type rich people put around gift cars in TV commercials.

Everyone applauded. Hannah tried to smile. But she was embarrassed. A couple of the nurses with them on the terrace were struggling to support families. Here she was, getting wheeled back and forth from her private room. And her in-laws were giving her an expensive new car to replace the one she was supposed to have smashed up.

Standing beside Hannah—and wheeling her around that afternoon—was a husky, brooding, Latino orderly named Juan. He didn’t applaud with the others. Of all the hospital staff, he was the only one who didn’t seem to like her very much. He was terse and sullen around her. Juan became more talkative when someone speaking Spanish was in their vicinity. Then he’d go on and on in his native tongue, and Hannah figured he was deriding her half the time. She wondered what “rich bitch” sounded like in Spanish.

Kenneth joined them on the terrace. He gave Juan a bottle of champagne to open, then started passing out paper cups. One of the doctors pointed out that it was against hospital regulations to drink on hospital property, but he cited this as a special occasion. Everyone except Juan toasted to Hannah’s remarkable recovery.

The celebration didn’t last long. The doctors and nurses were on duty, and Kenneth and his father had to return to work. Kenneth took her new car. Guy’s nanny announced that it was time for his nap. For a few minutes, Hannah was stuck on the terrace with Juan, her mother-in-law, and a couple of the country-club ladies. They were still talking about the new Jetta.

“Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty vision,” Mrs. Woodley said. “But I wish we’d have given her a nice new car last year, instead of that horrible old hand-me-down.

“I feel partly responsible for Hannah ending up in here,” she went on. “That piece of junk used to be my car. Well, you girls remember. I always had the worst time driving it. Poor Hannah, it’s really not her fault.”

Kenneth’s mother was still going on about it after she and her friends pecked Hannah on the cheek and said good-bye. Hannah sat in her wheelchair and gazed out at the choppy gray water. The sky was turning dark. She listened to Mrs. Woodley talking to her colleagues as they headed inside for the elevator: “I never should have given the old car to Hannah. That automobile had terrible brakes….”

“That automobile also had a mean right hook,” Juan muttered.

Hannah glanced up at him. “Pardon me?”

“It wasn’t the car that put you in here,” Juan growled. “I know, Mrs. Woodley. I know. I don’t blind myself like everyone else around here. I know the truth. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Hannah started to cry. Maybe it was suddenly realizing she wasn’t so alone after all. Juan put his hand on her shoulder. After a minute, he handed her a Kleenex.

“A man who beats his wife doesn’t deserve to live,” he said.

Hannah wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“There was a girl he was seeing about five or six years ago, nice girl, very pretty. He put her in here, too; worked her over with a golf club. The family hushed it up. He’s a son of a bitch, Mrs. Woodley.”

Sniffling, Hannah shrugged. “I can’t leave, not without my son. And my husband and his family aren’t going let me take him.”

“Listen,” Juan whispered. He squatted a little, so he was face-to-face with her. “Working in this place, I’ve gotten to know a lot of people. We have all types coming through the emergency room. I have friends in high—and low—places. I know some guys who will handle it for you. They’ll work cheap, too. That son of a bitch will have a real hard time beating you when he’s in a wheelchair himself.”

“No, I don’t want that. But thanks anyway, Juan. God bless you.” Wiping her eyes one last time, she noticed a flash of lightning over the lake. “Maybe you should take me inside now, okay? I think it’s going to rain.”

Juan let out an audible sigh; then he patted her shoulder again. “Forget I said anything,” he whispered.

He wheeled Hannah back to her room. Neither of them uttered a word. He took her by the arm to help her into bed. Once Hannah settled back and pulled up the sheets, she broke the silence. “Maybe you could help me with something else,” she said. “Maybe you know—from the emergency room or wherever—someone who can make me a few pieces of fake ID?”

A brand-new driver’s license, a Social Security card, and Guy’s new birth certificate would cost twelve hundred dollars. Hannah managed to save the money from three separate savings withdrawals that month after her release from the hospital.

Kenneth didn’t notice. He was hardly around. He spent nearly every weekend sailing, and nearly every night with a young woman named Holly who worked at a florist in town. He wasn’t very discreet about it, either. Kenneth had set up a little love nest for Holly and himself. Hannah had found the canceled rent checks amid their bank statements. She didn’t really care. Holly was welcome to him.

Kenneth was dead to her. It would say as much on Guy’s new birth certificate.
Father: deceased.
Guy’s new name would be James Christopher Doyle. New birthplace: Evanston Hospital in Evanston, Illinois. Same birthday. Hannah’s new name would be Hannah Dean Doyle—after James Dean, and Barney Doyle, a good friend of her dad’s.

Those fake documents were like visas out of some sort of prison state. She was terrified that something would go wrong. She didn’t really know Juan that well. Maybe his contact would leave with her money. Maybe Juan would disappear, and she’d never get out of Green Bay. When he called to say the documents were ready, she wouldn’t allow herself to believe it until they were actually in her hand. She arranged to meet him in the east stairwell of the hospital during one of her follow-up visits to Our Lady of the Sacred Heart.

On the landing between the third and fourth floors, Juan slipped her an envelope. It had Guy’s new birth certificate, an Illinois state driver’s license for Hannah Dean Doyle, and a Social Security card.

Everything looked genuine. Hannah was impressed with the job they’d done. She hugged Juan and started to give him an extra hundred dollars.

“Save it,” Juan said, his voice echoing in the stairwell. “Put it in your escape fund. You can leave a little sooner. I don’t want to see you again, Mrs. Woodley, especially not in here.”

“I’m not that worried. He’s found himself a distraction in town. I hardly ever see him anymore.”

“That could change very soon,” Juan said. “Her name is Holly Speers. She was in here this week, all banged up. They put five stitches in her forehead. She was wired up on cocaine when they admitted her. She claimed she fell against a coffee table.”

Hannah numbly stared at him.

“I think for Holly, the honeymoon’s almost over. Besides, too many people know about them now. The Woodleys will be stepping in pretty soon. Your husband might be coming back to you. So—you keep that extra hundred for travel money, Mrs. Woodley. And get yourself and your little boy out of here as soon as you can.”

Juan’s prediction came true about ten days later. Kenneth started spending his nights at home again. He was on another “good behavior” streak. Hannah figured that his father must have given him a talking-to.

She slept in the guest room, which had more or less become her bedroom. Hannah had no intention of letting him touch her. She wondered how long Kenneth would go before he forced himself on her—or beat her up.

Though she saw it coming, Hannah was still caught off guard when he finally exploded. She was washing the dinner dishes on a Tuesday night. As long as Kenneth was playing the dutiful husband, she’d done the dutiful wife bit and fixed his favorite supper that evening, a special recipe for grilled halibut and baby potatoes. He’d stuffed himself. Now he was in the den, watching TV and looking after Guy. All was quiet, except for the slightly muted television. Then Hannah heard him.

“Goddamn it!” he shouted.

She heard a smack; then Guy shrieking. Hannah dropped a wineglass, and it smashed in the sink. She didn’t even turn off the water. She just ran toward the den.

“You want another?” Kenneth was yelling. Hannah had heard that question too often at the start of a beating.

She stopped in the doorway to his den for a second, long enough to see what was happening. Her son was on the floor, crying. Standing over him, Kenneth had one hand raised. In the other hand, he held an expensive miniature model of his yacht. Kenneth cherished the stupid thing. Guy must have started playing with it, which was a no-no.

“Did you hit him?” Hannah asked, her voice shrill.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She lunged at Kenneth and started beating him in the face. She was like a crazy woman. She didn’t let up until he hauled back and knocked her to the floor. All the while, Guy was screaming.

“Fucking bitch!” Kenneth growled.

Blinking, she stared up at him. He had his hand to his face. Blood streamed from his nose down the front of his shirt. Hannah didn’t even realize she’d done that to him. His prized model yacht had fallen out of his grasp and now lay broken by his feet.

“You’re dead,” Kenneth muttered. Then he stomped out of the room.

Hannah quickly gathered Guy in her arms, grabbed her purse, then hurried out the front door. Taking her new Jetta, she drove to a Holiday Inn Express on the edge of town. She parked the car in back so no one could see it from the highway. At the 7-Eleven next door, she bought a box of Huggies and some toiletries.

And so Guy spent his first night in a motel. Hannah hardly slept. She was so certain that she’d wake up to the phone ringing—or Kenneth pounding on the door.

In the morning, she drove back to the house. Not seeing his car in the driveway, she figured it was safe to go inside. She started collecting the essentials: everything from the fake documents, to a stuffed giraffe that Guy couldn’t live without.

It took her ninety minutes to pack four suitcases and load up the car. All the while, she worried that Kenneth would come home and find them. She hated leaving behind certain items: an old clock and a few other knickknacks that had been in her family forever, certain books and CDs, a couple of photo albums. She had to say good-bye forever to these mementos, and move on.

Her heart sank when she stepped into the Savings and Loan. There was a line; about a dozen people. Guy began to fuss and cry, attracting the attention of everyone in the place—including a friend of her mother-in-law’s. Of course, the woman came up to her and chatted on for a few minutes. Hannah could only pretend to listen. Every second was grueling.

At the teller window, Hannah filled out a savings withdrawal slip for eight thousand dollars. By the time she left the bank, Guy was screaming in her arms, and she was soaked with perspiration.

They drove to Milwaukee, where she sold the Jetta at an upscale used-car lot for twelve thousand dollars. She and Guy took a bus to Minneapolis. He cried most of the way. In her effort to keep a low profile, Guy wasn’t helping. No doubt all the other passengers utterly despised the two of them.