Dark Witness Read Free

I only hear her voice.
    The scars on my arms swell as if blood is pumping through them but that's impossible. None of them are new. There is no life in that ugly little map of mutilations on my forearms, but the fear is alive, writhing, and its tentacles are deep. I push out a hand, my fingers crunch into my palm. My nails are short now, but they still bite into my skin as they keep time with the numbers flashing behind my eyes. I am so afraid I can't speak. Funny that a slamming door can do me in when Gjergy Isai and the old judge, Fritz Rayburn, should have been far more frightening. Maybe they weren't as scary as this because I could see them coming. Suddenly, Billy is beside me, a young man wrapped in a ball of yellow fleece.
    "I got you, Hannah." It's true. He has my hand. He squeezes it. I'm not real happy he's done this, but for now it's all good. "It's okay. Dude, it's okay."
    I laugh because he calls me dude, because he comforts me in the same voice he uses to talk about everything. That voice is tinged with awe and sweet faith. Some things never change. Even though we can't see each other, I know he's smiling because my laugh is a relief to him. It means that I am not mad at him, and I am okay. As long as I'm okay, so is he.
    The truck starts up with a deep rumble of an engine that sounds out of whack. We lose our balance, drop to our knees, and crawl to the side of the container. We laugh as the floor pops under us like metallic bubble wrap and then scramble between stacks of boxes to settle in. The cardboard will steady us and help us stay warm. The container lurches and shakes a little. The cargo is strapped; it's the truck that is unsteady. I wonder if the bumper has one of those 'how am I driving?' stickers on the back and if someone will report this guy. I hope not because we are on the road again, and we need to get to the end of the world. I don't know where that is, but I think we're pretty close to it in Alaska.
    I am so deep in thought that I jump when Billy touches my head. Being touched gently in the dark like that always feels creepy. Someday, maybe, there will be someone I love and I'll welcome the touch that comes out of nowhere, but now I duck away. Billy doesn't take offense. He just stays on his own track.
    "Cutting your hair was massive, Hannah. Really. It was awesome."
    I smile even though I've heard this almost every night before he sleeps. What he really means is that he misses the Hannah he knew. The one with style, with a diamond pierced through her nose and a stutter of gold rings through her ears. He doesn't know this Hannah, the girl with the halo of kink and curls, dyed blond with a box of Clairol swiped from a sale table in front of a beauty supply shop back in Sanger. It was too dangerous to go in to pay for it when we were that close to home. I left a few dollars. I hope the girl from the counter found it. I touch the scrub of hair on my head and say the same thing I say every night:
    "Yeah, I guess."
    I don't point out that we've both changed. Billy's hair has grown past his shoulders and he parts it in the middle or pulls it back in a ponytail. It is beautiful, straight and sandy brown instead of beach-bleached white. I don't think he misses the beach after what he's been through but strangely I do. It was never the ocean that bugged me anyway; it was the people living near it who made me crazy. They were so happy. I've never been real comfortable with happy when it skims the top of a person and doesn't sink further than a white-toothed smile. That kind of happy is like the froth on a latte; deceptively sweet and easily overpowered by the bitter drink beneath.
    Thinking of Hermosa brings hot tears to my eyes, but I'm more angry than sad. Life isn't fair, and I'm so done with that. It's time for life to at least give me and Billy an honest-to-God break. I put my head on the floor, curl into the boxes on my side, and close my eyes.
    "We should try to get some rest," I say.
    "You look