Author's notes: it was so lovely to get so many reviews for my second chapter. It was a record for a nicfic, ( for me anyway). So thank you to Mossib., Rosepeony, MissDonnie, Tiaceleya, stj, laubelle88 and DSPallas. Rosepeony pointed out to me the similarity between Hannah's background and Lisbon's. That was purely accidental but fitting for this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Nick sat patiently for ten minutes before Hannah looked at him directly. He'd watched her taking furtive glances but avoided showing his recognition of such. He kept his stance relaxed and none threatening. He smiled softly at her.
"Hi. "
She quickly looks away but looks again a few seconds later. This time Nick doesn't say anything allowing her to study him and come to a judgement. He's hopeful as she looks at him for a long time. When she finally speaks, her question takes him by surprise.
"Do you like carrots?
Her voice is soft and trembling, her eyes, which are the deepest blue colour Nick had ever seen, are earnest. Although he doesn't understand the question, he has the feeling it's significant to the child. He shakes his head.
"No I don't. "
The answer seems to please her as a smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. Nick tries a question of his own.
" Do you like carrots? "
Hannah shakes her head and tears shine in her eyes, giving them the appearance of pools and one drops on to her cheek. Nick looks down at his feet, berating himself for saying the wrong thing. He looks up when the girl speaks once more ., the sadness in her face tearing at Nick 's heart.
"Daddy said I should eat carrots, I tried but they wouldn't go down. I tried real hard. "
Realisation comes to Nick and he leans closer to the bed.
" Is that why your Daddy put you in the closet? "
The girl looks at him with tears slowly falling, for a long time, and Nick doesn't think she's going to answer but then she nods her head.
" Has he done it before Hannah? Has he locked you in the closet before? "
She nods her head and brings her hand up to wipe her face. Her wrist is heavily bandage. Nick's reaching into his pocket and takes out a white handkerchief, offering it to her when she doesn't move her hand, he moves it closer.
" Use it to wipe your eyes, it'll work better than your hand."
He waves it softly and after a moment she takes it. He watches while she runs it over her eyes and offers it back. Nick shakes his head.
"It's okay, you keep it, I have another one. "
He digs into his right pants pocket and shows her another one. She draws back her hand and rests it on the covers, keeping hold of the handkerchief . she gives him a watery smile.
" Is it all right if I come closer? "
She nods her head and Nick moves his chair so he's sitting beside her.
" I'm your lawyer. It's my job to look after. Laurie Solt, the lady who was with me, will be finding you a place to stay, once you leave the hospital. It's my job to make sure it's safe and a good place for you and that you're happy. "
Nick looks up as he hears the door open and a nurse steps in.
"Visiting hours are over, and this little girl needs her sleep. You can come back later."
Nick nods his head and looks back at Hannah.
"I have to go and they want you to sleep some more. I'll be back later. Okay?"
Hannah gives him a watery smile and reaches out her hand to him. He takes it, not knowing what she wants. She gives it a squeeze and then lets go. He smiles at her and at the nurse and walks to the door. He takes one last look back, to find that she's followed his progress. He smiles once more and assures her of his return.
He takes out her file as he strides down the hallway and checks the her address. At the car he calls the lead detective and gets permission to enter the home and then heads. He pulls up in a nice neighbourhood, the crime scene tape and the uniformed officer standing by the door seem out of place. As he gets closer to the house, he can see that it's been neglected, he surmises since the death of the wife. Weeds are choking the flowers that line the dead lawn and the light blue paint on the front door's chipped and dirty. The officer unlocks the door for him and Nick steps into the hallway. There's a pile of mail overflowing on the hall table, he picks some of it up. The envelopes are dated a month ago and all unopened. Looking at the rest it seems they're all the same way. He moves into the living room, which has clothes and beer cans strewn about the place, too many to count. On the wall over a large fireplace are photos of happier times. Mother, Father and daughter. There are a few photos of Hannah in various stages of development. Also a picture of a young and in love couple on a boat called 'The Tide'. By the rice in the woman's hair, he guesses they were leaving on their honeymoon. The most current picture of Hannah looks like from the year before, a feeling of sadness descends on Nick. The happy girl who's smiling into the face of her father is a long way from the frightened sad girl he just left in the hospital bed.
He next enters the kitchen, and has to suppress a gag reflex from the smell that assaults his nose. It's in a worse state than the living room, he doubts there's a clean dish in the cupboards and most of the plates have rotting food on them. On the table set off in a corner is a plate with rotting carrots on it. Next to the table is a cupboard, it has a the fixings to put a padlock on it and he walks over to inspect it further. With the crime scene powder all over it he figures it's the closet Hannah was imprisoned in. It about three feet wide and two feet deep, there's a vacuum and old oil cans piled on the floor. There's a place in the corner where Hannah could have fitted. He peers at the ceiling and there's no light. She'd been kept in the dark, Nick can only imagine how scared she must have been. He's had enough of this place that feels oppressive, certainly not a place for a young girl to grow up in. In the living room he takes another look at the man who treated his daughter so poorly. He didn't look like a monster, but he certainly became one. As he looks at the beer cans, he can guess what's partly to blame.