"Hannah?" Amondaur said in concern as he rose to greet her.

She couldn't speak for a moment. Then an ugly look came over her face.

"You son of a bitch!" she finally managed. "You were lying the whole time! Just putting it on! What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Hannah? I cannot understand you," Amondaur said gently, concern written all over his face. Hannah felt a strong urge to hit him.

"Oh, don't go pulling that crap with me," she said, disgusted. "You understand me perfectly well. Did you think you were going to convince anybody that you really were from Middle-earth—just to kick up a lark? Well you failed. Nobody believes you. I think you're nuts."

"Hannah, what is it?" he asked again, slowly approaching.

"You stay back!" She was shouting now. "Keep your filthy hands off of me! Oh, you make me sick!"

Tears rose in Hannah's eyes, but she couldn't let Amondaur—or whoever he really was—see them. Without another word, she turned and ran blindly from the room, heading for the nearest exit. She could hear Mark behind her yelling angrily, "Hannah? Hannah, where are you going?"

The nearest door was to the courtyard, and Hannah burst out of it and into the dark like all the demons of hell were after her. She fled unthinking down one of the gravel paths, and collapsed onto a bench, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed. The gravel crunched under Mark's feet as he ran after her.

"Hannah!" He sounded angry, and now he seemed to have caught up with her. "Hannah, what in God's name—" He cut himself off, seeing that she was crying. She turned her head away and tried to quiet herself, but it didn't work.

"Hannah, what's the matter?" he asked in a much gentler and more worried tone. She shook her head. He hesitated a moment, then came and sat beside her. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

Hannah gulped and tried furiously to wipe the tears off her face, not looking at him. "I used to love Lord of the Rings," she said, the words tumbling out before she even thought about it.

"What?"

"When I was a kid," she clarified, her voice hindered by sobs. "I found the books when I was about thirteen, and I was instantly hooked." She tried to smile, and failed. "I became completely obsessed with them. I'm sure my parents got sick of hearing about it after awhile. I read all of Tolkien's works, his biography, his letters… Hell, I even learned Elvish!" she said, trying desperately for a little comedy. It only made the tears come hotter and faster. "My favorite part of the books is when Gandalf comes back to life. You know, he meets Legolas and Aragorn and Gimli in Fangorn Forest, and Legolas shouts for joy and shoots an arrow into the sky… My sister used to make fun of me."

"Your sister?" Mark sounded confused.

Hannah nodded. "Grace. She was two years older than me. It used to make me mad that my parents named me Hannah, because it means Grace. It was like they were naming me after her. She used to tease me and say that if I said the word 'Elf' one more time, she was going to curse me, and I'd wake up one morning with pointy ears. God." She paused for a moment, and suddenly stopped crying in shock. "I haven't said her name in over a year."

Mark looked very concerned, and gently put his arm around Hannah's shoulders. She didn't shake him off. In a moment, she continued.

"One weekend, when I was in tenth grade and my sister was a senior, Grace went to a football game." Hannah's voice was perfectly level and calm now; she felt like she was listening to someone else speak.. "On the way home, she fell asleep at the wheel and veered into oncoming traffic. She had a head-on collision with a pickup truck and was killed instantly. She had to have a closed-casket funeral." She stopped again, unsure how to go on.

"I'm sorry," Mark said, sounding sincere.

Hannah shook her head, and felt the sobs rising back in her throat. She tried to choke them back, with imperfect success.

"Once the initial shock was over, I started thinking. Gandalf rose from the dead in the books, and Lúthien sang so beautifully that Mandos let Beren go. I knew that was fiction, but still… And my parents raised us Christian, and didn't Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead?

"I spent hours every night praying that God would let Grace come back to life. I prayed so hard, I woke up every morning expecting to see her come walking in the door. I dreamed about her at night. But nothing happened, and I started getting angry. If God let Lazarus come back from the dead and be with his sisters, why couldn't he let Grace? Grace loved God, why didn't God love her enough to give her back to us? Why didn't God love us enough?"

Her expression darkened. "And then one day, I picked up Lord of the Rings for the first time since Grace's death, and I flipped open The Two Towers, and of course the book fell open to my favorite passage, where Gandalf comes back to life." Her brows lowered, and she set her mouth in a thin, angry line.

"And I just ripped the books up," she said coldly, her voice shaking. "I took my entire Tolkien collection out into the woods, ripped them up, and burned them."

Hot tears of fury and grief began to run down her face again. "It was just a pack of lies, all of it. Beren didn't come back from the dead. Gandalf didn't come back from the dead. Lazarus didn't come back from the dead. People don't come back to life." She was sobbing now, and she couldn't seem to stop. "Death is not dramatic, and it's not glorious, and it's not even momentous. It's just a gap you can't see. My sister went to a football game one night and I never saw her again. That's all." She was crying in earnest now, and she vaguely felt Mark putting his arms around her. "I hate Tolkien, and I hate God! How could he do that? Why did he love Mary and Martha more than he loved me? They got Lazarus back. Why couldn't I get Grace back? She was all I wanted, all I asked for. But no one gets up after death. All that was left of her was her empty room and her unfinished homework on the bed and the green shirt of hers that I'd borrowed the day before, laying in the bottom of my hamper."

She was babbling, and she knew it, but she couldn't stop, even though the sobs that made her voice jump so horribly threatened to choke her. "And Amondaur almost made me believe it was all true, all over again! But it's not! It's not true, and it'll never be true. I'll never get her back. She didn't see me graduate and she won't be the maid of honor in my wedding and I won't get to meet any more of her boyfriends or hold her first baby!" The tears caught in her throat, and she started to cough. Mark rubbed her back and murmured, and she finally gave in and just let herself cry, like she hadn't cried in years.

When her sobs had finally run out, she just sat there and leaned into Mark in total exhaustion. "I thought Amondaur was telling the truth. And if he was from Middle-earth, then Middle-earth was real, and the Valar was real, and God was real, and Beren and Gandalf really did come back to life…" she whispered hoarsely. "But Amondaur's a fraud. He's just acting. This is what happens to wishful thinking. You get your hopes up, and then they only get dashed. I should've known," she said bitterly. "I should've known better than to believe something to patently impossible."

They were both silent for a long time after that, sitting motionless on the courtyard bench beneath the pole light. Finally, Hannah shifted and moved away, and Mark let her go. Hannah felt vaguely embarrassed, but she was too tired to care what he thought of her right now. His expression showed only concern.

"You believed Amondaur was telling the truth?" he said quietly.

She nodded, not looking at him.

"What made you change your mind?"

"I forgot my purse, so I went back to his room to get it. I surprised him reading a magazine, and he put it down immediately. But I saw the cover. He's a medieval re-enactor."

Mark was quiet for a long time. Finally Hannah regained some courage and looked up at him. There was an odd expression on his face.

"Hannah," he said slowly, "I gave him that magazine."

"What?"

"I found it at my one friend's house, and he let me have it. I gave it to Amondaur because I thought he'd like looking at the pictures. I often get used magazines to give to patients."

Hannah looked at him blankly. "Then why did he put it down so fast when I came in?"

"I think it's just courtesy," Mark answered. "I got him other magazines to look at before, and he always puts them down immediately when people come in the room."

Hannah suddenly remembered seeing Amondaur flipping through a magazine the day she had taken him out to the park. Now that she thought about it, he had put that one down quickly, too. She thought at the time that he was just excited. Maybe he was only being polite.

Hannah passed her hand over her face. "I chewed him out in English," she said heavily. "Oh God, I feel awful. I should apologize."

Mark stood up. "Why don't you apologize tomorrow, when you're feeling more yourself?" he suggested kindly. "I can make an explanation for you tonight."

Hannah nodded and stood. "That'd probably be good. I'm sorry I've caused so much trouble."

Mark shook his head. "You were overwrought. It could happen to anyone. Come on, I'll drive you back to your dorm."

Hannah didn't object to this plan. She hadn't relished the idea of walking back through town with her face all splotchy from crying.

000

Hannah waited in Mark's office while Mark went to Amondaur's room to fetch her purse and make an excuse from her, and then Mark drove her home.

He stopped his car in front of her dorm.

"Thanks," she said, getting out of the car. "For everything."

"No problem. Are you sure you're gonna be alright?"

Hannah nodded and managed a tight grin. "Yeah. I'll live."

She moved to shut the door, but Mark stopped her. "Wait a second," he said, and rummaged around for a pencil and a scrap of paper. "Here's my cell number," he said, handing it to her. "If you ever need to talk, day or night, give me a call."

Hannah nodded and stuck it in her pocket. "Thanks." She actually managed to smile. "Really. Thank you."

"My pleasure." Mark smiled back.

Hannah shut the car door and walked away. Once she was in the door, she heard Mark pull away from the curb and drive away.

If she was lucky, Erica would be at the fitness center, working out. She could just get in the room and go to bed, and no one would ask her any questions.

As she walked down the hall, Hannah absently pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket and turned it over and over in her hands.

TBC

AN: You cannot imagine how shocked and thrilled I was this morning to open my inbox and see so many reviews! the way to start a new year!

When Hannah called death "A gap you can't see", she was quoting Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard, the same piece from which the title comes.

crazeeI: The end of your review appears to have been cut off.

JaffeeLeeds: lol I hear ya! And you shall see how I handle the relationship in the end. I think you'll be pleased. :)

Please review! Once again, happy New Year!