“It could be a coincidence,” I’d said.

Regina had shaken her head. “He was the oldest of his siblings, and he resented them. Thought they took attention away from him. He told me that he hated having to share space with a bunch of toddlers...”

“What are you saying?”

She’d just stared at me like she expected me to get it and then she’d finally said, “I think he’s going to do the same thing to this other girl, Hannah. We have to stop him. I need a few days to find out where she is.”

   THIRTY-FOUR

Regina sends me an address in the Pearl District and I punch it into my phone as I wait at the light to turn onto 5. I can feel my heart beating; it feels like it’s lodged in my throat. I try to quell the panic rising in my chest. I have to hurry. I have to help Hannah. I’d only ever been to the Pearl District in passing, driving through what was once the warehouse district, now known for its art galleries and upscale residences. Seth and I had eaten lunch there at a restaurant that sat on the Willamette River, sucking oysters from their shells, and then held hands as we walked back to our car. It was a perfect day. Not long after, I’d found out I was pregnant, and wondered if our baby had been conceived that night under the crisp hotel sheets.

I make a few necessary calls as I drive, my voice calm despite the level of mania I’m feeling on the inside. I’d tried calling Regina after she sent the text, but my call had gone straight to voice mail. She will be there, I tell myself. We’re working as a team. Something lingers in the back of my mind but I push it away. She’s all I have and I’m going to have to trust her. I’m jittery through the drive, leaning forward in my seat and talking to the cars that get in my way. Was Hannah all right or was Seth keeping her prisoner? Will she be relieved to see me or act like she doesn’t know who I am?

It’s all so unsettling, the type of wandering thoughts that could make you question your own sanity. I’ve certainly done enough of that in the last weeks. I push down on the accelerator and my car lurches forward, almost rear-ending a truck. I ride his bumper until he moves out of the fast lane. He gives me the finger as I speed by, yelling something into the wind. I ignore him and move on to the next car, almost slamming into the back of it, too. This continues for several miles until I see the flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror; the brief shrill of the siren sounds behind me, and I’m forced to move over two lanes to reach the shoulder. I wait for the officer to walk up to my window, my stomach clenching in knots.

“Ma’am, license and registration, please.”

I’m ready. I pass them through the window, willing him to look into my eyes. He does, though I can’t see his hidden behind reflective glasses—the type you see the police wear in movies. He disappears back to his cruiser, my paper held in his hand. After a few minutes he comes back.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“I was speeding,” I say without hesitation.

His face doesn’t betray anything; he stares from behind his glasses, stony and expectant.

“I’m late. My fault, I totally deserve a ticket.”

Still nothing. I tap my finger on the wheel, wishing he’d hurry up and get on with things. He hands me my papers.

“Be more careful next time.”

That’s all? I look at his badge: Officer Morales.

“Um...thank you,” I say.

“You’re all set,” he says. “Have a good one.”

It takes me ten minutes to merge back onto the highway, my heart still ringing in my chest. But once I am on my way I almost feel good—better than I had before. I ease up on the gas and follow behind a semi, keeping to the speed limit this time.

I cross the bridge into the city just as the sun is making its descent. Warm orange light illuminates the buildings, and for a moment, I get the impression that it’s summer—a long time from now. This is all sorted out, a big misunderstanding, and my life is back to normal. The feeling is so powerful that I have to fight it back, push it away. A woman’s greatest foe is sometimes her hope that she’s imagined it all. That she herself is crazy rather than the circumstances of her life. Funny the emotional responsibility a woman is willing to take on just to maintain an illusion. I think about what it feels like outside: the air cold enough to show my breath. My life a twisted, frightening mess of deceit, my mind easily beguiled...that’s my lesson as of late: things are not always what they seem. I shake off the last of the feeling, my resolve returning as I drive off the bridge and turn into the bustle of downtown Portland. Seth and his little harem. I’d checked my bank account before I left and found a pattern of cash withdrawals: two a week for the past six months. How had I not noticed before? Seth was syphoning money from my account to pay Regina back. I wonder if she knows where he’s getting the money from, if it would have made a difference? He is going to answer for all of it. I push down on the gas pedal.

My GPS directs me to a building that is still under construction. Condominiums, four floors of them, brand new; there are signs along the street advertising their prices. Visit Our Sales Office! The west side is inhabited, while scaffolding still hangs on to the east side, plastic sheets covering the empty units that have yet to get their walls. I park and hesitantly step out. How could Seth afford this for Hannah while Regina lives in that dump? He was still trying to impress Hannah, I think. He’d have made a way to give his pregnant wife security. I call Regina as I stand next to my car, but it goes straight to her voice mail. I leave a message, my voice shaking.

“Regina... I’m here at Hannah’s... I was hoping you’d be here... I’m going in. I just... I have to stop what’s happening...” I hang up before I start to cry.

The doors into the building don’t require a card for entry like mine does. The whole process of getting to Hannah’s floor is relatively easy due to the lax rules surrounding the construction. I look at a laminated map of the building taped to the lobby wall and find that her unit is located on the second floor. As the elevator climbs upward, I reach behind me, lightly touching the cold metal of the 9mm. I’d moved it from my purse to the waistband of my pants before I got out of the car.

I have no idea what Seth’s state of mind is, how he’ll react to me being here. He’s sick, a sort of serial baby abortionist, ending his own children’s lives by endangering the lives of his multiple wives. God, what is wrong with me, getting caught up in all of this? What I do remember is the look on his face that afternoon I attacked him, the cruel coldness I saw right before I blacked out. And blacked out is too general of a description. I am sure he wrestled me to the ground, slammed my head against the kitchen floor, but my memory is shifty.

My heart is racing as I step off the elevator and onto Hannah’s floor. Will Seth be with her or will she be alone? Her door is the farthest from the elevator. Will anyone hear me if something goes wrong? I pause halfway down the hallway, placing my hand on the wall, as I take a few deep breaths. Then I surge forward, walking faster than I normally would.