Episode 5: Centrellus, Chapters 10-11

Centrellus by Ray Kross

Chapter 10: Echoes of Celebration (Hannah’s Story)

One

The biting December wind whipped across the parking lot of the McClure Motel, carrying with it the scent of woodsmoke and the distant hum of holiday carols. Hannah, now a twenty-one year old senior at Edinboro University, pulled her old Volvo into a space beside the office, the engine sighing in relief as she turned the key. A string of multicolored Christmas lights, slightly crooked and charmingly haphazard, outlined the motel’s facade, casting a warm, inviting glow against the encroaching darkness.

She stepped out of the car, the cold air instantly nipping at her cheeks. A half-hearted smile tugged at her lips as she surveyed the familiar sight. Home. Even with its slightly peeling paint and the neon sign that flickered intermittently, it was a comforting beacon in the winter landscape.

Inside the small office, the air was thick with the aroma of pine and cinnamon. Carl, her father, stood behind the check-in counter, his weathered hands polishing a brass bell. He looked up, his face breaking into a wide grin.

“Hannah girl!” he boomed, his voice rough but warm. “You made it through that snow.”

“Daddy,” Hannah replied, her voice softening. She crossed the room and hugged him tightly. “It wasn’t too bad. Just glad to be here.”

Carl held her at arm’s length, his eyes searching her face. “You look a little…tired.”

Hannah shrugged, forcing a smile. “Just college stuff. You know.”

He didn’t press, but his gaze lingered, a silent question hanging in the air.

“Where’s Carrie?” Hannah asked, changing the subject.

“She’s in the apartment, putting the finishing touches on dinner,” Carl replied, his voice laced with pride. “She and Keith are excited to see you.”

Hannah’s smile finally reached her eyes. “Good. I’m excited to see them too.”

As she walked towards the apartment behind the office, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drifted through the thin walls. Inside, the apartment was a riot of Christmas cheer. A small, but vibrant Christmas tree stood in the corner, adorned with handmade ornaments and twinkling lights. Carrie, her sister, was bustling around the small kitchen, her cheeks flushed with warmth. Keith, Carrie’s husband, was leaning against the counter, nursing a glass of eggnog.

“Hannah!” Carrie exclaimed, abandoning the stove to embrace her sister. “You’re here! It feels like forever.”

“It’s only been a few weeks, dork,” Hannah chuckled, returning the hug.

“Feels like months,” Carrie countered, pulling back to study Hannah’s face. “You look…a little down. What’s wrong?”

Keith, ever the peacemaker, spoke up. “Leave her alone, Car. She probably just had a long drive.”

Carrie shot him a playful glare before turning back to Hannah. “Well, whatever it is, we’ve got Christmas cheer to fix it! Eggnog?”

Hannah hesitated, then nodded. “Please.”

As she accepted the drink, the warmth of the apartment and the love of her family began to melt away the chill that had settled in her bones. But beneath the surface, a familiar ache lingered, a reminder of the loneliness she carried with her from Edinboro.

Two

The small dining table in Carl and Valerie’s apartment was laden with a feast of Christmas Eve traditions. A golden-brown ham sat at the center, surrounded by bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, bright green beans, and a colorful array of salads. The air crackled with the warmth of the oven and the mingled scents of savory food and sweet spices.

Carrie, ever the hostess, flitted around the table like a sparrow. She adjusted forks that were already straight and topped off glasses of sparkling cider that were still full. Her laughter was a bright, determined sound, but it rang a little too loud in the small room, bouncing off the heavy quiet that Hannah had carried in with her like a suitcase.

Keith watched his wife’s nervous energy with a patient smile. He raised his glass, the cider catching the light from the tinsel-draped lamp. “To family,” he said, his voice a warm, solid rumble. “And to being together.”

“Hear, hear,” Carl added, his voice gravelly. He didn’t raise his glass. Instead, his big, work-roughened hand found Valerie’s on the tablecloth, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her knuckles. His gaze kept drifting to her face, not with pity, but with a fierce, helpless vigilance.

Valerie sat at the head of the table, propped slightly by a cushion. The chemo had stolen the color from her face, leaving her skin pale and translucent, a map of faint blue veins. A soft, patterned scarf covered her head. She moved with a deliberate care, as if her bones were made of old glass. But her eyes—those were still Valerie’s. They held a spark of wry, undimmed joy. A faint sheen of sweat glossed her upper lip, but her smile was real.

“To my people,” she said, her voice thinner than it used to be, but clear. “My noisy, wonderful people.”

Hannah watched them, a hot, sudden lump tightening her throat. The love in the room was a net, holding them all aloft over a dark chasm. It was the way Keith’s hand found the small of Carrie’s back to steady her flitting. It was the raw fear in her father’s eyes when he thought no one was looking. It was the monumental effort in her mother’s every gesture. It was a love etched with exhaustion, and it made the hollow ache in Hannah’s own chest feel shamefully small.

Carrie nudged her with an elbow. “Hey. You’re zoning out on us. Pass the beans before they congeal into a science experiment.”

Hannah blinked, forcing her face into a smile that felt like a crack in plaster. “Sorry. Just… taking it all in.”

“Take in the ham, then,” Carl grunted, carving a slice with more force than necessary. Grease spattered the tablecloth.

The conversation started, a fragile vessel launched on choppy water. Carl told a story about a guest who’d tried to pay his motel bill in collectible baseball cards, his voice finding its old rhythm for a moment. Carrie and Keith teased each other—Keith about her driving, Carrie about his obsession with the Weather Channel—their banter a familiar, comforting script.

Valerie listened, her head tilted, a gentle smile playing on her lips. Her eyes moved from face to face, cataloging them. When they landed on Hannah, they held a different message. Not just love, but a deep, knowing recognition. *I see your hurt,* that look said. *And I wish I had the strength to carry it for you.*

Hannah tried to laugh at the right moments, to chew and swallow the food that tasted like paste. The contrast wasn’t just between her loneliness and their love. It was between the sheer, desperate *life* of them—fighting, laughing, clinging to each other—and the cold, dead feeling inside her where Chad had been. It was unbearable.

Carrie, whose intuition was a sharp, sisterly knife, didn’t let it lie. She put her fork down with a soft *clink*. “Alright, Hannah. Spill. You’ve been moping since you got here. What did Chad do?”

The name hung in the air, ugly and out of place. Hannah’s own fork slipped, clattering against her plate with a sound like a bell tolling.

“We’re not together anymore,” she said to her potatoes.

“What?” Carrie’s voice lost its playful edge. “Since when? You didn’t say anything!”

“A week ago.” Hannah kept her eyes down. “It’s done.”

The table went quiet. The only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator and the distant, tinny chorus of “Jingle Bell Rock” from the living room TV.

Valerie didn’t gasp or ask for details. She simply reached her hand across the table. Her fingers were cool, the skin papery, but her grip was firm. She waited until Hannah finally looked up.

“Oh, my girl,” Valerie said, and her voice was pure compassion, undiluted by her own suffering. “That’s a heavy thing to be carrying.”

That did it. The careful dam Hannah had built crumbled. A single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path through the makeup she’d applied to look “fine” for Christmas. “It just… it really sucks, Mom.”

Valerie squeezed her hand. “I know it does. It’s supposed to suck. It means it mattered.” She offered a weak but genuine smile. “And you know what? His loss. Now pass me those damn beans before your sister has a conniption.”

The fragile laughter that returned was softer, wiser. The conversation slowly stuttered back to life, skirting the fresh crater in the middle of the table. The love was still there, the net still held. But it felt heavier now, weighted with a new, shared understanding of how quickly things could break. Hannah held her mother’s gaze for a long moment, drawing strength from the raw, beautiful, frayed reality of her family.

Three

The living room of Carl and Valerie’s apartment was a cozy haven, the soft glow of the Christmas tree casting dancing shadows on the walls. Wrapping paper lay scattered across the floor, evidence of the gift exchange that was now winding down. It was just Carrie and Keith on the couch, their heads close together as they whispered and laughed, and Hannah in the armchair, a little detached from their easy camaraderie. Valerie had excused herself early, fatigue catching up with her, and Carl had gone to tend to a late-arriving guest at the motel.

Carrie, perched on the edge of the sofa, held up a hand-knitted scarf, its colors a vibrant swirl of blues and greens. “Oh, Hannah, this is beautiful!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. “You made this?”

Hannah nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. It took me forever.”

“Well, it was worth it,” Carrie said, draping the scarf around her neck. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Hannah replied, her gaze softening.

Carrie set the scarf aside and reached for another gift, a small, elegantly wrapped box. “Okay, this one’s from Keith and me. Open it carefully.”

Hannah obliged, her fingers gently tearing away the paper. Inside, nestled in a bed of velvet, was a delicate silver necklace, a single, shimmering pearl hanging from its center.

“Oh, Carrie, it’s gorgeous,” Hannah breathed, her voice filled with awe.

“We thought you could use a little…sparkle,” Carrie said, her eyes meeting Hannah’s. There was a knowing look in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the pain Hannah was carrying.

“Thank you,” Hannah said, her voice thick with emotion. She reached out and hugged Carrie tightly. “You guys are the best.”

Carrie returned the hug, her embrace warm and comforting. “We just want you to be happy, Han. You deserve it.”

They pulled apart, and Carrie turned to Keith. “Babe, can you go check on my dad?” she said, leaning in to kiss him. “I think Hannah and I need a little girl time.”

Keith, ever the observant husband, caught the look between the sisters. He gave Hannah a small, understanding nod. “Gonna go check on Carl,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You two holler if you need anything.” He squeezed Carrie’s shoulder as he passed, leaving them alone in the living room with the twinkling lights and the ghost of the uneaten ham.

The silence after he left was different. Thicker. The kind of quiet that demanded truth.

Carrie tucked her feet under herself on the sofa, pulling an afghan over her lap. She didn’t look at Hannah right away, just stared at the dying embers in the fireplace. “Alright,” she said finally, her voice losing its hostess-brightness, settling into something lower, more real. “Spill the real s**t. None of that ‘we wanted different things’ b******t you fed Mom and Dad. What did that a*****e do?”

Hannah let out a long, shaky breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She sank back into the worn armchair, its floral pattern scratching familiarly against her neck. “Do we have to do this now? Can’t I just be sad and drink your cheap eggnog in peace?”

“No,” Carrie said, turning to look at her. Her eyes were sharp, no-nonsense. “You moped through dinner. You get one night to wallow, and then we dissect the corpse. So talk.”

A brittle laugh escaped Hannah. “Fine. Jesus.” She ran a hand through her hair. “It wasn’t one thing, Car. It was… a vibe. A really shitty, creeping vibe.”

“What kind of vibe?”

“Like I was becoming a project. An accessory that wasn’t sparkly enough.” Hannah’s voice dropped, laced with a disgust she hadn’t fully voiced before. “He kept pushing. To go to more parties. To be more… ‘adventurous.’”

“Adventurous isn’t always bad,” Carrie said carefully, playing devil’s advocate. “Maybe he just wanted to get out of the dorm-room rut.”

“It wasn’t about going to a new bar, Carrie.” Hannah’s gaze fixed on a point on the carpet. Her voice went flat. “It was about the people *at* the parties. This one couple, from his frat… He’d get drunk and start in about how ‘open-minded’ they were. How they ‘shared experiences.’ It was all f*****g code.”

Carrie went very still. The fire crackled. “Code for what?”

Hannah looked up, her face flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. “For swapping. For… group s**t. He thought it was ‘sophisticated.’ He’d say s**t like, ‘Don’t be such a prude, Hannah. Everyone’s doing it.’” She mimicked his condescending tone perfectly. “It made my skin crawl. I’d say no, and he’d get all pissy and distant for days, like *I* was the one being unreasonable. Like I was boring him to death.”

“Oh, *hell* no,” Carrie breathed, the protective big-sister fury igniting in her eyes. “That slimy, wannabe-frat-boy motherfucker.”

“Yeah.” The affirmation was a relief. “And it wasn’t just that. It was the pressure. Constant, low-grade pressure to be someone I’m not. To be this… cool, detached, party-girl sex kitten who was up for anything. I’m not that. I don’t *want* to be that. I just felt gross all the time. And lonely. Which is maybe the stupidest part—feeling lonely while you’re sharing a bed with someone.”

Carrie was silent for a long moment. “You know what that makes him?” she asked finally, her voice quiet and deadly serious. “That doesn’t make him ‘sophisticated’ or ‘adventurous.’ That makes him a selfish prick who doesn’t know how to listen to his girlfriend’s ‘no.’ F**k him. Seriously, Hannah. F**k. Him.”

Hannah felt the tight knot in her chest loosen a fraction. “Yeah.”

“No ‘maybe,’” Carrie insisted, leaning forward. “He showed you who he is. A guy who values some warped idea of ‘experience’ over your comfort. Over *you*. That’s not a change, Han. That’s a fundamental flaw. You dodged a f*****g tactical nuke.”

A real, if weary, smile touched Hannah’s lips. “A tactical nuke, huh?”

“At least.” Carrie got up, padded over to the chair, and pulled Hannah into a hard, fierce hug. Hannah buried her face in her sister’s sweater, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume and fabric softener. “You deserve a guy who thinks you’re the whole goddamn party,” Carrie muttered into her hair. “Not one who’s always looking for a bigger one.”

They stayed like that for a minute. When Carrie pulled back, she wiped roughly at her own eyes. “Alright. Enough of that dickhead. He doesn’t get to ruin Christmas.” She strode over to the ancient stereo system and punched a button. A tinny, cheerful Christmas song—*Holly Jolly Christmas*—filled the room. “Now,” she declared, heading for the kitchen. “We are finishing that bottle of nog, and we are going to get disgustingly nostalgic about the time you set my hair on fire with a curling iron. Deal?”

Hannah laughed, the sound watery but genuine. “Deal.” The chill in her heart wasn’t gone, but her sister’s fury had built a fire next to it, and for now, that was enough.

Four

It was now Christmas Night. The glow of the Christmas tree cast a soft, multicolored light across the living room. The room was quiet, the remnants of the gift exchange creating a peaceful atmosphere. Valerie sat on the sofa, her gaze drawn to the twinkling lights on the tree. Hannah settled beside her, a comfortable silence settling between mother and daughter.

Valerie turned to Hannah, her eyes filled with a gentle warmth. “It’s a beautiful tree, isn’t it?” she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet fondness.

Hannah nodded, her gaze following her mother’s. “It is. You always made Christmas so special, Mom.”

Valerie smiled, a hint of melancholy in her eyes. “Your father and I always believed in the magic of Christmas. It’s a time for family, for love, for forgiveness.”

Hannah leaned closer, her heart aching with a familiar mix of love and grief. She would miss her mom terribly, but she knew this wasn’t the time to talk about that. Not yet. But, Hannah also missed Chad. He may have been an a*****e in the end, but he hadn’t always been an a*****e.

“I miss him, Mom,” Hannah said simply, a thickness to her voice that she didn’t much care for.

Valerie reached out and took Hannah’s hand, her touch light but firm. “I know you do, sweetheart. But there will be other boys, or men. I know that’s not much comfort right now, but trust me.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Valerie’s gaze drifted back to the Christmas tree, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lights. Like her two younger daughters, Valerie was a beautiful woman. Even cancer couldn’t entirely take that away from her.

“Love is a funny thing, Hannah,” Valerie said, breaking the silence, her voice thoughtful. “It can bring us the greatest joy, but it can also bring us the worst pain. It’s important to trust your instincts, to listen to your heart.”

Hannah’s own heart ached at her mother’s words, the recent breakup with Chad still raw and painful. “It’s hard, Mom,” she admitted. “Sometimes, I don’t know what to do.”

Valerie squeezed her hand gently. “I know, sweetheart. But you’re strong. You’re compassionate. You have a good heart. Never let anyone dim that light.” She paused, her eyes searching Hannah’s. “And please, Hannah, remember, you deserve to be loved. To be cherished. To be respected. Never forget that.”

Hannah nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you, Mom. I needed to hear that.”

Valerie smiled, her love radiating outwards. “I’ll always be here for you, Hannah. No matter what. And you’ll get through this. You always do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the warmth of their love filling the room. The Christmas tree glowed beside them, a silent witness to their bond, their shared strength, their unwavering love. Hannah knew in her heart that this would be her last Christmas with her mom, and she was determined to savor these moments.

Five

Four and a half years had passed since that Christmas, the last one Valerie McClure would celebrate with her family before cancer took her from them. It would be another eight months before David Andrews would crash his Corvette into a highway guardrail, not far from the McClure Motel.

The summer air, thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, warmed the small gathering in the backyard of Carl’s motel. Hannah’s birthday, though tinged with the quiet absence of Valerie, was a determined attempt at celebration. They were a family trying to find their footing again, to weave threads of joy back into their lives.

Hannah, glowing in a vibrant summer dress, moved through the party with an easy grace. Her boyfriend Edgar, ever the charmer, was at her side, his laughter resonating through the string-lit space. He’d presented her with a delicate pearl necklace, its soft luster catching the light. The table, laden with colorful dishes and cool drinks, was a testament to their effort to create a festive atmosphere.

Carrie, though her divorce had left its mark, smiled warmly as she offered Hannah a slice of lemon cake. “Happy birthday, Han,” she said, her voice genuine.

Hannah’s smile was radiant. “Thanks, Car. It’s been a great day.”

“Edgar seems…enthusiastic,” Carrie said, her eyes following the way he held Hannah’s hand.

“He’s wonderful,” Hannah replied, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. “He makes me feel…alive.”

Carrie’s smile faltered slightly. “Just…remember who you are, Han. Don’t let anyone dim your light.”

Hannah’s expression hardened. “I’m not you, Carrie. I know what I want.”

The air thickened with unspoken words, but Carl, sensing the tension, intervened. “Alright, ladies, let’s keep it light. It’s a birthday, not a therapy session.”

He poured them each a glass of iced tea, his gruff voice laced with affection. “To Hannah,” he said, raising his glass. “May this year bring you all the happiness you deserve.”

They clinked glasses, the sound a fragile echo of celebration. But as the party continued, Carrie’s gaze kept returning to Edgar. There was something about his polished charm, his unwavering attention to Hannah, that set her on edge.

Carl, noticing her unease, sat beside her. “He’s got that…slickness,” he said, his voice low. “The kind that makes me nervous.”

Carrie nodded. “I know. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but…”

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Carl said, his voice firm. “We always do.”

They watched as Hannah laughed, her face illuminated by the string lights, her hand resting in Edgar’s. The music played, a cheerful tune that tried to mask the undercurrent of unease. They would celebrate, they would smile, but they would also watch, their protectiveness a silent promise.

Later that evening, the air in the living room was thick with anticipation as Hannah tore open the last gift, a beautifully wrapped box nestled amongst the other presents. Inside, nestled on a bed of silk, lay a stunning necklace. A single, flawless emerald hung from a chain of delicate gold.

“Oh, Edgar,” Hannah breathed, her eyes wide with admiration. “It’s breathtaking.”

Edgar beamed, his hand reaching out to gently fasten the necklace around her neck. “It’s for my breathtaking Hannah,” he murmured.

Hannah felt a flutter in her stomach, a giddy warmth spreading through her. He was so attentive, so thoughtful. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, her gaze drawn to the emerald, its deep green reflecting the light from the window. “Thank you.”

He leaned in, his breath warm on her cheek. “Anything for you, my love.”

Hannah felt a shiver, not entirely from the cool air conditioning. There was something…a flicker of something, a slight unease, perhaps, but she quickly dismissed it. It was probably just Carrie’s post-divorce, men-hating influence, she reasoned.

As the party began to wind down, Edgar pulled Hannah aside, leading her to the garden where the moonlight cast long shadows across the lawn.

“I have something else for you,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. Hannah’s heart pounded. “What is it?”

He opened the box to reveal a delicate silver locket. “It belonged to my mother,” he explained, his voice thick. “She was a woman of great strength and grace. I think she would have loved you.”

Hannah was speechless. The locket was exquisite, a family heirloom, a symbol of his trust and affection. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Edgar, it’s…it’s beautiful.”

He gently took her hand, his touch lingering. “Wear it close to your heart, always.”

Hannah slipped the locket around her neck, feeling a surge of emotion. Edgar, with his grand gestures and whispered promises, was sweeping her off her feet. A fleeting thought, a shadow of Carrie’s earlier warning, flickered in her mind, but she pushed it aside. It was nothing, she told herself. Just her sister being overprotective.

Later that night, Hannah lay in bed, the emerald necklace a cool weight on her chest. Edgar slept soundly beside her, his arm draped across her waist. She stared at the ceiling, the moonlight painting silver patterns on the wall. A whisper of doubt, a tiny prickle of unease, lingered in her mind, but she was tired. And Edgar was here, warm and solid beside her. She closed her eyes, and let sleep claim her. She had a wonderful day. Any misgivings could wait for another day.

Chapter 11: The Investigation

One

Eleven days had passed since Hannah’s sudden departure, and Carl McClure’s worry had grown into a gnawing dread. Every quiet corner of the motel, from its faded floral wallpaper to its antique furniture, seemed to echo his fears. He couldn’t sit idle any longer. He called the police.

Detective Mike Rogers pulled up to the motel in an unmarked sedan, stepping out with the deliberate confidence of someone who had seen it all. His rugged face, marked by years in law enforcement, softened slightly as Carl greeted him in the lobby.

“Detective Rogers, thanks for coming,” Carl said, his voice tight with restrained emotion. He extended a hand that trembled slightly.

“Call me Mike,” the detective replied, shaking Carl’s hand firmly. “Let’s sit, and you can walk me through what’s happening.”

Carl led him to a small sitting area, the worn armchairs creaking under their weight. Carl leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “It’s my daughter, Hannah. She’s gone. Just disappeared. Almost two weeks now, and... and I’ve got no idea where she is. That ain’t like her, Mike.”

Mike tilted his head slightly, his piercing blue eyes studying Carl. “Alright. Start at the beginning. Tell me everything you know.”

Carl took a breath, his voice cracking as he spoke. “She was here, right here at the motel. She left with her fiancé, Edgar. I thought it’d be for a couple of days—maybe a trip, you know? But then she didn’t call. She didn’t text. Not a word, Mike, not a single word. That’s not my girl. She’d never leave her family hanging like this.”

Mike nodded slowly, pulling a small notebook from his jacket pocket. “And this Edgar... what’s he like?”

Carl’s expression darkened. He leaned back, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “He’s... slick. That’s what he is. Always with the fancy cars and expensive suits, but there’s something off about him. He sweet-talked Hannah—swept her off her feet—but I don’t trust him. Never did. He’s got this air about him, like he thinks he’s better than everyone. And now she’s gone.”

“Did Edgar say where they were going?” Mike asked.

Carl shook his head vehemently. “No. And that’s just it. He’s secretive, cagey. I’ve tried calling her, but my calls go right to voicemail, like her phone is turned off. She’d never do that, Mike. Never. I’m telling you, Edgar’s done something. I can feel it in my gut.”

Mike jotted down a few notes. “I hear you, Carl. But you know, sometimes... people need space. Could it be that Hannah just needed some time away? Maybe with Edgar. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found right now.”

Carl’s hands slammed down on the armrests, his voice rising. “No, God damn it! You don’t get it, Mike. She wouldn’t just leave us like this. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. If she was happy, she’d call. She’s not happy, Mike. She’s in trouble—I can feel it!”

Mike raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Alright, alright. I’ll look into it. Do you know if Edgar has any place he frequents? Work? Friends? Any idea where they might’ve gone?”

Carl shook his head. “There is one person. Her name is Raisa. She works for Edgar as his project manager, and her and Hannah are friends. But, Raisa is gone too.”

The detective’s eyebrows knitted together and he made a few more notes. “Raisa, you said her name is?” Mike asked.

Carl nodded firmly. “Yes. Raisa Quinn. A sweet girl, always with a smile. Hannah said nothing when she called that morning, you know, about Raisa being with them.

“Does Raisa have family in the area?” Mike inquired, still writing his notes.

Carl’s shoulders slumped. “I guess she does,” Carl said sadly, “but she never talks about them, and I never asked. I probably should of. She talks with an English accent, so I guess they are originally from across The Pond. Same with Edgar. But he has a business here in the States. Please, Mike. She’s my little girl. I’m begging you.”

Mike put a reassuring hand on Carl’s shoulder. “I’ll do my best, Carl. I’ll check traffic cams, look into Edgar’s background. But I gotta be honest, these things can take time. You’ve gotta hold on.”

Carl swallowed hard, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Time’s something I ain’t got, Mike. She needs us now. Don’t let her down.”

As Mike left the motel, Carl sank back into his chair. The stillness of the room only amplified the weight pressing on his chest. He stared at the worn carpet, praying that Mike would find some thread to pull, some lead that would bring Hannah back to him.

Two

Despite his initial doubts, the next day, Mike decided to follow up on Carl’s concerns. The tight-knit community of Carter rarely saw missing person cases like this, but Carl’s desperation had left an impression. As he drove through the quiet streets, the sky hung heavy and gray, casting long shadows over the lush trees lining the road. Mike couldn’t help but reflect on the McClure family’s history—their resilience, their kindness—and Carl’s unwavering conviction that something was wrong.

Starting with local records and sightings, Mike found nothing unusual. Determined to dig deeper, he had police techs sift through traffic cam footage, armed with Edgar’s red Maserati GranTurismo’s make and model. The surveillance system wasn’t extensive, but the footage revealed a hit—a Maserati spotted entering an abandoned warehouse district just outside Carter.

Mike pulled into the deserted area, the worn tires of his unmarked cruiser crunching over cracked pavement strewn with broken glass and weeds. The cherry-red Maserati stood out like a jewel against the backdrop of peeling paint and rusted metal siding. Its polished surface reflected the overcast sky, making its presence in such dilapidated surroundings all the more suspicious.

Mike parked at a safe distance and approached cautiously. The cold wind carried the faint scent of oil and decay as he studied the car’s interior through the window. A phone rested on the dashboard, face-down. Frowning, he pulled on a pair of gloves and opened the car door, which was unlocked. The faint smell of perfume lingered inside, mingling with the synthetic scent of air freshener.

Picking up the phone, he flipped it over and pressed the power button. It didn’t respond. Dead. He tucked it into an evidence bag, his unease growing.

“Alright, Edgar, what are you hiding?” Mike muttered, moving towards the warehouse itself.

The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. The interior was dim, lit only by narrow beams of sunlight slipping through cracks in the grime-covered windows. Dust floated in the air, swirling in the flashlight beam Mike swept across the room. The damp chill made him shiver, and the metallic tang of rust coated the air.

Piles of stacked boxes loomed in every corner, their edges covered in grime and cobwebs. Mike crouched by one, prying it open carefully with his flashlight tucked under his arm. The contents made him recoil—a cache of weapons, ammunition, and neatly packaged electronics. He let out a low whistle, his stomach tightening.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself.

Further inside, he found a smaller box with loose papers spilling out. The meticulous documents bore Hannah’s name, implicating her in illegal activities. The detailed planning and organization suggested this wasn’t some impulsive operation—it was deliberate, methodical.

Mike’s heart pounded. He glanced back at the entrance, suddenly hyper-aware of how isolated he was. He slipped the papers into another evidence bag, his mind racing. This was bigger than he’d imagined—something far beyond Carter’s jurisdiction.

Sliding his phone out of his pocket, Mike dialed quickly, his voice steady despite the weight of urgency behind his words. “This is Detective Mike Rogers. I need federal authorities on-site. We’ve got contraband, firearms, and evidence of a larger operation. And I think we’ve got a missing person tied up in this mess. Maybe two missing persons.”

As he stepped outside, he looked over his shoulder at the Maserati again. His thoughts turned briefly to Carl. “You’re not gonna believe this, Carl,” he muttered under his breath.

Three

Mike returned to the McClure Motel, his expression grim. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the motel’s parking lot. Carl was waiting anxiously on the porch, his hands trembling as he clutched the railing.

The moment Mike stepped out of his car, Carl could tell immediately that something was wrong. He hurried over, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Mike, did you find anything?” Carl asked, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

Mike took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Carl’s with a seriousness that spoke volumes. “Carl, I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice somber. “You were right. There’s something very wrong here. I found Hannah’s phone and a cache of weapons and other contraband in an abandoned warehouse just outside of Carter. There were documents with Hannah’s name on them.”

Carl’s face went pale, his legs feeling weak beneath him. “Weapons? Contraband? What the hell does this mean, Mike?”

Mike shook his head, his expression troubled. “I’m not entirely sure yet, but it looks like someone has been setting things up to implicate Hannah in illegal activities. This goes way beyond a simple missing person case. I’ve already called in federal authorities—FBI and DHS. We need their resources to get to the bottom of this.”

Carl’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. “But why the hell would anyone want to frame Hannah? She’s just a normal girl. She would never get involved in something like this.”

Mike placed a reassuring hand on Carl’s shoulder. “I know, Carl. I believe you. But whoever is behind this has gone to great lengths to cover their tracks. We’ll find out who’s responsible, I promise you that.”

Carl nodded, his eyes filled with determination. “Thank you, Mike. Please, just bring my daughter back.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to find her,” Mike said firmly. “But I need you to be prepared for a long road ahead. This isn’t going to be easy, and it may take some time.”

Carl’s jaw tightened as he steeled himself for the challenges to come. “Whatever it takes, Mike. Just find her.”

*Then find Edgar, so I can f*****g kill the son of a b***h*, Carl thought, but did not say. He knew in his heart that Edgar was behind this. Carl closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Right now, the most important thing was finding Hannah. He just wanted his little girl back.

Four

Back in Vennug, Edgar decided it was time for Hannah to meet his father, King Ivan. Edgar led Hannah through the palace, his demeanor both proud and possessive. The staff bowed respectfully as they passed, their expressions a mix of reverence and apprehension. Hannah didn’t know how to feel as she followed Edgar’s lead. She heard nothing but good things about King Ivan, but deep down, she felt that if he was such a great man, what the hell happened that Edgar turned out the way he did? Still, the man was dying and deserved her respect.

They made their way to the royal chambers, where the elderly king lay in bed, his health visibly deteriorating. King Ivan, though frail, still exuded an air of dignity and wisdom. His silver hair framed a face lined with years of experience and compassion. His piercing blue eyes, though tired, held a warmth that put Hannah at ease.

“Father, I’d like you to meet Hannah,” Edgar announced with pride, his hand resting possessively on Hannah’s shoulder. “She’s the one I’ve chosen to be my princess.”

King Ivan’s eyes lit up and he gave Hannah a gentle smile. “Welcome, my dear,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve heard much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Hannah felt a mixture of awe and compassion as she approached the frail king. “It’s an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” she replied, curtsying respectfully. “Edgar has told me so much about you and this beautiful kingdom.”

As they spoke, Edgar’s demeanor was kind and gentle, but Hannah sensed a tension beneath the surface. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Edgar than he was letting on.

After a few minutes of polite conversation, one of the palace staff approached and quietly informed Hannah that she was needed elsewhere. “Princess Hannah, we need to confirm the arrangements for your trip to town with Miss Raisa,” the servant said, bowing slightly.

Hannah nodded, glancing at Edgar. “I’ll be back shortly,” she said, offering a polite smile before following the servant out of the room.

As soon as Hannah was out of earshot, Edgar’s demeanor shifted. He turned to his father, his expression darkening. “Father, we need to discuss the situation with Torsand,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

King Ivan’s eyes narrowed as he regarded his son. “What situation, Edgar? Torsand has been our greatest ally for decades. We cannot afford to jeopardize that relationship. The only situation is the one you’ve created!”

Edgar’s frustration was edging near a boiling point. “You don’t understand, Father. The powers-that-be in Torsand cannot be trusted! They are plotting against us! We need to take preemptive action.”

Ivan’s voice remained calm but firm. “I know exactly what’s going on, Edgar. I am the reason Vennug and Torsand are allies. And I will not condone or authorize a war based on your paranoia or greed.”

Edgar’s eyes blazed with anger, and he clenched his fists. “You’re a fool, old man! A senile, naive, mother-f*****g fool! You don’t see the danger we’re in!”

King Ivan’s expression hardened. “Watch your tone, Edgar. I will not tolerate such disrespect. Your accusations are baseless, and your actions are reckless.”

“Baseless? Reckless?” Edgar spat, his voice rising in fury. “You’re blind to the truth! Torsand is a threat, and if you won’t take action, then I will. Damn your alliances!”

Hannah overheard the heated exchange as she made her way back to the chambers. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. The tone of Edgar’s voice, the raw anger and disrespect, sent shivers down her spine.

She knew she had to be careful, so she quietly backed away, her mind racing with worry and doubt. Edgar’s true nature was becoming clearer, and she was more determined than ever to find a way out of this dangerous situation.

Five

Edgar had ordered Raisa to make a trip back to Earth for supplies. As much as she detested Edgar’s cryptic demands, she had no choice. Maybe she’d swing by the McClure Motel on the way back—if Edgar’s car would start.

The portal shimmered with ethereal light through the ornate mirror in the Palace courtyard as Raisa stepped through, her heart pounding as she braced herself for Earth’s humid, stale air. Emerging into the dimly lit warehouse, she paused to adjust her senses. Dust motes swirled in the faint light filtering through grime-coated windows, and the faint smell of rust and mildew hung in the air. But something felt...off. Her sharp instincts pricked at the edges of her awareness.

Then, she heard it—voices.

Raisa’s breath caught in her throat. Male voices, firm and clipped, echoed faintly through the cavernous space. She crouched low, pressing herself against the nearest crate. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she risked a glance around the corner. To her horror, federal agents moved methodically through the warehouse, searching and cataloging the contraband.

Her mind raced. They weren’t supposed to be here. Her usual exits were suddenly treacherous, blocked by sharp eyes and federal badges. A bead of sweat slid down her temple as she realized the magnitude of the danger she was in. If they found her, there would be no explaining her presence. And worse, if she didn’t return to Vennug, Edgar’s wrath would be unimaginable.

The agents were thorough, their movements efficient. The faint clatter of boots on concrete and the rustle of papers filled the air. As Raisa scanned for a way out, she caught snippets of their conversation.

“Whoever’s behind this has resources. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill smugglers,” one said.

“Yeah, and look at this inventory list. State-of-the-art equipment,” another muttered.

Raisa suppressed a shiver. She had to act quickly.

She spotted a narrow gap between two large crates a few yards away. It wasn’t much, but it might get her closer to the portal. Keeping her breath shallow and her movements slow, she slipped into the gap, her boots barely making a sound on the dusty floor. Every step felt like an eternity, her ears straining to pick up the agents’ movements.

Then, disaster. A crate teetered slightly as her shoulder brushed against it. The wood creaked loudly, and Raisa froze, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Did you hear that?” one of the agents asked sharply.

Raisa pressed herself flat against the nearest crate, her fingers gripping the edge as she willed herself to become invisible. The flashlight beam of an agent swept over the area, passing inches above her head. She bit her lip to keep from gasping as the beam lingered momentarily on the gap she had just passed through.

“Probably just a rat,” another agent said dismissively.

“Let’s keep moving,” the first replied. “I hate f*****g rats.”

Raisa didn’t dare exhale until their footsteps retreated. She edged forward, her movements painstakingly slow, and finally reached the edge of the portal’s shimmering light. Turning back, she scanned the warehouse one last time. The agents were still occupied, their backs turned.

Her hands trembled as she placed them on the edge of the mirror, and with a deep breath, she stepped through. The world shifted, and the familiar warmth and vibrancy of Vennug enveloped her. She stumbled into the palace courtyard, gasping as the tension in her body began to release.

But relief was fleeting. The warehouse wasn’t safe anymore—not for her, not for anyone. She wouldn’t dare return to Earth through that portal again.

She hurried through the halls of the palace, her thoughts racing. Edgar would demand a full report, but how could she tell him she almost got caught? She clenched her fists, her dread growing with every step. For the first time in years, she felt the crushing weight of her predicament. Trapped between Earth’s authorities and Edgar’s dangerous ambitions, she was running out of options.

Six

The afternoon rays of Solaras cast long, slanted beams through the grand windows of Hannah’s chambers, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. A sense of unease had settled over her, a prickling awareness that something was amiss. She’d been tidying the room, trying to impose some semblance of normalcy on the space she had to share with Edgar, when she found them. Tucked beneath a pile of Edgar’s meticulously folded shirts, a pair of silk panties, a vibrant crimson, lay crumpled. They were not hers.

Hannah’s breath hitched. The silk was finer than anything she owned, the color a brazen, seductive red. A faint, cloying perfume clung to the fabric, a scent she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded, a cold dread creeping up her spine. She held the panties at arm’s length, the delicate fabric an undeniable betrayal.

She found Edgar in the palace’s grand library, his back to her as he perused a leather-bound tome. “Edgar,” she said, her voice tight, the crimson silk clutched in her trembling hand.

He turned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his handsome features. “Yes, darling?”

Hannah held out the panties, the silence in the vast room amplifying the accusation. “What are these?”

Edgar’s eyes flickered to the fabric, then back to her, a dismissive shrug settling on his shoulders. “A gift, perhaps? I often bring you things.”

“These aren’t mine, Edgar,” she said, her voice rising, the anger bubbling to the surface. “They smell of another woman.”

He sighed, a patronizing smile playing on his lips. “You’re being dramatic, Hannah. A misplaced garment. It means nothing.”

“Nothing?” Her voice cracked. “You bring another woman into our bed? Into my room?”

Edgar’s smile hardened, the charming facade slipping. “This is my palace, Hannah. I am the Prince. I do as I please.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. “Besides,” he added, his eyes raking over her, “you haven’t exactly been... accommodating lately.”

The implication hung in the air, a cruel, cutting accusation. Hannah’s cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation. “How dare you?” she hissed, her voice trembling. “How dare you blame me for your infidelity?”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed, his patience clearly at an end. “Enough, Hannah. You will not speak to me in that tone.”

“Or what?” she challenged, her voice filled with a newfound defiance. “What will you do, Edgar? Kidnap me? Take me away from my family and the man I really love?”

Edgar’s hand moved with shocking speed, a brutal, open-handed strike across her face. The force of the blow sent her reeling, a sharp, searing pain exploding across her cheek. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her stinging skin.

“Remember who you are speaking to, b***h,” he snarled, his voice a low, venomous whisper. “You are in my world, under my protection. You will show me the respect I deserve.”

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears, a mix of pain and terror. The reality of her situation crashed down upon her, the illusion of Edgar’s charm shattered. She was trapped, at the mercy of a man who saw her as nothing more than a possession.

“Get the f**k out of my face,” Edgar ordered, looking down on her. She bit her lip, giving him a look that could kill as she got back to her feet. Tears now streamed freely down her cheeks. She gave him one last defiant look before turning and marching out of the library. Once Hannah was gone, Edgar sighed, then went back to what he was doing, as if nothing of any significance happened.

Seven

The days that followed were a blur of forced smiles and stifled tears. Hannah moved through the halls of the Xianne Palace like a ghost, the vibrant colors and lavish decorations a stark contrast to the emptiness within her. The echoes of Edgar’s slap resonated in her heart, a constant reminder of her vulnerability and isolation.

Sleep offered no escape. Nightmares plagued her, visions of Edgar’s enraged face, the sting of his hand, and the chilling emptiness of his eyes. She would wake with a gasp, her heart pounding, the silken sheets tangled around her like a shroud.

Homesickness gnawed at her, a deep, aching longing for the familiar comforts of Carter. She pictured the cozy warmth of the McClure Motel, the scent of freshly baked cookies wafting from the kitchen, and the comforting presence of her father and sister.

But it was David’s face that haunted her most. His kind eyes, his gentle touch, and the way he made her feel safe and understood. David may have been a fighter on the ice, but she couldn’t imagine him ever raising a hand to hit her. She yearned for his warmth, his strength, and the unwavering support he had always offered.

One rainy evening, Hannah found Edgar in his private study. He sat at his desk, a mountain of official documents piled before him.

“Edgar,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “I need to talk to you.”

He looked up, his expression a mixture of annoyance and impatience. This was the first time she had spoken to him since he struck her. His condescending tone after everything he had put her through made Hannah want to gouge his eyes out. But, this was not the time.

“Can’t it wait, Hannah? I have much to attend to.”

“No, it can’t,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “I want to go home.”

Edgar’s brow furrowed. “Home? This is your home now, Hannah. You are the Princess of Vennug.”

“No, I am not yet the Princess, and this is not my home,” she said, her voice rising. “My home is in Carter, with my family and David. I want to go back.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger crossing his features. “That’s impossible, Hannah. You cannot simply return to Earth. This world needs you.”

“I don’t care about this world,” she said, her voice filled with desperation. “I want my life back. I want to be with the people I love.”

Edgar sighed, his demeanor softening slightly. “I understand your feelings, Hannah. But you must be patient. I will look into the possibility of returning you to Earth, but it may take some time.”

Hannah’s heart leaped with a flicker of hope. “Thank you, Edgar,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude. “I know you’ll do your best.”

Edgar offered a reassuring smile. “Of course, my dear. I want you to be happy.”

But as Hannah left the study, a sense of unease lingered in her heart. Edgar’s words were kind, but his eyes held a coldness that she couldn’t ignore. She couldn’t shake the feeling that his promise was nothing more than a ploy to keep her by his side.

Eight

The twin moons hung high in the Centrellus sky, casting a subtle glow over the palace courtyard. Edgar stood before the ornate mirror that served as the portal between worlds, its surface shimmering. Hannah’s plea to return home echoed in his mind, fueling a growing sense of panic. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, of her slipping through his fingers and back into the arms of another. He couldn’t lose her now, when he needed her most.

A few years ago now, he had bedded a seer who lived in Oakhaven. She had told Edgar that he would meet a beautiful woman with long, blonde hair and eyes bluer than his. This blue-eyed beauty, according to the seer, would contain a special magic - one fitting of a prince.

His reflection in the mirror mocked him, the handsome features twisted into a mask of desperation. He raised his hand, his knuckles white against the cool glass. “She will not leave me,” he muttered, his voice a low, guttural growl. “She is mine!”

With a sudden surge of fury, he slammed his fist against the mirror. The glass shattered with a deafening crash, shards scattering across the marble floor like fallen stars. A sharp pain shot through his hand, his knuckles blossoming with crimson. He barely registered the sting, his mind consumed by a triumphant madness.

The shimmering surface of the portal rippled and distorted, flickering and dying like an extinguished flame. Edgar stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving, a manic grin spreading across his face. Blood dripped from his wounded hand, mingling with the glittering shards of glass.

“Now she is truly mine,” he whispered, the shattered fragments of the mirror reflecting his triumphant gaze, giving him the appearance of a man who had truly gone mad. “There is no escape.” Edgar laughed, a harsh sound in the quiet courtyard.

The destruction of the portal was a symbolic act, a physical manifestation of his ironclad control. He had severed the link between worlds, trapping Hannah in his world, and marked his victory with his own blood.

Nine

Later that night, Raisa, her mind still reeling from the discovery of the federal agents in the warehouse, sought peace in the quiet solitude of the palace courtyard. The cool night air offered a brief respite from the anxieties that gnawed at her. She needed to think, to devise a plan, but the weight of her secrets pressed down on her, threatening to suffocate her. What would she tell Edgar? What would she tell Hannah?

As she approached the center of the courtyard, her breath caught in her throat. The shimmering portal mirror, her lifeline to Earth, was shattered, its fragments scattered across the marble floor like fallen stars. A wave of despair washed over her, the implications of its destruction sinking in. She had started to research redirecting the portal between Centrellus and Earth; and, while it was tricky, she thought that maybe she could do it. But, with the portal destroyed? It would take her weeks, if not months, to create a new one. Raisa doubted she had that much time. Hannah was trapped, utterly and completely.

Tears welled in Raisa’s eyes, a mixture of guilt and helplessness. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What have you done, You vile son of a b***h?”

She hurried through the silent palace, her footsteps echoing in the empty halls. She found Edgar in his study, the room dimly lit by a single flickering candle.

“Edgar,” she said, her voice tight with anger, “what happened to the portal?”

Edgar looked up, his expression a mask of feigned innocence. “The portal? I haven’t the slightest idea, Raisa. You were the last one to use it.”

Raisa’s eyes narrowed, her voice laced with accusation. “Don’t lie to me, Edgar. You destroyed it, didn’t you?”

“I assure you, Raisa, I know nothing of this,” he said, his voice smooth and deceptive.

“You’ve destroyed any chance of Hannah ever going home!” Raisa exclaimed, her voice rising. “Not unless I can find another portal - and who knows how long that could take!” She paused, her gaze fixed on the thick bandage wrapped around his hand. “Wait. If you had nothing to do with the broken portal, why is your hand bandaged, Edgar?”

Edgar’s eyes flickered with a flash of anger, the mask of innocence slipping. “An unfortunate accident,” he said, his voice hardening.

“An accident?” Raisa scoffed, her anger boiling over. “You think I’m a fool, Edgar? You trapped her here!”

Edgar’s patience snapped. With a swift, brutal motion, he stood, striking Raisa across the face, the force of the blow sending her reeling. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her stinging cheek.

“You will not accuse me, Raisa,” he snarled, his voice a low, venomous growl. “You are nothing but a servant. Remember your place, b***h.”

He struck her again, and again, his rage escalating with each blow. Raisa crumpled to the floor, her body aching, her spirit broken. Edgar stood over her, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. Blood soaked the bandage wrapped around his right hand, a visual representation of his attack.

“You will not interfere with my plans,” he hissed, his voice laced with venom. “Understand?”

Raisa lay on the cold stone floor, her body trembling, her eyes filled with tears. But beneath the pain and fear, a flicker of defiance burned within her. She would not be broken. She would find a way to save Hannah, and she would make Edgar pay for his cruelty.

Edgar stood there for a moment longer while Raisa kept silent. She would not give him the satisfaction of a response, even if it meant more abuse. Finally, Edgar scoffed, stepping over Raisa and exiting the study.

(C) Copyright 2026 Ray Kross

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit raykross.substack.com