Page 62 of Torin

She fills my mug, then glances up at the television behind the counter.

“Poor girl.”

I look up.

Hannah’s face fills the screen.

She looks a little younger. Her hair is longer than it is now, and she’s wearing lipstick, but her smile is stiff.

Beneath the photo, a banner reads:

MISSING WOMAN

What the hell?

I’m so focused on her picture that the reporter’s voice barely registers.

“...family say they are extremely concerned...”

“...last seen three days ago...”

The reporter cuts to a man standing outside the sheriff’s department. Broad shoulders, silver hair, one hand resting at his belt, the other holding a piece of paper.

There’s something familiar about his mouth, the shape of his eyes.

My gut tightens.

Hannah’s father.

He begins to speak:

“My daughter, Hannah Hayes, has been missing for three days. We are asking anyone with information about her whereabouts to contact the sheriff’s department immediately.”

He speaks evenly, with authority. If he pulled me over on a dark road, I wouldn’t think twice about doing what he said.

“Hannah has had a difficult time recently. My daughter is not well right now, and anyone who sees her should understand that she may not be in a position to judge what is safe for her.”

The waitress makes a quiet sound of sympathy.

“She may be frightened. She may be confused. She may tell people things that sound convincing.”

He looks straight into the camera and swallows hard. “Hannah, sweetheart, if you’re watching this, I love you. Call home. Let us help you. Whatever you think has happened, whatever you think you’ve done, we can talk about it. We want you home.”

The reporter says something I don’t catch.

Sheriff Hayes nods.

“We’re treating this as a missing vulnerable adult case. Again, if anyone has seen Hannah, please call the number on your screen rather than approaching her yourself.”

The segment ends.

The weather comes on.

For a few seconds, I keep staring at the TV.

She may tell people things that sound convincing.

Jesus.