The Edge of Nowhere
ELIZABETH
GEORGE
the Edge of
Nowhere
VIKING
AN IMPRINT OF PENGUIN GROUP (USA) INC.
VIKING
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2012
Copyright © Elizabeth George, 2012
All rights reserved
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
George, Elizabeth, date–
The edge of nowhere / by Elizabeth George.
p. cm.
Summary: When her mother abandons her on Whidbey Island, Washington, a fourteen-year-old girl with psychic abilities meets a Ugandan orphan with a secret.
ISBN 978-1-101-59058-4
[1. Whidbey Island (Wash.)—Fiction. 2. Psychic ability—Fiction. 3. Abandoned children—Fiction. 4. Secrets—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G29315Ed 2012 [Fic]—dc23 2011050741
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For Bob Mayer and Debbie Cavanaugh, in acknowledgment of a breathtaking lesson in both friendship and appreciation.
Contents
Be not afeared: the isle is full of noises,
sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.
—
W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE,
T
HE
T
EMPEST
How Things Began
On the last day of Hannah Armstrong’s existence, things were normal for a while. She made a 94 percent on a math test, and she accepted a movie date for later in the week.
She walked home, as usual. She didn’t use her hearing device since she didn’t really need it outside of school. This gadget had the appearance of an iPod, but it didn’t play music. Instead it played a form of static that removed from Hannah’s hearing the disjointed thoughts of other people. Since babyhood, she’d heard these broken thoughts of others, which she’d learned to call whispers. But they came into her head like a badly tuned radio; she could never tell exactly who the whisperer was if more than one person was present; and they made school a nightmare for her. So a mechanism that her mom called an AUD box had been manufactured for Hannah. She’d worn it since she was seven years old.
When she arrived home, she went to the stairs. She headed up to her room, only to see her stepfather come stealthily out of it.
They locked eyes.
Damn . . . what’s she doing . . . why didn’t . . .
came into Hannah’s head from Jeff Corrie as whispers always did, disconnected and seemingly random. She frowned as she heard them, and she wondered what her stepfather had been doing in her room besides trying once again to gather reassurance that she wasn’t going to tell her mother how she’d been helping him with his latest scheme.
It wasn’t as if she’d wanted to help him, either. But Jeff Corrie had Hannah’s mom in some sort of thrall that had more to do with his looks than his character, and caught up in their dizzying relationship, she’d told him what went on inside Hannah’s head when she wasn’t wearing the AUD box. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out a way to use Hannah’s talent. He decided to “employ” her as the cake and coffee girl at his investment house, just the person to bring in the refreshments and listen to the whispers of his clients in order to read their weaknesses. He and his pal Connor separated old folks from their money in this way. It was a grand scheme and it was making them millions.
Hannah had never wanted to help him. She knew it was wrong. But she feared this man and she feared the fact that his whispers, his words, and the expressions on his face never matched up. She didn’t know what this meant. But she knew it wasn’t good. So she said nothing to anyone. She just did what she was told and waited for whatever was going to happen next. She had no idea it would happen that very afternoon.
Jeff Corrie said, “What’re you doing home?” His gaze went to her right ear where the earphone to the AUD box usually was.
Hannah dug the box out of her pocket and clipped it on the waistband of her jeans, screwing the earphone into her ear as well. His eyes narrowed till he saw her turn up the volume. Then he seemed to relax.
“It’s three thirty,” she told him.
“Start your homework,” he said.
He went past her and down the stairs. She heard him yelling, “Laurel? Where the hell are you? Hannah’s home,” as if his wife was supposed to do something about that.
Hannah put her backpack in her room. Everything seemed to be the way she’d left it that morning. Still, she went to the bedside table to check the drawer.
The tiny piece of clear tape was ripped off. Someone had opened the drawer. Someone had read her journal.
It wasn’t enough, she thought, that she helped him and his friend. He had to possess her thoughts on the matter, too. Well, good luck to figuring out how I feel, Daddy Jeff, Hannah scoffed. Like I’d write something honest and actually leave it in my bedroom for you?
She left her room and descended the stairs. She heard her mom and Jeff Corrie talking in the kitchen. She joined them there and turned away from the sight of Jeff Corrie nuzzling her mother’s neck. He was murmuring, “What about n-o-w?” and Laurel was laughing and playing at pushing him away. But Hannah knew her mom liked what was going on between her and her husband. She loved the guy, and her love was as deaf and as dumb as it was blind.
Hannah said, “Hi, Mom,” and opened the refrigerator, reaching for a carton of milk.
Laurel said, “Hey. No hi to Jeff?”
“Already saw him upstairs,” Hannah told her. She added, “Gosh. He didn’t tell you, Mom?” just to see how she would react. Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, she wanted to say. But she could only plant seeds. She couldn’t paint pictures.
There was a silence between Laurel and Jeff. With the refrigerator door still open, hiding her from them, Hannah turned off the volume of the AUD box.
He’s not . . . he can’t be . . .
had to be from her mother, she thought.
She tried to hear Jeff, but there was nothing.
Then everything changed, and life as Hannah had known it ended.
Little bitch always thinks . . . a break-in . . . surprise . . . Connor . . . if she hears that a gun . . . because dead isn’t always dead these days . . .
The carton of milk slipped from Hannah’s fingers and sloshed onto the floor. She swung around from the refrigerator and her eyes met Jeff’s.
“Clumsy,” he said, but inside his head was something different.
His gaze went from Hannah’s face to her ear to the AUD box on her waist.