In a frantic burst of energy, Scottie ran through the house screaming "Hannah! HANNAH! Oh-f**k-oh-f**k-oh-f**k-oh-fuck..." over and over with varying volumes, tears, and expletives.
He tore through her room, looking in the classic hiding places they would use as kids. He checked all around the inside, then outside of the house, trying to keep his calm and appear collected when Widow Anderson waved to him while pruning her roses. He even looked through the boxes, because at this point, there was nowhere else to check.
And so, it was in the living room, twenty panic-filled minutes later, where Scottie was seated. Barely on the edge of the couch, he held his phone out, finger hovering over his mother's phone number.
"I have to tell them... I have to tell them... What do I tell them?... I c
