As it had been since the inception of Zoan’s Farms, the farm became possession of the eldest son upon the death of its owners. This was a tradition that needed to be ended, in Hannah’s opinion. Many people cared what happened to the farm upon Orion’s death, and Salem wasn’t one of them.

Hannah had nowhere to go. She’d spent the last couple of weeks cooking her own meals and attending mass with her boyfriend Aaron. He was shorter than her, which embarrassed Hannah, but he believed in all the same things she did. Despite not having solid plans for the future, Hannah wanted to leave the farm, as anybody would. She had no job, no money, and was far too proud to ask for help.

Orion Zoan had not taken his own life. This was evident by the way he’d been positioned upon being found. Hannah, who had seen the crime scene photos, knew that her father had been found with a footprint on the back of his pyjama shirt, having evidently wandered out of bed at night. It was a mystery, though, why the man had left the house at all. Several of Hannah’s siblings believed Samantha was to blame - as she hadn’t been seen since the night of Orion’s death. Despite this, there was no proof of her ever having been at the scene at all.

Hannah sat in a large room at the city police station, avoiding the drilling gaze of the officers sat across from her. She assumed all of her siblings would be questioned, at some point. It was just Hannah’s luck that she was up first. It was suspicious that Asher had run off days before the questioning began. It was suspicious that Hannah’s siblings had been oddly silent since all of this had begun.

“Hannah,” said one of the officers, who was unsympathetic and blunt. “Are you aware that the footprint on your father’s jacket matched the tread of your sneakers?”

She’d spoken to Delilah over the phone recently. Though Delilah wasn’t the smartest nor the most outspoken of her siblings, she had the most life experience. Though it would have been helpful to have a lawyer, Hannah couldn’t afford one, and hadn’t a clue how the law worked.

“No.”

The truth was, Hannah was asleep when her father died. But it was easy to lie, and everybody would be expecting this. She wasn’t a bad liar, but refused to do so. The world was full of liars and sinners, and hardly anyone was trustworthy.

“You weren’t aware?” Both officers were stoic, making Hannah feel uncomfortable. This wasn’t easy to do. She was used to men of authority attempting to overpower her. “Where were you the night of February 28?”

It had been a month since her father’s death, during which he’d been pushed down the stairs. The case, which was initially branded as a suicide, had been re-opened as a murder case - and Hannah didn’t know anything. According to Alma and Sariah, they didn’t know anything, either. “I was at home, asleep. I had to get up early for school the next day.” It was fortunate for Hannah that she’d never fallen victim to anxiety the way some of her siblings had. For people like them, being questioned would be the end of the world.

“Tell me about your last encounter with Orion,” said the second officer, who was fatter and taller than the other. “When did you last speak to him?”

In Hannah’s opinion, questioning her was pointless. It was obvious Samantha had something to do with the deaths of her parents. Why else would she have run off and not returned? First, it was about Orion. Then, Hannah would be questioned about her mother, impatiently, as if she weren’t a teenager who’d just lost both parents. It was hard to remain patient. Delilah had told her not to lose her patience. Jacob had told her not to speak to the police without a lawyer present.

Go to bed, Hannah.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The night of Orion’s death, he’d scolded her for staying up past her bedtime, and they’d had an argument. Hannah had called her father an asshole, and he’d thrown a hand at her. Hannah remembered being told she was punished for her own good: to learn how to be a good woman, to learn to be obedient. All of the daughters in the family were treated this way: property, not humans.

She wasn’t upset. Like all the rest, she’d been robbed of a proper childhood. “Hannah,” said the officer, waiting for her to return his gaze. It was important to look a person in the eyes when you spoke to them. It showed respect and attention. “When did you last speak to Orion?”

She was cold. “I spoke to him the night he died.” The next morning, she’d been woken abruptly by her mother, who was appropriately frazzled by the events. “I just said goodnight to him, and then I went to bed.”

Lying by omission is still lying, Lillian would say, when she suspected a child was not being fully honest. She may have been right, but Hannah didn’t see it this way. Saphira, always the suck-up, joined her mother in reprimanding dishonest children. “My sister Saphira has the same shoe size as me.” Hannah didn’t mean to say this. Now that she had, there was no taking it back. “Maybe she borrowed my shoes that night. She does that sometimes.” The truth was that Saphira didn’t have the interest in pushing the man down the stairs. She did, however, have the motive. “My father never let Saphira leave the house and spend time with her friends. She hated being inside all the time.”

She’d piqued the interest of the officers. In a scenario like this, Hannah knew better than to take people at their word. Alma had been losing her mind from the uncertainty surrounding the case. Hannah was impatient for the chaos to settle down, and for the criminal to be brought to justice. It was assumed that the person responsible was a citizen of Clyde River who was knowledgeable of Orion and his mysterious home life. Perhaps this wasn’t true. It could have been a churchgoer, or a friend, or a child who snuck in from out of town.

Hannah assumed she was finished. Fidgeting in the uncomfortable station chair, she met the gaze of the officer. “Where were you on the day of March 5?” This was the day Hannah’s mother had died. She’d heard the women fighting upstairs, but thought nothing of it - the women fought a lot. When she’d gone upstairs later that evening for dinner, Samantha was nowhere to be found, and Lillian was dead in the living room, and Mara wouldn’t speak.

She shrugged. “I was home.” I’m always home. “Downstairs in my room, doing homework.” She and Saphira had been the only ones home that day, and both kept to themselves. Hannah preferred it this way.

The room she sat in was dim and cold, nothing but a long table separating her and the officers. Hannah respected cops. Too many law-breakers tried to get away with sin, and needed to be held responsible. “Were you home at the moment of Lillian’s death?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you think to call someone?”

If it had been Hannah who discovered Lillian, she would have. “My sister Sariah got there first. They’d already been called by the time I came upstairs.”

There were a lot of conflicting feelings that came with the passing of an emotionally unavailable father. Though Hannah had been traumatized in many ways by Orion, she’d loved him - and it was very hard to explain why. Most people would find it bizarre that a girl could love a person who abused her. Hannah found this bizarre, too. She supposed it wasn’t all bad. Her father had taught her how to ride a bike, and tie her shoes, and spell her name.

Dearest family, the note had begun, allegedly from Orion. Hannah knew all along that it was faked by someone outside of the family. Anyone who knew Orion knew he was not a man to call people dear. I regret to inform you that I can no longer struggle. The note, to an outsider, may have been convincing. To Hannah, it was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to get away with murder.

Aaron met her outside the station, driving the rundown Jeep he’d borrowed from his mother. He wasn’t the most knowledgeable boy, but he was handsome, and he supported Hannah. “Did it go alright?”

When Hannah moved out, she planned on asking Aaron to teach her to drive. Recently, she’d bought herself a cell phone using cash she’d found on her father’s dresser: it wasn’t as if he’d need this anyway. “I guess. I don’t think anyone suspects me.” The priest, recently, had sent a care package to the farm for Hannah, with whom he’d grown close over the years. “Let’s go to your house.”

It was cloudy. Hannah never left the farm, and felt stupidly scared when she did it on her own. Aaron put his hand casually on her thigh before descending the parking lot.