IT WAS A couple minutes to three when I finally entered the trailer park where Hannah lived. When I found her place, I noticed it was the most rundown home in the lot and definitely in need of repairs.
As I parked the rental car, the front door opened and a large, middle-aged guy stepped out of the trailer. He wore a white wife-beater and a greasy apron. Ignoring me, he hurried away from the place on foot and disappeared into one of the other trailers.
Sighing, I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, Hannah opened it.
“You must be Dom,” she said, shoving a cigarette into her mouth.
I stared at the disheveled-looking woman with the red hair and dilated pupils. From the way she was twitching, I knew Hannah had some really bad habits.
“Yeah,” I said, wondering
