I’m letting the story sit in my brain a while. In the meantime, some backstory on Hannah’s lock picking ways.
When Hannah was nine, her mother locked her out of the house. It was an accident, but Hannah spent three hours waiting for her mother to notice.
Her mother had passed out on the sofa and didn’t hear her child’s pounding on the door or various windows.
Hannah went into the laundry room for the toolbox. Nothing in the toolbox looked able to pick a lock though she gave several tools a try. She did a good job splintering the wood of the door and the door jamb. She considered going to a neighbor’s house, but then the neighbors would know that her mother had been drinking. They would also know she wasn’t smart enough to break into her own house.
Finally, she took a hammer and busted out a window that ran alongside the front door. She reached in and could open the door. Edges of glass cut her arm.
After cleaning up the blood and checking on her mother, still asleep on the sofa, Hannah went out into the yard and gathered up thirteen rocks. Thirteen because she liked the number and figured her parents wouldn’t count them.
She hit the front door in several places with an especially heavy rock. She scattered the rocks in front of the door. One rock she put inside the house, on the floor, near the broken window.
Her dad got home a short while later.
“Look, Dad,” she said. “Look what those kids down the street did.”
Her dad looked over the mess. “Why would they do a thing like this?” he asked.
She shrugged. “You know how they are. Are you going to make them pay for it?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the next.
“Don’t you worry. I’ll fix it up.”
“I don’t want any more trouble,” he said. “Where’s your mom?”
“Napping.” She stayed in the front hall listening to her father go into the living room to try and wake up his wife. Hannah resolved to learn how to pick the front door lock. She could see no reason for locks to get in her way again.