I just knew it. It was the kind of raw, unwavering instinct that nags at you before you go to sleep and actually deprives you of it. Cleaning, talking, writing, organizing, or mindless wondering replaces sleep. Cocaine replaces sleep. Anything replaces sleep.

But I like I said, I just knew it. I knew it was her. No one but me knew. She stood at the bus corner everyday at the same time outside my house with her mom. She waited for the yellow bus daily to take her to her pristine classroom; I assume the 3^rd or 4^th grade. She looked so delicate and conservative in her powder blue turtleneck; the way she might have looked at that age but her hair was longer, younger, thinner, and had some wave to it. I imagined her pretty and perfect in pearls and a tiara. It never happened.

She was now old enough to stand on the corner herself, usually accompanied by that dirty boy that lived down the road. From my window I could tell they were friendly, but she was too good for him and she knew it. I was sure. I knew it. She was Princess Diana reincarnated.

I peered out my window waiting for Hannah to take the first step onto that bright bus everyday. I waited for her safety. It was all lined up correctly; there were so many clues. Princess Diana died in August of 1997 and this summer in August the O’Connell’s had kids over at their house with balloons. The party was the last day of August, the day Princess Diana died, which means this 8-year-old girl was born the day of the demise of Diana. She had hair that glistened like hers, she has her undeniable grace and likeability and when you caught a glimpse of her eyes, something sparkled. Every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I stayed up all night until 7:35am when little Hannah picked her white and pink Sketcher shoes up onto that filthy yellow bus to safety.

At around 7:00am, everyday of the week, I pop in a piece of bread into the toaster. I usually burn it, but still sink my teeth into the charred crust anyway. I smother it with peanut butter. It tastes better that way anyways. But never too much peanut butter because then it just sticks to the roof of my mouth.

I start camping out by my window around 7:04am. I wait, my eyes never leaving her front door where she always emerges. She is almost never late and when she is, I feel like I am going to throw up until she shows herself. Knowing and carrying the burden alone that Hannah is actually Di is information that makes your stomach ache, the kind that rises in your throat right before you’re about to hurl. That’s why I only eat toast. It is easy to throw up.

My hands start shaking. It’s 7:30:11am and she is not out yet. I concentrate on keeping my food down. My heart’s racing. 7:31am. Usually by this time I am happily observing her: what she’s wearing, her hairstyle, the way she carries herself, if she talks to the dirty kid or not that day, how many steps she takes.

I waited until 7:37am, after the bus took the dirty kid away with no sign of Hannah, before I called the police.

"911 what’s your emergency?" the operator sounds bored. I confessed everything to her. I told her I was worried for her safety, that Hannah could’ve been abducted. 7:39am and still no sign of her. Missed the bus. Reincarnated Princess Diana, you know, of Wales? "Where do you live mam?" she sounded more intrigued. On the corner of 5^th and Ridge, so does Hannah, right across the street. Please come quick.

It was now 7:49am and still no sign. Normally I’m safely in bed by now, relieved that Hannah is on the bus. The O’Connell’s don’t even know the truth, the secret. Hannah is special, so special. So liked, by millions.

I figured I should get some sleep in case I had to make a statement for the police when they got here. I would be very integral to the case; I knew everything. My stomach calmed after I got off the phone with 911 but I was still wide-awake. I slipped out the garage door, hopped in the Durango and with the windows up packed a one hitter just for me. After I felt satisfied and calm, I opened the dented door with the piece still in my hand, hopped out and turned the knob to my lonely apartment. Nestling myself beneath the white fluffy down comforter, I felt warm despite the crisp air-conditioned space.