Lucidity

Chapter 14 - House Calls

After finishing morning report and a talk on colic to the interns, Vincent was free to begin his quest for Helman’s missing patient. He printed out her demographic information including address and contact numbers. Still no answer at her house when he called.

Vincent drove his Mustang over to Grace Moran’s address in Squirrel Hill. The street she lived on was a series of yellow and brown brick duplexes shouldered together as if they were the last defense against the rest of the world.

Raggedy lawn chairs and ancient chrome kitchen chairs sat at the curb, holding parking spaces until their owners arrived to claim them—a unique Pittsburgh tradition that was more sacrosanct than any civil law. After moving here, Vincent had quickly learned to never violate the sacred spaces protected by chairs that in any other city would have been stolen or disposed of as garbage.

He found a spot down the street from 209. Moran’s house was perched on a hill, its front stoop a steep flight up from the sidewalk, the garage tucked in beneath the first floor. The outside was a dark yellow brick that had been popular sixty years ago with blue shutters draped around large, mullioned windows.

He leaned forward to peer up at the house through the windshield. It was an ordinary house, no hint that a crazy lady lived here. Morning kindergarten had just let out and he watched as kids walked past 209 without a glance or hitch in their steps.

It wasn’t like that when he was a kid. Any rumor of instability or even eccentric behavior, and the kids would immediately brand the house. Even after the suspected miscreants moved on, the half-truths kids overheard would take on mythic proportions and the house would be marked for graffiti, eggs, and toilet paper, minor mischief and mayhem.

But these kids didn’t seem to care. Did they not know? Or were city kids just less bored and curious than he and his friends had been?

He left the Mustang and stepped out into slashing March rain that tried its best to push him down the hill, away from Moran’s home. Vincent fought through it and after huffing his way up the hill and the steep steps to her front porch, found himself jabbing at her door bell. A sonorous tone echoed inside as if the empty house was in mourning for its absent owner.

He peered through the glass at the top of the oak door. Moran’s front room appeared orderly, would have even met his mother’s approval. Photos were clustered on the fireplace mantle, too far away for him to make out the subjects. There was tasteful artwork on the other wall that was within view, a console table with a bowl for keys lined the foyer, and if he turned his head he could see the back of a sofa. The only thing out of place was a floral runner rug that stretched out along the foyer and behind the sofa in subdued shades of red and green.

He tapped the bell again. No movement inside the house—he knew it couldn’t be that easy. He settled on the porch swing and pulled Moran’s information from his pocket. What was an agoraphobic doing with a porch swing, anyway? He used his cell phone to call her emergency contact, an Ingrid Garman.

“Mrs. Garman?”

“Who’s this?”

“I’m Dr. Emberek from Angels of Mercy.”

There was the clatter of dishes in the background as she sucked in her breath. “My God, Grace—is she—”

“She’s all right, as far as I know.”

The woman’s tone turned stony. “What do you mean, as far as you know? You’re her doctor, aren’t ya?”

Now for the tricky part. “Yes ma’am. But we’ve had a small problem. Ms. Moran seems to have left Angels of Mercy. I’m trying to find her.”