Is That Mom

Part 2 of Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

The First Real Lead

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Part 2:

Researching the Clinic

The rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle by morning, but Ethan barely noticed. He had barely slept, his mind still buzzing with the implications of the receipt he had found. By the time the first light crept through his window, he was already at his desk, eyes red from a night of restless thoughts. The desk was cluttered, littered with the remnants of his search—old photographs, faded postcards, and now, that crumpled piece of paper from the clinic.

Ethan's hands moved quickly as he typed the name of the clinic into the search bar. He stared at the screen, waiting for something—anything—to come up that would make sense of what he had found. The computer hummed softly, and the familiar glow of the monitor was the only light in the room, casting eerie shadows across the walls. Ethan had done this countless times before, searching for information on his mother, scouring the internet for any hint of what might have happened to her. But this time felt different. This time, he had a real starting point.

The clinic’s website was unremarkable, just a standard template with information about their services, contact details, and a few smiling stock photos of doctors and patients. Ethan scrolled through the page, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the list of services. General checkups, physical therapy, mental health consultations… He stopped. Mental health. Something about that made his skin prickle. His mother had never talked about struggling with her mental health, at least not that he knew of, but then again, how much did he really know about her life before she disappeared?

He clicked on the “About Us” section, trying to glean more information. The clinic had been around for decades, tucked away on a quiet street not far from where Ethan lived. It was small, private, and, according to the website, known for its "personalized approach to care." Ethan's mind wandered, picturing his mother walking through those doors, sitting in a waiting room, filling out forms. The image felt surreal, like a dream he couldn’t quite shake.

But there was nothing on the website that gave him any answers. No list of past patients, no indication that his mother had ever been there. Ethan felt a wave of frustration rising inside him, threatening to spill over. He had hoped this would be easy, that the receipt would lead him straight to the answers he had been searching for. Instead, it felt like he was staring at yet another dead end.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop now. He closed the clinic’s website and started digging deeper, searching for any mentions of the clinic online. News articles, reviews, forum posts—anything that might give him a hint of what kind of place this was.

As the hours passed, Ethan’s desk became a mess of scribbled notes and printed articles. He found old news reports mentioning the clinic, mostly unremarkable—stories about local health initiatives, charity events, the occasional praise for their doctors. But then, buried deep in the search results, he stumbled across something that made his breath catch. It was an old forum post, dated years back, on a site dedicated to local gossip and conspiracy theories. The thread was titled: “What’s really going on at [Clinic Name]?”

Ethan clicked on it, and his screen filled with a long string of posts. Most of them were just speculation, people sharing stories they had heard from friends of friends—rumors about the clinic treating patients for “special” cases, handling things that other hospitals wouldn’t. Ethan’s heart pounded as he read through the posts. One person claimed that their cousin had been treated there after a traumatic accident and that the clinic had a way of “making things disappear”—problems, pain, even people. Another post mentioned the clinic’s long history, suggesting it had once been known for handling more “sensitive” issues, particularly cases involving mental health and trauma.

Ethan felt a chill run down his spine. His mother’s name was never mentioned, but the more he read, the more convinced he became that there was something off about this place. He sat back, letting the words sink in. Could his mother have been treated for something there? Was she struggling with something none of them knew about? The idea felt foreign, unsettling. His mother had always been a warm, caring person, but now Ethan wondered how much of that had been a front. Had she been hiding something, trying to protect him from a truth that was too painful to face?

The rain outside had stopped, but the clouds still hung heavy in the sky, casting a dull, grey light over the room. Ethan glanced at his phone, seeing a string of missed messages from his friends. They had been reaching out, trying to check in, but Ethan hadn’t responded. How could he? How could he explain that he was losing himself in a search for answers that might not even exist? He typed out a quick reply, telling them he was fine, just busy, and sent it off without waiting for a response. The lie felt heavy, but it was easier than trying to explain the truth.

For the next few days, Ethan’s obsession grew. He found himself thinking about the clinic constantly, running through different scenarios in his mind, trying to piece together a story that made sense. He started skipping meals, losing track of time as he scoured the internet for more information. The more he learned, the more questions he had. Every new piece of information seemed to lead to a dozen more, and none of them brought him any closer to the truth.

Ethan’s room reflected the chaos inside his head. His bed was unmade, clothes were strewn across the floor, and empty coffee cups cluttered his desk. He barely noticed. All that mattered was finding out what had happened to his mother. He read through old newspaper archives, searched through hospital records, even tried to find old employee lists from the clinic, but every path seemed to lead to a dead end.

One night, as he sat staring at his computer screen, exhausted and frustrated, Ethan found himself going back to that forum thread. He scrolled down, re-reading the posts, trying to see if he had missed something. Near the bottom of the page, someone had posted a reply that he hadn’t noticed before. It was brief, almost cryptic, but it made Ethan’s heart skip a beat. “There were disappearances,” it read. “People who went there and never came out. Don’t dig too deep, or you might end up like them.”

Ethan sat back, his mind reeling. Disappearances? What did that mean? Was it just another rumor, or was there some truth to it? The words echoed in his head, taunting him, daring him to find out more. He felt a surge of determination, mixed with a hint of fear. This was the closest he had ever been to finding real answers, but it was starting to feel like he was treading dangerous ground.

As the night wore on, Ethan found himself staring at the receipt again, tracing the faded letters with his finger. He thought about his mother, about the last time he had seen her, and about all the things he had never had the chance to ask her. For so long, he had been living in a haze of half-truths and unanswered questions, but now, for the first time, he felt like he was getting closer to the truth. It was a terrifying, exhilarating feeling, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what he might find.

But he knew he couldn’t stop now. Whatever this clinic was hiding, whatever secrets it held, Ethan was going to uncover them. Even if it meant digging into a past that no one wanted to remember.