Is That Mom

Part 4 of Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

The First Real Lead

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Part 4:

Descent into Obsession

The days blurred into nights as Ethan’s obsession deepened. He barely left his room, the once neat and orderly space now transformed into a chaotic mess. Papers were scattered across the floor, filled with scribbled notes and printouts of articles he had found online. His desk was cluttered with old photos, documents, and empty coffee cups. The air felt stale, heavy with the scent of cold coffee and the mustiness of forgotten things. The only light in the room came from the glow of his computer screen, casting a dim, ghostly hue that made everything seem more surreal.

Ethan’s mind was consumed by the search. He read every piece of information he could find about the clinic, even diving into obscure forums and archives that might hold a clue. What he discovered disturbed him. The clinic, which had shut down a few years after his mother disappeared, had a murky history. On the surface, it had been a small facility that specialized in treating mental health issues, particularly trauma and depression. But as he dug deeper, he found rumors—whispers about unethical practices, strange disappearances, and patients who checked in but never seemed to check out.

The more he read, the more he felt like he was being pulled into a dark, tangled web. Every new piece of information was like a thread leading him deeper, and he couldn’t stop following it, even though he knew it was consuming him. His mind kept replaying what his grandmother had said, the words echoing in his head: “She was struggling, Ethan. She was not herself.” What did that mean? What had been happening to his mother in those final days before she vanished?

The hours ticked by, but Ethan hardly noticed. He would lose track of time, only realizing how late it was when his eyes burned from staring at the screen for too long. He would wake up in the same clothes he had fallen asleep in, his bed barely touched. Sleep was an afterthought, something he gave in to only when his body could no longer fight the exhaustion. But even then, his dreams were haunted by shadows and whispers, fragments of conversations he couldn’t quite make out. When he woke, it was with a sense of urgency, a need to continue the search that had become his whole world.

His friends noticed the change. They texted him, asking where he had been, why he hadn’t shown up to school or answered their calls. At first, he would respond with quick, vague messages: “I’m fine. Just busy.” But as the days went on, he stopped replying altogether. It felt easier that way, to let them slip away, to focus entirely on finding the truth. He couldn’t explain it to them, not without sounding crazy. How could they understand the weight of what he was carrying, the fear that something terrible had happened to his mother and that he was the only one who could uncover it?

One night, as Ethan scrolled through yet another forum post, he found a thread that sent a chill down his spine. It was an old discussion about the clinic, filled with posts from people who claimed to have had relatives treated there. Most of the posts were vague, with people expressing sadness or frustration over loved ones who had been admitted and never seemed to get better. But one post, buried deep in the thread, stood out.

“They don’t just treat people there. They keep them. My sister was there for a few weeks, and she was never the same when she came out. She said they did things to her, things she couldn’t talk about. If your loved one is there, get them out. You don’t know what goes on behind those doors.”

Ethan’s heart pounded as he read and re-read the post, his hands shaking. It was as if a cold hand had gripped his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Was this what had happened to his mother? Had she been trapped there, subjected to something awful that no one had known about? The thought made him feel sick, a dark, suffocating nausea that he couldn’t shake.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes, but the words from the post stayed with him. If there was any truth to it, then his mother’s disappearance was connected to something far darker than he had ever imagined. But how could he prove it? The clinic had been shut down for years. Most of the records were likely destroyed or buried under layers of bureaucracy. And yet, he felt like he was on the edge of something, like if he just pushed a little further, he could break through and finally see the truth.

The obsession took a toll on him, both physically and mentally. He barely ate, subsisting on snacks he could grab without leaving his desk. His reflection in the mirror had changed—his eyes were sunken, dark circles forming under them, and his skin was pale, almost ghostly. He looked like a stranger, someone who had been hollowed out by the weight of everything he had uncovered. But none of it mattered to him. The only thing that mattered was finding the answers, no matter what it cost him.

His grandmother had tried to reach out a few times, knocking on his door to ask if he wanted to join her for dinner, or if he was okay. Each time, he had brushed her off with a quick, “I’m busy,” or “I’m fine.” He knew she was worried, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. If he let go of this now, if he allowed himself to be distracted, he was afraid he would lose his only chance to understand what had happened to his mother.

Late one evening, after hours of searching, Ethan stumbled across an article that mentioned the clinic in passing. It was an old piece from a local newspaper, dated a few months before the clinic closed. The article was about a lawsuit, filed by the family of a patient who had been admitted for anxiety and depression but had reportedly suffered a mental breakdown after a few weeks of treatment. The lawsuit claimed that the clinic had used experimental treatments without proper consent, and that the patient had been subjected to prolonged periods of isolation and something referred to only as “the program.”

Ethan’s mind raced as he tried to piece it all together. The program. What was it? Was it some kind of treatment that had gone wrong, or something more sinister? He searched for more information, but found nothing concrete. It was like the clinic had been wiped from existence, leaving behind only traces, hints of what had once been. But he couldn’t let it go. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that this was the key. Whatever “the program” was, it had to be connected to his mother.

As the hours dragged on, Ethan’s thoughts grew darker. He wondered if he was losing his mind, if the obsession was driving him to see patterns where there were none. But then he would think of the receipt, the cryptic forum posts, and the lawsuit, and the doubt would fade. This wasn’t just in his head. There was something there, a hidden truth that someone didn’t want him to find. And that only made him more determined.

The glow of the computer screen flickered, and Ethan felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He glanced at the clock and realized it was well past midnight, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the screen, and kept searching. Somewhere, buried in the endless sea of information, was the answer he was looking for. He just had to find it.

As the night stretched on, the room around him seemed to close in, the darkness pressing against the walls. Ethan felt like he was suffocating, drowning in the sea of his own thoughts. But even then, he couldn’t stop. He was too close. And as long as there was a chance, even the smallest chance, that he could find out what happened to his mother, he would keep going. No matter what it cost him.

And so, with tired eyes and a mind teetering on the edge, he continued to dig, unaware of just how deep the darkness would take him.