How can an old lady just vanish in her own hometown? And why? Police ask a reclusive psychic and her reformed young assistant to unearth clues through visions and investigation. They must ask themselves what in the woman's past needed silencing...
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JC trailed her mother through the hospital entrance and stood at her back by the information desk. The volunteer peered up over the rim of her glasses and sighed before she uttered a word. Crabby mood, thought JC and stared her down. She flinched and asked, "How...can I...help...you?"
"Penney," said her mother. "Mildred."
"That'd be room 212. Elevator's to your left there." The volunteer raised a lumbering arm, eyes dropping back to her paperwork before they even walked away from the counter.
"Thank you," JC heard her mother breathe. She sprinted ahead and tapped the button. Doors scrolled open and shut. It chugged up to the second floor. They faced the lit numbers, riding in silence. As they stepped off the elevator, the tiny grey room signs jutting from the greyish walls over each doorway beckoned them. 206...208...210. JC took her mother's hand. Her mother squeezed as they entered the stuffy room. It smelled of piss and perfume. The curtain was drawn around the bed nearest the bathroom. The sucking of a ventilator pulsed against the constant thrum in the building. The mattress by the window was bare, adorned only by a rubberized sheet and naked pillow. JC watched her mother pinch the drapes and peer into the cubicle. She felt the dread climb her back. Stay or run?
"Come," whispered her mother and JC stepped up to the bed. Gramma Penney's slender frame lay on the raised surface, her fine, grey hair spread like a long fan across the pillow. Her skin's so thin, thought JC. Especially her eyelids. The machine puffed making her Gramma's chest rise and fall. JC realized she was clutching her mother's hand and let it fall. She clung to the bedframe instead.
"Doesn't look like her without the life, eh?" mused her mother.
JC swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She blinked hard as her mother smoothed Gramma's folded hands. The lids fluttered and Gramma's wild eyes scanned the room.
"It's okay," whispered her mother while JC settled on the bedding. As JC stared, her mother held one of Gramma's hands and hummed a long-forgotten lullaby. A strange sadness echoed in JC's chest, welling up.
"How do they fix this?" asked JC, but her mother continued to hum.
"It's going to be alright Millie. Y'understand?" Gramma's eyes searched her mother's face and a calmness skimmed the confusion from her eyes.
"We're gonna go now, but I'll be back before I head to work." Her mother gave Gramma's hand a quick squeeze. Gramma lowered her eyelids and then opened them again, slowly. Twice.
"She understands," said JC. That's worth celebrating.
As she and her mother edged from the room, JC held a hand up in a five-finger wave. Gramma was locked in her body. But her eyes followed JC. That gave her hope. Hope she'd get her Gramma back. Someday.
Riding the elevator down, JC touched her mother's bare arm. They exchanged a faint smile. The doors opened and there stood her father, one hand stuffed into his pocket, the other laid over her wife's bird-like shoulders. His eyes glaring at her mother's.
