Where the Darkness Goes

Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

TESSA — PRESENT DAY

With Garrett out of the room, I pick up the brush from Mom’s nightstand and run it through her hair slowly, remembering how she’d do the same for me so often as a kid, even when I was much too old for it to be necessary. For a long time, the minutes right before bed were spent sitting on the couch just in front of Mom while she brushed and braided my hair. Never in a hurry. Never too busy to do it. Looking back, those moments were when we had our best talks. It was easier to ask her the hard questions or say the embarrassing things when I didn’t have to look her in the eyes.

I can’t remember now when that stopped or why. I suppose it was inevitable we’d outgrow the practice someday, but I wish we’d known which time would be the final one.

Mom’s eyes scan the room, like she’s searching for something.

“What is it?” I ask this without expecting a response, more out of habit than anything.

As the words leave my mouth, Mom’s eyes freeze, then lock on mine.

“Mom?”

Her eyes are wide, unblinking. Fearful.

“Mom? Can you hear me? Is something hurting?”

I stand to press the button and call the nurse, worried something is seriously wrong, when her fingers wiggle. I stop.

“Did you do that on purpose?” I move back toward her, taking her hand, holding my palm just under her fingers. I think the nurse said something about this yesterday, but it’s all such a blur I can’t be certain. “Can you move your fingers for me again?”

She’s still looking at me, watching me with a blank, fuzzy expression, but her eyes haven’t wandered off again. I’m taking that as a good sign. She’s listening. Trying.

I clasp her hand in mine. “Can you hear me? Do you know who I am? Squeeze my hand, Momma.”

I wait, holding my breath and feeling for a single twinge of her muscles to let me know she’s attempting it, that I’m not imagining all of this.

I run my finger across hers slowly, moving over her knuckles. She twitches, a single bump of her finger, and my chest tightens.

I release a shaky breath and sit down on the bed again. The doctors have always said they’re hopeful she’ll make more progress, but I was beginning to lose hope. Intentional movement of any kind would be huge. “I’m here. I’m right here.” I try to think, remembering what the nurses have told us about her better days, how she responds by blinking about a quarter of the time. She wouldn’t do it yesterday, but maybe… “Can you blink once if you can hear me?” I hold my breath, waiting and watching. Still, her eyes are locked on mine, but she isn’t?—

Blink.

It’s slow, like she’s drunk, but it was definitely something, wasn’t it?

“Do you know who I am?”

There’s another long pause and then, blink.

Tears spring to my eyes, and my breathing hitches, my voice going so high I’m practically a cartoon character. “Hi. Oh my gosh. Hi.” I sniffle, collecting my thoughts though they feel a bit like scattered change. “Um, are you in pain? Should I call a nurse?”

Nothing. I double the time I waited before. Triple it.

She’s saying no. I really think she’s telling me no.

“Will will be back soon,” I tell her, stroking her hand. “He’ll be so happy to see you. We’re both going to visit as much as we can.”

Blink.

This time faster. She’s happy, I think. She’s saying yes, she wants us to visit.

“Mom, has someone else been visiting you? Someone besides me and Garrett and Will? Do you remember? Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Blink.

“Did they write this note?” I pull the wrinkled piece of paper out of my pocket and unfold it. “Murderer?”

She stares at me, not the paper, without blinking. I move it closer to her face. “Someone left this in your room. Do you know who?”

Blink.

I search the room. There has to be a way to have her tell me who it was without me rambling off every person I know. “Was it…Sheriff Ward?”

I’m thinking back over that night, over the accusations I don’t think she’s ever been able to let go of. Over the hurt on her face the next morning when she tried to pretend it hadn’t happened.

She doesn’t blink. That’s a no.

“Ed Gray?”

Again, her eyes are still, unblinking.

“Pastor Charles?”

Nothing. She’s so still she looks as if she’s been carved from stone. I don’t know who else it could be. I’m sure so many people heard the rumors back then. Once Mom had been accused of stealing—of murder, even—things were never quite the same. Even though she was never officially charged with any crime.

“It’s all going to be okay, okay? I’m going to make sure you’re safe. I’m going to fix this.”

Blink.

My heart stutters. “I’ll tell them no more visitors except us. Me and Will and Garrett. We’re going to figure this out. I promise you.”

Blink.

I cross the room, searching for something, anything, that might help. Could she hold a pencil? Probably not. I need to keep asking her questions, keep trying to get answers while she’s able to give them to me. I grab my phone, scrolling through my contacts to come up with a list of suspects.

When the door opens, I look up, expecting Garrett, but find the nurse from yesterday instead.

“Oh. Well, hey there. I was just coming to check on her.” She pauses at the door, turning to look at Mom.

“She’s awake,” I tell her. “Responsive. She was talking to me.”

“Talking?” She balks. “Are you serious?” She hurries across the room to Mom’s bed.

“Blinking,” I amend. “She was blinking and answering my questions, and she moved her hand.”

The nurse looks back at me as I move around to get a better view of Mom just to find her eyes closed.

No!

Approaching her bed, I touch her shoulder. “Mom?”

The nurse checks her pulse and pulls out a thermometer, swiping it across her forehead. “Ms. Frannie, are you there, honey?”

Something about the nurse who is closer to my age than my mom’s calling her ‘honey’ doesn’t sit well with me, but I ignore it. “Mom, open your eyes again. Show her.” Is she doing this on purpose? I can’t help the suspicion that has begun to creep in.

The nurse gives me a pitying look. “It takes a lot of her energy when she’s lucid. We usually only get a minute or two out of her, so it sounds like you were pretty lucky. I’ll call the doctor to do a full exam, but just try to remember that any progress is progress.”

I feel like everything has been swiped from me, like none of it was even real. “Mom, please,” I whisper, knowing I look and sound like a child. I can’t bring myself to care what the nurse must think of me.

“Here, let me show you something.” Nurse Emma crosses into the kitchen and opens a drawer next to the sink, pulling out a laminated piece of paper. “I keep this in the drawer. You’re welcome to try it next time she’s awake.” She holds up the sheet, revealing a printed alphabet. “I ask her to blink when I point to each letter to help her spell things and answer questions that aren’t yes or no.”

“Has she been able to do that?”

Her brows draw together. “Not completely, no, but that’s expected. She loses her train of thought a lot, but to be able to do anything at all is an improvement. I’ve talked to patients who came out of things like this who tell me they were doing math problems in their head most of the time to keep their brains active. Or spelling words, recalling trivia, that sort of thing. It’s all about rebuilding those muscles. It just takes time.”

The door opens, and this time it’s Garrett. Emma puts the paper back in the drawer.

“What’s going on?” Garrett crosses the room, running a hand over his pockets like he’s searching for his keys or phone, both of which are there.

I look back at Mom, feeling equally hopeful and completely let down. “She was awake and aware for a minute or two. She knew who I was.”

His jaw drops. “What? Seriously? That’s amazing, Tessa.”

“We should probably let her get some rest for a while,” Emma whispers, flipping out the light above the bed.

“Sure.” With a final look at Mom, who seems to be sleeping peacefully, I slip out of the room with Garrett just behind me, so filled with questions I’m bursting.