“It’s not as if I have anything else to do. I can always sleep. Checking for unidentified whatever they’re called is something completely different.”
“I’ll text you; this way, you can either ignore it or answer back.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan.” She held out her hand. “Very nice to meetcha, Henry Pushkin.”
“Same here, Frida Larsen. See you around campus, if not sooner.” He waited until she was safely inside her unit—not that there was anything or anyone she should be concerned about.
Chapter Three
Sunnydale Do-Over
Theresa was awake before the sun came up. She was still on Eastern time. It would take another day or so before her body clock reset itself. By then she would be heading home. Home with a few answers, or so she hoped.
She called the front desk, inquired as to when the indoor pool was open, and discovered it was open twenty-four hours. She had a lot of time to kill before her appointment and decided to go for a swim, but then realized she didn’t have a bathing suit. She decided to put on a pair of shorts and sit on the edge of the pool and let her legs dangle in the warm water.
Everything was peaceful. Still. The massage had been a brilliant idea, and now the serenity of the atmosphere gave her time to process her thoughts. Slowly. Calmly. In spite of the tranquility, she couldn’t shake off the odd and uncomfortable feelings she was having. She hoped she could put those to rest after she saw her aunt.
By eight o’clock, she was ready for breakfast and returned to her room to change into something more appropriate for a long-lost niece to visit her long-lost aunt.
Theresa arrived at her appointment exactly on time. She didn’t want to bend any additional rules she might be unaware of. The security guard phoned ahead, nodded, pushed a button that lifted the gate. “Take the first right. You’ll come to an intersection. Take a left and continue. It’s the third building, at the end. Please park in the bays marked for visitors only.”
Theresa thanked him and followed his instructions. When she came to the intersection, she looked toward the right and spotted a security gate that required a code. The mini-clinic–physical therapy center was on the other side of the gate, allowing normal access to the building from the main road. To her left was the assisted living building. Farther down was long-term care. According to the photos she had seen, this part of Sunnydale was discretely separated from the main, senior living area. Then it dawned on her that the virtual tour only included still photos of the assisted living quarters, but no interior shots of the “outer buildings,” for lack of a better term.
There were very few vehicles in the parking lot for longterm care, and she had her choice of several spaces. She thought it odd that the place should appear to be void of visitors, especially during the appointed hours. She tried to shake off her doubts, attributing them to jet lag and a good dose of familial anxiety.
The hot air hit her in the face when she exited the car. She noted this part of the overall complex was remote, and almost half a mile to the main highway.
She approached the frosted double-door entrance. A speaker and video camera were mounted next to it. Theresa pressed the button. It seemed like an interminable amount of time passed before a disembodied voice said something. “Can I help you?”
Theresa announced herself and whom she was visiting. Another few seconds later, the buzzer sounded, and the latch was released. She entered an exceedingly small lobby with a narrow counter. A plexiglass wall with a small sliding partition separated it from the rest of the room. She looked around the limited, cramped space and noticed there were no chairs. It had a stark, institutional feel about it, much like a prison—not that she had ever been in one.
Unlike the curt exchange Theresa received the day before, the woman behind the glass had a permanent smile plastered on her face. Theresa again gave her name and whom she was there to see.
The woman nodded, still smiling, and said, “Someone will escort you in shortly.”
Theresa hoped it would be shortly, since there was nowhere to sit. She also thought it odd that she was the only person in the room, which explained the absence of other cars in the visitors’ spots.
The receptionist informed Theresa that she could only “observe” from a viewing room.That’s unusual, Theresa thought. “Does that mean I can’t speak to her?”
“I’m afraid she has been in a coma for the past several weeks, leaving her immune system compromised.” The smile did not waver. “But someone will tell her you are here. We believe that even if a guest is in a fugue state, they can still hear what is going on around them.”
Theresa was getting a strange vibe from Ms. Cheshire Cat and the facility itself. She heard the sound of a buzzer similar to the one at the main entrance, and an orderly appeared. As he escorted Theresa to the viewing room, he reminded her that her aunt might be unrecognizable, given the vegetative state she was in. Theresa knew her aunt would be unrecognizable regardless of the state she was in, since the only image she had of her was taken sixty-plus years ago.
They walked down a corridor with several viewing rooms. She wondered how many people were in the same condition as her aunt, but all the other rooms were empty until they came upon the one with a placard in the window that said DOROTHYCARPENTER.
Theresa’s heart sank. They hadn’t exaggerated. The woman was unrecognizable, particularly with all the tubes running from her mouth and nose. Theresa leaned as close to the window as she could and squinted, trying to detect any resemblance to the young woman in the photo, but it was impossible. Then she noticed there was no ring on her estranged aunt’s hand, nor did it show the mark of one that had been worn for decades.Would she have given it away? Sold it?Theresa realized there were more questions than answers.
The orderly motioned to a speaker on the wall. “You can push that button and say hello.”
Again, unusual, but Theresa attempted to communicate. “Hello, Aunt Dottie? I’m JoAnne’s daughter, Theresa.” She waited to see if the lifeless-looking body would react. Nothing. Not even a twitch.
The orderly, who had a modicum of humanity, turned to Theresa. “This is why we caution visitors. They come here hoping something will change, or the patient will finally respond. Rarely, and I mean rarely, do we ever see a response.”
Theresa turned toward the orderly. “Haveyouever seen someone react to someone’s voice?”
“Me? Personally? No, I can’t say that I have. But I’ve been told stories by other staff members.” Theresa calculated the orderly was in his mid-twenties, surely not a long time in this profession. He then said, “I’ll give you some private time. Please do not extend your visit for more than ten more minutes. You will hear a slight bell when your time is up.”
A bell? I’m on a timer? What if I wanted to stand here all day and stare at my relative?It wasn’t as if the place was bustling. As far as she could tell, she was the only other person in the building who wasn’t a patient or an employee. More unusual rules.
