Page 11 of Where the Darkness Goes

She wants to lie to me, I can tell. Everything in her seems to want to tell me she’s moving and talking up a storm, but eventually, she presses her lips into a fine line and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, no. But she can hear you, like I said. She’s aware of what’s going on. She can open her mouth to eat when we ask her to, though it’s still only pureed food and liquids.”

I remember watching her eat pureed chicken the day we brought her here. Meat that had been blended until it was liquid. My stomach seizes at the thought.

Nurse Emma goes on, “And she follows commands with her eyes, like I mentioned. Blinking or following our finger or the light. Not always, but it’s happened enough that we know she can do it. Those are all really good signs. We still have a lot of hope her recovery will go further than this, but there’s no way to guarantee it. I know this visit will do a lot to keep her spirits up, though.”

Carefully, I lift a hand and brush Mom’s hair behind her ear. “Hey, Momma. It’s me. It’s…it’s Tessa.”

“I’ll give you two some time,” Emma says, stepping back toward the door. “If you need anything at all, just press this button on the wall, and I’ll be here. Otherwise, I’ll come back in a little bit to see how we’re doing.”

“Thank you.” Garrett nods at her as she shuts the door, then moves across the room to sit at the dinette with his back to us. It’s his attempt to give us privacy, too.

“I’m staying with Will,” I tell Mom softly, almost as if it’s a secret. With a giggle, I add, “I know you must’ve never thought, when we were kids, that would happen intentionally, but it’s true.” I brush her hair back again out of habit, though it hasn’t moved. For the most part, her gaze is empty. Every few minutes, she finds me, letting me know she realizes I’m here, but just as quickly, it’s as if she forgets. “Actually, Will’s away for work for a few days, so it’s just Garrett and mestaying at his house. Garrett told me he’s been to see you a few times.” I pause. “I’m, um, I’m going to Britney’s funeral later.” Reaching out, I take her arm, then her hand. “I wish you could go with me. I know how much you loved her.” I narrow my eyes at her, willing her to say something. To give me some sort of acknowledgment that she’s still in there. “It’s sad, you know? She’s…well, we hadn’t really spoken much at all in the last few years. You know that. We’d grown apart. She stayed here, and I was gone, and…it’s no excuse.” I blink away fresh tears. “I know you hated that I stayedaway as much as I did, and it’s no one’s fault but my own, but I promise I’ll be back more.”

Her eyes drift to me slowly and hold my gaze.

“Do you understand, Momma? Could you…would you blink to tell me you understand?”

Anxiety is like a balloon bouncing across grass in my chest, waiting to pop as I study her eyes, waiting for her muscles to do their jobs, to give me a signal she understands what I’m saying. We don’t have to talk, but we can communicate in some way. Her nurse said it’s possible. Her stroke doesn’t have to take everything away from us.

I stare at her face, studying every inch, watching for a twinge in her skin, but there is nothing. Her fingers droop loosely around my hand where I’m gripping hers, and her eyes go soft again as she turns her head back toward the window.

The anxiety quickly turns to anger.Why did I even bother coming here?

Then comes the guilt.What sort of a daughter gets mad at her mother for having a stroke? None of this is her fault.

I stand up and kiss her temple, afraid if I don’t leave now, I’ll start crying. “Okay. Well, we have to go to the funeral now so we aren’t late, but I’ll be back, okay? I love you.” I turn away abruptly as tears sting my eyes.

Next to the couch, I spot a bookshelf. There are just a few books there—her Bible, worn and familiar, a family photo album, and a handful of novels. Odd, since she’s never been much of a reader. It’s the top of the row of books that catches my eye, though, and I cock my head to the side as I ease toward it, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

“Everything okay?” Garrett asks, his voice straining as he stands up from his seat at the table.

The scrap of paper on top of the row of books is entirely foreign to me, as is the handwriting found on it. Both are asout of place as if I’d found a polar bear costume in here. It was clearly torn from a notebook, a corner sliver of paper as if it was an afterthought.

The word scratched across it, however, is anything but.

Murderer

CHAPTER SIX

GARRETT — PRESENT DAY

“Mom, who wrote this?” Tessa asks, towering in front of her mom with the slip of paper. She waves it in the air, moving it closer to her mom’s face, like I’ve seen Frannie do to Will over a bad grade. “Who was here?” She’s scared, not mad, but either way, she’s getting no response. “Do you know who wrote this? Blink, and I’ll find a way for you to tell me. Just blink and let me know you remember.”

Frannie doesn’t. Frannie doesn’t move. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t acknowledge her daughter in the slightest. I’m not even sure she’s looking at her anymore.

She’s just…there.

She can’t tell us who wrote the note any more than she could stand, dress herself, and walk out of here on a whim. It’s terrible. I realize how I sound, even with thoughts no one else can hear, but that doesn’t make it less true.

“Tessa, we should call the nurse,” I say gently. When she doesn’t argue or try to stop me, I move over to the button and jab a finger into it.

Tessa’s wild, hazel eyes land on mine, and I feel that familiar jolt. A zing of lightning so potent it hits every appendage like static electricity from a dryer. It’s the same feeling I’ve beentrying to tamp down since I was a kid. She needs me, and I wish like hell I could make this better for her.

“Maybe she’ll know what it’s about or who might’ve left it,” I say again. In her hand, the paper is wrinkled now from the way she keeps rolling it between her fingers.

“Oh my gosh.” Her lips form an O.

“What’s wrong?”

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