There weren’t many cars in the lot. That didn’t surprise me much. It was dinnertime. Most visitors had probably come and gone for the day. When we first walked in, I was worried we’d be turned away at the front desk, but the receptionist hardly blinked when we said we were there to visit Annie Thurman. After asking us to sign our names in the check-in book, she rattled off a room number and buzzed us through a heavy wood door into the ward.
The patients here clearly weren’t violent offenders. There was no security anywhere, so far as I could see. No bars on the windows. No restraining straps on the beds. Each room we passed was personal in design. Different paint palettes, different furnishings, different decor on the walls. No bland state-funded watercolors, here, that was for sure. And definitely no hospital food. The dinner trays being ferried into each room by uniformed care aids both looked and smelled gourmet.
Agatha and Sally had made it clear the Thurmans were wealthy. After seeing this place, I thought their fortune must be closer to billions than millions. The going rate for a suite in a private care facility of this caliber had to be astronomical. And if Annie had been here for two decades...
My brain couldn’t begin to fathom the cost of care on that scale.
Her room was located at the end of the hall, off a windowed alcove furnished with lots of armchairs and bookshelves. It was dark outside, but I imagined it was a pleasant enough spot to sit and read during daylight hours. Florence and Gwen chose to wait there. We didn’t want to overwhelm Annie by storming in all at once.
I was going in alone.
Her door was ajar. I rapped my knuckles against it to announce my arrival before I pushed it open wider. She was sitting in a chair by the window, staring out the crisscrossed pane into the dark. She looked around my age, maybe a few years older. Her dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail at her nape. I could see her features only in profile, but what I did see was quite pretty.
“Annie?”
She didn’t turn at the sound of my voice. She didn’t even flinch.
I took a few steps farther into the room.
“Annie, my name is Imogen Warner.”
Still, she gave no indication she’d heard me.
“Would you mind if I spoke to you for a moment?” I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late, but… It’s important.”
She continued to stare out the window.
I took a few more steps, then slowly lowered myself onto the matching armchair at the window with my body angled toward hers. She either didn’t notice my presence or didn’t care to acknowledge it.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Still, we were already here. Asking a few questions couldn’t hurt. I steeled my shoulders and took pains to keep my voice steady.
“Annie, I don’t want to upset you. But a young boy has gone missing in the woods?—”
It was almost imperceptible, but her body jolted.
She was listening.
I continued. “The police are out looking for him. They’ve been looking for days. But it’s like he’s vanished into thin air… just like you did all those years ago.”
A tremble moved through her.
Shit.
I had to tread carefully, here. The last thing I wanted to do was cause her any more pain. She’d been through enough already.
More than enough.
“If there’s anything you can tell me about the woods… What you saw there… Any details at all…” I took a deep breath. “It would really help, Annie.”
This time, when I said her name, her head turned. She looked me dead in the eyes. I fought the urge to shy away from the devastating emptiness I saw there. Her gaze was totally vacant. Vacuous. Whether it was from the trauma she’d endured or the medications she was taking, I couldn’t begin to guess.
I found myself blinking back tears as I struggled for the right way to continue. As usual, I opted for the plain truth. “I know you can’t communicate verbally. I’m hoping you’ll be open to speaking to me another way.”
The faintest glimmer of curiosity crept into her eyes. That was a good sign, I thought. And I’d come this far already. Might as well keep going.
“It’s going to sound crazy — trust me, I know — but… When I touch certain things… When I touch certain people…” As I spoke, I looked down at my hands and began to peel off my gloves, one fingertip at a time. I laid them on the seat cushion beside me, cleared my throat, and summoned the courage to finish. “I’m able to see things normal people can’t see. Memories. Thoughts. Fragments of their lives.”