Chapter 4 - The Hospital Ward
(Length target: ~1,850 words)
The geriatric evaluation unit at Oakridge Memorial Hospital was quiet, dimly lit, and secured by locked double doors that required a staff keycard to open.
I arrived at 10:00 p.m. My brother, Julian, was already standing in the waiting area, pacing back and forth near a water cooler. His jacket was unzipped, his hair messily uncombed from his two-hour frantic drive from Chicago.
When he saw me walk through the doors, he rushed over, wrapping me in a tight, awkward hug.
"How is Leo?" Julian asked immediately, his eyes filled with deep guilt. "Maya, I'm so sorry. When Mom called me, she sounded so convincing... I shouldn't have snapped at you over the phone."
"Leo is resting at home with Mark," I said, rubbing my tired eyes. "He's going to be okay physically. But Mark has four stitches in his forehead."
Julian winced, running a hand through his hair. "I spoke to the ER doctor here twenty minutes ago. Maya... it's bad."
"What did they say?"
Julian pulled me toward a small vinyl sofa in the corner. "They ran a CT scan and an MRI of her brain. The neurologist said she has advanced Vascular Dementia combined with Early-Onset Alzheimer's. The damage to her occipital lobe explains why she can't process colors or depth perception properly anymore."
I sat down, staring at the floor tiles. Hearing the official medical terms felt like being hit with a cold bag of ice. It wasn't just "getting older." It wasn't just "forgetfulness." Her brain was physically deteriorating.
"Where is she now?" I asked quietly.
"In Room 12," Julian replied. "They gave her a mild sedative because she tried to bite a nurse who attempted to take her blood pressure. She thinks she's back in 1998, Maya. She kept asking where Dad was."
Our father had died in 2005.
I stood up, taking a deep breath. "I need to see her."
Julian accompanied me down the quiet hallway to Room 12.
The room was small, containing a hospital bed with raised safety rails. Eleanor was sitting upright in the bed, dressed in a pale yellow hospital gown. Her white hair was unstyled, resting messily around her shoulders. She looked smaller, frailer, and far older than she had just six hours ago in my kitchen.
When the door clicked open, her head snapped toward us.
"Maya?" she called out, her voice thin and raspy.
"Hi, Mom," I said gently, stepping closer to the bed.
She didn't look angry anymore. The fiery rage from the kitchen had completely evaporated, replaced by a hollow, terrified confusion.
"Maya... why am I here?" she asked, her eyes darting around the medical monitors on the wall. "Those men in uniforms pulled me out of my car. They took my purse. I need to get to the school—the morning assembly starts in twenty minutes."
I sat in the chair beside her bed, taking her thin, cold hand in mine. "Mom... you retired from the school ten years ago."
Eleanor blinked, frowning deeply. "Retired...? No... no, that's not right. I have a staff meeting at eight."
She looked down at her own wrist, realizing her watch was missing, and then looked at my face. For a brief, shining second, a spark of lucid recognition crossed her eyes.
"Maya..." she whispered, her fingers tightening slightly around mine. "Something is wrong with my eyes. Everything... everything looks like gray shadows. I tried to make milk for the baby..."
Her voice trailed off, trembling violently.
"I know, Mom," I whispered, tears filling my eyes. "I know."
"Did I... did I hurt the baby?" she asked, a look of sheer, agonizing horror dawning on her face as a fragment of memory resurfaced. "Maya... please tell me I didn't hurt the baby..."
I swallowed the massive lump in my throat. I wanted so badly to lie to her, to comfort her, to tell her everything was fine. But looking at her fragile, broken frame, I realized that hiding the truth had brought us to the brink of tragedy.
"Leo was hurt, Mom," I told her truthfully, keeping my voice soft and compassionate. "You mixed up the cinnamon with chili powder. And when Mark tried to save him, you hit Mark with a bowl."
Eleanor pulled her hand away from mine, covering her face with both hands, letting out a pitiful, ragged sob that shook her entire body.
"Oh God..." she wept into her hands. "Oh God, what is happening to me...?"
Julian stepped up beside me, laying his hand on her shoulder. "We're here, Mom. We're going to help you. But you can't live alone anymore."
Eleanor looked up from her hands, her tear-stained face filled with a terrifying realization. "You're going to lock me away... in one of those terrible places..."
"No, Mom," I promised her, squeezing her arm. "We are going to find a safe place where people can take care of you. But you have to let us help you."
Before she could answer, the door to the room clicked open.
May you like
Two uniformed police officers and a woman from the County Adult Protective Services department stepped into the room.
"Maya Vance and Julian Pierce?" the female officer asked. "We need to speak with you outside regarding the vehicle collision on Route 9 and the pending assault complaint."
