Four days had passed since Mrs. Harper disappeared from room 214.
Four days since Jenny had called security with a shaking voice.
Four days since police searched the room and collected Mrs. Harper's broken glasses with the small blood stain on the frame.
And four days since Sunnyvale had started feeling different.
Amy noticed it immediately the moment she stepped out of the employee elevator and onto the third floor west wing.
People were nervous.
Not openly nervous.
Hospital nervous.
The kind where conversations became quieter. Smiles looked forced. People suddenly found reasons to glance over their shoulders or stare down hallways a little longer than normal.
Amy adjusted her scrub top and shifted her bag onto the nurses' station counter.
The west wing looked mostly normal.
Mostly.
The overhead lights had already been dimmed for evening hours. Several televisions played quietly behind partially opened doors while distant voices drifted through the hallway. A few patients sat outside their rooms in wheelchairs watching old game shows or staring absentmindedly out windows.
Normal.
Everything looked normal.
Amy set down her coffee and logged into the computer system.
Patient charts.
Medication schedules.
Room assignments.
Same routine.
Same as every shift.
Her phone buzzed beside her.
Jenny:
Night going okay?
Amy smiled slightly.
Amy:
Just got here.
A few moments later:
Jenny:
Good.
Amy frowned slightly.
Then another message appeared.
Jenny:
Be careful tonight.
Amy stared at the screen.
Amy:
Careful of what?
Several seconds passed.
No reply.
Amy sighed.
Jenny had been different lately.
Ever since Mrs. Harper disappeared.
Normally Jenny filled conversations with jokes and random comments throughout the night. But the last few days she'd been quieter.
Amy couldn't blame her.
Nobody blamed Jenny for what happened.
But Amy knew Jenny blamed herself.
Around 10:15 PM Amy began her normal routine.
Medication rounds.
Patient checks.
Helping residents settle into bed.
Room 311 needed water.
Room 309 insisted someone had hidden her slippers despite wearing both of them.
Room 315 wanted help finding his television remote sitting directly beside him.
Normal memory care things.
Comforting things.
Hours slowly passed.
By 12:47 AM the west wing had gone mostly quiet.
Amy sat at the nurses' station reviewing charts while drinking coffee that had long since gone cold.
The silence tonight felt strange.
Not wrong exactly.
Just...
Heavy.
Watchful.
She glanced toward room 304.
Edna's old room.
Still empty.
A soft voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Nurse Amy?"
Amy looked up.
Mr. Alan Reeves stood in his doorway wearing striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers.
The elderly man looked pale.
Amy stood immediately.
"Mr. Reeves? What's wrong?"
He pointed toward the far hallway.
"I heard somebody crying."
Amy frowned.
"Crying?"
He nodded slowly.
"A woman."
Amy looked toward the hallway.
"Can you show me where you heard it?"
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
Amy smiled gently.
"Come on."
She walked beside him, holding his arm, while he slowly shuffled down the hallway.
Room 302.
Room 303.
Room 304.
Mr. Reeves slowed.
He stared at Edna's old room.
"You okay?" Amy asked.
He looked away.
"Don't like that room."
Amy felt a small chill but kept walking.
Farther down sat the supply closet.
Mr. Reeves pointed.
"There."
Amy looked toward the partially opened door.
"You heard it from there?"
He nodded.
Amy approached slowly.
"...Hello?"
Silence.
No crying.
No movement.
Amy carefully pulled the closet door open.
Blankets.
Linens.
Boxes of gloves.
Cleaning supplies.
Nothing else.
Empty.
Well...
Almost.
Near the floor beneath one of the shelves sat a folded white hospital blanket.
Amy frowned.
It had probably fallen from the shelf.
She bent down, picked it up, and shook it slightly.
Clean.
No stains.
Nothing unusual.
She folded it neatly and placed it back where it belonged.
Mr. Reeves peeked over her shoulder.
"The lady's gone," he whispered.
Amy smiled reassuringly.
"I think somebody probably had a television on." He looked uncertain but nodded.
"Let's get you back to bed."
The walk back somehow felt quieter.
Amy tucked him into bed and pulled his blankets over him.
"There we go, all tucked in, try to get some sleep hun."
Mr. Reeves looked up at her.
"You'll stay out there?"
Amy smiled. "I'll be right at the desk if you need me, like always, just press the little red button on your remote and I will be here."
He nodded sleepily.
Amy turned toward the doorway, ready to make her rounds again.
"Nurse Amy?" Mr.Reeves said quietly.
She looked back. "Yes?"
He stared toward the hallway, and very softly said: "The crying wasn't a lady."
Amy frowned. "...What do you mean?"
Mr. Reeves looked confused. Then slowly shook his head. "I don't remember."
He had already forgotten the conversation.
Amy quietly switched off his light and closed the door.
The rest of the shift passed uneventfully.
Patient checks.
Chart updates.
Coffee.
Routine.
Normal.
By 5:58 AM Amy had begun preparing for shift change. Only about thirty minutes left before she could clock out and go home to Cooper.
She stood from the nurses' station carrying her clipboard and started one final round.
Most patients still slept peacefully. Everything looked normal.
Then she reached Mr. Reeves' room.
And stopped.
Something sat on the floor outside his doorway.
Amy frowned immediately.
A white hospital blanket. Unfolded, and crumpled into a ball.
Her stomach tightened. Unsure as to why the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
Slowly she walked toward it.
She didn't recognize it immediately, but it felt familiar somehow. Then it clicked...
The blanket from the supply closet.
The one she had picked up earlier.
The one she had personally placed back on the shelf.
But that was impossible, it couldn't have moved on its own, right? Maybe Alan went back for it, instead of pressing the call button to ask for another one.
But if that was the case, why did he leave it crumpled up outside his door?
Amy stared down at it.
Maybe another patient had wandered in the night, and dropped it by mistake. But why here?
Slowly she crouched beside it.
The blanket felt warm.
Not dryer warm.
Not fresh-laundry warm.
Just...
Warm.
Amy's hands suddenly started to shake.
She carefully unfolded one corner. Then another.
Then Amy froze.
Near the center of the blanket sat a dark red stain roughly the size of a fist.
Blood.
Amy stared at it, as her breathing slowed, and heartbeat quickened.
Mrs. Harper's glasses.
John's pillow.
Edna's greeting card.
Different rooms.
Some blood, on a random object.
Very slowly Amy looked up toward the hallway.
The west wing remained silent.
Still.
Empty.
Suddenly thirty minutes no longer felt short at all...