Chapter 2 - The Missing Chair and the Locked Room
The cold indifference in Rebecca's voice struck David like a physical blow. He stood up slowly, keeping one hand gently resting on his mother’s shoulder as she sat huddled against the base of the sofa.
"What is the meaning of this, Rebecca?" David’s voice shook, a volatile mix of terror and rising fury. "Why is my mother on the floor? Where is her wheelchair?"
Rebecca took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving his. "Her wheelchair was dirty, David. The wheels were tracking mud all over my new rugs. I took it out to the garage to clean it. She was supposed to stay on the couch, but she’s stubborn. She insisted on trying to get up."
"She was thirsty!" David yelled, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "She was crawling on the floor to get a bottle of water! How long has she been like this?"
"Don't yell at me in my own house," Rebecca replied, her tone dropping into a chilling, measured quietness. "I was only gone for ten minutes to take a phone call in the office. If she had just waited, I would have brought her a drink. She’s dramatic, David. She’s been doing this ever since she moved in—trying to make me look like the bad guy."
David looked down at his mother. Evelyn was shaking her head slowly, her eyes closed, tears tracing the deep lines of her cheeks. She was too terrified to speak.
"I'm taking her to her room," David said, his chest heaving.
He scooped his mother up in his arms. As he carried her down the hall toward the ground-floor guest suite, he noticed something strange. The door to Evelyn’s room was fitted with a brand-new, heavy brass deadbolt. The lock was on the outside of the door.
"What is this?" David demanded, stopping in front of the door. "Rebecca, why is there a deadbolt on the outside of my mother’s bedroom door?"
Rebecca walked down the hall behind him, her soft-soled slippers making no sound on the floor. "It’s for her safety, David. Sometimes she gets confused at night. Her doctor said sleepwalking or wandering is common after a stroke. I put it there so she wouldn't accidentally wander down the stairs or hurt herself while we were asleep."
"You locked her in?" David’s voice fell into a horrified whisper.
"It’s called boundary management," Rebecca said smoothly, reaching past him to turn the deadbolt and open the door. "Ask any geriatric specialist. It’s a standard safety measure."
The room inside was cold. The thermostat on the wall had been turned down to fifty-five degrees. The curtains were drawn tight, casting the space in a bleak, gray twilight. David laid his mother gently onto the bed, pulling the thick wool blankets over her shivering frame.
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"I’m here now, Mom," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "I’m not going anywhere."
Evelyn reached up, her trembling fingers brushing his cheek. "Don't leave," she mouthed, her voice completely gone. "Please, David. Don't leave the house."
