Gone

It all started on our journey home. It was a desolate highway, with only the occasional car. 

“Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Do you have to go right now? There’s another rest stop an hour away.”

“No! I have to go right now!”

I exchange a glance with my wife, Mary.

Emma, the five-year-old in the backseat, whines again, saying that it’s urgent. 

We keep driving until we come across an abandoned-looking gas station. The clouds gather far away in the sky, and it looks like there’s a storm approaching. 

“Okay, hurry up girls. It might start raining. Quick in and out.”

I wait in the car, sitting idly. Another 500 miles to Chicago. I stare the map, which is blank in the area we are in right now. The only sign of civilization is a hospital sign a few miles back, lonely in the grasslands. 

“Okay. Let’s go now,” Mary said, getting back into the car. 

“All good, Sweetie?” I say, turning to the backseat. But it’s empty. The car seat is empty. 

“Where’s Emma?” My wife says, the panic in her voice rising.

“Sh-She was right here a second ago!”

I get out as quickly I can and look around frantically. Then I spot her, and sigh in relief. But she’s not looking at me; and then my blood runs cold. Her eyes are fixed on a stray dog, which is slowly inching towards her. It growls, and she screams for me.

“Stay there honey… Daddy’s coming to help you. Just stay there.”

I crouch, and try to distract the dog. But it stares, looking at Emma. I grab a stone, and position it to aim at the dog.

“Stay right there, Emma!” The dog backed her up into the construction site, and she’s at the ledge for the foundations-easily a 15 foot drop. 

And so I throw the stone. 

The dog yelps and jumps aside in the last second, and the stone makes its way to the next object in its path: Emma. 

Everything transitions into slow motion, and I can see Emma flinching, losing her balance… and then falling, falling, falling. 

I lash out, trying to grab her outstretched hand, which I miss by inches. I don’t hesitate to jump after her, down into the construction site below. 

I can see the rebar bars, the sharp iron foundations sticking out of the ground-which Emma is about to land on. But there’s nothing I can do. 

But she lands in between them, and I close my eyes in relief for a split second. I’m still in mid-air, and I can see the bars oriented directly into my face. I try to twist myself away, to look at the blue sky. But I’m too late. 

I land against the ground with a thud, and my head snaps to the side, propped up by the bars. A sickening crunch fills the air, and specks of red bot my eyes. I can feel the literal bar inside my head, and my vision’s getting darker. The last thing I see before I pass out is Mary’s crying face, screaming at us from above.

I awake later, and the first thing I see is the sky is tinted red. 

The sun must be setting. The side of my head slightly throbs, and I get up, looking around. This isn’t where I landed. It’s under an overhang. I can make out the faint outline of Mary, cuddling Emma’s lifeless body. That gives me the strength to get up and went over to them. 

"David!”

Mary gets over and walks to me. But I don't notice her. I see Emma. I push Mary to the side, as if I never heard her. She lands with a thump, and her arm is bent at a funny angle. That's because I can't hear her. Her voice sounds muffled somehow. 

My heart hurts. Everything hurts. 

I bang my head against a wall, trying to make sense of everything. And it helps. I can hear Mary’s cries clearly now, and make out Emma’s lifeless form. I scoop her up in my hands, and hurry back to the car. My head is pounding, and everything throbs. 

I gingerly ley her down on the backseats, and Mary sits next to her, stroking her head. Mary and I lock eyes, and information passes without a sound. We need to get to a hospital, and fast.

And soon, we’re there. But it’s crowded. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, I need help for my daughter. Right now!”

“Sorry, but we are extremely busy right now,” the receptionist says, looking almost bored.

“You don’t understand! She’s unconscious!” 

“I do understand. But the doctor is dealing with more critical patients currently.”

I slam my palm against the table, trembling.

“Listen. If you don’t get my baby girl a doctor right now, she’s going to die. I need help right now.”

I leave, fuming. 

But all Mary and I can do is wait. 

And wait.

But finally, in the wee hours of the night, we get into the ward. 

Dr. Berthram sees her, and explains that she’s fine. It was just a hard head blow. Emma opens her eyes, and Mary and I collapse into sobs of relief. 

“But we may need to do a CAT scan to make sure that there isn’t any clotting in the brain. That could kill her.”

“Anything to make sure my baby girl lives, doctor. Anything.” I’m practically sobbing, with Mary at my side for comfort. 

“And just for your reference, only one adult is allowed into the CAT scanning room for your reference-just for security reasons.”

“I’ll go,” Mary whispers in my ear, and I nod. 

Anything to save my baby.

They head off, and I bid them farewell at the elevator. It heads down, and I wave, expecting to see them soon.

Anything to save my baby.

I wait in the reception area, and my head slowly nods off. It’s been a long day. 

I then wake up with a start, and light fills my eyes. It’s the Sun. I get up, and my head starts pounding again. No sign of Emma and Mary. 

They went in for the CAT scan last night. It’s noon right now. 

I head on over to the receptionist, calming myself down.

“Hi. I’d like to know the status of my wife Mary and my daughter Emma, who went down for a CAT scan last night?”

She looks through the computer records and then frowns. 

“I’m sorry. There’s no record of them being here.”

“What do you mean? I registered them myself on this computer yesterday!”

“I’m sorry sir. I really don’t know what is happening. They will be out shortly, I expect.”

“No. They won’t.”

I lean over her desk, and look through the computer records myself. Emma’s name isn’t there. Throw my hands up in frustration, and my head starts pounding even harder. 

I go back to the sitting area, and count to ten. They will be out shortly. Maybe they’re sleeping. So I wait an hour. Then two. Then three. 

“That’s it. I’ve had enough.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I MEAN I’VE HAD ENOUGH! Take me to the hospital’s main computer. The mother computer. I want to see everything. The records, the CCTV footage…”

She looks up at me in distress, but I’m too angry to care. I march her to down the hallways, and down desolate corridors. And then we finally reach the computers.

“There. Now we’ll see who’s lying.”

I first pull up the master records and search. Nothing. So sign of Emma Miller. 

This computer is lying. It is lying. “It’s lying!” 

The receptionist looks at me as if I’m a lion. I probably look like one. But the real lion here is the computer. It’s killed my wife and daughter. 

Muttering, I pull up the CCTV footage. Now, when did we come in? In the evening. 

Pull up the videos of the time frame, and luckily, there’s a camera pointing directly at where we sat. I search, but there’s no sign of us. I look through the footage of the corridors, but to no avail. 

I’m at the point of smashing the computer. It’s lying. It’s trying to trick me. Not the hospital staff, but the computer. It’s responsible for changing the footage.

“Can anybody change the footage?” I ask the receptionist, who is huddled in a corner. 

“Nobody, sir. We cannot download or change the footage. It’s directly linked to the computer.”

That means the computer did this. It’s all the computer’s fault. It wants my wife and child to die. I yell in frustration and punch the monitor. It shatters, and all the screens in the room go black.

There’s only one way left to find my wife and child. And that’s the CAT scan room. 

I run out into the hallway, and try to retrace my steps. Back to the ward, down the hallways, and to the elevator. I see computers everywhere. And that makes me angry. And being angry makes me go faster. I press the down button on the elevator, breathing heavily. My wife and child are waiting on the other side. I will the elevator to go faster.

The door opens with a pleasant chime, and I’m in a whitewashing corridor. I creep out, set to explore. There are biohazard symbols everywhere, especially in the rooms on either side. Gurneys lay everywhere, with many instruments. This isn’t a place for CAT scans. 

I make my way to the end of the hallway, and then I stop. There she is. Emma. And right beside her, Mary. Their eyes are closed. And there are doctors operating on Emma. I burst into the room, and the doctors stoop in their tracks. I run over to Emma and wake up Mary. She opens her eyes. 

“David… they drugged us.”

“Say no more.”

I ignore the doctors, and place Emma on Mary’s lap. I wheel them out as fast as I can, and the doctors don’t make any moves to stop me. I wheel them out of the hospital, and I’m sobbing. I got my wife and child back. Everything is fine. 

I make room for them in the back, and I start driving. 

We make our way back on the highway, going happily home. 

But if you were to look at the backseat, you would see a girl and her mother smiling and singing. You would see two dead bodies. The blood on their skin matches the blood in the rest stop, which is concluded by the police. You can see the trail of blood from the construction site till where it stops, most likely gone into a car. The woman managing the rest stop bathroom can testify. 

Mary and Emma are Gone.