Grandma Brigita

The steady beep of the heart monitor punctuated the silence of the hospital room. Samuel sat beside his grandmother, Brigita, her frail hand resting in his, the loose skin mottled with age spots. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and flowers, an odd combination that felt wrong. Outside, the evening darkened, streaks of pink and gold fading into deep blue. Everyone else had left to find dinner in the hospital cafeteria. Samuel had stayed, claiming he wasn’t hungry, though that wasn’t true. He just didn’t like leaving Grandma alone.

“You’re a sweet boy, Sammy,” Brigita murmured, her voice as thin as her frame, “always have been kind hearted.”

Samuel smiled weakly, “I just wanted to keep you company, Grandma.”

Her pale blue eyes, clouded with age, glistened as she studied his face, “you remind me of your mother at your age. Tiana was always such a bright spot in my life.”

“She's lucky to have you as a mom.” Samuel replied. He hesitated before adding, “and I’m lucky to have you as a grandma.”

Brigita’s expression flickered, as if Samuel had said something painful. Her hand tightened around his, surprising him with its strength, “I’ve always been grateful for your mother, and for the family she’s given me. You and your sisters are such a gift,” she glanced away, her eyes distant, “I always wanted children, you know.”

Samuel didn’t know what to say. He felt awkward, unsure in the face of her raw emotion.

Her lips twitched, “oh, Sammy. I tried. I tried so hard.”

He frowned, “tried?”

Brigita’s head turned slowly toward him, looking at him but seeing through him, “I wasn’t perfect, Sammy. Far from it.”

“No one’s perfect, Grandma,” he said reassuringly, patting her hand.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought she might cry. Then her voice dropped to a whisper, “there are things I’ve done…shameful things. Horrid, unforgivable things.”

Samuel shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the door. What was taking his family so long? “What do you mean?”

Brigita exhaled shakily. Her voice trembled,“I had other children, Sammy.”

Samuel’s gaze snapped back to his grandmother. He laughed uneasily. What had his mother said, something about the elderly losing their minds with old age? He tried to smile, to downplay his growing unease, “you mean, like, miscarriages?”

“No,” she said sharply, her voice suddenly firmer, “not like that. I had five children before your mother. Jonathan, Wendell, Michael, Eloise, and Clara.”

Samuel blinked at her, trying to process what she’d just said, “I… Mom never mentioned them.”

“Of course not,” Brigita said, laughing bitterly, “how could she? She never knew them.”

“What do you mean?”

Her grip on his hand tightened further, her nails digging into his skin, “they weren’t…believable enough, Sammy. I had to make everyone believe.”

Samuel flexed his hand, but his grandmother’s grip was ironclad. He swallowed down his unease, “Grandma, I think maybe the medicine is making you tired-”

“I kept them hidden,” Brigita continued, her breath rattling with each word, “in the basement. They didn’t fit the picture I wanted.”

Samuel pulled his hand away, his heart pounding,“Grandma, this isn’t funny.”

Her voice cracked, “It’s not a joke, Samuel. It’s the truth.”

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the linoleum. “I think I should probably get Mom.”

His grandmother laughed then, a brittle, hollow sound. “Your grandfather knew, of course. Phil loved me too much to care, and he wanted a family, too.”

Samuel staggered back, his mind racing. The sharpness of his grandmother’s gaze, the clarity in her voice- was she being serious? Was this more than medically-induced babble? Every memory of her, her warm hugs, the cookies she baked, the birthday cards, was crumbling under the weight of her confession. “You’re lying,” he whispered. 

Brigita reached for him, her hands trembling,“I’m not. And there’s more. Your mother, Tiana…”

Samuel froze, “what about her?”

“She’s not my daughter,” Brigita said, her voice barely above a whisper, “not by blood. I took her. Like the others.”

His stomach twisted, nausea rising. Where was his family? “Took her? Like the others? What do you mean? Like… kidnapped?”

“Yes,” Brigita admitted. Her tone was calm now, almost serene. “But she was different. She was… perfect. She looked like me. She fit. And she grew up to have her own family.”

Samuel’s mind reeled, “does Mom know? Does she know you…kidnapped her?”

Brigita looked away, “she knows. And she did the same.”

“What?” The word came out as a choked whisper.

“Your parents took you,” Brigita said, “and your sisters.”

Samuel staggered back against the wall, his legs threatening to give out, “no, no, that’s not true.”

The door swung open, and Tiana walked in, holding a takeout bag. “They didn’t have cheeseburgers like I know you want, Samuel, so I got you-” she froze when she saw Samuel’s pale face and Brigita’s expression, “what’s going on?” she asked sharply.

Brigita smiled weakly, “I told him, Tiana. He knows.”

Tiana’s face paled, and she dropped the takeout bag, “you told him what?”

“The truth,” Brigita said simply.

“Mom,” Samuel said, his voice shaking. “Tell me she’s lying.”

Tiana didn’t answer. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting to the door, as if calculating how to contain the situation.

Samuel backed away, “I…I need a second.”

“Samuel, wait,” Tiana pleaded, stepping toward him, “we can explain-”

“No!” Samuel shouted. He bolted for the door.

Behind him, Brigita’s voice rose in a desperate, ragged scream. “Samuel! Forgive me; forgive us! Free them! Free them from the basement!”

Months later, the world watched in stunned horror as the story unfolded on national news. Five adults, emaciated but alive, were rescued from the basement of the late Brigita and Phil Thompson’s house. Their names matched five long-cold missing persons cases. 

The news anchor’s voice wavered as she reported the next revelation, “one of Brigita’s victims, Tiana Michelson, is now under investigation as an accomplice. Authorities suspect she and her husband may have kidnapped their three children. The oldest, sixteen-year-old Samuel Michelson, remains missing…”

Somewhere far from the chaos, Samuel watched the report on a dim motel television. His hands trembled as he turned it off, the screen fading to black.

And then, silence.