Their voices came like urgent whispers. He could hear them arguing in the next room. Sound carried through the under-furnished house so that even their whispers were clear to his ears.
"Leave him, George. Just leave him alone for now."
"How can I? I've never seen him like this before, Nina. I've seen him black with anger ... or ... or giddy and carefree ... or acting all protective and older brotherly. I've seen him in the throes of whatever darkness it is that takes him, but ... but nothing like this."
"Give him time George. He just needs time."
"Alright, but how much time? How long is he going to be like that?"
"George, you had time with her before she ... left."
She didn't leave. She was dragged away ... taken from us!
"... Mitchell didn't have that. He has strong feelings to deal with ... seeing her like that."
"I can help him. We can help each other. I mean, I miss her too, so I understand how he feels."
"Do you George?" was her exasperated response. "He needs time. You can understand that can't you?"
There was no answer, but at least the air was mercifully silent. Mitchell sat transfixed. He had no idea how much time had passed, nor did it matter. The visual snow that had ushered her in, had ushered her out again. Now the screen was black. The box was useless once again. Still, he did not move.
Long moments passed, and then gave way to increments measured in hours. He could sense George over his shoulder, perhaps see his figure dimly reflected in the darkened screen. Then George was at his side.
"Mitchell, come away now. She's not coming back ... I mean not now ... not tonight."
"I felt her go," pain suffused his words.
"You never said."
"Well, I did. I felt her here," his hand clutched at his chest. "I felt her being ripped away."
"Mitchell ..."
"And the pain, George. I've never felt its like. She was terrified. She didn't want to go. I could feel her go, but do nothing to save her." His eyes already red-rimmed and raw, welled up again.
"Come away now Mitchell. Get some rest."
"I don't need any rest," his voice resonant with frustration and grief. Then it came out in a small anguished whisper, "I don't need any rest. And what if she comes back to find no one here. She'll think we've forgotten her ... that we've gotten on with our lives."
His friend's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "She knows, Mitchell. She knows we'll never forget her."
"Does she, George? Because, I can't bear the thought of her on her own in that place ... without hope ... without ..." his voice trailed off.
"I know. Neither can I." Silence lingered.
We will get her back.
"You should really get some rest now Mitchell."
"You go on ahead."
"Alright, but promise you'll ..."
Mitchell cut him off, "I promise I'll get some rest," his voice guttural, bordering on harsh. George, his eyes moist with emotion, said nothing more. He disappeared through the door, leaving Mitchell where he found him.
His guilt, rage, helplessness, and grief, above all, the stifling grief, swirled around him. He knew that in time, things would settle again, and restore him to himself.
But not until we get Annie back.
