I wake up suddenly from a deep sleep, gasping as I bolt up in my bed. The dream is already rapidly fading from my awareness, but I know it wasn't a nightmare. Something else made me wake. An instinct as old as time itself. A feeling of dread, one I have only felt once before, rises up in my stomach, going all the way up into my throat, and forms a lump there. An obstruction I can't get rid of no matter how hard I try. I throw the blankets off of myself and go out into the living room of Spencer's apartment. I need to see him. I need to know that he's okay.
Ms. Campbell, my new nurse, comes over to me, but I ignore her. I need to see my baby.
"Spencer?" I call. "Spencer?"
"Spencer left this morning, Miss Diana." Says the nurse.
"What? Why didn't he wake me?" Alarm works it's way into my tone, and I can see the nurse's face grow worried.
"He wanted you to get some rest."
"Where is he right now?" I ask hurriedly.
"He's at work."
"I need to talk to him. Right now." I demand.
"Just calm down, Diana." The nurse says, attempting to soothe me. Her calm tone is like nails scratching on the chalkboard of my sanity.
"Don't tell me to calm down! My baby is in danger!" I shriek.
A knock on the front door distracts nurse Campbell from reprimanding me or possibly sedating me.
I pace around the room, fiddling with the gold locket I never take off that has Spencer's picture in it. I open and close it over and over again, hearing the clicking sounds are calming to me.
"My baby, my baby, my baby..." I whisper, tears filling my eyes and running down my cheeks. "Oh my poor baby... what's happening to you?" I sit down on the couch, unable to stand anymore and bury my face in my hands as I begin to sob.
My instincts are running wild, telling me that Spencer is in danger. Over and over again. Horrifying scenarios are running through my mind. Each one is worse than the last. My heart begins to race in my chest. And then another thought occurs to me, scaring me into holding my breath. What if I were to forget him again? Or go inside of my mind? No. no, no. That cannot happen. I have to stay alert. I can't lose myself right now. Not when my baby boy needs me.
"Mrs. Reid?" A new voice calls for me. I look up to see a man in an expensive looking suit with coiffed black hair and a beard standing next to the couch. I stand up and take a step back, still clutching my locket.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"My name is David Rossi, and I work with your son."
My breath catches in my throat and I close my eyes. A tear runs down my cheek. I try and take a deep breath, but it shutters in and out.
I look at him, and I think he is surprised by me. "My baby is in danger." I say. It's a statement of all-knowing truth. The clarity in my eyes must have convinced him that I was lucid and not having a schizophrenic episode, because he nods.
I resist the urge to scream. But I give him a shaky nod in return.
"What can I do? How can I help him?"
He comes over and sits next to me on the couch. "It would be very helpful if we could ask you some questions about the last few days. To see if you can remember anything out of the ordinary happening around here. Is it okay if I ask you those questions?"
Every instinct I have is telling me that he's going to try and get information from me, and that I should run and never go back, but I stop myself. Because the voice is still screaming that Spencer is in danger. So I nod instead.
"Okay. Can you tell me what you remember most about the past few days?"
I could tell him a million things. The way Spencer looked when he was reading, how he laughed when he was listening to me recounting some stories. So I tell him the truth.
"Mostly looking through scrapbooks." I say.
"Okay. That's good. That helps a lot." He says. "Can You tell me if Spencer seemed any different to you during the past few days?"
I think as hard as I can, trying to separate fantasy from reality in my head. "He seemed fine... but when he tried to give me my medicine he got nervous. I think it was because he was afraid of my reaction."
"Did you ever feel like it was anything else?" He pressed.
"I'm not sure." I say.
He looks up at the nurse. "Can you show me where the medication is?"
She nods and takes him over. I follow.
"Mr. Rossi?" I ask. He turns to look at me.
"Yes?"
"What's happening to my son?" I ask. He's quiet, absorbing my question. He looks reluctant to say anything. "Please," I add. I need to know."
"Your son was kidnapped by someone that we're trying to find. We're doing everything we can to bring him home safely to you." He says sincerely.
I need time to absorb this. So I go and sit on the couch.
"I'm very sorry ma'am." He says, but I barely hear him. I open the locket and stare at the innocent face of my little boy. I want to scream, to throw myself at the wall and dig a hole through it to get out and help my baby. But I can't. I'm so cold, numbed to the bone. I bow my head and whisper out a prayer.
"God, please save my baby. Please. Don't let him die." I beg. Tears are dripping from my face onto the floor.
Mr. Rossi thanks me and makes his exit, promising to find my son.
I sit there on the couch, crying and begging God for my son's life. I don't know how long I'm there. The nurse tries to get me to eat, but I can't. I'll be sick. I know it. I never stop holding the locket in my grip. The voices in my head urging me to do something grow louder and louder until I can't ignore them anymore. I bolt for the door, screaming for my son. Nurse Campbell sees me and blocks my escape. I scream and fight and yell but it makes no difference. I can feel it in my bones. My baby is dying.
I fight and claw at the door and walls until I can't anymore. Despite my mind's screaming, I fall asleep, murmuring for my son until the blackness of unconsciousness pulls me under. The world of my fears takes over and shows me the worst possible ways my son could die. I want to wake up, but I don't have the strength. My heart is just too broken to fight anymore.
When I ease my way into wakefulness, it's dark. I can't tell if it's late at night or early in the morning. I get myself up from the floor. The voice has stopped screaming, but is still whispering unease into my mind. A different nurse is watching me from the couch, and I don't remember her name. But it doesn't matter.
"My baby..." I whisper. I walk to a table and pick up the scrapbook on it, turning to a picture of Spencer at the age of two, smiling at the camera. A tear hits the picture and I realize I'm crying again. I stroke the picture gently. Suddenly, the door opens, and I jump, startled. What I see makes the voice stop talking.
In walks my son. His face is battered and bruised, but he's alive. My heart leaps in my chest, and I run to him. As soon as he's safe in my arms, I can breathe again.
"Baby... oh my sweet baby boy... you're finally safe... thank God."
Spencer hugs me, and it's like he's a little boy again.
"I love you so much." I say.
"I love you too, Mom." He says, and my inner self is finally at peace.