She stared wordlessly out the car window as they passed through the virtual cloud bank outside. The only sound was the rumble of the engine, thousands of tiny explosions going off inside of it per second. Helen had to keep looking back, to assure herself that Daria was still breathing. But her chest did rise and fall, rise and fall, with the regularity of a finely-made watch. She finally broke the silence.
"How are you feeling, Daria?"
No reply.
"Would you like something special for dinner? Pizza, maybe?"
A reply, this time: Daria moved her head slightly to the left, then slightly to the right, then back dead center at its forty-five degree angle staring out the window. No.
Helen noticed that her eyes remained fixed outside even as her head turned, as if she was watching something inscrutable shrouded in the mist outside.
"Do you want anything at all, Daria? A book, a magazine?" Her voice was at a higher pitch now, but she did not notice. If only Daria would just look at her...
But she did not. She did not even give the same minute response she had given Helen's last inquiry.
Jake risked a look toward his wife, looking desperately back upon their elder daughter. He took her hand, drawing Helen's attention to her husband. He saw tears brimming in her eyes, like precious, terrible gemstones. "It'll be alright, Helen," he told her in a calm tone.
XXXX
They arrived at their house several minutes later. Helen and Jake left the car first and Jake opened the trunk as Helen opened Daria's door. "Let's go inside now, Daria."
Daria made no sign that she had heard Helen, though, and since there was no new scenery (ha ha what scenery there was just fog), her stare was now unfocused, gazing at nothing in particular.
Jake closed the trunk, a long metal cane in hand, and walked towards where Helen stood. Seeing that Daria was still unresponsive, he sighed and set the cane leaning against the car. With Helen's help, he eased Daria out of the car on one shoulder, with Helen taking up the slack on the other side as soon as Daria was clear of the car. Together, they walked their daughter to the front door, into the house, and onto the couch. Daria even made a token effort at self-propulsion, putting each foot forward, reducing her parents' chore from dragging her to merely supporting her.
Once Daria was settled onto the couch, Jake returned outside to retrieve the cane and close the door of the car. Helen retreated to the kitchen to make phone calls -- Daria, if she were listening, might hear Helen speaking in hushed tones to first Amy, then Rita, then grandmother Barksdale, then grandmother Ruth.
Jake propped the cane on the arm of the couch, then sat next to his daughter. He took her hand -- something she never would have allowed (or at least would have protested with an embarrassed grunt) before. "Daria, please say something," he whispered.
"Where's Quinn?"