What They owe her

Naomi lay curled up on the bed; her eyes wide open yet glassy. She fixed her sight on some invisible point on the wall. At first, Mr Toby thought she was ignoring him. But something felt off this time; her chest rose and fell with sharp, shallow breaths. “Naomi?” He called. No answer. “Princess, are you fine?” He called again but was met with the same response. Silence. He stepped closer. That’s when he saw it: her lips moving faintly, as if she was whispering secrets to the air. His brows furrowed. “Naomi, what are you saying?” He asked and bent down, close enough to listen. “…she knew…the water…it wasn’t an accident…mother loves me…blood everywhere…” Her words were disjointed, coming out like a broken string. Mr. Toby froze. A chill swept through him; colder than the evening breeze. She wasn’t talking in her sleep. Her eyes were open, wide and empty. Naomi’s whisper grew louder, shaking with anger and grief. “You lied…father lied…I know it… I lied…” Toward the end, she sounded sad. She suddenly turned her face toward him, staring at him in the eye, even though her gaze was unfocused. Her lips stopped moving, and her breath came in shallow gasps. Then, with a voice barely above a whisper, she said: “Mother is still waiting for me.” At this point, Mr. Toby wasn’t able to control his feelings any longer. He raised her and hugged her tightly. “Don’t worry, baby, we’ll be fine.” He whispered into her ear while pressing the call button. They remained in that position with Naomi still saying her jargon. “What’s the matter, Mr. Toby?” The doctor asked. Mr. Toby dried his eyes before turning to the doctor. “She suddenly began saying things.” The doctor walked towards Naomi, his expression unreadable as he gently lifted Naomi’s eyelids, checked her pulse, and pressed lightly on different points on her arms. He seemed to have noticed something but had chosen not to speak immediately. Finally, he straightened, removed his gloves, and said in a calm tone, “We will need to bring the brain scan I mentioned earlier forward. The nurses will guide you to sign the necessary forms.” Turning to the nurse standing nearby, he said, “Inform the lab and prepare the paperwork.” Within minutes, Naomi was carefully lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled out of the room into the medical laboratory. The wait was unnerving for her father, Mr. Toby. He was juggling between receiving calls from the company and paying attention to what they were doing. A while later, she was brought back, her face pale and still, her lips twitching, still forming words no one could hear. The doctor returned with a sealed envelope containing the result in hand. He opened it, scanned the sheets, and then handed it over to Mr. Toby. Mr. Toby frowned at the pages; the lines and charts of waves were unfamiliar to him. They were not like the financial reports he was used to reading. “Doctor, I don’t understand any of this. Could you explain it to me? The doctor adjusted his glasses and began to speak, “These results measure Naomi’s brain activity. The pattern of her brain waves is unusual; she isn’t fully present in her surroundings. Her mind is caught in recurring cycles, stopping her from responding to reality.” Folding his hands, the doctor continued, “To put it simply, she’s trapped between memory and denial.” “Denial?” Her father questioned. “Yes, denial. Your daughter can’t bear to accept the reality of her mother’s death. The trauma is too deep, so her brain has created a loop. She is constantly reliving her past interactions with her mother; that’s why she mutters, and her eyes are open yet distant. It’s her mind’s way of protecting itself from what it cannot bear.” The doctor explained. Mr. Toby’s hands clenched. “So what you are saying is that she’s living in the past?” “Yes,” The doctor nodded. “She might replace some scenes to suit herself. Until we can carefully guide her out of it, she may remain there.” He said, then hesitated before continuing, “I’ll advise that you transfer her to a psychiatric facility. She needs professional monitoring and therapy that we can’t give here.” The words struck the air like thunder. Mr. Toby’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “No,” He said with a firm voice, “I will not let my daughter be thrown into some place where she’ll be treated like a madwoman.” “I understand your fears,” The doctor replied. “ Then stay close to her and speak gently. Sometimes a familiar voice pulls a patient back.” He concluded and left. Mr. Toby sat down beside his daughter and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “My little girl,” He whispered. The weight of the moment seemed to press down on his chest. His thumb caressed her cheek. “I'll protect you, no matter what.” While he held her hand and worried about the future, a tear slid down Naomi’s cheeks as her brain replayed the day her world began to crash. **** That afternoon, Naomi had gone to a club and was partying with her friends when the call came. "Hello, Pops." She greeted, her voice almost drowned out by the loud music. “Where are you?” her father’s low and urgent voice came through the phone. “I’m with my friends. You okay?” There was a pause. “ I’m sending you an address. Come there. Now.” The line went dead. Naomi was shocked. She muttered a quick excuse to her friends and stepped outside to check her phone. "Mercy General Hospital, 1835 Willow Creek Avenue, Bridgewater, NY 10723.” That was it. No explanation, no teasing emojis, and no sarcastic follow-up. So unlike him. Her brows furrowed. "What’s he doing at a hospital?" She crushed her cigarette between her fingers and headed straight for her car. The trip from the club to the hospital was long, but that wasn't a problem for Naomi. She sped past red lights without a care and went over speed limits. They could just add that to her former records. In no time, Naomi arrived and walked into the hospital. She met her father in the corridor, head bent with his arms folded forward. "Dad," she greeted, "What happened?" Mr Toby raised his head and motioned for her to sit. "I got a call this morning," he began, "it was about your mom." Naomi’s heart stopped. "I was in a meeting and couldn't get here early. By the time I arrived, she was already cold..." Naomi didn’t hear the rest. Her heart had begun to pound with a sickening force, drowning out the words her father was saying. “Mom’s... dead?” she interrupted, her voice thin. “Yes.” For a minute, her breath caught and her limbs froze. "Hahaha." She laughed. This wasn’t real. "That was a good one, Pops; you got me there." She said, "You are getting better at ..." "This is not a joke!" Her father, Mr Toby, cut her short. Naomi wanted to believe her father was bluffing, pulling one of his dramatic stunts again. But the look on his face silenced every doubt. This wasn’t an act. “I want to see her,” she whispered, her voice tight and trembling. She wouldn't believe it, not until she saw her mother with her own eyes. Wordlessly, they rose and made their way toward the ward. Each step felt heavier than the last. Once they got to the ward, her father made no move to remove the white clothes over her face, so Naomi had to do it herself. She took in a deep breath and opened it up. Her breath hitched as tears rolled down her eyes. Her mother, Mrs. Charlotte Toby, the most bubbly and beautiful person she knew, lay still on the hospital bed, draped in a white sheet that looked too pristine against the paleness of her skin. Naomi stood there for a whole minute; she couldn’t move. She stretched to feel the temperature but withdrew her hands at the coldness. At that point, Naomi felt her heart tighten, and she was unable to breathe. Before her father could ask, she collapsed. That was a week ago.