It was 9 p.m., and Vinny had yet to come home. His mother and Liz sat in the living room, their unease growing with each passing minute. He hadn't called, hadn't texted, hadn't told them he'd be staying out. Liz tapped her phone screen again, her fingers trembling slightly as she dialed his number for what felt like the hundredth time. Straight to voicemail. She exhaled sharply, setting the phone down. "Mum, it's okay," she said, forcing her voice to sound steadier than she felt. "I'm sure he's fine. You know he used to do this before, go out with friends and forget to call. Old habits die hard."
Her mother shook her head, lips pressed into a tight line. "No, Liz. He's been different. Ever since he started taking his medication, he stopped disappearing like this. He wouldn't just go back to his old ways, not without a reason."
Liz sighed, trying to keep the growing panic at bay. "I know. I'm just trying not to think the worst. Maybe his phone died. Maybe he's at a friend's place." She glanced at the clock. "Let's wait till morning. If he's not back by then, we'll go looking for him."
Vinny's mother hesitated, worry flickering in her tired eyes. "He better have a good reason for this," she murmured, more to herself than to Liz. "I won't forgive him for making me worry again."
Morning came, and Vinny's phone was now switched off. The panic that had simmered beneath the surface all night hit them in full force. They rushed out, asking neighbors, calling every number they could think of, checking places Vinny might have gone. Each dead end made the dread settle deeper in their chests. Their last hope was Madam Grace's shop. But when they arrived, the doors were locked. Seeing the empty storefront, Vinny's mother stumbled slightly, gripping Liz's arm. The cold morning air did nothing to stop the sharp memory that crashed over her like a wave.
The sound of dishes clinking in the sink. The phone ringing. She wiped her hands hastily and picked it up. "Hello? Good day, who's this?" A pause. Then, a voice, steady, professional. "Good day, am I speaking to Mrs. Barbara?" Her heart skipped a beat. "Yes, this is she. How may I help you?"
The voice softened slightly. "This is Nurse Denise from Great Oak Hospital. I'm calling about your son, Vincent Dara. He was brought in this afternoon."
The room tilted. "What do you mean? What happened?"
The nurse hesitated. "He was found at a park. There was a lot of blood. It seems he attempted to…" A pause. "He tried to take his own life."
The phone nearly slipped from her grasp. Her boy. Her strong, headstrong Vincent. He had left the house that morning smiling, cracking a joke, telling her he'd be back soon. Now a stranger was on the phone, telling her he had wanted to die.
"No," she whispered. "Not my Vincent. There must be a mistake."
"Ma'am, we need you to come in as his parent."
Her knees buckled. The air felt too thick, too heavy. She barely registered Liz rushing to her side, shaking her, calling her name. Not my Vincent.
"Mom! Are you okay?" Liz's voice snapped her back to the present. Vinny's mother gripped the nearest surface, steadying herself. "We need to find him. Now."
They raced to the last location Vinny had shared. A bar. Inside, the dim lighting and low chatter did nothing to calm the unease gnawing at them. They found the bartender on duty, a younger man wiping glasses behind the counter.
"Excuse me," Vinny's mother said, pulling up a picture on her phone. "Have you seen this boy? My son? He was here last night."
The bartender frowned, glancing at the photo. "I just started my shift, but hang on." He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with an older man.
"This is Mark. He worked last night."
Mark rubbed his tired eyes as he studied the photo. "Yeah, I remember him. He was with someone. They sat at the bar, had a few drinks."
Liz stepped forward. "Who was he with? Where did they go?"
Mark scratched his head, shifting uncomfortably. "The guy he was with, tall, dark-skinned, kinda built. Seemed real friendly with your son. Kept buying him drinks. Then he suggested they go to one of the rooms in the back."
Vinny's mother's heart dropped. "Rooms? This bar has rooms?"
Mark nodded hesitantly. "Yeah. Sometimes people get too drunk and need to lie down, or…" His voice trailed off.
Liz's voice turned ice cold. "Is he still here?"
Mark shook his head. "No. The room was empty this morning when we checked. No one saw them leave."
A chill ran down Vinny's mother's spine. "Show me the room. Now."
Mark hesitated, but the look in her eyes left no room for argument. He led them down a dimly lit hallway, fumbling with the key before pushing the door open.
The sight inside made her stomach lurch. The sheets were tangled. The bedside lamp was knocked over. And on the floor a dark stain. Blood.
Liz covered her mouth, her face going pale. "Mom… this isn't good."
Vinny's mother took an unsteady step forward. The memory of the hospital call rang in her ears. "This is his blood. I know it."
Mark shifted, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Maybe he got hurt? Maybe"
"Where is he?!" Vinny's mother snapped, her voice shaking. "If he left, where did he go? Who took him?!"
Mark raised his hands defensively. "I don't know! But if he was hurt, maybe someone helped him? Maybe they took him to a hospital?"
Liz grabbed her mother's arm, trying to steady her. "Mom, we have to check. If he was hurt, he could be anywhere. We need to move."
Vinny's mother forced herself to breathe. The panic, the fear, it was suffocating. She turned to Mark, her voice dangerously calm. "If you remember anything else, you call me immediately."
Mark nodded quickly. "Of course."
Without another word, Vinny's mother and Liz rushed out of the bar, their hearts pounding, dreading the worst.