An unanswered call

"Finally, we're here" Martin murmured, his voice reverberating softly through the silent corridor as he halted before an imposing wooden door. Celeste's gaze drifted to the intricate carvings that adorned its surface—delicate swirls and patterns that seemed to whisper tales of centuries past. A shiver of unease rippled through her, as though the very walls were watching her, judging her. She was about to step into a world that felt as foreign to her as the air she breathed.

"This is my sister Fiona's room," Martin added, his hand pushing open the door with a gentle creak that seemed to echo in the stillness.

Celeste stepped inside, her pulse quickening. The room was vast and opulent, bathed in the soft glow of muted lamps that cast long shadows across the furniture. Fiona reclined on a grand four-poster bed, draped in sumptuous fabrics, her silver-gray hair spilling across the pillow like a silken cascade. Though age had left its mark upon her features, there remained a quiet grace—a regal stillness—that suggested a life once lived in the lap of luxury. Celeste felt a deep, inexplicable sorrow for the woman who had once been so full of life, now reduced to this fragile existence.

"Her care routine is straightforward but crucial," Martin continued, his tone unwavering but tinged with a note of concern. "She needs rest, but also mental stimulation. Your duties will involve keeping her comfortable, assisting with feeding, and ensuring that her medications are administered promptly. Don't let a single detail slip. If she becomes overtired, she grows agitated. The doctor insists that keeping her calm is vital."

Celeste nodded, her mind racing as she absorbed the weight of her new responsibilities. It seemed like an insurmountable task, especially for someone like her—untrained, inexperienced, and uncertain. Yet, beneath the surface of her anxiety, a flicker of determination kindled. I can do this. I have to.

Martin's voice broke through her thoughts. "Remember, Celeste, she is fragile. Do not push her too far. There is a great deal at stake here."

Celeste swallowed hard. "I understand," she replied, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her unease. She turned her attention to Fiona, whose stillness seemed unnatural. "Is she awake?"

"No," Martin answered, his tone distant, a faint trace of sadness creeping into his voice. "She's usually awake in the mornings, but she tends to sleep through much of the day. I'll leave you to get acquainted with her care, but please—do not rush. Her condition requires patience."

Celeste nodded again, but a flash of doubt flickered in her mind. What would it be like to care for someone so delicate, so vulnerable? But before she could voice her concerns, Martin was already moving to Fiona's side, his gaze softening as he gazed at her sleeping form.

"Fiona?" Martin called gently, his voice a low murmur. "It's time to wake up, Fiona."

There was no response.

A taut silence filled the room as Celeste watched, her breath catching in her throat. Martin's eyes moved from Fiona's face to her chest, then to her wrist, his fingers brushing over her skin in an attempt to elicit a sign of life. The seconds stretched, impossibly long, as Celeste's unease deepened.

"Fiona?" Martin called again, his voice louder this time, laced with a note of anxiety. "Wake up, it's time to get up. We have things to do today."

Still, Fiona remained motionless. Her chest did not rise and fall. Her lips did not part. The absence of breath was suffocating.

A shift in Martin's expression—subtle, but unmistakable—drew Celeste's attention. His brow furrowed in confusion, his hand trembling as he pressed his fingers to Fiona's wrist. His face paled, a slow dawning of realization sweeping over him.

"No… no, this can't be happening," he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking with disbelief. He leaned closer to Fiona, his hands shaking as he desperately shook her shoulder. "Fiona, please… just wake up."

Celeste's heart pounded in her chest, each beat loud and frantic. She moved closer, her hands unsteady as she placed them on Martin's arm.

"Martin, what's happening? Why isn't she waking up?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Martin met her gaze, his eyes wild with panic. "I don't know," he rasped, his voice breaking. "She always wakes up at this time. Always." He looked down at Fiona, his face contorted with an anguish that threatened to swallow him whole. His breath came in short, jagged gasps as he fumbled for his phone, dialing Zhypher's number with trembling hands.

"Zhypher…" he breathed, his voice shaking. "It's Fiona. Please, come quickly."

The silence that followed was suffocating. When the call ended abruptly, Martin turned back to Fiona, his hands trembling as he gently shook her shoulder once more.

The door burst open moments later, and Zhypher stormed into the room, his eyes frantic, his breath ragged. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice sharp with urgency. "Where is she? Why isn't she—"

His words died in his throat as he took in the sight before him: his mother, still and lifeless, lying motionless on the bed. His face drained of color, his expression a mask of horror.

"Mom!" Zhypher shouted, rushing to her side. He gripped her hand tightly, his desperation palpable. "What's going on? Why isn't she waking up?"

Martin could barely look him in the eye. "I don't know, Zhypher," he whispered hoarsely. "She's never done this before. We were just talking, and she—"

Zhypher's eyes narrowed, his voice laced with fury. "What do you mean, you don't know? What did you do?" His words were laced with accusations, but his fear was too raw to mask.

"I didn't do anything!" Martin snapped, his voice rising. "I just—"

Before he could continue, the doctor arrived, his expression grim and unreadable. He moved swiftly to Fiona's side, his actions clinical, precise. He checked her pulse, examined her face, and his every movement seemed to hang in the air like a suspended breath.

The room fell into an unbearable silence as Celeste stood frozen, her heart thudding in her ears, every second stretching into eternity. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't process what was happening.

The doctor finally looked up, his face devoid of expression. "I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice cutting through the heavy stillness. "She's gone."

Time seemed to freeze. Zhypher collapsed to his knees, his anguished cry shattering the silence. "No!" he screamed, clutching Fiona's hand as if trying to pull her back from death. "Mom, please… don't leave me!"

Celeste stood at the periphery of the room, her body trembling with the weight of the moment. She felt her heart splinter, but she couldn't find her voice. The guilt gnawed at her insides. Is this my fault? Did my arrival bring this misfortune?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden wave of dizziness. The room spun around her as her knees buckled beneath her, and the world turned black.