Captive in Plain Sight

Treizeci || Gone

Mila was quiet on the drive back home. The weather in the pass had cleared up, and there were no longer signs for drivers to put chains on two-wheel vehicles.

"I mean it when I say I'm proud of you." he said, trying to nudge conversation out of her. Lately, he didn't like when she was too silent. It was different when they were fighting, but now it made him feel lonely. Like before.

They'd been doing well before her ex ruined it.

"I was just doing what was best for everyone." she said, staring out of the passenger window.

He decided to try harder.

"I was thinking once everything is settled, we could go on holiday to an island somewhere. What do you think about Maui?"

"If you like it, I love it." she said.

He wondered if she'd actually heard him. No one felt 'just ok' about Maui.

"I'd also like for us to finally 'know each other again.'" he said.

He could hear her inhale, but she didn't say anything.

"That was an area we never had a problem in. In fact, we excelled."

Still nothing. Not even a look, or grumblings of displeasure.

"Once you enact this plan of yours and we accomplish the objective, we're free. Don't you get that?" he said, still trying hard to get her excited.

"I was already free." she mumbled under her breath.

"Not really," he said, irritated. "Ignorance isn't freedom."

Before she could say something else to fuel their impending argument, his watch buzzed with a call from Raul. He pressed ignore. He wanted to continue their conversation. However, almost immediately, Raul called back. Their signal for dealing with important matters.

"Boss," he said. Raul's tone alerted him.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Is she with you right now?"

He glanced at Mila, who was trying to pretend she wasn't paying attention.

"Of course. What's going on?" he said calmly.

"You need to make sure she can't hear." Raul said. He adjusted the volume in his headphones to make sure the setting was so low, he could barely hear.

"I've been monitoring the devices of Ms. Black's family, and they haven't been active for several days. I also checked their accounts, and there also hasn't been any movement on the money front.

"Are you sure?" he said.

"Positive." he replied. "There's something else. It looks like the boy's been pulled out of school."

"Shit!" he said out loud. Now Mila was really paying attention. Mouthing, what's going on, which he ignored.

"What do we do?" Raul asked.

"Nothing for now," he said. "We'll talk about it once we arrive home."

This was bad. Really bad. First off, why would her family disappear? Were they tipped off that something was amiss? If so, who, and how?"

He looked at Mila with suspicion.

They did not yet have what they needed from HSG, and if she found out her family was no longer a factor, everything could implode. A large part of the problem was that he didn't have the resources to track them down right now. He could have Raul try remotely, but he desperately needed him in Seattle.

Though, it might not be the worst thing in the world if he sent him to Idaho for a few days to see what he could find.

"Always trust your instincts," his mother had said. The feeling of foreboding as of late, coming to fruition.

"Raul, do me a favor and go into my office. In the top drawer of my desk is a brochure with a card attached to it. Call the number and tell them we're coming for our walk-through appointment today."

"Sure thing." he said, before they hung up.

"Is everything ok?" Mila asked concerned.

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" he asked.

"What? No." she said. "Why?"

"We have an appointment to make, and it's a bit of a drive. Are you sure you don't need to go?"

"I'll be alright." she said.

After several hours of driving, and one stop to use the restroom, they pulled up to their destination. An old building with a large gothic sign reading, The Brockmire Institute.

Mila was suddenly very distressed. "Why are we here?" she asked.

Finally, he was seeing real fear. She'd been so bold lately.

"We're just doing a tour," he said. "No worries."

She didn't seem to believe him.

A froggy-looking doctor with beady eyes behind thick, circular glasses and two nurses met them in the waiting room. Mila's eyes got big as she looked at the wheelchair.

"Please sit down dear." one of the nurses said. Mila looked at him, and he nodded, instructing her to do as told.

Hesitantly, she sat in the wheelchair.  It was a tactic they used to make patients feel helpless and small.

The doctor held out his hand. "Mr. Laurent." he said. "Welcome. We've been anticipating your visit. I'm Dr. Tucker."

Immediately, he did not like Dr. Tucker. His eyes were void of warmth, even though he tried to fake it with his voice and smile. At minimum, he was a sociopath. Most likely, a full-blown psychopath. 

The doctor did not acknowledge Mila at all. An indication of how she'd be treated if she were to check into the Brockmire Institute. Patients were not people here.

"Our neuroscience wing is one of the most advanced in the United States," the doctor said. The place was white and sterile. The opposite of his basement, and possibly more effective.

"You mentioned she has retrograde and anterograde amnesia?"

"Yes," he said. "But anterograde subsided earlier on. She has no issue with making new memories now."

"How fascinating," Dr. Tucker said. His eyes stayed on Mila too long, making her nervous.

"You understand some of our methods are alternative, correct?" The Doctor said. "But our results speak for themselves. You mentioned you've read some of my papers?"

"Yes, I'm aware I'll have to sign a special waiver."he replied. "But may I ask, what happens to your failed patients?"

"We like to think none of our patients are failed patients." he said, with a sparkle in his eye.

Every patient got an experience at the Brockmire Institute. He was sure of that.

The doctor and his nurses walked them back to the car and bid them farewell. Mila locked the door as soon as she was able, clearly shaken. He didn't want to leave her at the institute. In fact, it was the worst-case scenario. The last white flower in the vase.

But if she failed or decided to run because her family was no longer in the picture, he didn't have any other option.

The Brockmire Institute would be the end of the line.

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