She could hear Ben’s voice both live outside the door and a few seconds later from the television. She felt like there was a gap where her chest had been.

“Are you guys . . .” She turned. The nurse was gone. Jackie was asleep.

Diane cried. As long as you have some control over your situation, her father used to tell her unhelpfully, there’s no need to cry, only to take action. That statement made sense right up until the tears came.

“Jackie.” Diane’s voice cracked. “Are you hearing this?”

There was a knock at the door.

“Can we come in, Diane?” said the voice behind the door.

“What’s up?” Jackie said, her eyes still closed.

“Can we come in, Diane?” the same voice repeated from the television.

“The TV news. They say Josh has gone missing.”

Jackie opened her eyes and forced her body into an upright position. Her face went pale with the effort and pain.

Diane was still crying, and did not cover her face. She let the tears fall openly. She thought of all the minutes, each individual minute, that she had left Josh home alone while she had chased useless ghosts all over town. If she had been home, he wouldn’t be gone.

The Ben on the television screen was knocking on a hospital room door.

Jackie turned her legs off the bed with slow, careful effort. “He’s a teenager. Probably ran away for a little bit. Call him. Get in a cab. Get home. Call him.”

“He wouldn’t have run away. He just took the car without telling me. That’s all.”

“Sometimes kids run away. You can sit here watching the TV talk about it, or you can do something.”

Diane’s tears stopped. Her dry red eyes looked into Jackie’s tired, bruised eyes. She eased Jackie back into bed, gently helped her lie down, and pulled the cover up over her. She placed her hand on Jackie’s forehead and stroked her temple. Jackie let her eyes close again.

“You’re right,” Diane said, trying to keep her panic from showing. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

Jackie closed her eyes and was instantly asleep again.

Diane opened the door and walked out into a completely empty hallway, hurrying toward the elevator. Behind her on the TV, Ben stood in an identical hallway frantically knocking on an identical door.

“Ms. Crayton, a word about your missing son,” the reporter on the screen said into his microphone, pounding on the door. “Ms. Crayton, are you in there?”

Diane stood in the elevator as the doors slid shut on an unpopulated and silent hallway.

THE VOICE OF NIGHT VALE