Bonnie hummed softly. The sound of her sneakers squeaking in the emptiness of the hallway kept perfect time with the simple melody.
“No, no, no,” she said, and she stopped walking. The tray she held had a large bowl of water in its center that swirled and spilled over the rim. The other items on the tray—a towel, a bar of soap, a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste—got wet.
“Damn,” she said, and she stomped onward less careful with everything now that it was soaked. When she arrived at a closed door, she balanced the tray in one hand, keyed the doorknob and pushed the door open with her shoulder.
“OK, Alister.”
She stepped into the room; the door slowly swung closed behind her.
“I’ve come to give you your bath.”
Although Alister had never responded to the sound of her voice in the ten years she had fed and bathed him, Bonnie believed he heard every word she said and that he appreciated it.
“It is a beautiful day outside today.”
And that one day he would say something back to her.
“The doctor told me you responded to the sound of your sons—”
The tray fell out of Bonnie’s hands and crashed to the floor. The water drenched the floor, walls and Bonnie’s legs.
“Oh my God!”
Her hands covered her mouth and muted a scream. She backed away with her eyes wide and transfixed on Alister’s limp body swaying on a makeshift noose torn from the innards of his mattress. His face was blue, and his head was titled at an awkward angle.
Bonnie backed into the wall and slipped. Her tailbone crashed on the hard floor and her head snapped back and slammed into the wall. Stars filled her eyes, and a surge of pain tensed her body.
She moaned as she struggled to her feet and winced as she moved. She looked over her shoulder at Alister and quickly looked away. She pulled his door open and shouted out into the hallway.
“Help! Somebody, please help!”