She pushed herself away from her pillow, holding her breath, watching as the familiar photo of her daughter enlarged to fill the entire TV screen. Cindy lunged toward it, straining to hear the announcer’s voice, but the words failed to register. She reached for the remote control to raise the volume, but it wasn’t beside her. “Where are you, damn it?” she said, frantic hands pawing at the folds of the blue-and-white-flowered comforter. She vaguely remembered having tossed it toward the end of the bed earlier in the day. How long ago? she wondered, glancing at the clock, noting that it was just minutes after 6 P.M., that despite the bleakness of the sky, darkness was still several hours away. She must have fallen asleep, she realized, as the back of her hand slapped against the remote, knocking it from the bed. It shot into the air and plummeted to the floor, landing with a dull thud on the carpet, before bouncing out of sight. Instantly, Cindy was off the bed and on her hands and knees, the carpet’s stale scent pushing into her nostrils as she pressed her cheek against its soft pile.
