Elena stared at the screen. The search results for her own name filled Victoria's laptop. She clicked the first link.
Seattle General Hospital appeared on the page. A photo showed the ICU entrance. Then another photo. Her own face. Pale against white sheets. Tubes everywhere. Machines beeping.
Elena's finger scrolled down. Found a video dated yesterday. She clicked.
The screen showed a hospital hallway. A reporter stood outside glass doors marked Intensive Care Unit.
"We're here at Seattle General where Elena Martinez remains in critical condition," the reporter said into the camera. "It's been eight days since the accident that nearly took her life. Today we spoke with her family and medical team."
The video cut to a doctor in scrubs. His name appeared on screen. Dr. James Park. Neurology.
"Ms. Martinez suffered severe trauma in the collision," Dr. Park said. His face was tired. "We managed to restart her heart at the scene. She's been in a medically induced coma since admission to prevent further brain damage."
"What's her prognosis?" the reporter asked.
Dr. Park hesitated. "It's difficult to say. We've reduced the sedation gradually over the past few days. She should be showing signs of consciousness by now. But there's been no response."
"No response at all?"
"Her brain activity is minimal. The scans show she's alive but there's no higher cognitive function we can detect. It's as if..." He trailed off.
"As if what, Doctor?"
"As if no one is home."
Elena's hands went numb. She gripped the laptop harder.
The video cut to a woman Elena recognized. Michelle. Her sister. Michelle stood in a hallway looking exhausted.
"We're not giving up," Michelle said. Her voice was fierce despite the exhaustion. "Elena is strong. She'll come back to us."
"The doctors seem less optimistic," the reporter said gently.
"The doctors don't know my sister." Michelle's eyes filled with tears. "She's fighting. I know she is. Somewhere in there she's fighting."
The camera moved to show another woman in the background. Older. Thin. Wearing a scarf over her head.
Elena's breath stopped.
Her mother. Rose Martinez. Looking so much worse than the photo Michelle had sent last week. The cancer had eaten through her. She could barely stand. A nurse helped her into a chair outside Elena's room.
"That's their mother," the reporter's voice said. "Rose Martinez. She's battling stage four cancer. Despite her own health crisis, she's been here every day."
The camera zoomed in. Rose looked directly at it. Her face was gaunt but her eyes were sharp.
"My daughter is alive," Rose said. "I can feel it. A mother knows. She's alive somewhere."
The video cut back to Dr. Park in what looked like a conference room. Another doctor sat beside him. A woman in her fifties. Dr. Sarah Kim. Psychiatry.
"We've consulted with Dr. Kim regarding some unusual aspects of this case," Dr. Park said.
Dr. Kim leaned forward. "Elena Martinez's brain activity is unlike any coma patient I've observed. There's activity in the brain stem keeping her body alive. But the higher functions—consciousness, personality, memory—they appear to be absent."
"What does that mean?" the reporter asked.
"In layman's terms?" Dr. Kim folded her hands on the table. "It means her body is alive but the person we would call Elena Martinez does not appear to be present."
"Is that common?"
"No. Most coma patients show some neural patterns consistent with their personality and memories. Even in deep comas. But Ms. Martinez shows nothing. As if her consciousness simply left."
Dr. Park looked uncomfortable. "That's a bit metaphysical for a medical diagnosis."
"Perhaps," Dr. Kim said. "But I've studied consciousness for fifteen years. This case is extraordinary. The body lives but the essential person is absent."
The video cut to Michelle again. She was crying now.
"They keep talking about her like she's already gone," Michelle said. "Like her body is just a shell. But I know she's in there. She has to be."
The reporter's voice came back. "Police are still investigating the accident as attempted homicide. The truck's brake lines were deliberately cut. But who wanted Elena Martinez dead and why remains a mystery."
The video ended.
Elena closed the laptop. Her whole body was shaking.
No one is home. Consciousness absent. As if she simply left.
Because she had. Her consciousness had left that body in Seattle and landed here. In Victoria Castellano. Three hundred miles away.
Her mother was dying. Michelle was breaking apart. And they were sitting beside an empty body believing Elena might wake up.
But Elena could never wake up there. Because she was here.
Elena opened the laptop again. Found another video. This one was from today.
A different reporter stood in the hospital parking lot.
"Day nine of Elena Martinez's coma," the woman said. "And her family faces an impossible decision."
The video showed Rose in a wheelchair now. Too weak to stand. Michelle pushed the chair. They moved slowly through the hospital corridor.
"The doctors have suggested it might be time to consider removing life support," the reporter's voice said. "But the family is refusing."
"How long do we have to wait?" Rose asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"There's no set timeline. But realistically... if there's no improvement in the next few weeks..."
"Then what?" Michelle demanded.
Dr. Park looked pained. "Then you'll have to decide if continuing life support is in Elena's best interest."
"She's alive!" Michelle stood up. "She's breathing. Her heart is beating. You can't ask us to kill her!"
"I'm not asking you to kill her," Dr. Park said quietly. "I'm asking you to consider what Elena would want."
Rose spoke again. "My daughter would want to live."
"Even like this?" Dr. Park gestured to a monitor showing Elena's brain scans. "Even with no consciousness? No awareness? No chance of recovery?"
"There's always a chance," Rose said. "Miracles happen."
She left the nursery and locked herself in the bathroom. Turned on the shower so no one would hear.
And screamed.