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From the living room rang a distant echo, a ringing that continued on end. The first time it happened, Irene simply allowed it to play out… and in time, it stopped. 

Second time rang for a lot longer… and this time she waited, her breath bated, listening for the silence to come again, and once more eventually it did, for a time…

The third time was when Irene finally succumbed to the incessant ringing, annoyed, disgruntled, she turned to Harry, who sat unmoving and with his head hanging down, seemingly unperturbed by the noise at all. 

"Any guesses who's on the phone?" She asked. "Can't be your office, they called already."

"It's not work..." He murmured drearily, too jaded now to even raise his head at her. "It's my son calling… it has to be… he's the only one that does that when I don't answer." 

The ringing was beginning to get unbearable, longer and louder it felt, the more it continued to go unanswered. 

Irene sighed, turned, traversing beneath the doorway and out into the hall once more. "Then I guess you better answer…" 

For once, he looked up at her, his eyes wide as his head feeble swayed left to right. "Not like this." 

"Tell him you're fine, tell him there's nothing wrong, and tell him not to come," Irene said, raising a menacing finger towards him. "Your colleagues bought it, your son has to too… you make sure he does. Now get yourself ready." 

Irene moved at a brisk march across the hall, cleared her throat as she closed the distance, and took in a deep breath as she raised the receiver towards her lips, then with a soothingly sweet practiced voice, she said, "Good afternoon, Leonard Residence, may I know who's speaking?" 

A whir of a machine muffled in the background, a familiar whirr… answered through the static. There was a clinking of glass, a clatter of metal, before finally, in a deep, booming voice, "Who is this?" 

"Oh, I'm the maid," Irene cheerily replied. "And, um, this is…?

"His son," came another deep boom, and Irene could tell right away that he indeed was, he sounded so much like his father. The same rasp in their voices, the gruffness, only his was younger. "A maid, huh? I didn't think he'd actually thought to get one." 

Smiling and chuckling, she answered. "Well, that's not any of my business, I suppose. But, oh! I think Mr. Leonard just came out of the bathroom. Would you like me to put him on for you?"

There was a grunt, "Yes, please." 

The moment Irene drew herself away from the receiver, her smile instantly vanished. Quickly, she doubled back into the bedroom, finding Harry immediately staring back at her in deep apprehension. 

She gave him a silent stare, one that expressly conveyed her emotions for him to see and read. It was brief, spared only a second to comprehend - before she pressed the phone against his ear, and he was wearing a smile of his own.

"Oh, hey champ!" Harry exclaimed, his unblinking eyes never once straying away from Irene's directly looming from above. "How've you been doing? Nice of you to call. Wish your sister was as considerate as you are, you know?"

There was a faint murmur from the other hand that Irene could barely even perceive… it was a long one, and Harry sat silent and listening, the cheery expression on his face stiff and rigid.

"Yeah, no," He finally replied after a while. "Broke my cell phone a couple of days ago coming out of the bathroom, slippery hands, that's why I couldn't answer. Haven't gotten around to replacing it yet… I will soon though." 

Irene gazed back at him just as closely. His every movement, the muscles on his face, the way his hands and legs squirmed in place. It was motions natural, it was motions human… very human. 

Maybe he'll stay human.

Maybe.

"No, no, no, everything's just fine here," Harry said, perhaps too casually with his words. "Don't want to take you away from your work, no need for a visit, but hey, maybe I'll drop by the place next time, see how business is faring you guys." 

Irene nodded her head at him, urging him on, her stare remaining ever as piercing in case he ever fumbled. 

"Oh, what, the maid?" He tried to force small laughter, only it didn't sound as convincing as hers. "You're the one that suggested one right? I figured I should take your advice… after all, my back's not bending any easier these days." 

Then on the other end, his son muttered something Irene couldn't quite catch that had Harry switching to a firmer tone, "No, she's not a - are you kidding? You could trust me a little, you know? I'm not fooling around here." 

Another mutter, a shorter one, expelled a soft sight from Harry's lips. "What did I say? Don't worry about me and your mom, alright? We're working things out, we'll figure it out on our own, alright? She just needs a little space and… I'm giving it to her, okay? That's all that's happening. You'll see, we'll be back  going on road trips before you know it… you and your sister."

As they continued to talk, Irene briefly let her eyes go astray, shifting, scouring all across the room, the picture frames on the shelves, the portraits on the walls. 

They were all the same, the same group of three - Harry and his children with his wife strangely absent in every one of them, in events, in vacations, occasions, some were even taken in the home too, like a birthday party celebrating fifty-four. 

Harry was blowing the candles, and the one beside him, towering over him, had to be his son - evidently not so photogenic, judging by his stiff expression towards the camera, contrasting the smallest of three on his other side, a pretty young girl, brandishing a peace sign and the sweetest smile. 

They looked happy, they looked close.

Very close.

Irene blinked once, snapping her eyes away and back towards the conversation on the phone at hand, which was seemingly already reaching an end.

She still found it hard to hear most of what his son was saying, but for the last one she heard his words, it was unmissable, unmistakable, even through the buzz of static, there was just no misconstruing love so deep. 

"I love you, Dad."

"Yeah..." Harry whispered back, the smile on his face no longer forced. "Love you too, Nick." 

After a moment, Harry slightly nudged his head - and Irene promptly ended the call, drawing the phone back to her side.

"There, done," He muttered, his head slumping downwards once more. "Please, just… how long will you keep me like this? Can you tell me that at least?"

Irene walked a few paces to the bed, placing the phone on the bedside, beside the only photo showing two - a loving wife and husband smiled back at her through the frame. 

"Until I'm absolutely sure that you will stay you," She replied.

"I am me!" He was shouting again, frustrated, at his wit's end. "I've been me all this time! I will stay me for even more! I don't know what you want me to say! What can I say to make you believe me?!" 

So badly. Irene desperately wanted to believe him so badly. That things would be exactly as he said, that everything would be fine in the end. Perhaps if it had been any other affliction, she could… but it wasn't. 

Maybe in the next hour, the next minute, he would revert back to that tarnished state of his. And if he wasn't cured, she knew it was only a matter of when - so she had to keep watching, that next hour, that next minute…

"Oh… I'm back."

That next second.

Irene whipped her head back around towards Harry… but he was no longer in his chair, something else had taken his place… something else had raised his head, something else had shifted his stare, it was a vacant stare… empty eyes that stared back at her. 

"How long was that for?" That something else asked her, widening his lips into a long ugly yawn. "It feels like a long time. Longer than last time. How many more are you going to try? I'm in pain. My hands hurt." 

Irene felt something inside her deflate, smother - an inkling of hope dashed. It was going so well, it was the longest that Harry had ever been sentient, conscious… and now… all for nothing, it seemed.

There was no other way now. She had exhausted all of her options, had run out of all solutions… and no matter how hard she racked her mind, she couldn't think of anything else that could possibly help… 

Save for the only possible one. 

The gun in her holster lightly shook and wobbled with every sway of her body, the slow pace she crept towards him, silently, grimly… doing her utmost to avoid the stares of the many happy faces in the portraits that surrounded her.

She kept it straight, kept it forward, the gun now tightly in her grip, seeing only him, this something else, contorting Harry's lips into the shape of a smile. 

"I'm hungry too," He said.