Chapter Eight
“This wasn’t really what I was expecting,” Rhys mumbles, turning into the parking lot I’ve directed him to.
We left the hotel early to find food, not that I could manage more than a few bites of the bagel Rhys bought.
I have no appetite, my stomach twisted into knots thinking about where she is and what could be happening to her.
“Well, we don’t have any other leads. We’ve followed the trail we were given, now we do some investigating ourselves. Kenneth visited here,” I sigh, rubbing my nape. “If my mother doesn’t recognize him, maybe the staff will.”
“Ahh, the whole two holes, one cock strategy. I like the way you think,” Rhys shoots a wink to the side of my head.
Other than a narrowed side-eye, I don’t react.
We park up and just sit there, gearing up the energy to move.
Or at least, I am. Rhys is probably thinking this is another dead end, but what have we got to lose?
The building looks softer than I remember, the same mismatched bricks giving the impression it’s patched together with good intentions and limited means.
The white lights that once outlined the roof are still there, but half of them have burnt out, leaving sporadic glimmers that blink weakly against the pale morning sun.
The green canopies above the balconies sag under the weight of rain, but beneath them, someone has potted tulips.
Tight buds which are just starting to show color in the impending spring. The only patch of color in fact.
Rhys glances over at me as I stare through the windshield, trying to steady myself.
Not just for the chance at some answers, but for seeing my mom again.
Every time she fails to recognize me, it’s like reopening an old wound that’s healed abnormally.
The silence becomes charged with anxiety, Rhys’ thumb impatiently tapping on the steering wheel.
“We’re not going to find any answers sitting here,” he adds unhelpfully.
With a deep breath, I push open my door, letting the cool morning air brush against my face.
I’ve left my beanie hat back at the hotel, deciding to face the world without it.
There’s no more hiding, not when it’s my time to step into the light. To be bold, fearless and seen.
Surprisingly, Rhys hangs back a few paces, letting me take the lead.
As soon as the receptionist spots me entering through the double doors, she rolls her eyes and goes back to her computer screen.
It’s safe to say, she’s not a fan of mine.
I step towards the desk, forcing my face to produce a polite smile.
“Excuse me,” I start, although Rhys grunts behind me as if he expected more.
“I know we’ve discussed this before, but I have a photo I’d like you to look at.
Can you tell me if this is the man who’s been visiting my mom?
” Pulling the picture from my pocket, I produce Kenneth’s face from his case file.
It’s a younger photo, but his features are distinguishable.
Stark orange curls, wide muddy eyes, a freckled nose.
He doesn’t exactly blend in, which is why he stole one of my beanies.
With a disdainful, uninterested drag of her gaze, the receptionist looks from her screen to the photo and then to Rhys. He sparks some interest in her blank stare, but not enough to hold it.
“As I’ve told you before, we can’t give out resident info,” she says sharply. I inhale deeply, letting her tone wash off the strong set of my shoulders. I’m not taking no for an answer today.
“And as I have told you, my mother is a resident here, and her safety is paramount to me. You’ve permitted a stranger to visit her on multiple occasions, and if you don’t answer my questions, I will be pressing charges, personally naming you for your negligence.
And in case you don’t believe I’ll win, my friend here is in contact with the best lawyers’ money can buy.
” I stick my thumb up in Rhys’ direction, who, in turn, waves back with a wiggle of his fingers.
To my frustration, the receptionist taps her acrylic nails against the countertop, keeping her expression bored.
“Go ahead. There is no evidence of malpractice here, and if you did have access to these fancy lawyers, you’d have brought one with you.” With the hint of a smirk, she returns to her computer, clicking those nails on the keyboard needlessly. Dammit. She called our bluff.
I feel my jaw tightening, that awful helplessness blooming in my chest the same way it does every time my mom stares through me like I’m a ghost. I don’t have the bandwidth for someone else pretending I don’t exist. Shifting my head, I gaze at the visitor’s book, spotting the name that started all of this.
The reason I’m here. Dekken. H. Cornstone.
Dropping the photo onto the logbook, I stare at it as if I can merge Kenneth into the name, linking their personas.
I need confirmation for what I already know.
Rhys must sense the shift in me, or maybe he’s simply done being patient, because he steps forward, reaches into his back pocket, and slaps a folded bundle of cash onto the desk.
The receptionist’s head snaps up with such force that her chair creaks.
“Talk,” Rhys says flatly. One single word.
No embellishment, no unnecessary threat.
Though the look in his eyes is enough to fill in the blanks.
The receptionist blinks, her features turning calculating as she looks from the money to Rhys to me.
Reaching out, she takes the cash and slides it safely out of view.
I should have known she’d take a bribe. Money is a universal language.
“You’re looking for Dekken. He’s a sweet kid. When your mom needs a rest, he heads to the main hall and helps out.”
“How does he ‘help out’?” Rhys demands, his voice as tense as my nerves. There’s no response until more money is slid over the desk, loosening the receptionist’s lips.
“Sitting with the lonely residents, serving meals with the canteen staff, suggesting daytrips and events. He was just a joy to have around,” she says fondly.
Rhys makes a disbelieving sound in his throat, whilst I keep staring at the visitor’s book as if an answer will magically appear.
And then, like a hidden illusion, it does.
“Fuck,” I hiss to myself. Pushing the photo beneath Dekken’s name, I see it as clear as day.
“It’s an anagram. Dekken H Cornstone, Kenneth Dockerson.
This whole time.” Pushing away from the desk, I hang my head, running a hand through my hair.
Rhys steps in behind me, double-checking the book before realising I’m right.
It’s been right beneath our noses, and we missed it.
Done with wasting time on the corrupt receptionist, I turn for the residential hallway when Rhys’ voice stops me.
“One more thing.” He leans his elbow on the counter, the largest wad of cash yet balanced between his fingers. The receptionist sits straighter, her attention fully piqued. It’s the most alert I’ve ever seen her, as Rhys leans in and tilts his head.
“Do you keep any sedatives on site? Anything to calm the residents when they become frantic?” My eyes widen at how the color from the receptionist’s face drains.
Rhys continues on, his mind able to catch onto what I’ve clearly missed.
“And have any of these sedatives gone missing lately?” The receptionist’s eyes dart to the side, an obvious tell.
Flicking the cash back in his own direction, Rhys grins and pushes the wad into his pocket. “My lawyer will be in touch.”
We stride into the hallway, although my feet feel like lead. I struggle to make my mind catch up, thoughts firing in quick succession until we stop outside my mom’s door. Rhys reaches for the handle, and I reach out to stop him.
“You will behave, right?” He gives me a sarcastic look, shrugs my concern off and opens the door. I roll my eyes. Has he never heard of knocking?
Inside, my mom sits by the window in her usual chair, a blanket tucked around her legs.
She’s staring out at the courtyard, tracking something only she can see, lost in the internal world that only exists in her mind.
Her hair, once thick and wild like mine, is being brushed back neatly by the nurse behind her.
Noticing us, the nurse places down the brush and excuses herself.
Rhys steps in first, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
The door clicks softly shut behind us, and Mom slowly turns her head, blinking a few times like she’s adjusting to a new light.
For a single moment, I let myself hope she’ll recognise me, that the fog might lift on command just this once.
But her eyes slide across my face without catching, drifting over me as though I’m a piece of furniture that has appeared while she wasn’t paying attention.
Pushing myself to cross the room, I drop into the armchair opposite her, thankful that Rhys remained by the door. Leaning my elbows on my thighs, I clear my throat.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me, Clayton.”
No response. Not even a pause as she returns her gaze to the window.
I hang my head, cursing under my breath.
Today is one of her bad days, but I don’t have the time to leave and return.
Harper’s life could be hanging in the balance, and the not knowing is killing me.
My mind is so quick to conjure the worst eventualities, any chance of hope blooming is stolen from me.
I force myself to breathe, in through my nose, out through my mouth, searching for some anchor in the sterile air of the room.
Rhys doesn't move from his post, and I can feel his gaze on the side of my face, quietly measuring how close I am to breaking.
Every instinct screams at me to demand answers, to shake the truth free, but I know how fragile she is.
Rolling my shoulders, I sit straighter and let a mask of indifference fall over my face.