Chapter 25
The next afternoon, Colin stood beside Kara on the porch of the senior nursing facility.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked quietly.
“No. But he’s the only one who might remember.”
Kara followed Colin through the front doors of the senior living facility, immediately swallowed by the too-clean scent of disinfectant and old linen.
The lobby was washed in afternoon light, every surface polished, every chair arranged too neatly.
A television mounted in one corner played some daytime game show to no one in particular.
Behind the reception desk, a heavyset woman with cropped gray curls glanced up from a stack of paperwork and smiled.
“Who are you two here for?”
“Frank Givens.”
She pushed her glasses higher on her nose and gave them a polite smile before asking them to check in, then glanced toward Colin.
"Does he know you're visiting?" she asked.
Colin answered while Kara lingered quietly at his side, doing her best not to betray the discomfort tightening in her chest. She kept her eyes anywhere but on the receptionist, her fingers curling together as she waited for the moment to pass.
Teresa, according to her name tag, rounded the desk and motioned down the hallway.
“Frank hasn’t had visitors in quite a while. He should be happy to see a friendly face.”
Kara’s steps slowed for half a second.
Quite a while. The words sank in as she and Colin followed Teresa down the corridor.
Frank Givens had a son…A son who still lived in town hadn’t bothered to come see his father in God knows how long.
Why?
The hallway stretched on with muted floral wallpaper, handrails fixed to both sides, and the occasional nurse passing with a cart of medications. Somewhere nearby, an old woman coughed. Another room carried the muffled hiss of radio static.
Teresa walked at an unhurried pace, chatting over her shoulder. “He mostly keeps to himself now. Some days he comes out for bingo, some days he doesn’t leave his room.”
“How long has it been since his son’s last visit?” Kara asked casually.
Teresa looked back, surprised by the question.
“Oh.” She frowned as if trying to remember. “Well…the new Chief Givens used to stop in now and then, but I can’t recall the last time.” She clicked her tongue softly. “It's been many months at least.”
Kara shared a glance with Colin. He caught it and filed it away. Same as she did. There was estrangement, and then there was abandonment. Children didn’t simply stop visiting aging parents without reason—not unless there was resentment, maybe guilt, or something uglier sitting between them.
Teresa stopped outside a narrow wooden door near the end of the hall.
Room 214.
A small paper sunflower had been taped crookedly beside the number. She smiled softly and lowered her voice. “This is him.”
Kara's stomach tensed for reasons she couldn’t explain. This suddenly felt bigger than a quick chat, much more than a simple fact-finding mission.
Teresa lifted her knuckles and gave the door two gentle taps.
“Frank?” she called. “You’ve got some visitors.”
A gravelly voice answered. “Didn’t ask for any.”
Teresa chuckled under her breath. This was routine. “Well, they came all this way to see you anyhow.”
A beat of scraping—perhaps a chair moving. Then a curt, “Door’s open.”
Teresa turned the knob and pushed it inward before stepping aside for them.
Frank Givens' room was small, dimmer than the bright hallway behind them. Curtains half drawn. A narrow bed made tightly. A recliner by the window. A side table cluttered with pill bottles, folded newspapers, and a half-finished cup of tea.
Age had hollowed him out, skin hanging loose at his jaw, wisps of white hair combed carefully back. But his eyes—his eyes were sharp.
Teresa smiled. “I’ll leave you, folks.”
The older man stood there for a second with a scowl before recognition softened it slightly. “Colin,” he said.
“Hey, Chief.”
The man looked past him then, at Kara.
“She with you?” he asked.
Colin nodded. “Yeah. She’s helping me with something.”
His eyes narrowed. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. Frank leaned forward slowly, like he was seeing a ghost. “You…” His voice rasped. “You’re George Nicholls’s girl.”
That seemed to satisfy him enough to welcome them inside with a friendlier smile.
Photographs lined the hallway. Some were straight and others slightly crooked.
Kara’s eyes caught on one as they passed.
Frank shuffled ahead of them into the living room, lowering himself into a chair as if it took effort.
"How are you?" Colin asked.
The question opened the floodgates. Within moments, he was off on a spirited tirade about the food, grumbling that nothing ever tasted quite right.
One meal was bland, the next overcooked, and by the time it reached him, it was usually lukewarm.
Colin listened without interrupting, a patient smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as though he'd heard complaints like these a hundred times before.
Her phone vibrated inside her jacket pocket. She slipped it out for a glance, expecting to see Isaac's name on the screen. Instead, it was her boss. Worse. With a quiet sigh, she tucked the phone away and made a mental note to call her back later.
They let him ramble, drifting effortlessly from the latest gossip circulating through the community to stories from the old days that seemed to grow a little grander with each retelling.
Kara listened in silence, watching Colin offer the occasional nod, a well-timed question, or a booming laugh that encouraged the man to keep going.
He made it look effortless. Every smile, every response, every shift in the conversation came with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly how to put people at ease.
It was almost mesmerizing to watch. Watching him, she couldn't help but think he was a marvel, carrying himself through every interaction with a quiet ease she both admired and envied
“So,” Frank said slowly. “What do you need?”
Colin glanced at Kara. She stepped forward slightly. “We’re looking for state record case files. Archive access. Anything that isn’t in the public system anymore.”
Frank squinted at her, then at Colin, and leaned back. “You mean the sealed ones,” he said.
Kara’s spine straightened slightly. “Yes.”
Then, slowly: “There’s a room under the old municipal building. Not many remember it still exists.”
Colin frowned. “The basement archives?”
Frank shook his head. “Not the public ones. The older ones. Before the rebuild.”
Kara leaned in slightly. “How do we access it?”
He opened his mouth—Then stopped. His gaze drifted, unfocusing slightly. The shift was subtle at first, then became more noticeable.
“Did I… feed the dog?” he asked suddenly.
Colin stiffened slightly. “Uncle Frank—”
The man stood abruptly, already moving toward the hallway. “She gets restless if I’m late. She hates when I forget.”
“Hey,” Colin said gently, following a step. “We’re not finished.”
But Frank didn’t seem to hear him anymore. He stopped halfway down the hall, staring at a wall like he’d lost the thread completely.
“I used to keep the keys,” he murmured. “Before they changed everything.”
Kara stepped closer again. “Keys to what?”
For a moment—just a sliver of a moment—his eyes cleared, and he looked at her directly.
“The archive door doesn’t open without the old access key,” he said.
Colin’s voice lowered. “Where is it?”
Frank’s expression shifted again—confusion creeping back in like fog rolling over glass.
“Who are you again?” he asked.
Colin exhaled slowly. “He’s sundowning.”
Frank had already turned away, muttering to himself as he shuffled further down the hall, the clarity gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“I need to check on her… she doesn’t like the dark…”
Colin lowered his voice. “We got what we needed.”
Kara nodded, slow and thoughtful, but her attention stayed on the hallway, on the old man disappearing down it. He had spent a lifetime giving himself to this town, only to become another lost soul tucked quietly out of sight.
She gave a humorless huff. “That was enlightening.”
Teresa was nowhere in sight now, the corridor empty except for the squeak of a medication cart turning a distant corner. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead.
Neither of them moved right away. Colin finally nodded toward the exit. “Come on.”