We drove to the rehabilitation center listed in the records.
My hands shook the entire way.
At the front desk, Christopher gave a false name.
The receptionist searched the computer.
“No Ryan Mercer.”
My heart sank.
Then an older nurse walking behind the desk stopped.
“Ryan?”
I turned.
She studied me.
“You look like him.”
My knees nearly failed again.
“You knew him?”
The nurse glanced around.
“He wasn’t a patient.”
“What was he?”
“Maintenance.”
Christopher leaned forward.
“When?”
“Until about six months ago.”
Alive.
Ryan had been alive six months earlier.
I began crying immediately.
“Where did he go?”
The nurse hesitated.
“He left suddenly.”
“Did he say why?”
She lowered her voice.
“He said someone had found him.”
Christopher and I exchanged a look.
“Did he leave anything?”
