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?”
The nurse stared at me.
Then she said, “Wait.”
She disappeared.
Ten minutes later, she returned carrying an envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Rachel.
Ryan’s handwriting.
I couldn’t open it.
Christopher watched me.
“Do you want me to?”
I shook my head.
I tore the envelope.
