“Reagan,” I whispered, then blinked. Once I did, the door to the clinic was closed, and the woman and child had set off down the street.
What the fuck is going on?
Deciding to see for myself, I dismissed the inner voice reminding me of the visit to the mayor, and I found myselfwalking toward the clinic instead. The redhead had been wearing scrubs, so she worked there in some capacity. As I opened the door and stepped inside, this entire thing struck me as lunacy.
Reagan was no more alive than I was an honorable man. Her eyes had been cut out of her head, then presented to me as a prize, or twisted souvenir of some sort. She’d died. I’d seen the pictures. I’d mourned her, and had every day of my life since her tragic murder.
“May I help you?” I heard someone say, and forcing my thoughts to the present, I smiled at the woman behind the glass counter.
Istepped closer to the glass, then cleared my throat. “May I speak to Reagan?”
“Reagan?” the woman said in confusion.
“Yes, I think her last name might still be Coughlin.”
The woman shook her head. “There’s no one working here with either of those names. If it’s a patient you’re looking for?—”
“No, she just came back inside, so she must work here. She’s about 5’8 and has long red hair?—”
“We have four redheads that work here. Are you sure her name is Reagan?”
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “I might’ve had the name wrong. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“It’s not a problem. If you’re looking for her to make an appointment, Jessie,” she said, pointing to the next window, “can do that for you.”
“No appointment is necessary. Thank you.”
I turned and headed to the door, and on my way out, I felt a slight pull on my hoodie. I looked down at an older womansitting in the chair closest to the door. “You might be looking for Rowan, hun. She just went into the back.”
“Rowan?” I said, and she smiled.
“Such a sweet, young wom?—”
“Mrs. Brand,” a man called out, and she smiled at me before releasing my sweatshirt from her tiny hands.
“I’m right here,” the woman said, and as she struggled to stand, I quickly sprang into motion and had just helped her onto her feet when the medical assistant arrived. “This man is looking for Rowan,” she said to the guy.
He looked up at me. “She just left for the day.” He then turned away from me and went to tend to the woman.
“Thanks,” I said to them both before heading back outside.
I still had this job to do for my grandfather, and with the woman gone, I wouldn’t be able to get any answers now anyway. I would get them. First things first, though. I quickly made it to the subway, and once seated, I pulled out my cell phone. I typed in the name of the clinic, then went to the staff page. There were several people listed, including the man who had just helped the old lady. There was no Rowan, or Reagan, but that meant nothing. She might’ve just started working there.
The subway train reached my stop, and I headed straight to the mayor’s office. I was to hand deliver him a message, a tactic my daideó liked to employ. He’d never been one to leave digital trails of anything behind, and since it had worked out so well for him thus far, I wouldn’t question it.
Once I made the drop off, I exited his office and looked up to see that the sky had drastically darkened in the fifteen or twenty minutes that I had been inside. Now was the time that I wished I had gone ahead and just driven here. If I had though, I never would’ve literally run into the young girl, or the woman who could at least be related to the one I had loved. Was this her sister? I knew she had one, but I’d known very little about her.
As a loud boom of thunder sounded overhead, I saw a nearby sandwich shop and decided to wait out the impending storm there. It would also provide me some time to do more research on thisRowan, and thisCiara, if nothing else. If the young girl was six, there was the smallest possibility that she could be mine as Reagan could’ve gotten pregnant before the one school year ended and I was sent to spend the summer from Hell underground on my grandfather’s estate.
I put my hood back onto my head, then hurried across the crosswalk with the other pedestrians who were also quickly trying to get somewhere warm and dry. I felt the first few pelts of rain as I reached the doorway of the shop. Escaping inside, I wiped my feet on the doormat, then took a seat at a vacant table in the corner.
This shop allowed you to place an order via your cell phone, so I scanned the QR code for the menu, then perused the food and drink offerings. I hadn’t even been hungry before getting here, but now that I smelled pastrami in the air, my stomach began to rumble. I hadn’t eaten all day, so I could take care of that while also riding out this storm.
I ultimately decided upon the corned beef sandwich on rye and fried chips on the side. I also ordered a beer, and it wasn’t long before the tray was set down in front of me. I began to eat and had polished off half of my sandwich and beer before turning my attention back to the clinic. She hadn’t been on their page of employees, but that meant nothing.
I typed in her first name and the clinic’s name, which returned one result that included both search terms. I clicked on the article, which was about a low-cost vaccination program the clinic was running for those without insurance, and there was a photograph of a number of their employees. Their names were listed underneath, and as I zoomed in to make them bigger, I finally located the one I was looking for.
“Rowan Lynch,” I said aloud.
