She stared at the number again. It seemed like she’d had it for ages and stared at it hundreds of times. In truth, this was just the third time.

Jenna was initially scared by the number’s mere presence in her possession. It was late yesterday afternoon when she had managed to track it down.

Then, she thought she might use the number for the first time that night. It was getting late. As if she didn’t have enough stress with a wedding and sick brother, she stared at the number for a long time before bed.

After finally dozing off around 2 a.m., she managed to sleep until half-past eight. She felt she'd barely slept. She had dreams of fractured memories from childhood. These were interspersed with dreams of talking to Derrick only for him to reveal he’s really Davis.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and was now back at it: staring at the phone number.

The number was scribbled on the back of a receipt in blue ink in harried, frenetic handwriting. It was the product of a good amount of detective work on her part to track down. She had been alone for the last few days when she started on the quest. She spent the time at her future home, the apartment she would share with Trent after the wedding. He was away for his bachelor party, which A.J. and Roland were also attending.

She was glad to be alone for her phone call with Davis but underestimated the time and effort it would take to find it.

The process began, naively, with searches on Facebook and Google. She tried “Davis Collins,” “T. Davis Collins,” “T. Collins,” and “Deuce Collins.” She was disappointed when she found no current digital footprint. The only traces she found. were articles related to the death of Timmy Watkins and Davis' impending trial. Her superficial detective work spanned a few more social networks. There was Twitter and Instagram. She tried LinkedIn and then something called "MySpace."

Outside of his birthday and a vague idea of what he could look like, she had very little else to go on.

Had he even been released from juvie? He could’ve done something to get sent to prison. She decided that would be where she would start. She contacted the King County Youth Detention Center with her first call.

Being a former resident’s sister moved the needle very little with the staff. But, after some finagling, she was able to find out that Davis was released on his 21st birthday.

Since it was public record, a clerk was willing to share one bit of information. On his 18th birthday, "T. Davis Collins" legally changed his name to Davis Archer. No middle name.

When she hung up the phone, Jenna stared at her notes stunned. She’d always assumed that Davis would love an opportunity to be a part of the family again in some way. For the first time she considered that she may not be able to find him or, if she does, her call won’t be welcome.

She lost an entire day under the weight of this thought. A pep talk from Trent about doing it for Derrick gave her the proper motivation to resume her search. She returned to the internet to find next to no records for Davis Archer.

With no digital footprint, Davis would be very hard to find without professional help. Her next course of action was to reach out to the local police. Detective Adam Tinsley was very compassionate to the Collins family during Davis’ trial. He had brought Jenna candy and a coloring book during a particularly sensitive day in court.

Detective Tinsley was easier to find. He was now Lieutenant Tinsley and quite accessible through the Seattle Police Department.

“Tinsley,” he answered when she finally connected with him. His voice was gravelly, but as friendly as she remembered.

“Hello Detective Tinsley, my name is Jenna Collins. My brother was T. Davis Collins.”

“Ah, yes, Jenna,” he responded after a moment. “I remember. How are you?”

She was taken aback, but the case had always lingered in the back of Tinsley’s mind. There was the uncertainty of what really happened. Also, it was one of two cases he worked with a juvenile murder suspect.

“I’m pretty good,” she responded.

“That’s good to hear. You should be, what, 20 by now?”

“Good memory,” she responded, with a smile that could be felt through the phone. “Close. 21. I’m a junior at Seattle U, studying digital design. I’m actually getting married next weekend.”

“That sounds great. Congratulations,” he said and, after a moment, added, “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m actually trying to find my brother, Davis. It’s a long story, but our brother Derrick, his twin brother, is sick and needs a new kidney. None of us have seen or spoken to Davis in 13 years and I’m trying to track him down. I have no idea where else to turn.”

“Christ, that’s horrible. I’m sorry to hear about Derrick. Well, uhh, I’m not sure what all I can do for you. Hold on.”

There was a momentary silence as Tinsley typed away on his computer. After a minute, he started again.

“He changed his name,” Jenna offered. “I’m not sure if that would show up or slow things down. He goes by Davis Archer now. He got out of juvie on time. That’s all I know.”

“That does help,” he said before another pause. “Well, it looks like he’s stayed out of trouble since he got out of juvie, which is good. You like to think he was able to reform inside.”

After some more light key tapping, he continued. “So, he was living in California, near Sacramento in Roseville. It looks like,” he paused as he followed the information on his screen, “he may have just moved to Portland. It shows he recently registered for a state ID there. Never had a driver’s license.”

This thought struck Jenna as sad. It made sense that he never learned how to drive. He was essentially in prison from 13 years old until he was 21. They are probably not giving those kids driving lessons. He missed out on a lot of teenage things: Proms, graduation, being taken out for his 21st birthday.

She was lost in thought when Tinsley had to bring her back to the conversation.

“Jenna?”

This was obviously not the first time he’d said her name trying to break her trance.

“Sorry! What were you saying?” she asked.

“I can give you an address, but, unless you want to drive to Portland, it may not be helpful.”

“Well, if it comes to that,” she threw out with a cavalier tone. “Whatever information keeps me moving forward.”

Tinsley gave Jenna the address. After a little more small talk, he congratulated her once again on the wedding and the call was over.

“I can work with this,” she thought as she pulled her laptop back in front of her.

A search of the address didn’t help too much, at first. She looked at the address’s street view and saw the Chinese restaurant and figured out her next step.

“Thank you for calling The Mandarin, how can I help you?” a young woman’s voice said.

“Hi, yes, can I possibly speak with a manager?”

“Certainly, please hold.”

Several moments passed when an older man picked up the phone.

“Hello, this is Paul. I am the manager. How can I help you?”

“Hello Paul. I have a couple random questions I was hoping you would be able to help me with.”

He did not respond, so she continued.

“My brother lives in the same building as your restaurant. I was wondering if you would be able to connect me with whatever company rents the apartment to him. I’m hoping to get a phone number.”

“If he is your brother, why wouldn’t you have a phone number for him?”

She thought this question may come up and she was prepared with just the right amount of truth. She’d hate to give too much of his past away.

“Well, we’re estranged, you see. I haven’t seen Davis in over 10 years, and he may not actually want to talk to me.”

“You’re Davis’ sister?”

“Yes,” Jenna responded hopefully. “Has he mentioned me?”

“No,” Paul responded bluntly.

“Oh.”

“I like Davis, but I respect his privacy. So, unfortunately, I cannot give you his phone number. I’m sorry.”

Jenna let out an audible sigh.

“I understand,” she responded with an audible dejection.

“The best I can do is forward you to his phone,” he offered. “You can talk or leave a message. He keeps his privacy if he wants it. If he wants to talk to you, he’ll call you back.”

She perked up with the offer and quickly agreed to it. As he said goodbye, she became filled with dread. Was she ready to talk to him? What was she going to say? This is going way too fast.

Before she could think of what to do, the phone was ringing. After three rings, it went to voicemail. Jenna exhaled with the prospect of being able to leave a voicemail. She would be able to regroup and be prepared for, hopefully, a callback.

“Hi, you’ve reached 279-510-8610. If you didn’t dial the wrong number, leave a message.”