*Ding*

Davis rolled over to look at his phone. He checked the time, 12:34 p.m., and then to see what the notification was.

“Flying to Seattle tonight. Spending a few days with my parents before the wedding. Forgot to mention.”

He smiled.

“Sounds good. Tired?” he responded.

She sent back a GIF of a zombie followed by, “You could say that,” and punctuated with a winking emoji.

“Sorry.”

“No worries. When I get off, I’m getting a nap in before my flight. Talk tomorrow?”

“Definitely. Safe travels! 😀”

“Thanks. XO”

He flopped onto his back again, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and thought about the day. He had only a few more hours of work on his script left. He could afford himself some time off to relax before traveling to Seattle at the end of the week. Writing-wise, though. the day was wasted, so he finished up his work the next day.

Outside of that, he spent his time hiking and trying not to think about the trip ahead. He failed miserably. Having so much time to himself did not help. He was extremely anxious when Friday came. The prospect of returning to Seattle for the first time in almost six years weighed on him.

He had spoken with Kathryn a couple times in the preceding days. He looked forward to connecting with her at the ceremony because he would not have to face that alone. Davis did not tell her he did not plan on attending the reception. He wanted to leave his options open in case he changed his mind. He knew he wouldn’t.

Friday came soon enough. Seattle was a three-and-a-half-hour train ride from Portland. He liked the downtime of train travel. Listening to music as the horizon flies by was great for coming up with story ideas. This trip, he wanted to clear his mind as the Pacific Northwest flew by outside of the train’s window. He didn’t bother having his idea notepad at the ready. His mind cycled through scenarios and conversations with various relatives at the ceremony.

The plan for that night was simple. Davis would arrive in the mid-afternoon. He then wanted to see his old neighborhood again, hoping he would find some closure there. Outside of that, he would do his best to manage nervous energy and anxiety. It had underscored every waking moment of the last few days and would likely build until the wedding.

When he arrived in Seattle, he got a car to take him to his hotel. After checking in, he dropped his bag in his room. He’d packed light, with a pair of black pants, white dress shirt, black tie and black shoes for the wedding. There were also toiletries, a handful of t-shirts, a pair of jeans, his laptop, and a couple of puzzle books. He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d be in the hospital but planned on returning to Portland as soon as he was discharged.

Plans for that evening had been bouncing around in his head for much of the week. There was no one he intended to visit, but he was fighting the temptation to visit his parents’ “new” home. Whether intentional or not, he inherited a share of the house. He was curious to get an idea about the life that he was never intended to live.

Davis left the hotel and grabbed a sandwich from a nearby deli. He was able to eat half of it while waiting for another car before his nerves stole his remaining appetite. The trip to the suburbs was nostalgic, as little had changed over the years. The sites played out as they had in his youth when he took trips to and from the city with his family. Even after all this time, he could’ve offered directions to the driver in landmarks.

He was lost in thought when the car pulled up at the corner down the street from his childhood home. He decided to approach his childhood home on foot. The sight of a car dropping him directly in front would reveal too much of his true intentions. This way, if he saw someone familiar, or there was a family home, he could keep walking.

The concerns were for naught. The street looked deserted, which was likely the norm for a Friday afternoon. He was able to stop occasionally at locations of notable events of his childhood. There was the field for his neighborhood football games. Then his best friend’s house, with the yard they’d camped out in. He also saw the tree where he’d had his first kiss. It was a dare when he was 12. He did kiss the girl again, because they wanted to, a couple of weeks before Tim Watkins died. The feelings inside surprised Davis as a whimsical smile crept across his face. This block, these houses, were mostly good memories. He was even nostalgic at the spot where he fell off his bike and broke his hand when he was nine.

He thought he’d been moving at a relaxed and unremarkable pace. An old man approached and dispelled that notion. It turns out, he’d lingered too much for a casual pedestrian. The man recognized someone looking for something, or at least trying to remember.

“Can I help you find something, son?” the old man said, following Davis’ look of surprise with, “You look like you’re looking for something.”

Davis was caught off guard by the sight of his old neighbor, Mr. Duvall. Mr. Duvall was old when he was a kid. The fact that he was still alive was impressive and put him at ease for some reason.

“Oh. I’m sorry, sure,” Davis sputtered. “I used to have some friends that lived around here. I’m in Seattle for an, ummm, a conference,” he lied.

“The Collins? Were you one of J.D.’s friends?”

“You could say that. I spent a lot of time around here with them.”

The old man looked closely at the visitor, attempting to place his face. Davis looked away, revisiting his attention to the house.

“What’s your name? You look kind of familiar.”

“Dav…” he caught himself, “Dave Archer. Like I said, I was around a lot. My mom worked with their mom, Gwen. I remember a lot of kids in this neighborhood. I’d be surprised if you could place me.”

Mr. Duvall’s side-eye glare softened.

“Yeah, it’s a shame what happened to the Collins. Did you hear?”

“No,” Davis said, curious where this was going. “I remember they moved, and I never went over to their house again.”

He did not lie often, but he was very comfortable doing so in this instance. He was actually surprised at the ease with which he was able to dance near the truth without revealing who he was.

“Oh, terrible incident, actually,” the old man started. “One of their other boys, everyone called him ‘Deuce,’ well, he got into a fight and killed another boy. No one knows what they were fighting over. So, the boy got arrested and during the trial didn’t even look sorry. Well, he went to jail and the family moved. Can’t blame them, really. It’s tough facing your neighbors after that.”

Davis was nodding along. He was numb to this simplistic re-telling of the most traumatic incident in his life. His attention never wavered, and his old neighbor continued.

“Once your boy kills someone else’s kid, you can’t blame others for thinking their son is next. No, the Collins moved. I think they bought a house in the city. I can give you their address, but I read your old friend J.D. is in the hospital. Some accident he had on the job as a firefighter. Saving someone’s life, I think. Real hero. In the newspapers, says he needs a kidney. So, he might not live there anymore. Parents could, though.”

“They died,” Davis offered somberly, turning his gaze back to the house. He added, “Thanks, I’d like that address. It would be nice to check in while I’m in town and see if there is anything I can do for J.D.”

“No problem. It’s a shame about the parents. Tough decisions to make, but they did what they had to do. Get away from this place to make other parents feel safe. I heard they also cut off the troubled boy. You can’t have a killer in your house, especially after he gets out of prison. By that point, who knows what he’d do to their other children.”

Davis nodded absent-mindedly, looking around the neighborhood while Mr. Duvall talked.

“Why don’t I get you that address. Wait here.”

A few minutes later, the old man ambled back to where Davis was standing. He gave him an index card tanned with age, which had a Seattle address written on it in neat handwriting.

“If Don and Gwen passed, I probably don’t need this anymore. My wife adored Gwen. She passed a few years back and I was sure to send Christmas cards on her behalf. Never got anything in return. But, I figured Maddy—Matilda, my wife—would want them to know someone back here was thinking of them.”

Davis smiled and took the card. He thanked the old man for his time. He continued ahead down the street away from the old man’s house to avoid walking alongside him. He took out his phone and requested another car. From here, to get to the new address would take about 30 minutes and he’d be able to get a car in about 20.

“Son of a bitch,” he said aloud at the wait time.

He scanned his surroundings for a bench or something to sit on. He remembered there was a small playground a couple of blocks over. He went there and requested the car.