‘I won’t be long. I just need to check something. My notes were burnt but I still have some at our storage facility.’

‘You’re going to the lot now? At— ’ he reaches for his phone and light leaps into the room ‘— almost 1 am?’

‘I won’t be long.’

‘It can’t wait until the morning?’

‘It can’t, Gabe. I’m sorry.’

‘Well, I guess you’ve made your mind up.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, before slipping from the room and gently closing the door.

I rush out of the house. The light is on in Evan’s room but I don’t slow down to check out why. I just run out the door to the car.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

TWENTY-SEVEN

THE STORAGE FACILITY is in an old brick building. It’s further south, near where we used to live before the kids came along. I climb out of the car in the dark, my skin prickling. I move quickly and silently, fear rushing through my veins, filling my limbs. A security light comes on as I approach the front door. The key pass swipes through and the lock clicks. Turning back, I scan my eyes over the car park behind me before entering the building.

Our unit is on the second storey, so I take the wide service elevator up, listening to the gears grind. The elevator opens and I walk the familiar path along the corridors, past all those identical doors until I’m standing outside 2109.

The building is too quiet and every footstep along the steel walkway echoes. I look up in the corners for the cameras, those conspicuous black barrels recording everything that happens here, but still I feel the hairs prickle on my arms. I use the key to unlock the door and wince as it scrapes open filling the hallway with a grating sound. Reaching in, I find the light switch.

Nathan Schultz, I think. Where are you?

I go to the filing cabinet in the corner, moving our skis and Gabe’s old cricket bag out of the way. I shift some boxes, making enough room to open the filing cabinet. These are the only patient notes I have left, and the oldest. I pull the first drawer out and find dusty folders all tabbed with year numbers. This drawer only goes back to 2012. I pull out the next one. This one goes back to 2007. Finally I reach for the bottom drawer and see files dating all the way back to the beginning of my career. I used to study these files when I still had that thirst for knowledge. I go to the early files, flicking through the patients in search of one name. Most are long forgotten; I wonder where they all are now. My handwriting was different back then – tighter, neater. Then I find the file.

Peter.