Chapter 5 - The Search in the Cold
The freezing rain had transitioned into a heavy, blinding sleet by the time Theo ran out into the street. The wind tore through his coat, but he didn't feel the cold. The terror pulsing through his veins burned hotter than any fire.
He jumped behind the wheel of his car and sped toward South Boston. Walter was eighty-one years old. He had mild congestive heart failure and arthritis in his knees. The temperature was dropping fast, dipping toward twenty degrees, and the sidewalks were sheets of treacherous black ice.
Theo drove down Dorchester Avenue, his eyes scanning every alleyway, every bus stop shelter, and every corner storefront. He saw homeless men huddled over steam grates, wrapped in wet cardboard, and each time his heart seized with the horrifying thought that his grandfather might be lying frozen in a snowbank because of his neglect.
“Please, God,” Theo prayed out loud, gripping the steering wheel until his palms ached. “Just let him be alive. Don’t take him from me like this.”
He reached the address Samuel had given him—a rundown, three-story brick apartment building sandwiched between a laundromat and a convenience store. The front steps were steep and covered in slush. Theo took them three at a time, bursting through the unlocked outer door into a dimly lit hallway that smelled of boiled cabbage and old radiator heat.
He ran up the stairs to the third floor, searching the brass numbers until he found 3B.
Theo banged his fist against the wood. “Ruby! Ruby, are you in there?!”
Silence. Then, the faint sound of footsteps and a chain latch sliding back.
The door cracked open three inches. Ruby Parker stood behind it, wearing an oversized grey sweater and wool socks. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying, but when she saw Theo standing there, her expression hardened into pure ice.
“Mr. Carrington,” she said flatly, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “What do you want? If you’re here to tell me I won’t get my final paycheck, save your breath. Victor already made it clear that I’m terminated.”
“Ruby, please,” Theo said, his voice cracking with an emotion he hadn't shown anyone in twenty years. “Is Walter here? Is my grandfather with you?”
Ruby stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly. “Your… your grandfather?”
Before Theo could answer, a small, frail voice drifted from the living room inside the apartment.
“Theo? Is that you, boy?”
Theo pushed past the door, his eyes darting into the modest living room. Sitting on a faded floral sofa, wrapped in a thick patchwork quilt with a steaming mug of tea between his gnarled hands, was Walter Carrington. Beside him sat a six-year-old boy in flannel pajamas, coloring quietly in a coloring book.
Theo dropped his duffel bag to the floor. His knees gave out, and he sank down onto the worn carpet in front of the sofa, burying his face into his grandfather’s lap like a terrified child.
“Grandpa,” Theo sobbed, the tears he had held back for years finally breaking through his stoic facade. “Grandpa, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
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Walter’s frail, spotted hand rested gently on Theo’s head, stroking his hair with the exact same tenderness he had shown thirty years ago when Theo had scraped his knee on the playground.
“Hush now, Theo,” the old man whispered softly, a tired smile touching his weathered lips. “What are you crying for? It’s just an old man’s birthday.”
