The first thing Vince noticed was the absence.
Harold's truck was not parked near the square. Not near the garage either. For a man who valued routine, the gap felt wrong. Vince did not stare or ask questions. He simply noted it and moved on.
He headed toward the clinic.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper. Claire sat at her desk, reading through a file, brow slightly furrowed. She looked up when he entered.
"You're back early," she said.
"Trying to understand the rhythm here."
She closed the file and rested her hands on the desk. "People have been acting strange."
"Strange how?"
"Missing appointments. Forgetting conversations we had just days ago. Not illness." She paused. "More like they don't want to remember."
"That shows up often?"
"More than it should."
A patient called her name from the waiting area. Claire excused herself, moving with practiced calm. Vince watched quietly. She listened carefully, spoke less than expected, and kept her distance professional. Whatever thoughts crossed her mind, she kept them contained.
When she returned, she lowered her voice. "There was something years ago. Around the school."
"An incident?"
"Not officially." She hesitated. "A man named Daniel was involved. People still avoid saying much more than that."
No surname. No detail. Just a name, dropped and left to settle.
Vince nodded. He didn't press.
Outside, the sky hung low and gray. He walked the longer route back toward the square and noticed tire marks near an unused lot. Not recent, but not old either. He crouched briefly, then stood and kept walking.
A woman passed him, head down, pace quick. When he turned, she was already gone.
Near the bakery, Mrs. Hill swept flour from her doorstep. She paused when she noticed him watching the street.
"You look like you're waiting for something to move," she said.
"I usually am."
She smiled thinly. "Careful. Greyford doesn't like being studied."
"I've noticed."
She leaned on the broom. "You heard about the missing truck driver."
"Tommy Raines."
Her sweeping slowed. "Yes. His sister still comes around. Marilyn. Calm as ever."
"Calm doesn't mean unaware."
"No," Mrs. Hill agreed. "Sometimes it means the opposite."
Later, Caleb's county vehicle passed through the square, slowing near the same empty lot Vince had noticed earlier. They exchanged a brief glance. Nothing more.
Harold still hadn't returned.
As evening settled, Vince sat near the fountain. The water level seemed lower than it should have been. Neglect or something else, he couldn't tell.
A thought pressed in, uninvited. Loss. Distance. He pushed it away, steadying himself.
Marilyn Raines crossed the square, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. She stopped beside him.
"You finding answers?" she asked.
"Only patterns."
She nodded. "That's what Tommy used to say."
"And that worried him."
"It fascinated him," she corrected gently. "Until it stopped being theoretical."
She walked on, unhurried.
Lights flickered on across Greyford. Somewhere, a door closed too quietly. Somewhere else, a radio cut off mid-sentence.
Vince stood and took it all in. Harold's absence. Claire's observations. Mrs. Hill's careful words. Marilyn's restraint. Caleb's inspections.
Faint echoes. Still incomplete.
But they were growing louder.
And Greyford was beginning to remember something it never properly buried.