Panon Garcia

The next morning.

Henderson Fifth Avenue.

Dean, accompanied by the newly refreshed Alvin, arrived outside a blue two-story house.

Knock, knock…

Creak—

“Good morning, madam. I am Dean, a volunteer from the Vegas Police Department. I’d like to ask you about your neighbor, the owner of house number 369.”

The elderly woman, her hair white as snow, peered at the two unfamiliar faces through the clouded lenses of her reading glasses, then twitched her nose as a faint, unpleasant odor drifted over. She wrinkled her brow.

Alvin, standing beside Dean, stepped back awkwardly. Despite having bathed at the hotel and changed out of his filthy clothes, the pungent scent acquired during years of wandering still lingered stubbornly.

The old woman turned toward Dean, the younger and more agreeable of the pair. “Number 369… That’s the house on the far left corner across the street?”

“Yes, do you remember it?”

“Wait a moment, child. My memory isn’t what it used to be; let me think… 369…” Deep furrows formed on her wrinkled forehead as she pondered. After a long pause, realization dawned. “Ah, yes, I remember now. That’s Panon Garcia’s house, isn’t it?”

Dean and Alvin exchanged glances, delight lighting up their faces.

All morning, the two had visited over a dozen homes on the street—some residents had only just moved in and knew nothing, others regarded them with suspicion and dismissed them curtly. It seemed the neighbors here were not particularly friendly with one another.

Most residents were also different from Alvin’s memories.

“Yes, do you know him? Do you know where he’s gone lately?” Alvin pressed anxiously.

“Who are you to Panon?” the old woman adjusted her glasses, as if trying to see them more clearly.

“I’m his younger brother, Alvin Garcia.” Alvin carefully leaned forward, hands clenched together, speaking nervously. “I came looking for him last week, but he hasn’t been home.”

The woman looked doubtful, her thin hand gripping the door defensively. “I’ve never heard that Panon had a younger brother!”

Alvin’s face stiffened, and he lowered his head in shame. “I haven’t visited him in many years. It’s understandable you wouldn’t know me.”

“Then isn’t it a bit late for you to come now?” she shook her head, sympathy flickering in her gaze. “Let me recall—1975, five years ago, that house has been empty ever since. It’s stood vacant all this time. Some vagrants broke in and stole everything, but no one cared.”

Five years?

Panon has been missing for five years?

“How can that be?” Alvin stood frozen, as if struck by lightning, his mouth half open as he muttered quietly, deep sorrow etched in his weathered face.

Dean’s brows knitted tightly. He asked again, “Did Panon move somewhere else?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t close to Panon—really, none of the neighbors were,” the old woman’s cloudy eyes flickered with memories. “As I recall, he kept to himself, never interacted or socialized with anyone. He likely didn’t have friends, always locking himself in his house. Every week or two, he’d go to the supermarket, bundled up from head to toe.”

Dean’s mind stirred. In the sweltering heat of Las Vegas, no normal person should dress like that.

“Because of his unusual habits and strange behavior, the neighbors kept their distance,” she paused, “Some mischievous children considered him a weirdo, teased him, even broke into his house and stole things.”

“Damn it! Which little punks dared bully Panon?” Alvin suddenly exploded, his face reddening with rage, eyes flashing dangerously.

Startled, the old woman cried out, nearly slipping, but Dean quickly caught her, then turned to glare at Alvin.

“Yelling like that at an old lady—do you want to scare her into a heart attack?”

Alvin offered an apologetic face to the woman. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. It just pains me to think of my poor brother.”

“It’s all right, I understand your feelings,” she patted her chest and shook her head. “But you must know, your brother was very introverted and solitary. Living alone, he was bound to be bullied.”

Alvin lowered his head.

“Did Panon have a job?” Dean asked—if they could find his workplace, perhaps they could follow the trail.

“I remember he only left his house every week or two,” she shook her head. “No normal company would hire him.”

Alvin hesitated, “Did Panon… did he have a wife or children?”

“If you don’t even know that, are you really his brother? I’ve lived here nearly ten years, and never saw any woman or child visiting him. I’m certain Panon was a quiet, unmarried man,” she said sternly. “My last memory of him is from five years ago; since then, no one on this street has seen him.”

“He’s disappeared.” Alvin’s dark red lips trembled, a painful expression twisting his face.

Dean rubbed his temples in frustration. Five years was long enough to erase most clues.

“Did the police ever come looking for him?”

“Both the property manager and the police checked the house, but found no one,” she paused, deep furrows forming on her forehead. “Now that you mention it, I recall after Panon disappeared, three years later—two years ago—there was another incident at the house. It was sealed off for a day.”

“An incident?” Alvin’s heart clenched.

“I heard someone died inside, but it wasn’t Panon. I don’t know the details,” she said, her tone shifting as she glanced at them with a hint of farewell. “That’s all I know, gentlemen. I need to go prepare lunch now.”

Dean checked the system—“Brothers” progress slowly rising from five percent to ten percent.

“Well, that’s it then, madam. Thank you for your answers, and I wish you good health!”

…

The two left the house and continued along the street, questioning the remaining neighbors. Unfortunately, their efforts yielded little—either the residents knew nothing, or their answers matched the old woman’s.

“Buddy, honestly, how long has it been since you last visited your brother?” Dean asked.

Alvin either didn’t hear or didn’t want to answer. He stared at his calloused hands, a look of confusion, guilt, and sorrow crossing his wrinkled face.

Dean sighed.

But he could understand how Alvin felt.

In America, many siblings are close as children, but after each marries and starts a family, they become occupied with work and caring for their own households, rarely keeping in touch—sometimes gathering every few years, or making a phone call.

But they aren’t always able to reach one another.

A thought flashed through Dean’s mind—

Sometimes, when someone suddenly feels the urge to reconnect with a long-lost relative or friend,

they may find that person can never be found again…