"Thank you for coming in so quickly," Virginia said as she greeted me at the door of the nursing home. Her voice carried a mix of relief and concern.

"Any time, Virginia. You know that. Where is she?" I responded immediately, my tone firm yet laced with worry. My grandmother's well-being was always a priority for me, no matter the chaos that swirled around my professional life.

"She's in her room," Virginia replied, her expression sombre. There was a brief, heavy pause before she continued, "Mr Gangley is with her," she finished, the corners of her mouth turning down in a slight cringe.

"Oh dear," I said, a sigh escaping my lips as I shook my head in slight frustration. The mention of Mr. Gangley brought a familiar annoyance. How many times do I have to tell the old man to stop filling my grandmother's head with wild stories? The last thing she needed was additional stress or confusion, especially given her condition.

"Tell me what happened," I urged Virginia as we moved briskly toward my grandmother's room. My steps were quick, fuelled by a mix of concern and the need to be at my grandmother's side as soon as possible.

Virginia, slightly out of breath from trying to match my pace, explained, "We believe she had a nightmare during her afternoon nap." Her voice reflected the care and attention she devoted to the residents here. "She kept saying something about Kell… Kellry… Killery—."

"Killerton?" I interjected, the name slipping out almost instinctively, and sending a ripple of unease through me.

"Yes, that's it," Virginia confirmed, her eyes briefly meeting mine. "You've heard of it before?"

I tried to play it down, to maintain a semblance of professional detachment. "Vaguely," I said, attempting nonchalance. However, my effort to appear unaffected was betrayed by the grimace that contorted my face. The name Killerton Enterprises resonated with me more than I cared to admit.

As we approached my grandmother's room, my mind was racing. The mention of Killerton wasn't just a random fragment of a nightmare; it was a name that carried significance, a piece of a puzzle that I couldn't quite place in the current context. The thought of my grandmother being tormented by such nightmares, especially given her frail health, added a layer of personal urgency to an already complicated day.

I mentally prepared myself as we reached the door to her room. I needed to be strong for her, to offer comfort and reassurance. Yet, at the back of my mind, the mention of Killerton lingered, a nagging reminder that there might be more to her distressed state than just a simple nightmare. As I stepped into the room, I was ready to put on my most comforting granddaughter facade, all the while silently grappling with the implications of what Virginia had just shared.

"Hello, Sarah," Mr. Gangley's voice, old and croaky, greeted me as I entered my grandmother's room. He looked at me with a keen eye, taking in my appearance. "You don't look so well," he commented, a note of concern underlying his observation.

"It's been a long week already, Mr. Gangley," I replied, offering a tired smile. His comment, though well-intentioned, only served as a reminder of the weariness I felt both physically and emotionally.

Jane rose gingerly from where she was seated at the table. Her movements were careful, a testament to her age and fragility. "Oh, Sarah, I am so glad you came," she said, her voice filled with relief and affection. She opened her arms wide for a hug.

As I embraced her, Mr. Gangley's voice broke the moment. "She's dreaming of Killerton again," he said, his tone serious.

"Again?" I asked, turning towards him sharply. My surprise was evident in my voice. "You mean it's happened before?" My tone unintentionally took on an edge, a reflection of my concern. The poorly concealed expression on my face mirrored my growing unease at the mention of Killerton.

Jane, sensing my discomfort, tugged at my arm firmly. "Oh, you just ignore that old man," she said dismissively. "Bob's suffering from old age. He doesn't know what he's talking about." Her words were meant to reassure, to set Mr. Gangley's comments as the ramblings of an elderly man.

"Don't I, Jane?" Bob drawled in response, his face drawn out and serious. His reaction suggested that there was more to his statement than mere confusion or forgetfulness. His serious demeanour implied a depth to his words, hinting that there might be truth to his claim about my grandmother's dreams.

I observed Bob and Jane closely, my detective instincts kicking in despite the personal nature of the visit. There was a tension between them, a silent exchange that spoke volumes. I caught the stern gaze my grandmother directed towards Bob, a clear warning not to divulge any more information. She wasn’t exactly subtle about it, her eyes communicating a firm message. It was evident there was something she didn't want revealed, something about these dreams of Killerton.

A short knock at the open door pulled my attention away from the pair of conspirators.

A young girl, clearly a staff member of the nursing home, stood there, tugging nervously at the sleeve of her uniform. Her presence and question broke the tense atmosphere in the room.

"Excuse me, Virginia. Sorry to interrupt. But have you seen Jamie Greyson at all this afternoon?" she asked, her voice laced with anxiety.

I jumped in before Virginia could reply, my mind instantly connecting the dots. "Jamie Greyson?" I repeated, a sense of urgency creeping into my voice. Was this really the same Jamie Greyson whose disappearance we were currently investigating? The coincidence seemed too striking to ignore, and my mind raced with the implications.

"Yes," the girl confirmed, clearly unaware of how crucial her question was to me. Her innocent inquiry suddenly felt like a key turning in a lock, opening up new possibilities in the case.

"He works here, dear," said Jane, tugging at my arm, trying to gently steer me away from the door and the conversation. Her action, though well-intentioned, only served to heighten my curiosity.

"You knew?" I asked her, turning my attention back to my grandmother. My tone was one of bewilderment. How had this connection to our case been right in front of me, yet I had been completely oblivious?

Jane gave a gentle shrug of her frail shoulders, a simple gesture that carried so much weight. "Of course," she replied nonchalantly. "He's not assigned to me, but he and his partner come to visit me at least once a week.”

Her revelation hit me like a wave. Jamie Greyson, a name that had been just a case file to me, suddenly became a real person with a connection to my own grandmother. The news that he was not only an employee here but also a regular visitor to my grandmother brought a personal dimension to the case I hadn't anticipated.

"You mean Luke Smith?" I asked, my voice taking on an edge of disbelief.

The young girl, still standing at the door, interrupted again, bringing us back to the immediate concern. "Well, have you seen Jamie?" Her question was direct, her expression one of genuine concern.

Virginia shook her head in response. "No," she said. "I haven't seen him all week."

I turned back to my grandmother, feeling a growing sense of urgency. "You know Luke Smith?" I asked again, needing confirmation, needing to understand the connection.

Jane's response was a silent, heavy pause. She closed her eyes, and when they opened again, I saw tears brimming over her eyelids, threatening to spill. Her vulnerability in that moment was palpable, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanour.

"I'll be gone soon," she began, her voice quivering with emotion. The words hit me with a jolt of sadness. "I suppose you should know."

My face grew hot, a whirlpool concoction of anger, fear, and heartbreak swirling within me. I could feel my emotions teetering on the edge, a tumultuous mix that threatened to overwhelm my professional composure.

Virginia, standing beside us, was already wiping at her eyes, her empathy for my grandmother evident.

"Know what?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. A part of me was afraid to hear the answer, to uncover a truth that might shake the foundations of what I thought I knew. The weight of the situation bore down on me, a heavy cloak of uncertainty and apprehension.

As I stood there, facing my grandmother, I braced myself for her revelation. The case, which had already woven its way through my professional life, was now entangling itself in my personal world in a way I had never imagined. I knew that whatever Jane was about to reveal could potentially change everything, both in terms of the investigation and in our family dynamics. The air in the room felt charged with the imminent disclosure of a long-kept secret, and I waited, heart pounding, for what was to come.

"Luke Smith is my grandson," Jane stated bluntly, her voice cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. She averted her eyes after speaking, as if the weight of her revelation was too much to bear while facing me directly.

The whirlpool of emotions inside me merged with a cyclone, sending me into a chaotic headspin. "Holy shit!" I blurted out, unable to contain my shock. The discovery of this fresh branch of the family tree was reeling in my mind, a revelation that was as unexpected as it was significant. "Please don't tell me he's my brother," I almost begged, the words escaping in a rush of anxiety and disbelief.

Jane, despite the gravity of the situation, managed a little, croaky chuckle. "No, Sarah. He's your cousin," she revealed. Her words offered a small sense of relief amidst the turmoil, but they also opened a floodgate of new questions and emotions.

"Luke's mother was my firstborn. I fell pregnant to a handsome young British fella while I was travelling in Europe. He cared for me in England until the baby was born and then we gave her up for adoption. I came straight back to Australia after that. I was broken-hearted, but I knew it was for the best," she explained, her voice laced with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia.

As I listened to Jane's story, a torrent of emotions washed over me. There was a sense of shock at the revelation, but also an undercurrent of empathy for what my grandmother had gone through. The story she shared was a window into her past, a past filled with love, loss, and tough decisions. It painted a picture of a young Jane, far from home and faced with a life-altering choice.

The revelation that Luke Smith, a person entangled in our current investigation, was actually my cousin added a new layer of complexity to the case. It was a connection that was personal and profound, and it threatened to fundamentally change the way I viewed the investigation. My mind was racing, trying to reconcile this newfound family connection with the professional role I had to play.

As I stood there, reeling from the revelations about Luke, a question nagged at me. Why has she kept it all a secret for so long? I wondered. The weight of years of untold stories seemed to hang in the air between us. "And how does Luke know?" I finally managed to ask, my voice a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Oh, he tracked me down several years ago," Jane explained, a touch of pride in her voice. "He is a rather resourceful young man. There was no denying the evidence he had collected. And now he visits me every week," she added, her face lighting up with the happiness that only family can bring.

I stared at my grandmother, my mind struggling to reconcile the image of the man we were investigating with the person she described. It pained me to see how much my grandmother cared for Luke. "No," I said defiantly, my voice rising with emotion. "Luke Smith is a monster!" I couldn't hold back the tears that began to stream down my face. The dichotomy between the Luke my grandmother knew and the one we were investigating was too much to bear.

"No, Sarah," my grandmother spoke softly, her voice filled with a calm conviction. "You have it all wrong," she said, her own tears starting to well up again.

"And does he know about me?" The question slipped out, a thought I hadn't even realised I was harbouring until that moment. I looked into my grandmother's tear-stained eyes, searching for the truth.

A grimace pulled at Jane's weary mouth. "Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her bottom lip quivering with the weight of the confession.

I looked away, feeling a mix of betrayal, confusion, and an overwhelming sense of being lost in a story far bigger than I had imagined. "I have to go," I said, the words barely audible as I turned to leave.

"Sarah!" Jane's voice echoed with desperation as I left the room, but I didn’t look back. The torrent of emotions that her revelations had stirred within me was overwhelming, a maelstrom of shock, disbelief, and a sense of betrayal. Each step I took away from her was heavy, laden with the weight of this new, unexpected truth.

As I walked away, my mind was a tumult of conflicting thoughts and feelings. The case had taken on a deeply personal dimension, blurring the lines between my professional duties and my own family history. The revelation that Luke Smith was not only connected to our investigation but also a part of my family left me feeling unmoored, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Stepping out of the room, I was acutely aware that the road ahead would be fraught with difficult decisions and revelations that could change everything I thought I knew about my family and myself.

Determined, I kept walking. There's someone I need to find. Someone else owes me some answers. My steps quickened as I approached the reception desk. I flashed my badge at the receptionist, a clear signal of my official capacity. "You record details of all visitors?" I demanded, my voice firm and authoritative.

"Yes, we do," replied the receptionist, her voice tinged with nervousness as she withered under my glare. Her reaction was understandable; my demeanour was that of a detective on the hunt for information, leaving little room for hesitation.

"Good. I need the contact details of Luke Smith and Jamie Greyson," I stated, my tone brooking no argument. The information was crucial, a vital piece in the puzzle that was becoming more intricate and personal by the minute.