The archives department sat at the end of a long hallway lit by flickering fluorescent tubes.

The air down there smelled of industrial floor wax and old paper.

A steady mechanical hum echoed from the air ducts.

A woman with a silver name tag that read Gable stood behind a thick pane of frosted glass.

She wore a purple cardigan and had a heavy ring of brass keys on her belt.

“I’m here to request my own medical records,” I told her.

Mrs.