The sprawling abandoned complex of buildings covering nearly a mile of land close-in to downtown runs adjacent to a road Dan Banks travels every day to work. Dan, an accountant, works in a high rise in the city and is an amateur photographer in his spare time.

He loves photographing old houses and farms in the countryside where people have left for whatever reason. He is fascinated with the moment in time when a home ceases to exist as living space and only objects left behind can provide clues about the former occupants. There might be a pot left on a stove, a random chair in an empty room, or important-looking papers, somehow losing their significance. Usually, the photographs he captures beg more questions than answers.

Today is Saturday, and the refreshing early fall weather prompted Dan to open his car windows. He is traveling his familiar route toward work to drop a folder at his office and then planned to indulge in his hobby of photography.

Waiting for the light to change at the last intersection before entering the downtown proper, Dan gazed across at one of the brick structures within the abandoned complex. He understood the buildings close- in to the city are some of the oldest, dating to the early 1800s—the whole complex at one time comprising the state’s mental health facilities. The buildings on the sprawling site look like an architectural timeline of styles stopping sometime in the 1970s.

After leaving his office, instead of going straight out of town, Dan turned right into the old complex, thinking there might be an opportunity to capture some images of the empty buildings. Passing the imposing brick structures on his right, Dan turned down a neglected road before slowing to a stop in front of an unusual building catching his eye.

There is a covered walkway running across the front of the building, with weeds and tall grass growing from every crack. The building’s roofline with five arches, Dan imagines is mimicked on the inside, and probably covers open bays. Walking up to a small section of a wrought iron fence, he can see a vast central courtyard closed in on all sides. If he shot from here, the pictures wouldn’t do justice to the vastness and desolation of the space. The perfect spot looked to be from the interior.

Walking from the front to the right side of the building, Dan could see three of the other sections forming the courtyard. These sections were two stories in height, and reminded him of an old-style hotel. For some reason, the second-story windows were not boarded, and a lot of the panes were broken. A curtain fluttering in the wind through one broken window caught Dan’s eye, and focusing his lens on the spot, he took a series of rapid shots.

Adjusting his telephoto lens to its maximum focal length, Dan tried to see into the interior of the room. A gust of wind sweeping across the courtyard pushed the curtain into the room, lifting it several feet in the air. Dan, jerking backward, nearly dropped his camera, when for a split second, the wrinkled face of an old woman appeared in his viewfinder. Shaken from the image, he quickly brought the camera back to his eye, trying to refocus on the spot. The wind had died down; he could only see the curtain behind the broken glass.

“What the hell was that,” Dan said in a low voice. He was second-guessing what he had just seen and tried to reason other explanations for the image. His first instinct was to leave, but the thought of someone needing help held him in place. He didn’t love the idea of trying to search hallways and rooms inside the old building but thought he should try.

Hooking his camera strap onto an iron picket, he eased it down, so it hung on the inside. Looking across the front of the building, he made sure no one was about, before carefully scaling the fence. Once inside, he removed the camera strap and hung it around his neck. Staying on the interior sidewalk near the structure, he was overwhelmed with possible shots within the courtyard.

Reaching the far side, he was in front of the building where the woman had appeared. Standing still, he listened for sounds of movement, the breeze through the overgrown courtyard was all he could hear. A previous visitor had removed the boards covering a ground floor window opening that was nearly his height, and stepping through; he found walls covered in graffiti and the smell of mold and neglect. The room was empty of furniture, but in the hallway, random broken furniture, old bed springs, and garbage lay strewn across the floor.

Spotting a staircase at the end of the hall, he picked his way through the discarded objects and quietly ascended two flights to the second level. He had made a mental note that the room was the third from the corner, and now standing at the top of the stairs, saw its door stood partially open.

This hallway had a different feel from the stuffiness of the first level; here, the space had a creepier livelier feel with air currents and bumping, clicking noises coming from some of the rooms. Dan, unsure of what he would do if he encountered someone, crept cautiously toward the open door.

Reaching the opening, he heard a swooshing sound from within, the bottom of the curtain sweeping across the vinyl floor. Dan reaching out, pushed the door inward, and watched as it swung open to reveal an empty room. There was no furniture, no artwork on the wall, nothing in the space he could have mistaken for the image. There were also no signs of anyone recently inhabiting the room.

Going back out into the hall, Dan looked down the long corridor at the dozens of rooms on either side. There was no way he was going to find someone in here, especially if they wished to remain hidden. Pulling the door shut, he noticed its numbers were missing, but with the difference in the coloration of the wood, he could see it was 207.

Later that night in his home office, Dan searched online for information about the facility. His best source, digitally archived newspapers, proved valuable. He found an article dated from 1976 with a picture of the facility saying it was soon to close for good. A few weeks later, the place was back in the news with a headline about one of its residents who had gone missing. The director explaining the building was secure, but a determined resident could find a way out. The remaining residents would be moving by the end of the week, and the building shuttered for good.

An hour later, Dan, tracked down the police report for the given date in public records and what he read made the hair stand up on his neck and arms. Missing, Marcy Keary, a 30-year-old white female whose last known whereabouts was as a resident in room 207 of the center for women’s mental health on Blackwell Street near downtown.