“He came here?” I look at the sky and remember a night seven years ago similar to this.
“I pulled him up on the Find a Friend app and it stopped updating an hour ago. It says he’s by the speedway. He’s on his bike and he is very agitated today. Not himself.”
“I’m still in Daytona. I’ll start looking for him and get back with you as soon as I know anything.” I disconnect and put my forehead on Brinn’s chest, trying to steady my racing heart and erratic thoughts. I need a plan. I relay what Daanya told me. That Will is likely in town.
“What are you thinking?” He rubs my back.
“I have to go look for him.”
“Where do you think he went?” He searches the sky. “You don’t have much time.”
I step back. “He hasn’t gone to my place. He knows where I keep the hide-a-key and he would’ve called by now wondering where I am.” I wrack my brain. When a horrific idea settles, I shake my head in denial, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes to hold back the threatening tears.
“What?”
“He’s probably gone to the beach or...the St. John’s River Bridge.” I drop my hands to look at Brinn.
He shakes his head. “Why would he go there? That’s suicidal in this weather.”
My voice breaks when I try to say the words. I blow out a slow breath. “Because my brother has schizophrenia.”
“What? Why didn’t you ever tell me that? Like today when we were talking about keeping secrets—”
“It’s not my secret to share. It’s his. I just found all this out myself. That ‘accident’ he had was caused by hallucinations.”
“What’s this have to do with the bridge?”
“He drove off a bridge. The hallucinations told him too. It was during a storm similar to this.” Tears slide down my cheeks.
“Cops won’t let him sit on the bridge. They’ll make him move or forcefully move him. Start by calling the Volusia County Sheriff’s office and I’ll call State Patrol.”
The rain has started to fall in steady drops, long past hinting at what is about to come.
“I’ll call. You need to get out of here. Get in line and leave.” I gesture to the runway that is still congested.
“I have time to call.”
Our calls result in no information, even the one to the hospitals. The process to get information is painfully slow but the upswing of the time spent on the phone is the improvement in line for the runway.
“Come on, get in the plane. You can keep calling as we fly down.” He pushes me toward the hangar. “We are out of time. If I don’t get off soon, lightning will ground me.”
For seven years I wondered why Will left me. For the few weeks since I’ve learned of his mental illness I wondered why he wouldn’t let me help. Now I have this moment. This decision and the truth is there really is no decision to make. I know what I need to do.
“I can’t go. I have to go look for him.” I pull away and jog to my car.
Brinn follows me. “How do you think that’s going to happen? Look around you.”
“I’ll start with the beaches and work my way inland.”
“Josie, the beaches are closed. The cops will have it blocked off. The beach side will be evacuated or is in the process.” He grabs me by the elbow and pulls me up short.
I take this moment.
Stepping into his space, I cup my hands around his face. “I have to look. I have to try.” I kiss him gently. “Be careful, please. Have a good flight.” I wrap an arm around his neck and press several more urgent kisses against his lips.
Pushing at his chest, I back away and give a small wave.
“Call me,” I say. A heavy, foreboding cloud has come over me and I can’t shake the feeling that after today nothing will be the same.
“Shit, Josie. You can’t go looking by yourself, and not in that car. Once the rains start, your car will get stuck in the first puddle. This is crazy.” He rakes a hand over his face.
“I can’t leave him out there. He might be in his right mind or he might not. Give me your keys. If I wreck your truck, I’ll buy you a new one. I promise.” He’s made a good point about my car.
“I don’t care about my truck, I care about you.” He steps toward me.
I move closer and start digging in his pockets. He catches my hand in his as I pull the keys out, stopping me from stepping away.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No way. Are you fucking nuts? You’ve got to get that plane out of here or Mark will lose his shit.” I push against his chest. “Go.”
“Your brother is more important than this plane. It’s insured right. Right?” he asks.
“Yes, the insurance came in a few days ago.” I laugh more from hysteria than anything and throw my arms around him. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“I know I don’t.” He lets go of my wrist. “Move my truck over to the side and put your car where mine is. I’ve got to secure everything here and I’ll meet you in the truck.”
It takes fifteen minutes to get everything situated before we drive away. The rains have increased and his wipers work furiously to keep the window clean but visibility is low and splotchy.
“I think Will might go to the same beach spot where we spent some time.” The spot we went after he told me about his diagnosis. At the last bridge to the beach, a line of cop cars is blocking us. But opportunity waits for no man. I jump out of the truck and run up to the officer in charge of redirecting traffic away from the bridge.
Once again my law degree comes in handy, as I cite potential legal issues regarding a man who might be entering a psychotic state. I also do a fair amount of begging. When I slide back into the truck, soaked to the bone, my hair a wet hose dripping down my back, I can’t help but smile.
“He says we have fifteen minutes to get back out.” I shiver and Brinn cranks up the heat.
With the rain pushing against the truck in heavy sheets, it takes three minutes longer than the normal five to get to the turnoff to the beach.
“Look!” A motorcycle is parked behind a dumpster. It’s Will’s. I’m out and running toward the beach before Brinn can put the truck into park.
The wind is picking up and the rain is cold, cutting right to the bone. I come to a stop when I reach the sand, my hands flying to mouth to cover my horrified gasp. Brinn touches my shoulder and I jump.
Will is pacing the beach, barely seen through the curtains of rain. He looks to be ranting, his arms waving manically. His jeans are soaked; his boots lie scattered on the sand. His shirt is gone, and between rants he covers his ears and screams with an intensity that forces him to bend at the waist; his face contorts, shattering his features. The wind howls yet I can hear him between gusts.
“Hold back a second. I don’t want you to freak him out,” I tell Brinn before I take off at a run across the sand. Brinn follows further behind.
“Will,” I cry.
I can barely hear anything over the waves and the rain. Much less my voice. But magically he hears me.
He turns to me. His large scar is red and appears to be pulsing. It gives him such a sinister appearance I involuntarily step back. He runs toward me, gets in my face, and starts screaming.