Lost in the Storm:

by Mark Stone

  “How-how did you know Lucy had him?” she asked. The background noise faded away and I could tell she had walked either into the bathroom or the backroom where people rarely went.

  “Listen to me, Char. Lucy is behind all of this. The dead lawyer in the hotel, setting my house on fire. Everything that’s happened since I got back to town has been her doing. She’s trying to kill anybody she thinks might be ahead of her in line to inheriting my father’s fortune, including—”

  “Isaac!” she gasped. There was a rawness in her voice that very nearly stopped me in my tracks. It had been years since I’d heard that specific kind of concern, a mother’s concern. “She’s got my boy, Dilly!”

  “I’m going to get to him, Charlotte. Don’t worry, I’m going to get to him and I’m going to make sure he’s safe. Does he have a phone, Char? Does he have a cell with one of those GPS apps on it?”

  I had already gotten Lucy’s log in info from her mother, but she’d turned off her location services and made herself completely untraceable. Hopefully, I’d have better luck with Isaac.

  “No,” she answered. “I was going to get him one for his birthday. God, what is she going to do to my boy, Dilly?”

  “Nothing,” I answered sharply. “Not if I can help it. Now, do you know any place Lucy might have taken him? Anywhere the two of them liked to go? “

  “I don’t-Oh God, Dilly. I don’t know!”

  “Calm down, Char,” I said, keeping my voice calm and steady. “Just calm down and think. Is there anywhere they like to go together?”

  “The beach. Sometimes they go to Clam Pass Park. It’s out of the way, and Isaac likes that it’s not crowded. But it’s raining, Dilly. It’s raining really hard. She wouldn’t—”

  I turned the car around, screeching in the center of the thankfully empty road and headed toward Clam Pass Park. It was a few miles away, but I could be there in ten minutes. Hopefully, that would be quickly enough. A dreadful thought crossed my mind, one of my nephew dead like Rusty or Lionel Sheets. I pushed it out of my head though. That sort of thinking wouldn’t drive me. It would slow me down, and I wouldn’t allow that right now, not with so much at stake.

  “Char, I need to hang up on you for just a minute,” I said, cutting her off.

  “Dilly, no!” she said, panicking anew.

  “Listen, sweetheart,” I said, dipping back into the name I’d used for her for years when we were kids. “There might be officers closer to Clam Pass. I need to get them there and, to do that, I need a free line.”

  “I don’t even know that’s where she took him,” Charlotte said, her voice shaking.

  “I know,” I admitted. “But it’s all we’ve got.”

  ^

  As luck would have it, all available officers had been directed to more populated parts of the city, hoping to help with any damage or accidents the storm might cause. I was this kid’s only hope and, I was going to make it work if it was the last thing I ever did.

  I skidded into Clam Pass Park. The place was even emptier than usual. The parking lot was completely barren, save for one car. I had no idea what sort of vehicle Lucy drove, but I would have bet that the Mercedes I pulled next to belonged to her.

  I looked over at the row of houseboats tied to the marina, waiting out the storm. Swallowing hard, I ran toward the beach, looking for any signs of life. It was hard, given the sheer amount of rain that was pummeling me, pouring into my eyes and blurring my vision.

  “Isaac!” I screamed, though my voice was lost, swallowed up by the thunder and rain. “Isaac!”

  There was no answer.

  The gulf was angry today, waves crashing so hard against the shore that even the houseboats, anchored and tied, were rocking hard back and forth.

  My heart pounded every bit as fast and heavy as the rain, though I felt much more powerless than this force of nature.

  I was lost. I was wrong. What if they weren’t here? What if they were somewhere else and Lucy was killing him right now? What if—

  That was when I saw her. Lucy stood at the shoreline, just out of reach of the crashing tide. She was looking out at the rumbling waters, wearing a hood, alone. My heart dropped.

  “You!” I screamed, running toward her.

  Lucy turned to me, her eyes widening and her face taking on a curious mask. She looked pained, but in an exaggerated sense, in a fake way.

  “It came on all at once!” she said, looking out at the water again and suddenly becoming very animated. Where once she was looking at the waves with pensive contemplation, now she gazed at them with tear filled eyes while clutching at her hair.

  “We just wanted to go out for a boat ride like we always do,” she said. “I thought there was enough time. I thought the storm would move slower.”

  I swallowed hard as the truth of what this woman had planned dawned on me.

  “You put him in a boat and pushed him out to sea, didn’t you?” I muttered, reaching for the gun on my hip. She was going to pretend to have lost him in a boating accident. It was perfect. He’d be dead, and she’d have an airtight alibi for her own mother’s death. No one would question the sincerity of someone who had just been through so much in a single day.

  She hadn’t bet on me though, and she was about to find out how horrible a mistake that could be.

  “What?” she asked, her body visibly tightening. “That’s crazy. I was just out there with him. I tried to save him. I tried to bring him back.”

  “No you didn’t,” I said, pulling my gun on her.

  She froze, but I continued.

  “What was it about the money that made you so bloodthirsty? Was it really worth trying to kill your mother, worth trying to kill some little boy?” I asked, breathing heavy with anger.

  “You’re not making any sense,” she answered. “I didn’t do any of those things. I just took Isaac out on the water. The boat turned over. I tried to get to him, but the current was too strong. So I swam back here.”

  “Let me see your hair,” I said slowly.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “You’re wearing a hood to block your head from the rain now but, if you fell out of a boat and swam here like you said you did, it would stand to reason that your hair would be soaking wet.” I pursed my lips. “So I want to see it. Show me your hair, Lucy.”

  She looked at me for a long moment, seemingly unblinking.

  “Lucy,” I repeated. “Show me your—”

  Her hand moved quickly, reaching into her coat. She pulled out a gun and, before I could make sense of what she was going to do with it, I shot.

  My bullet hit her in the leg —just where I’d aimed it, but it was enough to knock her down.

  It didn’t steal her wits though, because she shot up at me. A bullet whizzed past my forehead, inches from my face. I stopped short and turned as she shot a few more bullets in my direction.

  Knocking over one of the guest tables near the marina, I threw myself behind it.

  Breathing hard, I looked up over it to find Lucy was nowhere to be seen, but I followed her footprints in the sand.

  She was trying to get away, hobbling toward the parking lot.

  Anger rushing up inside of me, I lifted the thin metal table and started toward her, holding the thing out like it was some sort of shield and battering ram.

  Shots fired, and holes appeared in the cheap metal. One bullet to my left. One to my right. The third grazed my shoulder, and a horrid sting ran through me. Still, I looked up, slamming into the woman with the table and knocking her on her ass.

  I ran over to her, kicking the gun away from her.

  She looked up at me, raining pouring down on her face.

  “They never understood me,” she said, swallowing hard and looking up. “All they ever saw were the drugs. Even after I got clean, even after I tried so hard, all I ever was to them was tainted and broken. Peter, your father, even my mother sometimes; they all thought I was trash. They thought I didn’t deserve anything. So I
was going to take it from them. I was going to take what was mine. I was going to show them I wasn’t trash.” Her eyes focused back on me. “I thought out of everyone, you’d understand that.”

  My blood was boiling as I looked down at her. “You thought wrong,” I said. “Now where is Isaac?”

  Her eyes trailed off into the water.

  I looked out into it and, off in the distance, cresting up and down with the violate water, was a small row boat. It was too far away and the weather was too bad for me to tell whether or not there was a figure in it, but it hadn’t capsized, and that meant I might still have time.

  Sparing Lucy one more glance, I rushed toward the nearest houseboat; an unassuming cruiser with the name “Rock Steady” across the side.

  I called 911 and informed them of the bleeding woman on the beach, and then slammed my palm hard against the Rock’s front door.

  A middle aged man with a long beard wearing a pair of Donald Duck underwear pulled it open.

  “Can I help ya, bud?” he asked in a really laid back sort of way.

  I pulled out my badge. “I’m Detective Dillon Storm, and I need to commandeer this vessel. I have reason to believe there’s a child trapped on a rowboat in this vicinity and—”

  “Whoa man, settle down. You’re the law.. If old Rock Steady can help save a kid, then I’m driving. Do you know how to pull up an anchor, bud?”

  “I sure the hell do,” I answered, and got to work.

  ^

  Donald Duck, Rock Steady, and I were off into the salt and sea in minutes. The guy (Brian) was good with the wheel. He had been a former Marine, I learned. So this wasn’t his first rodeo.

  We pulled out close enough to the rowboat that I could tell there was a figure in it. It was slumped over on top of itself, but I could only hope that Isaac was shielding himself from the rain and that Lucy hadn’t done something nefarious with him before pushing the boat out to sea.

  The water got choppy and Rock Steady started to rock rather unsteadily.

  “This is as close as I can get in this weather and be sure not to hit him,” Brian said, shouting over torrents of rain.

  “That’s okay,” I said, walking to the port side and looking out at the rowboat. “When you see us coming back, throw out a preserver.”

  “Back?” Brian asked. “What are you gonna do, bud?”

  I didn’t have time to answer him. In a flash, my coat, badge, and gun were on deck. I dove out into the water, taking a deep breath right before I slammed into the cold, tumultuous Gulf.

  The current was strong as it hit me and the temperature threatened to shatter my will.

  I couldn’t let it though. This was my nephew. This was Charlotte’s kid. This was an innocent. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t make my way to that damned boat?

  “Lord, give me strength,” I muttered in my head, pushing myself to the surface and paddling toward that rickety thing for dear life.

  I thought about my mother who was looking down on me now. I thought about my grandfather who loved me so much he wouldn’t burden me. I thought about my best friend, and the way he wanted to protect me even from myself. I thought about Charlotte, and the love that saw me through more things than I could count. I thought about the man they always thought I was and the man I wanted to be. I pushed harder and harder, braving that wind, braving that rain, braving that cold, braving that damned storm.

  I grabbed ahold of the boat, screaming for Isaac. It was rocking too hard, and the waters were too intense. If I pulled myself up, I’d capsize it. My best bet was to get him to come to me…if he was still alive that was.

  “Isaac!’ I screamed again.

  Mercifully, a head popped up.

  “Who-who are you?” Isaac asked in a croaky voice.

  “I’m your uncle,” I said, motioning with one hand for him to come near me. “And I’m going to take you home!”

  Isaac nodded at me, and moved to the end of the boat. The weather was causing the boat to thrust about and, with the sea so angry, I couldn’t chance the other boat getting any closer to us. I was going to have to get him there myself.

  “On three,” I said. “One. Two.”

  When I got to three, he leapt out at me. I grabbed him and tucked him under my arm.

  “Keep your head above the water, son,” I said loudly.

  What seemed like a lifetime away, Brian threw out the preserver.

  “See that,” I said. “You just have to get to that.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  And together, we swam through the storm.

  We reached the preserver and from there, climbed back onto Rock Steady.

  I collapsed onto the deck, an arm still slung around Isaac.

  “It’s okay,” I said as he lay next to me, rain still coming down as hard as ever. “I’m here now, son. It’s going to be okay.”

  26

  “I appreciate you being so understanding about this,” I said to my boss in Chicago from a phone on the pier. “The last thing I’d ever want to do is leave you shorthanded.”

  “I understand, Storm,” the man answered, probably from his desk in the office. “Sometimes a man has to leave home before he realizes he belongs there.”

  I looked out at the marina. Boomer had asked me to meet him here today, though I wasn’t sure why.

  It had been almost a week since that awful day, a week since the ambulance came and scooped a still bleeding Lucy off the beach floor, a week since she was carted to the hospital and arrested on the spot.

  It had been a week since I brought Isaac back to the happy arms of his crying mother and a week since my grandfather screamed at me for being stupid enough for jumping out into the water all the while patting me on the back and telling me how proud of me he was.

  It had been five days since I told them I was thinking of staying in Naples full time and thirty seconds after that when Boomer offered me a position in the Naples police department.

  It had been two days since they were able to pull my father’s will off of Lionel Sheets’s computer. In the end, he hadn’t changed a single word. It was all an act, meant to instill fear into Peter’s heart. My father left him everything, every red cent.

  He never even mentioned me.

  That was okay though, I realized as I walked out onto the marina, basking in a Florida sun that I had missed more than I could ever explain. I had family here. I had friends, and I had a home.

  “I hope so, sir,” I said, nodding and thanking my now former boss again. “I really hope so.”

  I hung up, walking forward to find that everyone was standing on the marina with Boomer. My grandfather, Charlotte, Isaac, and Emma were all talking. It was a great day, warm with just a little breeze coming off the water. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I made my way toward them.

  “If it isn’t the man of the hour,” Boomer said, throwing me a cold Corona and laughing.

  I caught it, noticing the gorgeous tan Full Hull boat behind the group.

  “Let’s give the hour to somebody else,” I said, opening the bottle and taking a refreshing swig. “I’ve never been too comfortable with it.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, you shouldn’t go impressing people so much,” Charlotte said. I looked at her, smiling and holding her gaze for a beat too long. She didn’t look away.

  “You wanna talk?” I asked, motioning for her to follow me to the end of the pier.

  “I’d like that,” she answered, and walked alongside me.

  I took in her scent, fresh and familiar as we settled, looking out into the gulf.

  “I wanted to thank you again,” she said uneasily, shuffling nervously. “I really don’t think I could ever say that enough.”

  “That’s not what I brought you out here for,” I said, staring at her and seeing so many missed years.

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry too,” she continued.

  I blinked at her.

  “I’m not sure you need to apologize to me
,” I answered honestly. “You did what you did. I did too.” I shrugged. “I’m not going to lie and say it didn’t hurt, and I’m not going to say I’m sure I can move past it right now, but I can say that I want to move past it, and that you’ve got a hell of a kid there.” I nodded. “I want to be in his life, Char. I want to be in your life.” I swallowed hard. “Maybe we could be—”

  “Friends?” she asked, looking at me with those bright eyes and biting her bottom lip. “I’d like that.”

  “I’d like that too,” I answered. “I’d like it a lot.”

  I turned my attention to Full Hull ship. “That’s a hell of a boat,” I said, looking it over. It was tall, sleek, and the sort of shiny a boat loses after spending too much time in the water. It was magnificent. “Pretty as a Sunday morning.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Boomer said. “You own the damned thing.”

  “What?” I asked, looking over at him.

  “Peter stopped by the station yesterday,” Boomer said. “Said something about a conversation you two had, about it opening his eyes to things. He said you needed to be rewarded for that and that — since I knew you much better than him — I should be the person to pick this out for you.” Boomer took a drink and continued. “I told him you needed a houseboat, that we always talked about living out on the water when we were kids. He thought it was a great idea. He just had one condition.”

  “Condition?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “What condition?”

  “He wanted to name it,’ Boomer smiled, motioning to the fabric taped over a huge piece along the side.

  Emma rushed over, pulling the fabric off.

  There, in gold writing, I saw what Peter had decided to name my new boat, my new home.

  The Good Storm.

  “Hell of a name,” I said, taking a drink and, for the first time in my life, smiling because of something my brother did. “Hell of a name.”

  We drank, laughed, reminisced, and joked for the rest of the day. It was perfect. It was Florida. It was home.

  “You look happy,” my grandfather said, sitting down next to me on the upper deck of the houseboat we now shared.