Desperate not to let the evening end in disaster, Ryan left the road and rushed back to the house. He made straight for the phone. The rain had washed Amy’s number from his arm, but maybe she had already arrived at the hotel? Maybe he could reach her there? He grabbed the phone book, found the number, then picked up the receiver and dialed the hotel. But when he got patched through to her room, no one answered. She should have been back by now. Unless she was purposely not picking up. He phoned three more times. Still no answer.

Could it be that she’d finally found her dad? Maybe they were already in the car and on their way back to Portland. This was a troubling thought as it had just dawned on him that he didn’t even know Amy’s last name. If she were to leave then he’d have no hope of tracking her down. He needed to act. He needed to do something.

Ryan slammed the phone down and fetched his keys, then raced outside to his truck, which was still parked by the field gate. Plan A was to drive straight to the hotel—if Amy wasn’t there then plan B was to try to find them on the road. There wouldn’t be many vehicles about, not in this weather. Maybe he could get lucky and catch up with them before they hit the highway.

Ryan twisted the key, revved the engine, spun the wheel, and punched the gearstick into first, ready to pull away. But as he was about to drive off, he saw that his father’s bedroom light was on. That’s odd. It wasn’t normal for his father to be awake at this hour. Had the storm woken him? Perhaps the sound of the truck? Whatever prompted it, Ryan had a strange feeling that he needed to go check.

Pulling the parking brake, he ran back inside the house and made straight for his father’s room. It was empty. The curtains were drawn, sheets neatly tucked into the mattress. Ryan checked elsewhere—the bathroom, then the living room—but found nothing.

“Dad?” he called out, beginning to worry. “Where are you? . . . Are you all right?”

Ryan passed through the living room and made his way into the kitchen. The room was dark, but he could make out a shadow sitting in a chair.

“Hey . . . Dad? What are you doing?”

There was no answer.

A sick feeling took hold in Ryan’s stomach. He reached for the wall and switched on the lights.

“What the hell . . .”