In another few steps, Linnea couldn’t believe they were walking right into a wall of rain. It was like stepping from one universe into another. The rain was pelting, cold and stinging on their bare skin. Neither had brought a rain jacket or an umbrella. Linnea shielded her eyes with her hand as they picked up the pace. They called Flo’s name over and over, to no avail.

The island curved southward toward the Hunley Bridge. Overhead, the sky had darkened to the deep purple of a bruise. Few house lights pierced the black, and fewer headlights flickered on the bridge. It was so dark, they were losing their bearings. John stopped and, using his flashlight, checked his watch.

“It’s been a half hour,” he said. “We should head back. We can’t see anything anyway. We’d better call the police.”

“Wait,” Linnea said. “Let’s check under the bridge first.”

“She won’t be there. She may already be home.”

“Listen, when I do my turtle walks, we have to check every inch of the designated walk. I can’t tell you how many times we get a call from some tourist that they found tracks in some remote spot that was skipped. It pays to be thorough.”

“Okay. Let’s check it out.”

John set the pace through the cold rain. They were both thoroughly drenched by the time they reached the bridge. Once they’d ducked underneath, they were spared the beating of the rain, but Linnea shivered nonetheless. The blackness was blinding and the humidity was close in the confined space. The light from John’s flashlight snaked along the rippled sand, illuminating a narrow path for them to follow.

“John!” Linnea gasped as she pointed.

There seemed to be someone huddled against the cement wall of the bridge covered with bold green and red graffiti. Drawing closer, Linnea cried out, “It’s Flo.”

She was wearing her nightgown, a flimsy blue sheath of cotton that clung to her trembling frame, so thin now that she looked like a child. Her knees were close up to her chest. Her wispy white hair was plastered against her head. When the light hit her face, Flo’s blue eyes revealed her terror and utter confusion. She lifted a pale, bony hand to shelter her eyes from the penetrating beam of light. Linnea spotted what looked like a discarded chunk of soggy sandwich clutched in her hand.

When they moved toward her, Flo crouched back and put both hands over her head, crying out, “No! No! Leave me alone!”

John signaled Linnea to back off.

She froze, her heart beating hard in her chest.

“Call my mother,” John said in a clipped voice. “Tell her we’ve found her. To bring a car. And to hurry.”

She did as he ordered, pulling out her phone and punching in the number. While the phone rang, she watched John approach Flo slowly, speaking in a low, calm voice. He set the flashlight down so it wouldn’t startle her. Flo shrank farther back against the wet wall, her hand held out as pieces of wilted lettuce and stale meat fell from the soggy bread.