This isn’t happening. She shivered as the breeze over the bay chilled her. She stood on the dock, exactly as she was directed to, waiting for . . . well, she didn’t exactly know what she was waiting for. She just knew that the compulsion to know had driven every move for the last ten years and this moment was no exception. Finding him—it was all she had left. The divorce had left her broken, her mother’s death had left her depressed, and the state of the world had left her numb. This moment felt like the only shot she had left.

She scanned the water, seeking anything. Could that be a boat? Yes. It was. An old fishing rig heading straight for the dock. She stood there, frozen, physically and emotionally, as she watched news of her greatest loss or her greatest gift approach and stop. The youngest man aboard jumped to the dock and headed her way.

“You must be Cliff?” she inquired, “the detective I spoke to?”

“Yes, I am Cliff . . .” he paused, seeking recognition in her face.

“Well?” she asked anxiously, “Did you find him? Did you find my brother?”

“Yes, I found him.”

She scanned the boat frantically, only seeing the old man captaining the vessel. She felt frustration rise, “Well are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna tell me where I can find him? I mean, if you think this is some kind of game . . .”

He leaned toward her, cutting her off, “I am him.”