Porch Lights

  “Maybe he went to get the dogs!” Deb yelled.

  It wasn’t five minutes later that we all realized the horrible truth: Charlie was gone.

  Chapter 19

  “It is clear that Kidd—if Kidd indeed secreted this treasure, which I doubt not—it is clear that he must have had assistance in the labor. But, the worst of this labor concluded, he may have thought it expedient to remove all participants in his secret . . .”

  —Edgar Allan Poe, “The Gold-Bug”

  Jackie

  “Okay,” I remember saying, “we have to put our heads together.” My heart was racing so fast I was short of breath. “I found this note on his pillow. It looks like he climbed out of his window. The fire escape ladder was hooked to his windowsill, and the window was open.”

  “That explains why no one saw him,” Steve said.

  “Why would he do such a thing?” Dad asked.

  “He’s ten,” I answered.

  We were all standing in the kitchen, except Mom, who had collapsed into a chair. Miss Deb had her hand on Mom’s shoulder. Dad and Steve had come in from the rain and were dripping water all over the floor. The steaks piled onto the foil-covered platter would have to wait a while. It was odd what registered when a trauma happened. For me everything came into sharp focus. My mother obviously had the opposite experience. I wasn’t even sure she could hear us.

  “Let me see the note,” Dad said, taking it from me.

  The note read, “Mom, you can go back. I’m staying here. I have plenty of money and protein bars. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Love you. Charlie McMullen P.S. Sorry.”

  “He took the protein bars? I just bought them this afternoon!” Mom said and we ignored her.

  “He can’t have gone that far,” Dad said, handing the note to Steve. He stepped out onto the back porch and then came back inside. “My cast net is gone.”

  “Is he planning to live off the land? Did he take his skateboard?” Steve asked.

  “I’ll go look,” I said.

  “I’m calling the police,” Dad said.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Because,” he said, “they’ll be patrolling the island all night, and if they spot a little boy they’ll know where to bring him.”

  “Right,” I said and hurried around the house to see if I could find Charlie’s skateboard. It was nowhere to be found. His clothes he had been wearing all day were in a pile on the floor of his room. What I had laid out for him to wear on our trip was gone.

  I heard Dad on the phone. “Ten years old. Charlie McMullen. He’s almost five feet tall, black hair, blue eyes.” Pause. “Yeah, he was wearing shorts and a T-shirt.”

  “No, he changed his clothes!” I said. “Dad! Tell them he was wearing long jeans, a navy-and-gray-striped T-shirt, and sneakers. And his windbreaker, it was red! And he took his RiverDogs baseball cap.”

  “Did you hear that?” Dad said. “Okay. Yeah, this is Buster Britt. Yeah, Britt. We’re up at twenty-eight and a half. Yep, the Salty Dog. Thanks. Much appreciated.”

  “What did they say?” I said.

  “The dispatcher said for us to sit tight and don’t go looking for him in this weather. It’s too dangerous to be outside. They’re sending a patrol car to us right away, and the others will be on the lookout for him.”

  “That’s it? No manhunt? I mean, we’ve got a kid on the loose in a hurricane and the four policemen we have on this island are all we have to find my only child? Screw that! I’m outta here!”

  I turned to go get my purse, and Steve followed me to my room.

  “I’m going with you,” he said. “Grab Charlie’s dirty clothes.”

  “For what? I don’t need any help.”

  “Yes, you do! Don’t argue with me. I’m bringing the dogs. They’re Boykins, remember? They’ll be able to smell Charlie a mile away!”

  “Oh, God! I hope so!”

  I found my purse, ran to Charlie’s room and scooped up his T-shirt and shorts, and hurried back to the kitchen.

  “I need a flashlight, Dad,” I said. He put the one he was holding into my shaking hands.

  “I’m gonna get the dogs and their leashes,” Steve said. “My car or yours?”

  “Let’s take yours. He might run if he sees mine.” Besides, I was trembling too hard to drive.

  Steve rushed out the door.

  “Be careful, honey,” Dad said. “I’m gonna walk the beach with my big flashlight.”

  I nodded. “Good idea. Thanks.”

  “Start with the house where that Greenville family is staying,” Mom said from her fog. “I’m going to say a rosary now.”

  I didn’t comment. What was the point?

  “I’ve got my cell,” I said. “Call me if you hear anything.”

  I zipped up my own windbreaker, pulled the hood around my head, and tightened it.

  “Where else would he go?” Miss Deb asked.

  “Maybe the forts? Be careful, Jackie,” Mom said. “Put a hat on. It will help keep the water out of your eyes. By the door . . . on the hook.” I took her old canvas bucket hat and pulled it down on my head. “For God’s sake, please be careful!”

  “I will,” I said and hurried out the door, down the steps, and across the yard. The rain was coming down so hard it hurt.

  Steve, struggling with Stella and Stanley, clicked the remote from his back steps to unlock his car, and I jumped in. Stella and Stanley hurried up into the backseat and Steve got in, starting the engine as quickly as he could.

  “Let’s go to the Greenville house first,” I said.

  “Which one is it?”

  “It’s on Atlantic Avenue, around Station Twenty-seven.” It was only a short distance. “That’s it, on the left.”

  It was easy to see that it was unoccupied. The shutters were closed. There were no lights, no cars, no signs of life. “They must have evacuated,” Steve said.

  “Yeah, let’s go over to Middle Street and then go over to Poe’s. He loves Poe’s Tavern.”

  Middle Street was a ghost town, and to my surprise, Poe’s was locked up tight as a drum.

  The gas station was the only business still open. Steve turned in there and stopped. “You stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said and hopped out, leaving the engine on and the windshield wipers still furiously wiping away.

  I watched him go inside, and then I turned to Stella and Stanley, giving them a good whiff of Charlie’s clothes. “Listen, you two, we gotta find my boy. Please help me. Please help me.”

  They whined and yelped as though they understood me. I prayed that they did, with all my heart I prayed.

  I felt ill, as though I might have a stroke or that I might die. I could feel my life draining away. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I began to pray harder. Please, God, please don’t take Charlie away from me. I don’t think I can live without him. But if you have to take him, please take me too. Because I can’t live . . . I just can’t.

  The door opened, and Steve jumped in his seat as fast as he could, slamming the door. “Oh, God, look at you,” he said.

  He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a pack of tissues. Apparently I had been crying and I didn’t even know it.

  “Thanks,” I said and wiped my face. “Anything?”

  “Yeah, the woman in there said a kid matching Charlie’s description was here about half an hour ago. He bought a hot dog and smothered it in ketchup.”

  “That had to be him! Did she see where he went? Did he say anything?”

  “Yes, but nothing very useful. She said to him, what are you doing out in this kind of weather? And he said he just felt like a hot dog. She said he stood there and ate every bite, said thanks, and left by the front door. And that he paid with a very wadded-up five-dollar bill.”

  “Well, that helps nothing. Except that it was thirty minutes ago. He couldn’t be too far away. Let’s try Fort Moultrie. He could hide a million places in there.”

  “I agree.”

&
nbsp; I called home. Mom answered. “The police are here,” she said. “They want a picture of Charlie.”

  “Just give them the most recent one. Mom, tell the officer that Charlie stopped by the gas station and ate a hot dog.”

  “Why would he do that when he knew we were having steak?” Edith Bunker’s mother was my mother’s maternal grandmother’s sister.

  “Well, Mom, I guess he preferred a hot dog. We’re going down to the forts now. Is Dad looking on the beach?”

  “Oh, yes. And I’m here with Deb. Be careful. The wind is fierce.”

  “I’m not coming home until I find Charlie. Call me if you hear a single thing, okay?”

  “Of course!” Then she whispered to me, “I think the policemen are a little annoyed that you didn’t stay home like they said you should.”

  “Really? Ask them what they would do and remind them that I’m an army nurse, okay?”

  I hung up and continued staring out the windows, scanning every street, yard, and side street for anyone outdoors who might resemble Charlie. But of course no one was outside, even on the porches. We had an old family tradition, like many islanders, of sitting on our porch to watch storms, especially thunderstorms. But when the wind topped fifty miles an hour, we took down the hammocks, turned over the rockers, and went inside.

  The wind was howling like thousands of demons breathing down our necks, and the flooded streets were already littered with debris. Palmetto fronds ripped from trees flew by us while the trees themselves bent this way and that, caught in the growing strength of Candace. Garbage cans rolled across the streets, crashing into curbs, their contents spilling everywhere. Lightweight porch furniture that had not been secured became airborne, flying into neighbors’ houses and trees. Blown-out porch screens flapped in the wind like laundry on a clothesline. And all the while Steve struggled to keep his SUV steady, the streetlights flickered. I just hoped and prayed we’d find Charlie before the island lost power.

  “This is horrible,” I said. “It’s my worst nightmare come true.”

  “We’re gonna find him, Jackie. I know we’re gonna find him.”

  We pulled up outside of Fort Moultrie. Steve said, “You got Charlie’s clothes?”

  “Yeah, right here,” I said and handed them over to him.

  “Okay, let’s make a run for the front entrance. You ready?”

  “Let’s go,” I said and opened my door. I had to push against it to get out because the force of the wind was right on us. The flashlight was tucked tight under my arm. Steve opened the back doors, and somehow by the grace of God, he got his dogs out. He began to run with them toward the entrance, and I was right behind them. When we got there we stopped, out of breath, and leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

  “Okay,” Steve said and held Charlie’s clothes under their noses. “Now go get Charlie!”

  I turned on the flashlight and aimed it down the tunnel. Stella and Stanley took off running like I’d never seen them go. I was amazed.

  “I used to do a lot of bird hunting before my wife died. The dogs are trained to search and retrieve.”

  “Even in a hurricane?”

  “I had to pay extra for that, but yes.”

  It was a stupid joke, but I knew he was trying to get me to calm down. We needed to think of where else Charlie might be if he wasn’t holed up in one of the many tiny rooms or niches in the fort. Minutes later the dogs were back. Charlie wasn’t here. My heart sank. Steve was disappointed too.

  “What else was Charlie involved with this summer? I know he did an awful lot of skateboarding. And he played with those kids a lot.”

  “Yeah, and he got all excited about the Revolutionary War battles that were fought over here.”

  “Wasn’t he reading something by Poe?”

  “Yeah. ‘The Gold-Bug.’ I thought it was too mature for him, but he really got into it. He made a map for a treasure hunt and actually had a hunt with those kids. He loved it. And I had to peel his Poe’s Tavern T-shirt off his back to wash it. He like lived in it.”

  “Jackie, I’ve got it. Goldbug Island. He’s on Goldbug Island. Come on, we’ve got to hurry.”

  “Oh, God! But there’s no shelter there except the clubhouse, and I’d bet my life that it’s locked up!”

  “We can worry about that when we get there. Come on. Grab my hand.”

  This time we were running right into the wind, and it was only because he held me so tight that I even stayed on my feet. Mom’s hat went flying to kingdom come, and the rain felt like needles on my face. Thank God we didn’t have far to go. When we got to the car, Steve got the dogs in the car first. Maybe because they had a lower center of gravity, they were able to better withstand the wind. I climbed in on his side and crawled over the console. It took a stevedore’s strength for him to pull the door closed.

  “Okay, now,” he said. He threw Charlie’s clothes into my lap and started the engine.

  We got as far as Dunleavy’s Pub and were just making the left when a patrol car appeared behind us.

  “Sullivans Island’s finest appears to have an interest in us,” he said.

  We continued on toward the Ben Sawyer Bridge and saw there was a roadblock. We slowed down and rolled to a stop. A police officer approached Steve’s side of the car and indicated by twirling his finger that he should roll down his window. He did, and the officer shined his large flashlight into the car.

  “Can I see your driver’s license, sir?”

  “Of course.” Steve pulled his wallet from his jacket, removed his license, and handed it to the officer.

  The officer read Steve’s name and handed it back to him.

  “I’m sorry but you’ll have to turn around, Dr. Plofker. Can’t go over the causeway. It’s flooded. Too dangerous.”

  “Officer? My little boy is missing. We’re pretty sure he’s on Goldbug Island.”

  “You that McMullen kid’s mother? I heard about that on our radio.”

  “If we could just go over the bridge and down to the island. We’re not trying to go to Mount Pleasant or Charleston.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Too dangerous. My orders are no one crosses the bridge.”

  “Officer, I’m an army nurse. I did six seven-month tours in Afghanistan. My husband just died. I can’t lose my son too. Please . . .”

  “Jeez. That’s awful. Afghanistan, huh? I was with the 101st Airborne Special Troops Battalion.”

  “The Screaming Eagles? They were on my post.”

  He stood back and looked at me for a moment. “You realize you’ll be taking your life into your own hands out there?”

  “Until three months ago, that’s what I did for a living,” I said.

  “Just be careful,” he said.

  “Thank you, Officer,” Steve said and raised his window. “I thought you only did three tours.”

  “Only? Never use the word only when you’re talking about that hellhole. I needed to impress him. The Screaming Eagles have a reputation for eating their young. Raw.”

  “Let’s go get Charlie.”

  “He’s got to be there.”

  We inched over the bridge and made the right turn onto the steep hill that would lead us down to the island. The weather was getting worse by the minute. Trees and limbs were down, and pools of water were everywhere. The island was going to be completely flooded as soon as the tide came in. Anything that wasn’t nailed down was going to float away and never be seen again.

  Then we encountered our next problem: the gate to the island was locked. But even from there I could see that a large tree had come down on the clubhouse. What if Charlie was in there? What if he’d gotten hurt?

  Steve stopped there and asked, “What do you want to do? Either I can crash the gate and buy them a new one when the storm passes, or we can make a run for it.”

  It wasn’t like an iron gate at a prison but more like a simple metal bar, probably aluminum, that crossed the drive like a triangular-shaped cattle gate.

 
“You call it.”

  “Okay, I’m going for it. I’m turning off your air bag, but back up your seat as far as you can just in case. And if mine pops out, slash it with this.”

  He handed me his Swiss Army knife, and I backed up my seat as far as it would go.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He backed up the car about fifty feet and then slammed the gas pedal to the floor.

  BAM!

  We easily broke through the gate, and Steve’s air bag didn’t deploy. He ignored that detail and drove as close to the clubhouse as he could go, splashing through water and driving around fallen limbs.

  “Give me Charlie’s shirt again. And you wait here.”

  He opened his car door and let the dogs out. I would do no such thing. I got out of the SUV, and my first thought was that I was going to blow away. The wind had to be close to a hundred miles an hour. Maybe more. What would it be like by four A.M., when the eye was supposed to pass over us? I could see him screaming at me, but the wind was so loud I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Stella and Stanley had already taken off running, and don’t you know they stopped where a huge branch from an uprooted live oak tree had crashed through a large plate-glass window of the clubhouse. I was hanging on to the handle of the door of the car, and Steve inched his way around to get me. I crouched down and began to make my way to him like a duck.

  He pulled me up and put his arm around me; we dropped our heads down and struggled toward the window. The dogs were barking wildly. Steve pulled them back from the shattered glass and looked in.

  “Go back!” he screamed to them, and they took off toward his Expedition.

  Next, without a word, he pulled off his jacket, wrapped it around his hand, and broke away enough of the remaining glass to make a hole large enough for him to pass through. Then he climbed the branch and jumped inside. I was right behind him with my flashlight. We scanned the room, and there was Charlie, lying on the floor near the door. I thought my heart would jump out of my throat.

  “Charlie!” I screamed and began running to him.

  Somehow Steve got there first and turned him over. He began giving him little slaps on his face to bring him around. A ceiling fan had fallen on him and knocked him out.