Caleb Andrew James, M.D.

It was only meant to be a day trip, just a little ways out to Fire Island. A couple hours drive east, nothing too ridiculous, nothing requiring an overnight stay, just something easy. And the beginning had been a success. He and Peter had climbed into the rental car (what need did he have for more than his bike in the city, after all) and driven out towards Long Island, parked the car and took the ferry over, hiked in the foothills, enjoyed their time together. As the sun began to set, Caleb had begun their drive home, paying only as much attention as was needed to the road. After all, it wasn't like they could get lost. If they drove the wrong direction for more than an hour, they'd hit Montauk and the Atlantic.

But, as he's laughing at something Peter's said, the odd feeling Caleb has had in the pit of his stomach for the last half hour finally solidifies, hitting him like a brick. The sun is down. They've been driving for nearly an hour. And there's still no sign of anything but trees and coast. Motioning towards his phone in the cup holder between them, Caleb speaks up again, keeping his voice casual.

"Do me a favor and pull up the GPS on my phone? I want to see if there's any traffic going into the city." Or if he's about to drive into the Atlantic. Has to be one or the other, right?