Page 1 of Twice Missing
PROLOGUE
The vast expanse of Upper Saranac Lake stretched out before them, a frozen wasteland holding secrets beneath its crystalline surface. Jack Hollister gripped the steering wheel of his F-150 pickup truck, his eyes scanning the desolate landscape as he navigated onto the ice.
"Are you sure this is safe, Dad?" Twelve-year-old Eric’s voice quavered slightly from the passenger seat.
Jack smiled reassuringly at his son. "Don't worry, bud. The ice is plenty thick this time of year. I've been doing this since I was your age."
As they drove further onto the lake, the truck's headlights illuminated the swirling snow, creating an otherworldly atmosphere. In the distance, the twinkling lights of lakeside cabins pierced the darkness, reminding them they weren't entirely alone in this winter wilderness.
"Look at that, Eric, " Jack said, pointing to a particularlybright cluster of lights. "Someone's already got their Christmas decorations up."
Eric pressed his face against the window, his breath fogging the glass. "Yeah. We're behind. Can we put ours up when we get back?"
"You bet. This weekend, okay?" Jack promised, bringing the truck to a stop about a half-mile from shore. "This looks like a good spot. Ready to set up camp?"
For the next hour, father and son worked together to erect their portable ice fishing shelter. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the bite of approaching snow. Jack showed Eric how to anchor the tent securely to the ice, explaining each step of the process.
"This is kind of cool, Dad," Eric said, his earlier nervousness replaced by excitement. "I can't believe we're actually sleeping out here tonight."
Once the shelter was up, Jack fired up the portable heater inside. The warmth was a welcome respite from the frigid air outside. "Okay, buddy. Now for the fun part."
Jack produced an ice auger and demonstrated how to cut through the thick ice. Eric watched in fascination as his father drilled a perfect circle into the frozen lake.
"How deep is it here, Dad?" Eric asked, peering into the dark water below.
"Let's find out," Jack replied, setting up their sonar equipment. He showed Eric how to read the display, explaining how the device used sound waves to map the lake bottom and detect fish.
"See that line there? That's the bottom. Looks like about 70 feet of water here.”
Eric’s eyes widened. "Whoa, that's deep!"
Jack chuckled. "Upper Saranac is one of the deepest lakes in the Adirondacks. Some parts go down over 100 feet."
They settled into their folding chairs, the sonar screen casting a soft blue glow inside the tent. Jack showed Eric how to bait his line and lower it into the hole they'd cut.
"Now we wait," Jack said, reaching for a thermos. "How about some hot chocolate?"
Eric nodded eagerly, and Jack poured them each a steaming cup. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping their drinks and watching the sonar screen.
"Hey, Dad?" Eric said after a while. "So what do you want for Christmas?"
Jack smiled. "Honestly? This right here. Spending time with you. That's the best gift I could ask for."
Eric beamed, then his expression turned thoughtful. "I was thinking... maybe we could volunteer at the shelter on Christmas Day? Like we did last year?"
Pride swelled in Jack's chest. "That's a great idea, bud. We'll do that."
A few more minutes passed in companionable silence before Jack stood up. "I'm going to grab some snacks from the truck. Keep an eye on that sonar, okay? Let me know if you see any fish. You can play around with it, adjust it with that button there."
Eric nodded, his eyes glued to the screen as his father unzipped the tent and stepped out into the cold night air.
For a few moments, nothing changed on the display.Then as Eric adjusted the sonar, suddenly, a large shape appeared at the bottom of the screen.
"Dad!" Eric called out excitedly. "I think I see something big!"
Jack hurried back into the tent, shaking snow from his coat. He leaned over Eric's shoulder, frowning at the sonar display.
"What is it, Dad?" Eric asked, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and uncertainty.
