This was the only option, I reminded myself for the thousandth time today. If there had been anything else I wouldn't be on this wild goose chase, sleep deprived and six hundred miles from home.

But it was the only option and it was for dad.

Dad, who was currently lying in an induced coma and in need of brain surgery. An operation requiring speciality doctors that weren't available at our small town hospital. But Dr. Matthews informed me that he knew a doctor a few hours away who could do the surgery with a high success and recovery rate. He could have dad scheduled for operation within the next few days. Nothing to worry about, Dr. Matthews assured.

Well, except for one thing. Being underage and technically a step-son, I couldn't legally give the go-ahead to transport dad. And mom had passed away five years ago, so there was no spouse to approve.

That left only one person.

My brother.

And my family hadn't seen or heard from him in nine years.

After meeting with Dr. Matthews I tore our house apart hoping to find something--an address, a number more preferably-- anything that I could use to contact him. And that's when I found it, shoved deep inside an old dresser amongst other old scribblings. AR- 9242 Smith Mills Rd, Rapid City, SD.

AR. My brother's initials.

It was a long shot. I didn't know how old the note was and I couldn't even be sure the initials were in reference to him.

But it was the only option and it was for dad.

So here I was, hours later, in a town I didn't even know hunting for someone who may or may not be here and who I didn't want to see again.

Fantastic.