The door opened. "Hello, sir," Frank greeted the man at the entrance and showed him a photo of Joe. "I'm looking for my brother, he went missing in the area a few months ago. Do you think you might have seen him?" this was the same line he repeated over and over again and he knew it would haunt him for years.

The man took a photo from his hands and studied it for a few moments, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, son, I haven't seen him," he answered with genuine sympathy in his voice. "Hope someone else has."

This was the most typical answer from over fifty people he had asked. He nodded with a polite smile and went back to a hired car.

The second day of travelling across the shoreline of Lake Erie was coming to an end. It was getting dark quickly and Frank wanted to check a few more houses before heading back to the motel with the red sign. As he learnt from the night before, local people weren't eager to open their doors to strangers when darkness fell, fearing unwelcome visitors.

"A small house by a lake near a motel with a red sign" turned out to be a very indefinite direction. The area was scarcely populated and houses stood at a distance from each other, so Frank spent more time driving than talking to the people. With each new "I'm sorry, I haven't seen him", the possibility of finding anyone who has was fading and his anxiety was growing. Joe went missing in summer and local people were his only hope because even if some visiting tourists might have spotted something, it would take months to trace them in their faraway homes.

Probably, with his father on the journey, they'd have already finished combing the area, but Frank was alone in his search. Inviting Fenton to this trip would mean having to tell about the clairvoyant and he wasn't sure how his father would react to that, with Joe gone without a trace and Frank obviously going mental. And if after such a revelation their rescue left them with nothing again, Frank didn't know if he'd be able to look his parent in the eyes.

He stopped in front of another house, with lights on in the windows, and watched it sadly for a minute. Every person saying "I'm sorry" was killing Joe again, in Frank's heart. He knew they were genuinely sorry for him and he didn't blame them for having no news for him, but it felt unfair that they had families and lives to go back to and he had another house to visit.

Joe used to love the optimistic "Impossible is possible" ad campaign and his optimism gave Frank new strengths to go on when he felt like giving up.

"What on earth makes you think this will work?"

"I am an optimist, Frank," Joe said cheerfully.

"An optimist is a badly informed realist," Frank replied back with a sign.

"Nerd. Let's go."

Joe had his own mood swings, particularly bad after Iola's death, but he never lost a sparkle of life. Through his days of depression, he never once stuffed himself with alcohol and nicotine or thought of taking his own life, like Frank did after his brother's death. Through his worst days, Joe made himself go on with not just happy memories, but actions, doing the little things Iola would do, like helping strangers, reading her favourite books and watching American Idol occasionally.

Two years later Frank found himself doing just the same. Tea with milk wasn't his English habit, it was Joe's childish love. Blue shirts were never his favourite, it were Joe's eyes they matched better. He so wanted to keep his brother's alive in continuing his habits that he gave up some of his own. What he still couldn't adopt from Joe was his everlasting optimism, though.

Without much enthusiasm left, Frank climbed out of the car, walked to the door of another house and knocked on another door. There were shuffled steps from inside.

"Hello, sir," Frank forced a smile for the old man who had opened the door. "I'm looking for my brother, he went missing in the area a few months ago. Do you think you might have seen him?"

The man looked into the photo. "I am sorry," he said and shook his head.

Yeah, hope someone else has seen him and stuff like that, Frank finished for him in his mind.

"But you should go ask Kenneth," the man suggested. "Last summer, he found a badly injured boy in the woods. Kenneth lives just down there," he pointed at a distant light by the lake.

Frank felt waves of heat in his body as his breath caught in his throat. He managed a harsh 'thank you' and ran back to the car. "Please," he begged every god in heaven as he drove beyond every speed limit, "please, please, please…" He reached the distant house in three minutes and hit the brakes.

His heart pounded in his chest as he knocked on the door and looked at the dark skies. "Please," he prayed quietly again, "please."

The door squeaked open by an ancient-looking man.

"Hello, sir," Frank said the so familiar phrase, his voice shaking with anxiety. "I'm looking for my brother, he went missing in the area in summer. One man told me you had found someone, can you please see if it was him?" he gave the photo to the man. Behind his back, his fingers were so crossed they hurt.

The old man's nose was almost touching the photo as he studied the face on it. "Doesn't this fella look cute and lively here, eh? Nothing like the bleeding poor thing when I found him," he replied.