Chapter 12
I’d always thought hurricanes looked beautiful from afar.
From the safety of satellite images, the swirl of clouds, the eye in the middle looking like a cosmic target.
But being in the middle of one? That was a different kind of truth.
One that screamed in your ears and clawed at your skin and made you wonder if maybe this time—just maybe—you wouldn’t make it out.
That was the point, of course, but it still sucked in the moment.
I’d arrived while the sky was still only whispering threats.
The clouds didn’t roll in all at once. They crept.
Heavy and low, like they were stalking something.
The air smelled heavy, like metal and wet earth, thick with warning.
The animals had fled. Birds were gone, not a chirp to be heard.
Even the cicadas had shut up. I was surrounded by the kind of stillness that made your skin tingle with anticipation.
The kind of quiet that made my instincts rear back, clawing at my brain, telling me I still had time to get out.
Instead, I parked a half mile down a muddy road and hiked in with my gear, a harness I didn’t plan to use, two GoPros, a flask of whiskey, and a steady resignation crawling through my bloodstream.
Climbing the tree was simple. The bark was slick, but I’d done worse.
The wind picked up as I climbed, my hands slipped a few times, and I had to grip till my fingers bled.
Maybe I’d fall before I even got to the top.
The video, if anyone found it, would definitely be lacking fanfare but at least it would be quick.
Just a snap of my neck and then nothing.
But I got to the top, and the treehouse creaked as I finally stepped onto its floor, swaying just enough to feel like I was truly flirting with the end of my life.
I strapped a camera to an exposed beam along the wall of the treehouse and aimed it toward me.
In the time it had taken me to climb to my final resting spot, the wind had picked up and was howling through the branches like it had a bone to pick with the world. Same, I thought. Same.
I remained there for hours as the storm approached.
The first hour passed slowly. The treehouse creaked with every gust. I sat cross-legged on the floor, watching the horizon disappear.
I kept thinking I heard the wind calling my name, making my existence up here, defying nature, even creepier.
Every time a branch hit the roof, I flinched.
I took a swig of my whiskey, but it didn’t help.
I was still cold. And way too fucking alive.
The rain began to pelt sideways. Trees bowed like they were praying.
The world turned gray and then even darker than gray.
I couldn’t see the ground anymore, just sheets of water and wind and movement.
I thought about turning the cameras off but then concluded that it didn’t matter.
Either I’d die on film, or I wouldn’t. Either way, whatever happened would hopefully find its way to Carter to be uploaded.
I’d left instructions on a paper in a Ziploc bag inside my camera bag.
I’d never done that before, and it unnerved me because it felt like I gave a shit. I didn’t want to give any shits.
The treehouse suddenly shook, and I couldn’t catch my breath.
Every time I tried, I felt like I was drowning from the unrelenting downpour of rain.
I crawled out onto the edge, gripping the railing as the wind tried to peel me off its surface.
Below me, the ground was a blur of moving water and whipping branches.
I screamed into the void—something animalistic cracked inside me.
It wasn’t just a scream. It was everything I hadn’t said in years.
Rage. Loneliness. Desperation. I was vomiting emotion out with the sound, as if my ribs would shatter if I didn’t let it out, but maybe I wanted them to.
I swear the wind screamed back. Fuck you, Danny boy.
Then the roof tore clean off. I ducked instinctively, but a piece caught my arm.
Blood mixed with the rain as it dripped red down my skin.
The wood cracked beneath me. I crawled back toward the center, and for a second—just one stupid, weightless second—I stopped.
I could let go. It would be so fucking easy.
Just uncurl my fingers. Let the wind take me.
No pain, no fallout, no need to send files or write letters or keep pretending I was okay when I wasn’t.
I imagined the fall. The silence right before impact.
The way no one would know until the next morning, when Carter checked his inbox and found nothing.
My fingers ached to end it, but I didn’t move.
The wind was howling around me. Telling me to do it.
Let go. It promised me it would be quick.
I wondered if I’d feel regret right before it was over.
I wondered if I would know how much it hurt.
One thing I hoped was that I wouldn’t shut my eyes.
That I would be brave enough to watch it happen.
I wanted to know the truth of what I’d done until the last second.
I looked down again. And then I didn’t do it.
I held on. Not out of hope. Not because I wanted to live.
But because I couldn’t figure out if it was fear or habit or some pathetic thread of unfinished business still clinging to my ribs that had me holding on.
Whatever it was, it forced me to crawl back inside and sit there, shaking as the walls breathed and bowed with the storm.
I waited. And waited. And when the wind finally died down enough not to be a danger to my life anymore, I packed up my cameras and climbed down. My cut arm ached with every movement.
Once I got back onto solid ground, the mud swallowed my boots with each step. All around me trees had been torn apart like paper. The sky above me looked like it had been scrubbed raw, devoid of any color at all.
After a wet and difficult hike back to the road, I got into the rental car and drove slowly toward town navigating the flooded roads, still shaking the whole way. Half from the cold, half from whatever had kept me from letting go.
I stopped at a gas station. I needed caffeine and something salty.
A quick glance in the mirror told me I looked like I’d been chewed up and spit back out by the hurricane—and maybe I really had been.
The bell above the door jingled as I walked in; the cashier gave me a weird look but didn’t say anything.
I grabbed a small bag of olives, a pickle in bright red liquid and a Coke.
When I stepped back outside, bag in hand, I heard a voice call out.
“Are you… wait—holy shit. You’re him.”
I turned slowly. A group of teens stood near the ice machine, their phones held up, pointed at me.
“The YouTube guy! From the Tesla coil video. Dude, that was insane.”
I blinked. They weren’t screaming and running away. They weren’t scared. They were acting like they’d just spotted a Marvel superhero out in the wild instead of a deranged, death-hungry lunatic.
“Can we get a picture with you?” one asked. I stared at them for a long second. My shirt was soaked in blood and rain; my eyes were still foggy from what I’d nearly done earlier. From what depraved, deep part of the universe I’d touched inside that storm. And they wanted a selfie.
“No,” I said flatly. “You have me confused with someone else. I’m nobody.”
Their smiles dimmed, confused. I walked past them and got back in my car.
What the hell was wrong with people? I was not someone to idolize.
Definitely not someone you’d want to memorialize in a photo.
How did they not get it? How were my videos not making it clear that I was honestly not someone teenagers should be watching at all?
Back at the motel, I reviewed the footage. My hands shook when I watched the part where the roof got blown off. I saw the moment I looked down. Saw the moment I didn’t let go. Saw how close I had gotten to the jaws of death. Closer than I ever had before.
I uploaded the video to our shared folder and emailed Carter with the subject: “Hurricane. You’re gonna shit yourself. I think I might have.”
His text reply came within minutes.
Carter
Jesus Christ. You okay?
I didn’t answer. I lay down on the bed, still damp and aching. The heater rattled like a heartbeat, grating in my ears. I stared at the ceiling and tried to feel something. Anything but what I always felt... Relief. Regret. Anger. But all I felt was… I’m still here.
Like I’d missed the exit again. Maybe the afterlife really didn’t want me. But neither did this world, and ultimately that was the problem.
“Bro when the roof came off I GASPED.”
“This guy is straight up invincible.”
“I have one question. Why?”
“Petition to get this man a @netflix doc.”
“How is this account still monetized lmao.”
“This man really looks death in the face and says “not today.”
“That scream though… gave me literal goosebumps.”
“That moment when he almost fell. That one hit different.”