Vortex Spring

Read Ben now: PONCE DE LEON — As the sky went black, Ben McDaniel walked down a narrow dock and slipped into the clear water of Vortex Spring. It was hot on Wednesday, Aug. 18, 2010, with a high of 90 and a weak breeze. The 68-degree spring felt good, even if Ben wore a dive mask, fins and a wet suit.

The handsome, athletic 30-year-old had been diving in Florida for the past few months, trying to escape a mess back home in Memphis. A failed business, a broken marriage, a dead brother.

Ben's folks had suggested he move to their Santa Rosa Beach condo, just Ben and his chocolate Lab, Spooner, to clear his head in the water and sunshine.

He dove earlier that day, poking around in the cave at the bottom of the spring basin, as though he were preparing for something. At 6-feet-2 and 220 pounds, he was hard to miss. Several people noticed him that day testing equipment and sitting on the bank, jotting in his dive log.

He switched on his lights as he began his descent into Vortex Spring. Two divers saw him coming, lights aglow, his white helmet surging toward the mouth of the cave, toward a sign that said STOP, toward another bearing a picture of the Grim Reaper and the words: GO NO FARTHER. THERE'S NOTHING IN THIS CAVE WORTH DYING FOR.

And then he was gone.