HEARTBREAKING PLEA: MUM’S DESPERATE SEARCH FOR “QUIET AFFABLE” SON, 25, WHO VANISHED AT PERTH AIRPORT AMID MENTAL HEALTH CRISIS – “HE SEES THE WORLD ALTERED… WE’RE SOLVENT, BUT HE’S LOST”

Exclusive: Family’s Agonising Wait as Police Hunt FIFO Worker Last Seen Dropped Off for Karratha Flight – Bizarre Behaviours and “Situational Crisis” Spark Fears He’s in Grave Danger

In a story that’s gripped Western Australia, the mother of a 25-year-old FIFO worker has issued a tearful public plea for help finding her son, who vanished without a trace after being dropped off at Perth Airport – just hours after a heartfelt family breakfast where she tried to reassure him of their unwavering support.

Jenny O’Byrne’s voice cracked with emotion as she described her “very quiet, affable chap” of a son, William Patrick Carter – known to loved ones as Bill – who she fears is in the grip of a severe mental health spiral that’s left him seeing the world through a distorted lens. The devoted mum, speaking exclusively to PerthNow, revealed the heart-wrenching details of Bill’s last known hours, painting a portrait of a young man battling silent demons in the high-pressure world of fly-in fly-out mining.

It was meant to be just another routine stint for Bill, a slim-built 25-year-old with brown hair, blue eyes, and a gentle demeanour that endeared him to everyone he met. On Saturday, December 6, 2025 – a crisp morning in Perth’s southern suburbs – Jenny shared a seemingly ordinary breakfast with her son at a cosy cafe in Kelmscott. Amid the clink of coffee cups and chatter of weekend patrons, she snapped a cherished selfie with Bill, capturing his shy smile. “He’s someone that everybody enjoys – he’s not loud and garish,” she later recalled fondly, her words laced with the agony of hindsight.

But beneath the surface calm, storm clouds were gathering. Jenny drove Bill to Perth Airport’s Terminal 3, pulling up at 12.40pm for his 2.15pm flight to Cape Lambert, a remote iron ore hub near Karratha in WA’s Pilbara region. As a seasoned FIFO worker, Bill was no stranger to the grind: weeks on dusty mine sites, isolated from civilisation, followed by hard-earned breaks back home. He travelled light that day, with just a small bag in tow – most of his gear, she understood, was already stowed at the site, waiting for his arrival.

What happened next defies logic and has plunged the family into a nightmare. Bill never boarded the plane. CCTV footage and airline records confirm he failed to check in, slipping into the ether of one of Australia’s busiest airports without so much as a ripple. Jenny’s phone buzzed with a glimmer of hope at 1.05pm – she believes it was brief contact from Bill, possibly a call or message to an unknown party. But by 1.45pm, his mobile went dark, switched off or dead, and the silence has been deafening ever since.

“This is completely out of character for him,” Jenny insisted, her voice steady but eyes betraying the terror gnawing at her. Bill, she explained, has been waging a private war with his mental health – a battle that’s intensified in recent months. “He’s been displaying some quite bizarre behaviours,” she confided. For the past five months, he’d been weaning off prescribed anxiety medication under medical guidance, a “scheduled tailoring off” that was meant to empower him. Yet, whispers of deeper troubles linger: a “situational crisis” – perhaps work stress, personal heartaches, or the soul-crushing isolation of FIFO life – that has pushed him to the brink.

“He’s very quiet, he’s been going through some challenges recently, and because he’s so quiet in nature, some of those challenges have been missed because he’s not very talkative,” Jenny shared, her words a poignant indictment of how invisible pain can be in those who suffer silently. Over that fateful Saturday breakfast, she broached the subject gently. “I spoke to him a little bit about what his concerns were, told him he has the full support of the family, we’re financially very solvent here and overseas.” It was a lifeline thrown in desperation – assurances of stability in a world that, for Bill, must feel anything but.

But as Jenny poignantly put it: “It’s just simply a case of when someone’s not well and they’re going through a situational crisis, they don’t see the world as we would see it, they see it altered.” In that altered reality, the airport drop-off became a vanishing act. No frantic calls home, no last-minute texts, no sightings on the bustling forecourt or inside the terminal’s fluorescent-lit halls. Bill’s bank cards haven’t pinged, his social media is frozen, and the family home in Bunbury – a quiet coastal city 200km south of Perth – echoes with unanswered questions.

WA Police, treating the case as a welfare check rather than foul play at this stage, issued an urgent public appeal on Sunday, December 7. “Bunbury Police have welfare concerns for 25-year-old man William Patrick Carter, who has not been seen or heard from since Saturday, December 6, 2025,” the statement read, circulated across social media and news wires. Described as approximately 174cm tall with a slim build, brown hair, and striking blue eyes, Bill was last seen wearing casual travel gear: dark jeans, a hoodie, and trainers – unremarkable enough to blend into any crowd, which only heightens the dread.

“Anyone with any information regarding the whereabouts of William Carter is urged to contact police immediately on 131 444,” the alert concluded, a stark reminder of the razor-thin line between routine and tragedy. Detectives are combing through airport CCTV, interviewing fellow passengers, and tracing that mysterious 1.05pm contact. Early leads point to no criminal involvement, but the focus remains on Bill’s vulnerability: a young man adrift in a mental fog, far from the safety net of home.

For Jenny and the Carter family, the wait is excruciating. FIFO workers like Bill – the unsung heroes fuelling Australia’s resource boom – often bear the invisible scars of their nomadic existence: disrupted sleep, fractured relationships, and a loneliness that festers in remote camps. Mental health advocates have long warned of the crisis brewing in the sector, with suicide rates alarmingly high among miners. Jenny’s story underscores the urgency: “As a family we’re very supportive,” she emphasised, but even the strongest bonds can fray when cries for help are whispered, not shouted.

Friends and colleagues have rallied, flooding Facebook groups and local mining forums with Bill’s photo – that same selfie from the cafe, now a beacon of hope. “He’s the kind of bloke who’d give you the shirt off his back,” one mate posted. “If you see him, just get him talking. He’s worth it.”

As the sun sets on another fruitless day of searching, Jenny clings to the image of her boy: quiet, kind, unbreakable – until now. The Pilbara’s red dust awaits an empty bunk, Perth’s terminals hum with oblivious travellers, and somewhere, a mother prays for the phone to ring. Bill Carter, if you’re out there, come home. Your family – solvent, steadfast, and shattered – is waiting.