Where are you, Missy Stevens

The breakthrough came on a Tuesday. I was canvasing the neighborhood where my daughter, Missy was last seen. My phone rang. Caller Unknown. My numbr was plastered over blocks of the city on posters offering $20,000 for any information about Missy. The caller said his name was Andre Hollman. He wanted me to meet him at a diner called, Lucky's. I prayed the name was an omen.

Andre was a hard looking man with piercing eyes. His thin frame seemed to fill up the side of the booth where he waited. I walked slowly to the table and slid in across from him.

"You want anything?" he asked. I shook my head. Andre studied me through a mischieveous smirk. His eyes felt slimy on my skin. I felt dirty.

"So, you said you had information." I stated. Andre nodded. "You're her mother?" I nodded, my eyes locked on his. I studied his face, his dark skin, his short wavy hair, his smoky brown eyes. I had no idea how to read him, but I knew I didn't trust him. "Shouldn't we be going through the police with this?" he asked. "You can tell me. I will let them know." This seemed to amuse him. "Did you bring the money?" I shook my head. "That would be stupid." I said. "Tell me what you know. If it helps me find her, you get the money." Andre flashed a mirthless grin. "I can do you one better." he said. He took a sip of the coffee in front of him. I instinctively leaned closer. "I can take you to her."

It took me a minute to exhale, to restart my heart. For that long minute, the world froze around me. All my hopes and dreams were in my next words. "Take me to her?" Andre nodded. His sinister grin remained. I swallowed hard. I heard my voice crack as I asked, "You know where she is?" "We can go now, if you want." he said. I was stuck to the seat. I couldn't move. "But, I'm sorry. I am going to have to see the money first." he said. "You understand." We were quiet for another beat. My mind was reeling. The room was spinning around me. What I anticipated was an interview for information, had turned into a negotiation for ransom. Or was it? Maybe this was a hoax, an opportunity to exploit a mother desperate to find her child. I did my best to steel myself against my emotions. "How do I know this is for real?" I asked. Andre sighed. He nodded absently. He reached below the table, beside himself and produced a moleskin notebook. He placed it carefully on the table between us. He watched me as he ceremoniously turned the book to face me. My heart pounded in my chest. My eyes could not hide the recognition.

Missy was 12 years old when I bought her first moleskin notebook. She used it for journaling. She, nighty painted every page with adolecent, emotional prose. When that book was full, another one took its place. This went on for years until she disappeared. I found them all in her room...all except the last one. She had taken it with her on her first road trip. I had bathe in each page of her volumes. I felt as though I relived her childhood. I cried. I laughed. I learned. I also mourned the last volume. I felt as if I missed that last chapter of her life. I feared I would never be able to discuss it with her, never know her fully. Until now.

The volume stared at me from the table. Silent. Inert. Andre waited, watching me with a fiendish curiosity. I stared back at the book, unsure how to respond. The promises in the pages were too painful to touch. "It's hers. Open it." Andre chided. I flashed him a look of anger and pleading. "How did you get this?" "How do you think?" We stared at each other a bit more. My eyes couldn't help but return to the book. I reached for the cover.

Tears streamed down my face. I read my baby's voice on page after page. Each line was a stitich in the fabric of her innocence, fierce independence, naivete, passion... Missy in her own words. The book was nearly full. The last entry was the day she went missing. She seemed hopeful. Happy. She had made a new friend, a man that she would share more about the next day. That entry never came. "Is she alive?" I asked with desperate hope. "I get the money. You get answers. Simple. Deal?" His face was cold, stone. No negotiation. No pity. I got out of my seat, clutching the book. "Let's go." I said. Andre grinned, and slid out of the booth.

We took his car. He insisted. Reason screamed protests at me the entire ride. This was insane. Emotion held reason at bay. If there was a chance to find her, I had to find Missy. We made a stop. When I get back in the car, I opened the bag and showed him $20,000 in cash. He reached to touch the funds. I closed the bag, abruptly. "You get it when I see Missy. Periood." Andre noded. "Fair enough."

The neighborhood was not what I expected. It was quiet. Suburban. Nice. Andre stopped in front of a small, well manicured bungalow. I looked at the house, then Andre. He was staring at me expectantly. "Where are we?" I asked. "We're here." he said, opening his door. He got out and closed his door. I took several deep breaths. What was I doing? I was desperate. No one knew here I was. Why hadn't I contacted the police? I said a silent prayer, opened my door, clutched the bag of money, and stepped onto the curb.

He opened the front door. I followed him inside. The rooms were all completely empty. The house smelled stale, slightly neglected. Though the house was empty, it was immaculate. Clean. There was no dust, no debris from previous occupantans...nothing. Our steps echoes slightly. Andre closed the door behind us. "Where is she?" I asked. He looked me up and down, then moved further into the house, saying, "Follow me."

He flipped on a harsh light in a stairwell leading to the basement. We stood at the top of the stairs looking down. The darkness beyond the reach of the lightbulb beckoned me. Every ounce of reason inside me forbade me from taking one step. My emotions argued for forward motion. Was Missy down there? Was she hurt? Dead? "Missy?" I cried. No response. Andre stared at me blankly. I looked at him, with a million questions swimming in my tears. "You have to go down there." Andre said. "Why? Just tell me she's alright. Please!" The house was errily quiet. Andre waited. I looked back down the stairs. I decided.

Andre followed three steps behind me. Fear crept cold tentacles up my back, two inches for every step down. When I reached the bottom, I felt a wall on the side of me. I put my back against it. Andre descended the last two steps and flipped a switch familiar to him. The basement lit up. It seemed cavernous. It was just as empty as upstairs. Without a word, he moved into the basement, toward a gray door at the other end of the space. I followed. When we reached the door, he opened it, exposing more darkness. A whimper escaped the room. Missy! I ran inside. The room was very dark. My eyes struggled to adjust. "Missy!" I called. Another whimper. A light came on. Missy laid on a queen sized mattress in a corner of a larger room. She was gagged but not bound. I dropped the bag and ran to her. She squinted hard. Her eyes went wide when she realized it was me. I ungagged her in time for her to say, "No! He's gonna lock the door!" I turned in time to see Andre pick up the bag of cash. He quickly, smoothly moved out the door. He dropped the book just inside the door. I made it to the doorway in time for it to close in my face. There was an exquisite horror in the scound of Missy's scream mixed with the heavy lock engaging. I screamed. The light went out. Missy screamed. I found my way back to her. I had my baby back. I held her, weeping, uncontrollably in my arms.