"Gone"

The young woman’s small hand shakes uncontrollably as she lifts the cigarette to her lips and takes a drag, inhaling deeply. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail and wisps of hair have fallen out around her face. Though she repeatedly pushes them away with the back of her free hand, they fall right back and stick to her tear-stained cheeks. She sits alone, shivering, on the concrete steps in front of her apartment building, but she doesn’t feel the cold wind picking up as the sun slips behind the buildings across the street.

A few feet away, several police officers stand huddled together speaking in hushed voices. Inside the yellow crime scene tape stretched from the porch railing to the light pole near the curb and across the front of the empty lot next door are two more officers, both with blue booties covering their shoes. One officer is taking photographs of the scene while the other shines her flashlight into the grass, searching.

A news van is parked across the street with its satellite transmitter fully extended. The side door is open and a technician can be seen inside fiddling with the control panels. A reporter stands in the street in front of the scene waiting for his cue to begin, and the cameraman is a few feet away making sure the shot is perfectly lit and framed. As the reporter begins to speak, his words are carried on the breeze to the distraught woman on the steps. “The only trace of her is a pink toddler’s bike lying on its side, a tiny sneaker in the dead grass, and a chocolate ice cream cone melted into a puddle . . . ”