My sister was my best friend.

She gave me the best advice I've heard in my life.

She encouraged all my dreams,whether they were the crazy ones of becoming a rock star or the more normal ones of becoming a mother.

Then she became so quiet, i realized something was wrong.

Tried to talk with her.

But she was keep saying:"Nothing is wrong,just i am feeling so tired lately."

My sister was always a lonely child in high school and middle school.

She hesitated to talk to people and didn't play with them.

My parents thought she was antisocial and this is why she had been going psychologist.

She became much more silent after all.

My sister was always a lonely child in middle and high school but not that much.

She hesitated to talk with people and didn't play with them lately.

My parents thought she was antisocial and this is why she had been going psychologist.

She became much more silent after all.

And then suddenly she went missing.

She was just 19,after she graduated High School, before she could even begin to think of college hunting. We all searched madly, of course, but no sign of her ever turned up.

After a while, I noticed the officers and detectives referring to Jane in the past tense instead of the present tense. And then I noticed my parents doing it, too.

Didn't accept all this, I had a fight with my family.

Moved another place.

What was the point of wasting my life doing something I hated if I could just disappear tomorrow?

I started busking on the street, barely making enough money between that and odd jobs to afford a bullshit apartment.

My parents didn’t approve, and this time there was no Jane to mediate and hold us together.

We actually didn’t even start talking again until a few months ago.

They apologized, I apologized, and after a bit of weird communication, they asked me to come home and visit.

Which was how I arrived in my childhood home, for the first time since Jane disappeared.

There’d still been no sign of her over the years. Like the officers and my parents, I’d begun thinking of my determined, wonderful sister in the past tense. I guess she could still be alive out there, technically, anything is possible. But everything in me tells me that she’s not.

I avoided her room for the first few days. I was afraid of what I’d find there. Would it hurt more if my parents kept it exactly the same, or if they turned it into something else? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to ask. We didn’t even talk about Jane.

As it turned out, neither of my fears were quite right. The room wasn’t exactly as Jane had left it mom and dad used it for storage, apparently, there were boxes stacked on the floor and an old sewing machine in one corner. But Jane’s bed still sat against the wall. Her desk still sat by the window.

I sat heavily in her desk chair, heart aching.

I just wanted my sister back. At the very least, I wanted to know what happened to her.

The desk had a little cubby for books, still full of Leah’s notebooks. I skimmed through them with my fingertips, reading the covers of each one. English Comp. Journalism. Marketing. Math...

The last notebook’s cover was black.

I opened a page.

May 30

Last night’s dream: I sat in a cottage, like something out of a fairy tale. A woman sat across from me. I don’t remember all the details, but I remember that her black hair was straight and so long that it pooled on the floor. And I remember the words we exchanged perfectly.

She said, “Give me your name, child.”

And I told her, “Jane.”

She smiled, revealing teeth that seemed just a little too white to be natural. “Jane,” she said, like she was tasting it. “That will do nicely.”

For some reason, I woke up shivering.

Something really weird happened.

We visited grandpa today. His mind is barely there, you know. And when mom walked into his room, he smiled and called her Mary.

Now, he’s called mom every name under the sun at this point. Barbara, Denise, Sandra, whatever. She always takes it in stride. Sure, you can tell it hurts a little, but she knows he doesn’t mean it. She always just laughs it off and reminds him, “No, dad. It’s Gina. Remember?”

But she didn’t do that this time.

She stumbled back like he’d slapped her, and tears welled up in her eyes. She had to rush from the room before she started sobbing.

I tried to go after her. But dad put a hand on my shoulder. Told me that he’d take care of it, and that I shouldn’t mention it to her when I got back. It really left some kind of bad taste in my mouth. I don’t know.

May 31

Last night’s dream: I was walking through a forest. I could hear giggling and whispering all around me. At least half of the whispers were chanting my name, almost mockingly. I kept feeling hands all over me, but no matter where I looked, I couldn't see where they were coming from.

June 3

Mom’s been acting weird.

Ever since that thing with grandpa happened, she’s been weird. Nervous, on the verge of tears. It feels like she’s avoiding people avoiding me, at least. She walks out of the room whenever I walk into it.

Dad won’t tell me anything. So with nowhere else to turn, I decided to call in the big guns.

I called Aunt Emily.

Aunt Emily knows all the family gossip, and can’t resist sharing it at literally the slightest provocation. So I knew that if anyone would be able to tell me who Mary is—was?—it would be her.

She got really quiet as soon as I asked, though. “Where did you hear that name?”

After I explained what happened, she sighed. “Your poor mother,” she said. “Mary was her elder sister. She went missing Lord, it must have been decades ago by now. They were really very close. Heartbreaking.”

I didn’t know what to say. Mom always told us that she was an only child. I get not wanting to talk about something that was traumatic, but outright lying?

I want to know more about this.