For seventeen years the missing girl has haunted her. It was a heavy weight she carried, the unfinished. They had never found a body, which always left her unsettled. She felt it was time to re-examine with fresh eyes like she did every year since. She fumbled through the old case files. She sprawled out the photos from the scene in a side by side pattern on the table before her. She grazed over the photos she had long memorized, then gazed at the photograph that was neatly placed in the corner of her desk. It was of her own daughter, who was now the age of the girl who had been missing. Her heart ached. She imagined her daughter being taken in the old beat up blue pickup truck. What the dark stranger said to coerce her inside. Then seen chasing after her, her barefoot down the highway, her white cotton dressed flowing behind her as she desperately tried to break free when the truck had stopped. She wondered what the girl was able to do to make him stop the truck. What that few seconds of freedom felt like as the girl made it to the wood line before she had vanished. She fingered the pictures. There was little evidence to be found. She stared at the picture of the girls footprints in the dust on the side of the road. The picture of the droplets of blood that stained the grass and foliage right outside of the tree line. The tiny tatter of white cotton that was torn from her dress.