A quote: “All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” ~~ — Martin Buber

I’ll start with a story …

***************************

West Blessing was one of the numerous small towns that boomed in the 1900s and started its death throes in the 1970s when the downtown stores lost traffic to the nearby malls. And then the malls collapsed 30 years later.

I felt like the prodigal son, returning to view the remains of my childhood. While Main Street had been rediscovered and gentrified, there were far too many buildings too far gone.

Like the high school.

My sister had called me, telling me the campus was being bulldozed and I knew I had to come.

And here I am, standing in the main hall and I could almost hear the first bell, the rush of students slamming lockers closed and moving towards class. I was a freshman already planning my post-grad escape to the big city. I was a walking cliché of a small-town teen tired of the quiet and routine, extended family in my business. Even the principal of the high school was my uncle – Marty married to my mom’s sister, a family filled with cousins always on the watch. I thought nothing would ever change and I’d die of boredom.

Until Bucolic West Blessing imploded after Amy Sherling disappeared.

Cheerleader and junior class vice-president Amy Sherling. One day she’s holding court in the quad while we lesser beings orbited her, the next day the police are on campus questioning everyone about the last time we saw her.

Early on they ruled out Amy being a runaway. Her bedroom was trashed and blood was on the windowsill.

I remember mom’s worry, dad joining searches and Uncle Marty gathering us in the gym to quash rumors and praise Amy. He met with her parents, encouraged her friends to work on a remembrance. Days into weeks into months. Now a town where the trust leached out. Even Uncle Marty’s speech at the unveiling of a plaque honoring Amy did little to stop the unraveling. If this could happen in West Blessing …

Dad moved us out, Aunt Dee divorced Marty and went across country. The town hemorrhaged families until there were not enough students to support local schools. Marty disappeared after the high school closed. Even my cousins didn’t know where their father had gone.

I stood in the hallway looking at Amy’s plaque, remembering my uncle’s reaction after her disappearance. The building might be bulldozed, but there was something that should be saved … I bent to pick up the tools I brought and set to get the plaque off the wall.

And I wasn’t too surprised to find an envelope behind it holding several sheets, yellow with age. A rambling love letter and apology in Marty’s handwriting. And a map. A map to where I’m sure I’ll find Amy.

I finally did get to the city after graduation, and I have been a detective now for twenty years and this is the cold case I’ve carried the whole time.

***************************

Oh, yes. I went way above 200 words. Feel free to write the story you want. Now, it’s your turn.
.
.
.
.
.
. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license