I awoke at 9:15 AM, with someone ringing the doorbell. I climbed out of bed and listened at my bedroom door. I could hear a male voice talking to my mom, but I couldn’t catch the words.

At breakfast, mom told me that the police were canvasing the neighborhood for a missing 13 year old. She ask me if I knew her. I told her that I knew of her, but didn’t know her. She warned me for the thousandth time not to talk to strangers.

I avoided the dugout for three weeks, then school started. During those three weeks it was hectic, with searchers, and Deardra’s picture on telephone poles, trees, and fences. A guy in a kayak found the pajama bottoms, and one of the searchers found the tops. It was assumed that she’d drowned.

During the following week, everynight, I went to the dugout and removed stuff, until it was empty of everything. Then I started gathering 2X4’s, and 2X6’s to shore up the roof of the dugout. I couldn’t afford for it to collapse, and give someone a reason to investigate it.