The Missing

by Melanie Florence

  “Feather!” He turned towards me, a smile on his face. “If Kiowa had his location service turned on, his phone will show where he was that night! It’ll pinpoint his location and tell us what time he was there!”

  “Will that work?” I asked him, cautiously.

  “Yes! If it’s on. Where’s his phone?” he asked.

  “I don’t know! It could be anywhere. If the police don’t have it and it wasn’t in his car or . . . oh man.” I took a deep breath.

  “What?” Jake asked, glancing over at me.

  “I think I might know where it is.”

  “Yeah? Then let’s go check!” He did a quick U-turn and headed back towards the city.

  It felt as if the drive took forever even though we were at my house in minutes. I rushed out of the car before it came to a complete stop and was in the house before Jake was out of the driver’s seat. I all but ran into Kiowa’s bedroom and threw open the closet door. I held my breath and stood on my toes, sliding a hand under the pile of sweaters on the top shelf. Yes! I grabbed the phone and met Jake at the door.

  “Got it! Fingers crossed,” I told him as he turned Kiowa’s phone on and waited. It took eons for it to come on and then forever to get the home screen. Jake fiddled with it for an eternity and then looked over at me.

  “So?” I asked, holding my breath.

  A smile slowly lit up his face.

  “It was on,” he said triumphantly.

  * * *

  Kiowa walked out of the Remand Centre wearing the same clothes he was arrested in. It had been a nightmare for him and he was pale, but as soon as he saw us, a huge smile lit up his face. My mother ran to Kiowa and threw her arms around him, crying while television and newspaper crews recorded our happy reunion. Kiowa hugged her tightly. Jake and I stood back and watched them, both of us smiling. We were getting my brother back! Kiowa looked over at me, and to my shock, tears started pouring down his face. He let go of my mom and took huge steps to reach me, grabbing me up in a hug that took my breath away.

  “You did this, Feather,” he said, hugging me tighter. He glanced up. “You too, Jake.” He held out an arm to Jake and dragged him into the hug. “Thank you both.” We hugged him back as reporters swarmed us.

  “Kiowa, what do you think happened to Mia?” one asked, poking me with a microphone.

  “Is Mia dead, Kiowa?” another asked. They were yelling questions as my mother herded us towards the car. We piled in and left the reporters behind as quickly as we could.

  “I’ll never be able to clear my name with them,” Kiowa sighed. “No matter what, people will always wonder if I had something to do with Mia’s disappearance.”

  “No they won’t!” I told him. “They let you go!”

  “I know they did. But you’ll see. People will look at me with suspicion. They’ll always wonder if I’m a killer,” he said sadly.

  Kiowa was right. From the moment he stepped out of the car at our house, there was something different about the way he was treated. Most people were kind. They welcomed him back and told him that they knew he was innocent. But there was always someone staring at him, crossing the street to avoid him or shielding their children from him as if he were a monster who was going to swoop in and grab them. Kiowa tried to keep a smile on his face, but the more it happened, the harder it was for him to pretend it didn’t bother him. What tipped the scales for him was the morning he went out for a jog and found that someone had spray painted the word “killer” on his car. He came back red-faced and threw his phone across the room, shattering the screen.

  “They’re never going to leave me alone,” he cried, sitting down hard at the table and dropping his head into his hands. I rushed to him and threw my arms around his neck.

  “They’re assholes, Ki.” I hugged him hard. “You can’t let them get to you.”

  “But they do get to me, Feather.” He pulled back and looked at me. “I can’t stay here.”

  “What are you talking about? This is our home,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “You can’t leave.”

  “But I can’t stay either,” he said, willing me to understand. “If I stay here, I’ll always be the guy who some people think killed his girlfriend.”

  I opened my mouth to respond but he held up his hand to stop me.

  “I know, Feather. I hope she’s not dead too. I loved her . . . love her,” he amended. “But I can’t stay.”

  “Where would you go?” I asked, wiping my eyes.

  “I was thinking of transferring to the University of Toronto. They have a great medical school so I could finish my pre-med and stay there. No one would know me,” he said. “I could start over.”

  “But you’d be in Toronto!”

  He smiled.

  “You could visit me whenever you want. Maybe you’ll even go to school there.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want my brother to wake up every day wondering if someone was going to paint the word “killer” on his car again.

  “Okay,” I told him. “Starting over sounds good.”

  He hugged me tightly.

  “Thanks, Feather. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you and Jake did to get me out of there.”

  “Just be happy,” I told him.

  Chapter 37

  Blackbird, Fly

  He leaned on his shovel and took a deep breath, wiping a hand across his sweaty forehead. With the possibility of the river gone, this one had been particularly hard to get rid of. He sighed.

  Once that Indian boy was out and they started to connect his girls, they’d be looking for him. There was a chance even the most inept police department — and so far, they all had varying degrees of ineptitude — would find him. As always, he’d move on. Find a new home. A new hunting ground.

  It took him all night to pack up his belongings and load them into his truck. Even after he was done, it took another three hours to scrub down the entire house with bleach. His knees were sore and his back was tired but the house was spotless. You could eat off the floor, as his mother would have said. He looked over the house one more time but there was not one thing left that tied him to this house or to this city. He had told Michael that his mother was sick and he had to leave to care for her. No loose ends.

  Time to move on.

  He climbed into the cab of his truck and pulled out of the driveway, glancing into the rear-view mirror at the house where he had made so many memories.

  He wished he had the time to finish. He missed his raven already. He ached with the thought of how she would have felt.

  How she would have struggled.

  How she would have died.

  He drove quickly out of the city and accelerated to 120 as soon as he hit the highway. He was flying with Winnipeg fading rapidly behind him.

  He smiled.

  There would be other cities.

  Other girls.

  He glanced once more in the rear-view mirror, his gaze lingering a moment too long on the city retreating steadily behind him.

  He missed seeing the motorcycle cutting across three lanes of traffic.

  He missed seeing the transport truck in front of him slamming on its brakes to avoid hitting it and jackknifing right in front of him.

  He looked forward when he heard the scream of brakes and slammed his own on, hitting the transport truck on an angle that sent his own truck rolling over and over across the highway.

  He lost consciousness on the third roll.

  He missed seeing a minivan plow into the driver’s side of his truck.

  He knew nothing again after that.

  “I’m reporting from the scene of a major accident outside the city of Winnipeg, which occurred earlier this evening. Eyewitnesses report seeing a motorcycle cutting across several lanes of highway, causing a pileup that has so far taken the lives of seven people, inclu
ding a family of four who were just starting a road trip that would have taken them across the country. We can confirm that the Trent family lost their lives on the highway this morning, along with fifty-one year old Lawrence Kent, who was a well-liked employee of a Winnipeg recreation centre. We will continue to follow this story as it unfolds this morning. Back to you, Mark.”

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  “Is my tie straight?” Kiowa walked into the kitchen, tugging at the neck of his Oxford shirt.

  “Your tie is fine,” I told him. “But your shirt isn’t. You’ve got it buttoned wrong.” I pointed at the tails of his shirt, hanging unevenly.

  He fumbled with the buttons, undoing them and doing them back up. He glanced up at me.

  “Better.” I gave him a thumbs-up. “So, does it feel weird being back home?” He glanced up at me, still fiddling with his tie. He nodded slowly.

  “Yeah. It does. I feel like I don’t have a life here anymore. You know?” I nodded. “I’ve been in Toronto for almost a year. I like it there. I’m comfortable there. No one looks at me as if I’m guilty.” He smiled wryly.

  “I know.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’ve really missed you though.”

  “Me too,” he said. “Is that better?” He faced me.

  “Perfect.” I smiled at him.

  “Is Jake meeting us there?” he asked. I looked away.

  “We broke up. He wasn’t . . . as perfect as he seemed to be,” I told him.

  “Right. How’s Matt doing?” Kiowa asked.

  “He’s good. Seeing someone at another school. He’s happy.”

  “Good. I’m glad. And Ben?”

  “He’s okay.” I smiled shyly. “We’ve been out a few times.”

  “What?” Kiowa looked surprised and then smiled. “I’m glad. You deserve someone nice, Feather. Ready?” He offered me his arm. I took it and spun under it so he was hugging me tightly.

  “As I’ll ever be,” I told him, hugging him back.

  “Then let’s go.”

  * * *

  “We’re here today to celebrate the life of our friend, Mia. You’re here because you shared in her life. Because you loved her and because she loved you.” Michael stood in front of the crowd and glanced over at a poster-sized photo of Mia Joseph, smiling at he camera. “Mia was so full of life. It’s been a year since we lost our friend. But our memories of her have not dimmed. Our memories will never fade. Because Mia was a shining light for everyone who met her.”

  He paused and looked at the photo again. I wiped my eyes and looked over at my brother. His eyes were sad and I saw him take a hitching breath. I squeezed his hand tightly.

  “Mia helped people. Whether it was taking care of her friends,” he nodded towards me and Kiowa, “or sharing food with the homeless. Or giving up her bed so someone else could be comfortable. That was Mia.” I nodded back. “If you see someone who needs help, honour Mia by lending a hand. Donate money. Donate your time. Do it in Mia’s memory. That’s how we’ll keep her alive.” Michael gestured to the photo. He turned to the crowd again. “We won’t forget her. Ever.” He turned towards me. “Now, Mia’s best friend would like to say a few words. Feather?”

  I walked towards him, glancing at Mia’s smile. I missed her as much now as I did a year ago when she disappeared. I still looked for her in crowds. I still thought it might be her every time my phone rang. I stood beside her picture and cleared my throat.

  “Mia was my best friend from the first day we met. We were eight. A boy was bullying me on the playground and Mia punched him in the stomach.” Laughter rang out around me. “And that’s Mia. That was Mia. If she loved you, she was fiercely loyal. And I miss her every single day.” I swallowed hard and looked at her photo. “I miss you, Mia. I will always miss you.” I walked away before I started to cry. Kiowa enveloped me in a huge hug.

  “I miss her too,” he told me. “But I think she’d like this. Seeing so many people remembering her.” I nodded.

  “Yeah, she would. She’d love it.”

  “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked me.

  “Yes, please.” I took one last look at Mia’s smiling face, silently saying goodbye before walking away.

  Body of Aboriginal Girl Found in Local Park

  The body of seventeen-year-old Lacey Howling Wolf was found last night in Confederation Park. Authorities are awaiting the results of an autopsy but foul play is suspected . . .

  About the Author

  Melanie Florence is a full-time writer based in Toronto. She is the author of Righting Canada’s Wrongs: Residential Schools, the SideStreets novel One Night and the Recordbooks title Jordin Tootoo: The Highs and Lows in the Journey of the First Inuk to Play in the NHL, which was chosen as an Honor Book by The American Indian Library Association. As a freelance journalist, Melanie’s byline has appeared in magazines including Dance International, Writer, Parents Canada and Urban Male Magazine. Melanie is of Plains Cree and Scottish descent.

  Copyright © 2016 by Melanie Florence

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts which last year invested $24.3 million in writing and publishing throughout Canada. We acknowledge the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative.

  We acknowledge the [financial] support of the Government of Canada.

  Nous reconnaissons l’appui [financier] du gouvernement du Canada.

  Cover design: Tyler Cleroux

  Cover image: Shutterstock, iStock

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Florence, Melanie, author

  The missing / Melanie Florence.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4594-1085-5 (paperback).--ISBN 978-1-4594-1086-2 (epub)

  I. Title.

  PS8611.L668M569 2016 jC813’.6 C2015-907196-8

  C2015-907197-6

  Summary: Two Native girls have gone missing, but when the police don’t take it seriously, Feather starts her own investigation.

  Ages 13+, Reading Level 3.8

  This digital edition first published in 2016 as 978-1-4594-1086-2

  Originally published in 2016 as 978-1-4594-1085-5

  James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers

  317 Adelaide Street West Suite 1002

  Toronto, Ontario

  M5V 1P9

  www.lorimer.ca