Tuesday, October 29, 1985

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1985

And that was the last I could remember.

I know I must’ve made it back to Fred’s car because I remember having breakfast with him at the dorm the next morning. It was the first time I drank coffee, and Fred had made a crack about it when mom and dad came to pick me up that afternoon and I laughed extra loud because I was relieved he didn’t tell them about the beer.

The memory had come on so strong, I felt like I’d been blindsided. I was shaking a little, and my heart was racing. I put on my jacket and hauled all of the files under my arm as I slipped out back, down the alley, and to my car.

The girl in the picture was named Pauline Merts. She’d just turned nineteen in February of 1964, and was still living with her parents in Fairfield. She disappeared two months later. Her parents said she had gone to her room earlier that night, but in the morning she was gone. Didn’t leave a note, didn’t pack a bag. How did she end up shivering in her underwear in f