The Disappearance

Chapter 5: The Disappearance

Graduation day dawned bright and merciless, the kind of Florida heat that pressed down from the sky and made gowns stick to damp skin. Kayla smoothed hers down anyway, tugging the zipper into place before slipping on her cap. In the mirror, she forced a smile.

No one could know. Not yet.

Outside on the lawn, the school looked almost magical under the streaming banners and neat rows of folding chairs. Parents fussed with cameras, students laughed too loudly, and Kayla posed with her classmates as if the last four years hadn’t been survival on broken glass.

She stood between two girls she barely knew, flashing the kind of practiced smile that hurt more than it showed. Around her, cheers erupted as another name was called.

Jason Lawson.

The crowd went wild—parents, friends, even teachers clapping like he was royalty. Jason strode across the stage, tall and sure, his diploma in hand. Kayla clapped politely, heart tight. She caught him glancing in her direction, just for a heartbeat. Their eyes almost met. Almost. But she looked away before he could catch her.

Let him wonder.

Hours later, the ceremony dissolved into confetti, sweat, and hugs that smelled faintly of sunscreen. Kayla posed for one last picture with her adoptive mother, Marcy—Marcy’s arm warm and steady around her shoulders, her eyes shining with pride.

“You did it, Kayla,” she whispered. “You made it.”

Kayla swallowed hard, forcing her smile brighter. “Yeah. I did.”

But her gaze flicked across the crowd and landed on Jose.

He stood off to the side, leaning against the hood of his beat-up car, watching her with that unblinking focus that always made her feel both seen and trapped. When their eyes met, he gave the smallest nod.

It was time.

They met behind the gym after the photos faded and the crowd thinned. Kayla slipped out of her gown, folding it neatly into her bag as though shedding skin. Jose stepped forward, pressing something small and cold into her palm.

Keys.

She stared down at them, her pulse racing. “So it’s ready?”

Jose’s mouth tightened. “Yeah. The car’s parked by the cliffs. Everything’s set.”

Her throat constricted. “And when they find it?”

“They’ll think you lost control. Long stretch of road, no witnesses.” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “By the time they drag it out of the water, there won’t be much left. They’ll stop asking questions.”

Kayla shivered, curling her fingers around the keys. “So that’s it. I just… disappear.”

Jose’s gaze softened, almost protective. “It’s the only way, Kay. You said you wanted them to never find you.”

Her jaw clenched. “I do.”

“Then this is how.”

For a long moment, she just stood there, the late-afternoon sun spilling gold around them, the sounds of distant laughter drifting back from the school. A normal life she was about to torch.

Finally, Kayla nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

That night, rain slicked the road near the cliffs. Headlights cut through the darkness as Jose’s old car rolled slowly forward, Kayla in the passenger seat. The staged plan was simple: Jose would leave the car idling near the edge, Kayla would slip out unseen, and then Jose would set it rolling into the ravine.

Her hands trembled as she touched the dashboard. “Feels like I’m burying myself alive.”

Jose glanced at her. “Better alive than the alternative.”

She looked at him then, really looked. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark and unreadable. She wanted to ask if he’d miss her, if he’d be okay carrying this secret alone. But the words died in her throat.

Instead, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Jose gave the smallest nod. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

Kayla slipped out into the shadows, rain dampening her hair, her footsteps muffled by the wet earth. She crouched low, watching as Jose shifted the gear. The car lurched forward, headlights slicing the night one last time before plunging silently over the edge.

The crash came seconds later—metal tearing, water hissing, the echo swallowed by the storm.

Kayla flinched, tears burning her eyes. That was it. Kayla Peterson was gone.

Jason arrived at her house the next evening, his shirt still rumpled from the graduation party he hadn’t stayed long at. Something restless had pulled him here.

Marcy answered the door. Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen, clutched tissues crumpled in her fist.

“Jason,” she breathed, her voice breaking.

His stomach dropped. “Mrs. Peterson? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She’s gone, Jason. Kayla’s gone.”

He blinked, uncomprehending. “What? No. That’s—what do you mean she’s gone?”

Her voice cracked. “The police said the car went off the road by the cliffs. They found it this morning. She… she didn’t make it.”

Jason’s breath caught like he’d been punched. He staggered back a step, shaking his head. “No. No, that’s not—”

But Marcy was already crying into her hands, the sound raw and hollow.

Jason stood frozen on the porch, drenched in disbelief. He’d told himself she was just a girl with a crush. Just another face in the crowd. But the ache tearing through his chest told him otherwise.

Two days later, the cemetery smelled of wet earth and lilies. The grave was fresh, soil piled too high, flowers wilting under the relentless sun.

Jason stood there long after everyone else had gone, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes locked on the name etched into the temporary marker:

Kayla Peterson.

For the first time in years, he cried. Quietly, bitterly, like someone who hadn’t realized what they’d lost until it was too late.

A few yards away, Dickson leaned against the fence, watching. He’d never seen Jason cry—not for a game, not for a fight, not even for a broken bone.

But here he was, shoulders shaking, eyes red.

And Dickson realized, with a jolt, that Jason might have cared more than he’d ever admitted.

Hundreds of miles away, in a dingy motel room with peeling wallpaper and humming neon outside the window, Kayla stood before the mirror.

Her graduation cap lay abandoned on the bed. The glasses she’d worn since she was twelve sat in her hand. Slowly, deliberately, she slid them off and set them on the counter.

Her reflection stared back—clearer, sharper, unrecognizable.

“Time to start over,” she whispered.

The girl in the glass didn’t look like Kayla Peterson anymore. She looked like someone new. Someone dangerous.

And she smiled.