to provide a happy home for this baby, so I am kindly asking you to please back off and leave Dave alone.
Liz had responded with a desperate plea: Listen. Just leave me alone. If you want David that bad, have him. I am so sick of all this drama. I don’t want to be in the middle of it anymore. You are terrorizing me, and I don’t need it. I like David, but this is way too much. Just leave me alone. Please, I am asking, go away. If seeing David is the problem, then I will stop. I just want you and your craziness to go away. I can’t take it anymore. Liz’s email made it clear that “David” was not worth the terror she was forced to endure. Even so, she stuck by him, and he had to give her credit for that. She was proving to be a loyal friend.
* * *
Not long after Cari’s father passed away, Nancy dreamed of him. Her ex-husband no longer appeared sick. Denny stood before her, strong and vibrant. “Nancy, she’s with me,” he said gently. She both heard and felt his words, spoken with such intensity that she was yanked from her slumber. Mark was asleep next to her, and she listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing as she realized something wondrous had happened. She had seen Denny, and though he had appeared in a dream, it was more than a dream. “It was very vivid,” too vivid to be a story her subconscious had created. It was as real as anything she had ever seen or heard in her waking hours. The ache in her heart was soothed by a sudden certainty that Cari was okay. Not here among the living, but in the Afterlife. Heaven.
Cari was with her father and Grandma Luanne, her great-grandparents Bret and Mabel Bisbee, and all of those she loved who were no longer here. They were taking care of her, and she could never be harmed again. The “dream” was a gift—not an outright cure for her grief, but a balm that numbed the edges of horror. In many a quiet moment, when she allowed herself to relax, Nancy recalled the love in Denny’s voice and again felt that certainty that Cari’s soul had survived whatever evil had been done to her.
As much as it helped, the dream was not absolute proof. It didn’t banish all of her doubts and fears. She was still plagued with confusion and worry and frustration. Her remaining doubts were amplified by the fact that Nancy did not want to believe the dream, for she still possessed a whisper of hope that her daughter walked among the living. The devastated mother still needed answers.
The families of the missing are rooted in place, unable to move forward without knowing the fate of their loved ones. While it hurts to learn someone we care about has died, it hurts more to not know what became of them. When we can grieve a death, most of us eventually recover enough to live fulfilling lives and maybe even discover joy again, but if even a slight possibility exists that the absent person is alive, then healing is impossible. The mystery is akin to an open wound incessantly picked at, never allowed to heal.
Is the victim suffering? Waiting to be rescued? Or did they leave voluntarily, not caring about those they left behind? Each of these questions is painful to ponder, and each haunts the relatives of the missing. The unanswered questions would have been agonizing for Cari’s family even without the tortuous teasing of the stalker who continually picked at the scab. They were at it again on Sunday, January 6, 2013. Nancy logged onto her Facebook page and felt a rush of adrenaline when she saw the message from “Cari.” It was not sent from her daughter’s usual page, but from a new page created in her name. Nancy noted it featured actual photos of Cari, and she couldn’t help her racing heart.
Mom, why are you not talking anymore?
Nancy typed: Is this really you?
Yes, Mom. The other account was hacked. I’m sorry I missed the funeral.
Nancy wrote: The only way I’ll know it’s you, is if you call me, and I hear your voice. She waited, hopeful, but when the response came it was defensive, filled with grammar errors, and sounded nothing like her thoughtful daughter. Everything is about phone calls. I was just heading to bed. Who else