The Passing
14-years-old.
She stood there among the sorrowing silence, feeling the brisk night air blow against her face, realizing this fact: She was 14, too, the exact same age as the girl from her High Skool who had gone missing just a week before. A girl she had briefly passed by in the hallway, a brief glance shared between them, then gone the day after. Vanished while taking her usual walk to their High Skool.
And Gaz knew what had happened. She always knew the outcome of such mystery.
This was the first major missing-persons case in their town since her mother had gone missing 11-years before. This new case became national in only two days, like her mother's case had. Young girl, beautifully young, beautifully innocent; bright green eyes and dirty blonde hair; a model student and popular with everyone. Gaz felt that a bright and charming girl like Masie was the somewhat standard for the perfect girl to be snatched by a stranger in a car. Naive; trustworthy of strangers.
Gaz remembered, feeling a slight chill, walking through the hallways after Maisie had gone missing, seeing her face everywhere she went; on those missing-person posters pasted to almost all the lockers throughout every hallway. Seeing people Maisie's friends walk past, eyes filled with worry and wonder, some of her much closer friends sharing tears even. Everyday after it had been like this; the questions overflowed through the High Skool like a cascade of poisoned air that reached down from the sky, filling all of their minds with different scenarios and questions, yet never answers. Gaz felt an odd sense of De-ja-vu ever since she first heard that this girl she barely knew, yet walked past in the halls and had seen, went missing.
It was an old, ancient feeling that was buried in the deeps of her past memories. It was a harsh reminder of when she had been at the tender age of 3-years-old, sleeping in her bed on that lonely Christmas Eve, the night after her mother had gone missing, lying in her bed still, eyes wide as she, at the time only a child, wondered where her mother could possibly be. It was long before the cruel reality of life set it, and everyday after, as she grew from a little toddler to a dark, mysterious child, she still kept expecting her mother to walk in through the front door, having been told by everyone that her mother had simply left them, just to have her not worry. And it was at the age of 10 when she found out the truth, that her mother never even made it to her car that December night, and the small sense of hope her mother would come back, vanished, just like her mother had, and now exactly like Maisie had.
No answers, only endless questions.
It was an odd feeling now, like it had been then. Actually seeing the person literally the day of or the day before they go missing. Her mother had kissed her goodbye 11-years before as she left for work, and never came home. Maisie had passed by her in the hallway, and vanished the day after.
Another gust of wind blew at her face, and Gaz growled quietly to herself, annoyed. Just a foot away from where she stood was a medium-size cross with a picture of Maisie taped to the middle of it. A complete shrine made for the girl people knew was dead, but feared to speak aloud. There were candles in front of it, candles lit by complete strangers with pity for Maisie's family, candles with small flames that flickered softly and moved with the wind that continually blew. Along with the candles, lying on the sidewalk below the cross, were cards and stuff animals. Decorated concrete. This little shrine was made on the exact sidewalk where Maisie had been last seen, before she, it seemed, vanished literally into thin air. Gaz remembered hearing on the news that a male witness came forward saying he saw a dark navy-blue truck, old and nearly ruined, pull up beside Maisie, and then when the witness glanced back out his living room window, Maisie and the car were both gone, but he had thought nothing of it until he saw her picture on the news the next day.
This little shrine was built in front of that witnesses' home, built by him so neighbors could send their hopeful messages that the young girl would be found. Gaz had a feeling that the man, the only sole witness, was wallowing in his own guilt for not having seen that truck possibly drive away with a now possibly-murdered girl.
She didn't blame him.
Gaz could hear in the distance, the soft sound of people singing. She turned toward the direction of her High Skool, and knew it was coming from there. It was quite obvious. The High Skool was having their own candlelight vigil for Maisie, and Gaz did, in her own odd way, wanted to pay her respects toward a girl she knew was probably buried or dumped somewhere, a girl kidnapped and murdered by some drifter driving his old truck. She stood there silently, letting the sound of the wind blow around her give Maisie that one little wish from herself that her body would at least be found. This was between her, the dark and mysterious Gaz, and the once-living Maisie; the sound of all the students crying and singing prayers would be, Gaz thought, a distraction from getting her silent, mental words out into the air around her so that this dead girl from her High Skool could hear. Gaz held the belief that the dead could hear the thoughts of the living, and so, she gave Maisie, whom she slightly hoped was around, her thoughts, no matter how small or quiet they were.
When her thoughts for Maisie were out in the open finally, she felt an odd presence surround her. Gaz didn't feel like she was standing there in the glow of the candles within the cold night alone. She felt the warmth of someone beside her; that odd presence of energy from the living to the living when she had passed Maisie in the hall. That familiar presence. She felt her mind, against her will almost, being brought back to that day in the hall. She watched as Maisie walked her way, and just before Gaz walked completely passed her, she noticed that Maisie had smiled at her before she walked past completely, out of sight as they walked their separate ways.
Then just like that, Gaz found herself back in front of the small memorial, standing among the candle lights. The chill of the air came back, and the presence was becoming faint, before it simply vanished back into thin air. Gone. Just like that.
And she knew what had happened, who had pulled her back to the memory of their brief passing in the hallway. Gaz felt her breathing rush out of her lungs in a quick, shaking motion as she regained herself mentally, as though she had literally been brought back to the brief yet recent past.
As her breathing slowed and the night moved along silently, she realized she and Maisie had some connection; the dead girl had reached out to the living girl from beyond. It was a brief visit, and possibly the only one, but Gaz didn't care. One was enough for her to realize that Maisie had reached out to her from wherever the dead resign, and had shown her, even in life, the kindness from a human that Gaz never felt before from anyone else. That brief smile she had seen when they passed each other in the hall, was reborn as the presence of the dead among the living.
"Say hi to my mom for me," Gaz whispered at the picture on the cross, before she turned and headed her way back home, departing from the shrine and the silent spirit it had been built for; a spirit that had been beside her in the air, along the line that seperated the dead from the living. The spirit had a look of admiration upon her face as she watched Gaz depart from her.
"Will do," the spirit replied silently, unheard by the living, before she to departed back to the place unknown to the living, the place she now called home: beyond the horizon of what was the atmosphere; somewhere far out there. Hidden from the active minds of the living.
Silent thoughts spoke louder than words.
A/N: Just another little Gaz-centered one-shot. I wrote this because, my views on missing and murdered people are the same as Gaz's. Which I based her's on, you know, my somewhat view on it. Missing people interest me because it happens everywhere, to anyone, and anyone could be next. And there are so many predators out there just waiting for the perfect victim.
I might want to be a criminal profiler when I grow up. If I don't become a professional writer, or even if I do, I still want to be one anyway. It would be an intresting field to work in. I know what created the most notorious serial killers of American history, and I know why they did what they did, and the patterns, what kind of mental disease or sick mindset one must have in order to obtain the need to kill... not even mental can cause killers to kill; motive, power, greed, revenge, and desire. I know how it all works and I'd like to share my beliefs and knowledge one day if I ever get the chance.
So always be careful and aware of your surroundings!