They say a person disappears all at once one second they’re here, and the next, they’re gone. But that’s a lie.
People don’t vanish in a moment. They fade.
One strange decision at a time, one misplaced word, one wrong stepuntil they reach the point of no return. And by then, no one notices. Not until it’s too late.
Alice was last seen in her bedroom. She went to bed early, her parents said. That wasn’t like her. Neither was the fact that her room was spotless. Alice never cleaned her room.
She was gone the next morning. No note. No trace. No reason. Just… gone.
Jason stood in her doorway, staring at the untouched bed, the carefully arranged books on the desk. The room looked staged too perfect.
Someone had been here.
Alice had left nothing behind.
Except she did.
And Jason knew exactly what it was.
*The Morning Alice Was Discovered Missing*
The house felt wrong.
Not empty Alice’s parents were there, moving through the hallways like ghosts but wrong. The air was too still, like the walls were holding its breath. Waiting.
Her mother had been the first to notice. She knocked, then knocked again. When there was no answer, she pushed open the door and found nothing. No Alice. No sign of where she had gone. Just a perfectly made bed in a room that was never supposed to be neat.
Then came the panic. Her father called the police. Her mother called everyone else. Soon, the house was filled with voices—neighbors, officers, concerned friends—everyone talking over each other, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Jason stood near the staircase, watching.
People kept asking when she was last seen.
"She went to bed early last night." Her mother’s voice was thin, like she barely believed it herself.
Jason didn’t correct her.
There were too many versions of Alice’s last night.
She was upset about something.
She had an argument with Aliyah.
She wasn’t acting like herself.
Jason listened, hands in his pockets. He didn't say much. Just enough.
The police asked about her phone. Her father swore it was in her room, but it wasn’t.
"Maybe she took it with her," someone suggested.
Jason said nothing.
The search began soon after. People fanned out, calling her name, checking the places she used to go. The woods. The park. The streets. No one found anything.
And through it all, Jason remained calm.
Because what was there to panic about?
Alice was already gone.
But Jason kept noticing things.
When the officers asked Alice’s mother to describe what she was wearing that night, she hesitated. “She was in her pajamas,” she said, but it didn’t sound like a fact—it sounded like a guess.
Jason could have corrected her. He could have told them Alice was fully dressed when she walked into her bedroom that night, shoes on, jacket zipped, like she was planning to leave.
But he didn’t.
Someone would eventually check her closet and realize something was missing.
Just like Jason had.
The search party split up. Jason went with Mike. It made sense best friends sticking together.
Mike was tense, chewing on his thumbnail, glancing at Jason like he expected him to say something wise. Something helpful. Jason didn’t.
"You think she ran away?" Mike asked.
Jason shrugged. "Maybe."
Mike kicked a rock. His frustration was obvious. "She wouldn't just leave. Not without telling someone."
Jason hummed like he agreed. But he didn’t.
Because Alice had told someone.
Just not in the way they thought.
*Rumors and Theories Begin to Spread*
It started small. A few whispers. A few guesses. But by midday, Alice’s disappearance had become a story everyone wanted to tell.
And everyone had a different version.
"She ran away."
Someone claimed to have seen her walking alone the night before. Another swore she had been packing a bag at school. Neither story was confirmed.
"She was taken."
By who? No one could agree. A stranger? Someone she knew? Someone in this very town?
"She was in trouble."
People started remembering things. Alice being distant. Alice getting into fights. Alice looking over her shoulder like she was waiting for something bad to happen.
"James did it."
He had bullied her for years. Maybe he took it too far. Maybe she finally snapped and did something to herself.
"Aliyah did it."
The argument. The tension. Someone even said they saw Aliyah grab Alice’s wrist the day before she disappeared.
And then came the theory that made Jason pause.
"Maybe it wasn’t just one person."
Maybe someone helped.
Maybe someone knows more than they’re saying.
Jason didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just listened.
That’s when Aliyah arrived.
She pushed past the crowd of onlookers, her face set in stone. She looked furious.
"You’re all idiots," she snapped. "Alice isn’t dead."
It wasn’t a theory. It wasn’t a hope. It was a fact.
Jason tilted his head. "How do you know that?"
Aliyah turned to him. And for a split second, her confidence wavered.
Jason saw it.
And he wasn’t the only one.
