A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

It’s taking a long time for you to pack up your things. But no one
wants to rush you because you’re going through a lot of heavy stuff
right now. You need a minute alone. We sit in the kitchen and wait.
Dad gets everyone water.
The good news is that your DNA is a real match to some missing
kid in the database. Your name is Carly Byrd and you’re sixteen
years old. You disappeared about a week after my sister did, from
some place near St. Louis. You got snatched off your own street.
There’s no saying why someone deemed my sister’s story
newsworthy and yours not.
After about a half hour of waiting for you, Dad goes to see if you
need help.
Almost immediately, he starts hollering from the top of the stairs.
“She’s gone. She’s gone!”
I take the steps two at a time to find that the room is empty and the
clothes Dad bought for you still in their drawers. You’ve run away.
The window is open. My sister’s bedroom is on the second floor, but
there’s a roof and a trellis just outside. Desperate times call for
desperate measures. And you’re desperate.