The Missing Ones

"Kohlberg’s Theory of Moral Development," Professor Forsberg said to the class, "Who can tell me what it is?"

A younger looking student in the front row—with pasty skin and long flowing hair that looked like a flame—raised her hand.

"Rachel," the professor said with a nod in her direction. Lucky girl, if the professor knew your name in a class this size then you must be doing something right. The bright hair probably helped.

"Kohlberg's Theory picks up where Piaget's leaves off and insinuates that moral reasoning develops in six stages—," 'Rachel' drowned on, but the beginning was all that Kinsley Addison heard before turning to her laptop and browsing Facebook. She wasn't worried about getting behind, she'd just read the Cliffs notes the professor posted online like she always did.

Today's class was let out early and Kinsley smiled as she stepped out into a white landscape.

Snow continued to fall on Kinsley as she walked to her car. She was halfway there when she noticed something.

It was a black notebook covered in a thin layer of freshly fallen snow. She picked it up, brushed it off, and looked around to see if she could spot the owner. There was only one person in sight—a taller gentleman, walking away from her, wearing a gray hoodie and an orange baseball cap. She'd seen that hat before. Quite a few times actually, probably someone from her class?

She called after the man, "Hey! Hey you!"

The man slowed and looked back. When he saw Kinsley waving the notebook like a mad person he turned away and picked up his pace, making the space between them grow further apart. Strange, she thought to herself, putting the notebook in her backpack for safekeeping until class on Monday. She'd find the man then and give it back to him.

Saturday brought more snow and killed any plans Kinsley had of going out. Instead, she nestled in for the day and lasted the better part of the morning before caving to boredom and fishing the notebook out of her backpack.

She skipped over the first few pages and landed on a page scribbled with notes related to an earlier lecture by Forsberg, discussing John Bowlby's Attachment Theory—solidifying Kinsley's original belief that the man, and owner of the notebook, was someone in her class.

Bored, after reading a single page of the notebook, she sat it on her end table and ventured into the kitchen for some coffee. She'd need the second cup of caffeine if she was going to make it through the day.

She was on her third episode of a true crime series when boredom crept up on her, once again, and she returned her attention back to the notebook.

Skipping over the various psychology theories, Kinsley found herself searching the notebook for personal information. Drawings, notes, anything that might tell her more about the tall man with the bright orange baseball cap. Instead of anything fascinating, she came across a list of names in the back of the book.

At first, she thought the names were of people in her class. After skimming through the list a few times though, and not finding her own name or any other familiar names, she started to get the feeling the list was for something else. It appeared they were all female names. She read the list again and this time a name popped out at her: Josephina Valdez.

With her laptop now involved, she searched her Facebook friends for the girl: Josephina Valdez. Nothing. She broadened her search beyond just her friends and came back with an overwhelming number of Josephina Valdezes.

With one last effort she turned on her location and simply Googled the name.

A news article from six months ago was the top result. The heading read: Missing Girl, Josephina Valdez, Still Not Found—Police Fear The Worst.

Kinsley held her breath—her room as silent as a graveyard—and Googled another name on the list: Natalie Bushnell.

Another article: Parents of University Student Plead for Public's Help in Search for Missing Daughter.

Kinsley swallowed a large lump forming in her throat and tried another name. Same result. Another. And another. Until she'd Googled every name on the list and found an article discussing the disappearance of each and everyone of the girls.

For what felt like an hour, she sat staring at the notebook. Debating what to do. The last name on the list, Heather Ward, returned an article announcing a reward for $20,000 for any information that led to the girl's whereabouts.

Although twenty grand would be nice, Kinsley wasn't worried about the money. Yet, she couldn't stop thinking about how that much money could change her life. Pay off her student loans... Graduate debt free... It was enticing. However, she didn't know how to link the notebook to the tall man in the orange hat. Would the police believe her story? That she'd 'just found' the notebook in the snow. They could probably pull fingerprints, but... her fingerprints were on there too.

She needed more information on the man. More evidence that linked him. Something more concrete that she would take to the police after class on Monday. After she'd confronted the man, not about the missing girls, just about the notebook. Until then, she placed the notebook in a Ziploc bag and stuffed it in a kitchen drawer for safe keeping.

With Sunday came the biggest snow storm yet, and even more curiosity about the missing girls. Kinsley left her laptop plugged in as she spent hours reading the various articles on these college girls gone missing. She was obsessed.

Finally the snow slowed and Monday arrived. She entered Professor Forsberg's class with butterflies in her stomach. Her nerves were more like frail tissue paper than steel, but she had a plan. She was going to record the tall man with the orange cap claiming ownership of the notebook, tell him she'd forgotten it and that she'd bring it to class on Tuesday. Instead, immediately after class she'd go to the police with the recording and the notebook. A solid plan.

As Professor Forsberg stood up to the lectern a multitude of students shuffled to their seats. Kinsley scanned the tops of their heads for an orange baseball cap. After three scans, left to right, she realized there wasn't one. No problem, she told herself. Maybe the man didn't wear the hat today. No matter, the man was tall. She was sure she'd recognize him standing up, so she'd simply wait until everyone was leaving and confront him on his way out.

The lecture dragged on and Kinsley's anxiety increased immensely. With only five minutes remaining she slipped out and stood ready in the hall.

One by one the students filed out of the classroom. One by one she failed to find her guy. When Professor Forsberg himself locked the door behind him, Kinsley deflated.

"Something I can help you with...?" He asked her, waiting for a name.

She looked around before realizing he was talking to her, "Kinsley, and, uh, no. Just waiting for someone, but looks like they didn't make it to class today."

He nodded as if he understood and moved past her. Kinsley slumped her shoulders and began walking back to her car. It felt forever away.

She was the only student left in the student parking lot when she glanced over at Forsberg climbing into his car in the faculty lot and noticed something that brought her back to life.

It was a tall man behind Forsberg, he was walking over to a golf cart with a plow on the front and he was wearing an orange baseball cap.

Of course, Kinsley thought to herself. He's not a student, he's an employee of the university. No wonder she remembered seeing that orange hat so often. She probably saw it everyday on her way to and from class. With the consistent snow this man would be outside constantly.

She hurried into her car and sped over to the faculty lot. She saw the golf cart disappear behind the science building where there was a foot trail big enough for the golf cart but not big enough for her car, so she parked and hopped out.

The science building sat parallel to the history building so the pathway became a sort of alleyway covered in shade.

She couldn't see the man anywhere, so she continued down the path losing confidence in her ability to confront the guy. When the path came to a bend around the corner, Kinsley edged closer to the building. The ground was icy so she hugged the old brick and peeked her head around the corner.

It was dark, hard to see, so she stepped around the corner... and slipped.

A shrill sound vibrated off the brick walls. A scream. Her scream, she realized. She looked around frantically, waiting for the man to attack.

No attack came. She was alone. The man was gone.

In Forsberg's class the next day, Kinsley didn't hear a word the professor said. Her mind was preoccupied on what to do next. Part of her wanted the class to stretch on, she was no longer feeling brave enough to confront the guy. Another part of her knew she had to.

Eventually the class did end and Kinsley slowly started to leave. When she was about to step out of the classroom a man's voice from behind her said, "Kinsley?"

Kinsley turned to see Forsberg.

"Do you have a minute?" He asked. Forsberg was an older man with a graying beard, but muscles that still bulged beneath his sweater—evidence that the old professor was still making time for the gym.

"Sure," she answered timidly.

Forsberg walked around Kinsley and closed the door. Then locked it.

Fear shot through Kinsley's veins, turning them ice cold.

Forsberg smiled a perfect set of porcelain veneers, "I believe you have something of mine…"

A look of confusion found its way onto Kinsley's face and she swallowed hard.

Forsberg played along, "You know, a little black notebook?" He was circling Kinsley like a lion circles its prey.

Now it was Kinsley's turn to smile—hers a perfect set of real teeth.

"Oh," she said, unable to help herself, "You mean the notebook I turned into the police last night for fingerprint analysis?"

Forsberg's face fell, his smile vanished.

Kinsley continued to smile as the classroom door was kicked open and a rush of police stormed in.