Before I Went Missing

My name is Ashley Dawn Brooks. Have you seen me? My face was splashed all over the widely popular milk cartons that circulated before the rise of social media as a way to keep cases, like mine, from going cold. While advertising the crime helpline, it was usually a last-ditch effort made by detectives after leads went nowhere, suspects were cleared and evidence was minimal.

When that photograph was taken, I had no idea the time I spent curling my bangs and extra sprays of AquaNet would be more significant than just trying to catch the eye of my class crush, Scotty. Since our last names both began with the letter B, we always landed smack dab together in the yearbook. It had been that way since the second grade when he moved here from St. Louis so that his parents could open a new branch of their family-owned bank. I couldn’t help but notice what a cute couple we made during this annual matchup. Eventually, I hoped, he would agree. I was beginning seventh grade at Fredricktown Middle School and already the year was off to a great start. My braces had just been removed. After 2 years of smiling but not so much as to reveal a mouth full of metal on picture day, I was ready to show off all the endured orthodontia work. My mom continually reminded me of their purpose after every painful appointment to get them tightened and adjusted. Her words were almost as predictable as our regular trips to the Dairy Queen down the street from Dr. Winkler’s office. “Your smile is going to be your crowning glory,” she consoled, as I ordered a Lime Mister Misty to soothe my aching jaw. I was the baby of the family with two older brothers. Having a daughter seemed to be my mom’s only goal in life, which was accomplished with me, but even with an increased interest in my appearance lately, I never exactly fit the girly-girl persona she imagined. There were many stand-offs and tears shed over trying to run a brush through my hair before walking out the door. She reluctantly turned me loose just in time to catch up with my brothers headed out on their bicycles. I couldn’t waste a moment on senseless beauty practices when I had a chance to tag along with them. “Hey Squirt,” Jack would acknowledge me usually first.

“Howdya get away from spa day with mom?” Mike might chime in.

They were nice enough to let me fill in as catcher at the batting cages, and dig up worms for them when they needed bait to fish at the public pond. Returning home with scratched-up knees and dirty clothes or well after dark never caused alarm when I was with Mike and Jack. They always looked out for me and kept me safe, even while using their position as the older sibling to cajole me into doing their unwanted chores and errands. Now that Mike was driving, everything was changing along with and his mode of transportation. Riding around the neighborhood with them, accumulating friends, and stopping off at the local candy store to buy an assortment of double bubble gum or candy cigarettes; whatever the spare change in our pockets allowed was becoming a thing of the past. They seemed to be ditching me more and more these days and not in need of a willing hand awaiting their request. I overheard them whispering from time to time and a certain popular cheerleader's name, “Megan”, kept coming up. I’m not sure why I was surprised to see my brother’s interests changing. The way my friends interacted with Jack, a couple of years older than us, first cued me in to the fact that he was considered good-looking. Their giggles and hair tosses, annoying as they were, also made me proud to be his sister, especially since there was a strong resemblance between the two of us. Our wavy brown hair remained highlighted from the sun even well into the winter months. Few freckles were scattered across our noses and thick dark eyebrows lacking an arch framed our light green, deep-set eyes. My teeth had been the one defining feature that set us apart. Mike would laugh and joke that I had summer teeth; some are here and some are there. When that became less accurate of a description “Brace Face” was its replacement. Mike used humor as a way of making himself feel better about his insecurities, usually at the expense of others. It wasn’t that he was some ugly duckling of the family but rather just lacked the attractive features and athletic build that Jack and I had. At the moment neither nickname applied and it was too early for him to have a new one or maybe he was too distracted by Megan to even notice me anymore. Only I didn’t see how she could take my place since there was no way she would ever risk breaking a nail to reel in a fighting fish.

Mike offered to drop me off at school the morning of picture day but I politely declined and hopped on my cherry red 10-speed. If I wasn’t good enough to be included in whatever secrets he and Jack shared, I didn’t need his sympathy car ride. “Suit yourself,” he muttered under his breath before rolling the window up and honking his horn to cue Jack that he wasn’t going to wait on him forever. They were headed to the high school now residing on the outskirts of town. Its recent expansion was due to the steady influx of country kids from the surrounding areas over the past couple of years. I followed his cobalt blue ‘85 Saturn down Walnut street before making a right onto Main street. They continued toward the highway giving me a quick good-bye beep as we parted ways. An attempt to put distance between me and my brothers that morning was not the entire reason I declined Jack’s offer. The freedom I felt while cruising down the neighboring streets as familiar as the back of my hand and just waking up was unmatched. Breaking through the cool breeze at dawn was like a jolt to my body. It was the equivalent as to why I imagine adults reach for a cup of coffee first thing upon waking. I knew I was fully alive during these rides, and I appreciated the quiet stillness before the chaos of middle school began. While the wind whipping through my hair was usually met with delight, I was thankful I had used every last bit of setting spray to withstand the ride this time. I pedaled slower than usual switching gears only occasionally to keep my stiff curls in place. The old high school had become my middle school after the elementary school outgrew its capacity and forced 6th-8th graders into a building of their own. A rerouting and broadening of the school bus service area vastly increased school attendance in rural communities and Fredericktown was no exception. The school board members boasted these numbers during every election and linked increased access with better opportunities for education in the area. I rounded the next bend and saw the rooftop of my destination. Inside those walls were the free-range kids I had grown up with, rushing to and from their lockers, fumbling with 3-digit dial codes trying to make it to homeroom before the bell rang.

This sleepy little town and the families that inhabited it were all I had ever known. Neighborhood watches were the unspoken responsibility of being a good neighbor and because being nosey provided an element of entertainment. Town gossip was only perpetuated on an account of paying attention to any out-of-the-ordinary detail no matter how small. Reports of a suspicious vehicle or unruly dog on the loose always made their way around the rumor mill. Parents allowed their children to roam carte blanche within the confines of the only major highway bordering the west edge of town and the small county highways encircling the rest. The only newsworthy event outside the random car accident or fire was the weekend horse race winner at the Madison County Saddle Club. The truth is I loved being sheltered in this bubble of a small town completely unaware that my sense of security would be proven false in the end. I was young and naïve and about to learn just because nothing bad ever happened in my world didn’t mean nothing ever would. The past is not always the only predictor of the future. Sometimes boredom and a moonless night will bring out the darkest side of humanity no matter where you live. Fredericktown was about to be turned upside down and become the center of one of the largest investigations in the state. No one could have predicted a storm such as this while I smiled for my last school picture forever memorialized next to Scott Bruin in the Home of the Black Cats 1988-1989 yearbook.

The summer of ’89 was hot. Hotter and more humid than any I could remember. While I was excited to sleep in and watch The Young and the Restless, when my parents were working, I began to miss school early on. I thrived on routine and predictability. As a naturally early riser, my internal clock expanded with the daylight hours. Since it was becoming harder to depend on my older brothers for entertainment, I began to roam the streets just to pass the time. I avoided the afternoon hours to keep from melting in the midday sun and to not miss out on my favorite soap opera, instead, opting to head out just before my parents returned home from work. They seemed more distracted lately and didn’t exactly protest my absence. Maybe it was normal parental fatigue setting in during the teenage years and the realization that herding cats would be easier than keeping tabs on everyone. When I made it back after dark, my father would typically be passed out on the couch with Wheel of Fortune playing in the background. After scanning the empty kitchen this particular evening and eying the Hungry Man frozen entrée package in the trashcan, I knew not to inquire about dinner. I rummaged through the drawers in search of the can opener. Then, I grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup from the wood grain cabinet overhead. There was a trick to making it more filling by adding just half a can of water instead of a whole before heating in the microwave. A handful of crumbled saltine crackers on top and viola a gourmet meal. Not exactly, but it would hold me over for at least a couple of hours. My mom called to me from her bedroom when she heard the microwave go off. She had her hair in pink foam rollers in preparation for the next workday and her pink terry cloth robe hung loosely around her thin frame. The bathwater gurgled behind her as it escaped down the drain. “Hi, mom! How was work?” I asked on cue.

“Oh, good honey. I’m just tired but guess who came into the office today for an evaluation? That boy Scotty Bruin in your class.” She answered before I could ask.

My mom was always telling me who had appointments with Dr. Winkler but this time my ears perked up. She began working as a receptionist in the same orthodontist office that fixed my smile once I started kindergarten. At first, it was a way to keep her busy once all three of us kids were in school, but it became apparent that her employee discount would pay off before I had even lost all my baby teeth. It was the only reason we could afford that type of elective dental treatment in the first place, and it added to her sense of pride over the result. “Is he getting braces?” I inquired, questioning how I could've missed such a flaw.

“It looks that way. He has a crossbite and had a tooth or two knocked out from a fight is what I overheard.” She answered.

That didn’t come as a surprise. He wasn’t a troublemaker but I wouldn’t call him a teacher’s pet either. Thinking about school made me miss it even more. “I’m going to ride down to the Seven-Eleven for a chocolate milk.” I phrased it as more of a statement than an ask. All of the sudden, my lungs craved a dose of fresh damp air that only a bike ride could provide.

“Ok, don’t be gone long and pick me up a lighter while you’re at it.” My mom added.

She had begun smoking again and wasn’t even hiding it from me this time. I grabbed a couple of crumpled one-dollar bills from the coffee table next to my dad and slammed the front door behind me a little harder to account for my annoyance at her request. The evening air was still and muggy; little beads of sweat formed on my forehead as I walked my bicycle out from under the carport. I moved to the edge of the driveway as Jack’s car pull in and passed me. He jumped out hollering for me to bring him back a Mountain Dew. I nodded and thought to myself, I guess some things never change, then began to pedal up the street. At the top, awaited a downhill stretch where I coasted, letting the wind dry out all the perspiration I had incurred on my way up. This must be an example of kinetic energy, I remembered from the introductory to physics lesson in science class last year. Science had always been my favorite subject but I struggled with understanding Newton and all of those laws. Energy can never be created or destroyed. No! Stop! It's summer and I don’t have to think about this my brain rationalized.

The faintest slice of moon hung in the sky, and it was the streetlights that mostly illuminated a path I had traveled many times. At the last minute, I decided to take a detour by the baseball fields. They were so brightly lit and the salty aroma of popcorn too hard to resist; my stomach echoed in agreement as I remembered an inadequate dinner. Besides, I was not inclined to rush home just yet to fulfill my mom and Jack’s requests. Mike was the sports star in our family and usually played there throughout the week. However, it looked like a junior varsity game tonight. I parked my bike and walked up to the stands. A few girls from my class were eating sunflower seeds a couple of rows back. Their chatter was hard to ignore. I turned around and gave a little wave but they acted like they didn’t see me. Amy and Amber were the unofficial water girls for the Black Cat’s baseball team. Amy’s dad was the coach, Amber was her best friend and they always had a handful of other popular girls in rotation to assist with the very important job of keeping tabs on the water bottle levels. The bases were loaded and it was the bottom of the 10th inning. If we could pull off this win against the Bulldogs, we had a good chance of sealing our spot in the state tournament this year. The Bulldogs and neighboring town, Jackson, were our biggest rivals and they rarely lost to us in any sport. Scotty walked up to the plate and time seemed to stand still. I held my breath. The pitcher kicked at the mound and wound up, pitching one of the fastest balls, I had ever seen. Scotty swung and struck out. His face flushed and he looked determined not to let that happen again. He swung again this time forcing the ball clear into the outfield and sent everyone home, winning the game. Amber rushed up to him almost immediately asking if she could refill his water bottle. I didn’t realize I was staring until I felt his eyes meet mine. A huge grin swept across my face, after a glance around to see if he was indeed looking at me, and I was positive it was intentional. Then, he rolled his eyes in Amber’s direction indicating his bullshit radar was in alignment with mine. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell Mike about the game but most of all I didn’t want to ruin this moment in my mind. I sped away with a fury now fully anticipating the cold beverage I had set out to enjoy. With my head in the clouds, I didn’t even notice a vehicle stopped at the intersection I was rapidly approaching. The streets were not as brightly lit as the ball field, and there were just enough spaces between the lamps for shadows to interfere with visual ability. My fingers reacted reflexively before my brain even comprehended the automobile directly in my path was not moving. To evade a collision, I squeezed the hand break with all my might as the tires screeched, and slid. Immediately, a burnt rubber stench arose from the pavement, and I swerved fiercely sending my tense body to meet the freshly made skid marks on the street. My bike hit the curb and it tumbled over not far from where I was laying. It took me a minute to realize that I was bleeding as the pain from my skinned-up elbow and knee had not yet registered. The station wagon that I had barely avoided hitting finally began to slowly creep forward; no lights, no license plate, and no distinctive features other than it being a station wagon. Since it was before the production of the minivan, the 4-door, navy blue sedan with wood paneling was one of the most popular family vehicles at the time. I dusted myself off and did a fast sweep of my tongue around my mouth after expelling some blood-tinged spit. Whew, I thought confirming my teeth were all intact. I decided to walk my bike the remaining 2 blocks home and skip the convenience store trip. Risking everyone’s disappointment when I returned home empty-handed rather than explaining my disheveled appearance to a nosey cashier was the best option, I concluded. My taciturn father stood in the doorway, fully alert, took one look at me, and called for my mom. She met me in the bathroom while I was dabbing a piece of crumbling toilet paper to my knee. “What happened to my baby?” She inquired while locating the hydrogen peroxide beneath the sink. I told her about the car and how I had almost killed myself trying to miss it but I could tell she was a little more concerned with whether I had picked up the lighter or not.

I kept thinking about the station wagon and how strangely it acted in the moments before and after my bike wreck. It was almost as if it was waiting for me to hit it like it wanted to make contact and when I made it with the ground instead, it retreated and disappeared into the dark. Our family cat, Cherry Pie did something similar with her prey. She would toy with a field mouse, catching it then letting it go, again and again, until it lost its will to survive and she became bored. Little chill bumps popped up all over my arms as I compared the two events sending a little shiver down my spine. I preferred warm and fuzzy thoughts and, therefore, diverted my attention back to Scotty. The summer was coming to an end and I would have plenty of opportunities to run into him during school hours again. However, Mike had a baseball game on Friday and junior varsity would be sitting on the bench awaiting a chance to participate. I could linger around inconspicuously since my brother was, obviously, the reason for my attendance. That’s exactly what I did the following week as the Fredericktown police report read.

August 5, 1989 2 a.m. missing 108 lb 13-year-old girl called in by mother

Last seen by parents at home following her brother’s baseball game around 10pm

Departed on bicycle which was later discovered 5 blocks from home

Witnesses including her boyfriend Scott Bruin heard screams for help after seen talking to the driver of a light gray, blue, or green station wagon

The news set off shockwaves in the close-knit community of Madison County and ricocheted stretching to the furthest metropolitan areas. Search parties and cadaver dogs scavenged those places for months. A meat freezer was dug up in an attempt to locate my remains on a property outside of town. The deathbed confession of an unreliable accomplice utterly exhausted; the quarry that was drained after a psychic consultation; the detectives haunted for decades and countless hours of sleep lost hoping to solve my disappearance; the thousands of milk cartons distributed with my face – still, I, remain a mystery. Just like thousands of other milk carton faces that were featured throughout the 80s and 90s. Amber alerts and social media have become the preferred outlet for public awareness as children continue to go missing over the years, but the shock and devastation remain. Sometimes everyone does the best they can and there are not enough answers to tie a neat bow around a senseless case like mine. Justice and closure are not as predictable or fixable as a set of teeth. My imperfect family like so many others has received neither. Each of their lives derailed, hijacked in a way, and suspended indefinitely, dependent on much awaited news. The world, forever rearranged into one timeline, consisting of before and after. It's impossible to know exactly how many people will be affected, directly or indirectly, and the magnitude of the ripple. Thirty years from now someone interested in my case or sees themselves in me might even write about my story. The first law of thermodynamics, the conservation of energy, will make perfect sense to them. A trajectory was changed that night in a matter of minutes because one object was acted upon, resulting in the transfer of energy from one form to another. It’s that complicated and that simple at the same time.

No one has been convicted and my case remains active to this day. There is no statute of limitations when kidnapping is involved and the fear of double jeopardy has kept prosecutors from going to trial prematurely. Limited evidence and unreliable witnesses give way to reasonable doubt in the mind of a juror. It’s not that my assailants were particularly experienced felons that have managed to evade the FBI and local law enforcement. Criminals rarely follow the “one and done” supposition. They are likely behind bars for another offense, unable to escape a conscience that wants to right the wrong. An inmate confession is the most logical path for solving my disappearance but people will keep trying. However, I am content to serve as a cautionary tale over a signed, sealed, and delivered verdict. Perhaps, a sense of peace can be offered by remaining missing, and an unsolved case. An open ending allows for a sliver of light –something the hard cold truth never grants. Unfortunately, where light exists so must dark. It’s been said that one could never see the stars without it. I want to be remembered for my light instead of it being snuffed out by sinister circumstances surrounding my disappearance. After all, light is the origin of hope. It lies in the face of every shortened life that made an imprint on this earth. I want my crowning glory to be remembered above all; a soft glow that shined a little too bright in the darkest of nights.