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“It feels as if her body was frozen for an extended period of time,” Beverly explained. “Not just like a few weeks in a freezer either. Like years.”
“Since like 1961?” I asked.
“That’s what would make the most sense.”
Plastered on the milk carton was a picture of what I recognized as me at an age so young my internal memory never ventured back there, probably about two years old, maybe three. The picture was tucked beneath the word MISSING and surrounded by information that was utterly foreign to me, including the name of the missing boy who looked exactly like me.
This island was started by the government in the 70s. Back then, there was this cult, the Sistines, they lived up in the mountains a ways outside of Seattle. No one really knew that their beliefs were, but after the Manson Family thing happened in California, the state freaked out and sent a bunch of Marshals and cops up to their camp.
Gretchen stayed overnight for New Year’s Eve 1998. Clay and Mom had some stupid office party to go to so we were left home alone with popcorn and some movies from Blockbuster. He had the nerve to say he “trusted” us because we were such “big girls” now.