Seven years ago, a boy went missing, lost in a shipwreck over the Pacific Ocean. They never found the body. Seven years ago, a girl made it her mission to find him. Seven years ago the boy knew someone would find him. Seven years ago the girl’s parents started to fight. That was seven years ago.
Six years ago, the boy is still nowhere to be found. Six years ago, people still searched. Six years ago the girl’s parents fought more and more until the point they barely spoke a decent word to one another. Six years ago, the boy befriended someone but still thought people would find him. That was six years ago.
Five years ago, everyone started to give up on the boy. Five years ago the girl didn’t. She was teased because of it. Five years ago, the girl’s beloved father left her alone, packing one day and gone the next. Five years ago she was left with her mother, drowning her sorrows in alcohol. Five years ago, the boy started to believe no one would find him. That was five years ago.
Four years ago the girl graduated. Everyone gave up on the boy. She still did not. Four years ago she went to college to become a professional investigator. Four years ago the girl’s parents finally divorced. Four years ago, her father walked out of her life for good. Four years ago, the boy lost it. He almost died. That was four years ago.
Three years ago, no one remembered the boy lost at sea. The girl did. It was her hopeless case. After all, every detective had one. Three years ago she was at the top of her class, taking online classes in her very short free time. Three years ago she never received a clue on the boy. Three years ago, the boy knew no one was in search of him. He found a new home. That was three years ago.
Two years ago the girl was fired from one of her jobs and kicked out of her apartment. Two years ago, she moves in with her mother. Two years ago the boy has a mother. Just not a human one. Two years ago the girl was almost ready to graduate. Those college online courses she took in high school seemed to pay off. Two years ago, the boy accepted the fact he was never leaving and was okay with it. He forgot about humans. That was two years ago.
One year ago. She is out of college. One year ago, she solved her first case. It was a murder victim. One year ago, she helped the police find and bust a slave trade organization. They offered her a consultant position. One year ago, she accepted. One year ago, the boy is finally feeling the pain of no human contact but pushes it off. It was hopeless after all. That was one year ago.
Now she was on a ship, chasing a hopeless lead on a hopeless case about a hopeless boy with a hopeless storm brewing. And she was about to die.
Seven Years Ago...
It started like this.
It was May fourth and Bianca Alvarez-Kalivas was making her way to school, via skateboard. With her messenger bag backpack slung across one shoulder and her dark chocolate colored hair billowing in the wind under her helmet, she narrowed her big brown eyes, pinpointing her destination. Her hair was in a ponytail, highlighted with lighter shades of the color. She wore cutoff jeans turned into shorts and a tank top with a sweatshirt over the top. Pads covered her elbows and knees.
She leapt up, her fingers curling around the edge of the board and flew over a few stairs near the school. No one gave her a glance, it was normal really. After all, she was Bianca Kalivas. She was a rebel; someone you would think to be put in a stereotype but in fact, she was the opposite. She liked to consider herself a rebel, someone who went against the laws of high school. Everyone knew about Bianca. She was practically the next Nancy Drew, Sherlock Holmes…well, you get the point. She lived in Los Angeles, going to school at a large school with two parents and an older brother. Your typical Californian girl…
