Chapter 2: Cold Case Shadows

I saw the photo on my Facebook feed, the kind that pops up late at night when nostalgia and insomnia go hand in hand. Dave, the neighbor from our old apartment—my cousin, really, though we never called each other that—had posted it. The photo was grainy, like someone had snapped it on a flip phone. I stared at the face-shaped outline on the wall for what felt like forever, my skin prickling.

A memory tugged at me: years ago, Ben woke up crying, mumbling, "Sissy’s crying in the wall..." I’d brushed it off as a child missing his sister. But now, staring at this photo, a cold shiver crawled down my spine.

Back then, she vanished without a trace. We searched every inch of that building, every alley, every playground. I can still see the cops in sweat-stained blue, trudging up and down the stairwells. The air reeked of burnt coffee and damp carpet. But nothing—she was gone. Just gone.

Now, suddenly, there was a clue. Maybe the reason we couldn’t find her was because—she was inside the wall. The thought chilled me to the bone. My heart slammed against my ribs as the house creaked in the darkness around me.