Nonfiction | September 01, 1995

This essay is not currently available online.

There are images sharply fixed in my memory from my youngest sister’s disappearance in 1980, though most of them are things I never actually saw.  One is the face of her murderer, who in the weeks before her death stopped his car twice to offer me a ride as I walked the mile and a half home from the bus stop.  Another is a confused vision of this man dragging Doris off her bicycle into his car.  Nobody saw this happen, but it comes to me when I try to understand her death, to comprehend an essentially senseless act of violence.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.