Once we arrive at the path leading up to Jessica’s house, I can see the clear blue ocean below the hill, with the olive trees dotting the beach. My mind tries to remember when I saw and smelled them. But the recent revelation overshadows any calm I felt before it.

We enter Jessica’s glass house at the top of the hill while I recover from shock. I noticed that the inside has a modern minimalist style. The walls are light pink with pictures of the moon and flamingos adorning them. Wicker chairs and a marble table are in the dining room. Jessica invites me to sit on one of the hammock chairs in the sunroom. Fizz, the flamingo, watches me slump down in my chair.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” Jessica says with a smile.

I nod, and she goes off to the kitchen. I hear the fridge door open and closed, and ice poured into cups. While I try to take deep breaths to calm myself. My hands are clasped on my lap with my thumbs twiddling.

At a past interview, I remember sitting like this in front of a pleasant man who, despite probably not knowing it. It made me uncomfortable with his remarks on how rigid I sat and that I should learn to have more fun. My blood boiled at that remark, but I hid it under the guise of short answers, even after the interview and my getting the job.

It always seemed that there was pressure to have fun and loosen up, even on busy days like Mondays or Fridays. The boss always encouraged others to attend office parties and play in the game room. It was a dark room with only two arcade games, one of which didn’t work.

He always seemed happy, which wasn’t good for morale when there were stories of mass shootings or homicides to cover, not including the victims and possible suspects to interview. Still, it was better than having a boss who cracked down on us for barely missing a deadline.

I kept working at the news office mainly because of Miss Jessica. She worked there before she went missing. I wanted to see if I could learn anything else about her or what happened to her. However, whenever I asked, I was brushed off. They said, “She was a private person,” or “it’s still painful to talk about. Don’t open this can of worms.”

Considering what I found out this morning, perhaps they were right.