When the man who did it stands beneath a new girl's balcony, breathing in the cool night air and humming along with the pop song that streams through the open window; when the lead detective has fully integrated her into his own personal mythos, regaling tired bartenders with tales of the case that made him; when they stop showing her picture on the news because a homecoming queen was kidnapped in the neighboring town; when her boyfriend folds her love notes into a shoebox and pushes it to the back of his closet because his wife dislikes memorial; when her father dies of a heart attack after ten years and there's no one left to call the precinct (and the cop is at the bar anyway); when time passes; when enough time passes; when you and I feel comfortable forgetting. She will rise and shake the dirt from her heels. She will stalk moonlit streets with purpose until she finds the man she's looking for. And in the end, the other girl will continue listening to her pop song. Newly alone, none the wiser.