Tuesday, December 15, 2015 – Portland
The early morning fog still clung to the streets, and the streetlights in the upscale West Hills neighborhood cast a dim, amber glow. Emily Thompson stepped out of her home with a pink backpack slung over her shoulder. It was a $3 million Tudor-style mansion, nestled in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Portland.
At 7:15 a.m., the 12-year-old girl left for school, just as she did every day. Her destination was St. Mary's Preparatory School, a prestigious private academy for children from elite families. By her usual schedule, she should have arrived at the school gates by 7:45.
But this time, she never made it.
At 9:00 a.m., Nancy McBride, the receptionist at St. Mary's, called the Thompson residence. After three rings, the call was answered by Emily's mother, Helen Thompson.
"Mrs. Thompson? This is Nancy from St. Mary's. Emily didn't show up today. Is she feeling ill?"
Helen was preparing for an important hearing at her downtown Portland law firm. The coffee cup in her hand nearly slipped to the floor.
"What? That's impossible. She left right on time at 7:15," Helen's voice trembled. "Are you sure? Could she be somewhere else?"
"We've checked, ma'am. Emily definitely didn't come to school."
Helen dropped everything and sped home. While driving, she called Emily's phone repeatedly, but every time it went straight to voicemail. When she arrived, she found Emily's room empty. The bed was neatly made, just as it always was before she left for school.
Panic began to spread in Helen's chest.
At 10:30 a.m., Helen dialed 911.
"911 dispatch, what's your emergency?"
"My daughter is missing," Helen's voice was choked with tears. "She left for school this morning but never arrived."
"Ma'am, please stay calm. How old is your daughter?"
"Twelve. Her name is Emily Thompson."
"All right. We'll dispatch officers immediately. Please stay at home and wait for the police to arrive."
At 11:00 a.m., a Portland Police Department cruiser pulled up in front of the Thompson residence. Two officers stepped out: seasoned Detective John Victor and young Officer Daniel Lee.
John Victor, 45, had been with the Portland PD for two decades. Broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, he'd grown up in a tough neighborhood and worked his way up to the Major Crimes Division. He'd seen his share of tragedy, but missing children always brought a particular urgency to his heart.
Daniel Lee, a young Korean-American officer, had joined Major Crimes less than a year ago. A computer science graduate from Oregon State University, he had outstanding technical skills—but his impulsive nature sometimes clashed with veterans like John.
"Mrs. Thompson, I'm Detective John Victor. This is Officer Lee. We need to ask you a few questions," John said, his voice steady and firm.
Helen led them into the living room—a tastefully decorated space with expensive artwork and a manicured garden visible through the tall windows. But in that moment, all the luxury felt meaningless.
"Tell us about this morning," John opened his notebook.
"She left at 7:15, just like always," Helen struggled to remain composed. "She wore her school uniform, carried her backpack. Everything seemed normal."
"She usually walks to school on her own?"
"Yes. It's only twelve blocks from here. She's taken the same route for years. Nothing's ever happened."
While taking notes, Daniel's eyes scanned the room. On the coffee table, he noticed a stack of legal documents—one folder clearly labeled "Divorce Proceedings."
"Mrs. Thompson, if you don't mind me asking—what's the current state of your relationship with your husband?" John asked.
Helen paled. "We... we're going through a divorce. But that has nothing to do with Emily's disappearance."
"We'll need to contact him."
"Richard is on a business trip in New York. He works on Wall Street." Helen gave them his number.
John immediately called. After several rings, Richard answered, his voice groggy and confused.
"Richard Thompson, this is Detective John Victor with the Portland Police. Your daughter Emily is missing."
There was a long silence. Then Richard's panicked voice: "What? That's not possible. I talked to her just last night."
"When can you return to Portland?"
"I'll book a flight immediately. I can be there by 8 tonight."
After hanging up, John turned to Helen. "We'll need a recent photo of Emily and her details."
Hands shaking, Helen handed him a photo. In it, Emily had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a shy smile.
"What's her height?"
"Four foot eight. Eighty-five pounds."
"Any distinguishing features?"
"She has a small heart-shaped birthmark on her left wrist," Helen's voice grew faint. "And... she has mild autism. She gets anxious in unfamiliar places."
John and Daniel exchanged a glance. That detail made the situation even more urgent.
"We need surveillance footage from the school's vicinity," John told Daniel.
"Already contacting the traffic cams," Daniel replied. "I'll also pull her cellphone signal data."
At 1:00 p.m., John received a call from the tech team. Emily's phone had gone dark at 7:28 a.m. Its last ping was six blocks from the school.
Meanwhile, Daniel was reviewing surveillance footage. He spotted something unsettling: at 7:26 a.m., Emily was captured on camera at 5th Avenue—next to a man wearing a dark hoodie. Two minutes later, both vanished into a camera blind spot.
"John, you need to see this," Daniel called.
They watched the footage. The man's face was obscured by his hood, but one detail stood out—he seemed to know exactly where each camera was, avoiding direct angles with precision.
"This wasn't random," John murmured. "He knew the layout."
By 3:00 p.m., news of Emily's disappearance had spread on social media. Helen's sister Sarah posted a missing person alert on Instagram:
#FindEmilyMy niece Emily Thompson went missing this morning. She's 12, blonde, blue-eyed, 4'8". Last seen near 5th Ave in Portland. If you have any info, contact the Portland PD. Please share.
Within an hour, it had been shared thousands of times. #FindEmily began trending on Twitter.
By 4:00 p.m., reporters from local station KOIN 6 arrived at the Thompson home. Soon, CNN, FOX News, and other national outlets followed.
John frowned as he watched the growing media presence. "This will complicate the investigation."
"Or bring in leads," Daniel countered.
Just then, John's phone rang. It was Dr. Michael Stone, head forensic specialist at the Oregon State Crime Lab—and an old friend.
"John, I heard about the case. Need my help?"
"I could use your behavioral analysis. This one's... different."
"I'm on my way."
By 6:00 p.m., Dr. Stone arrived at the precinct. A lean man with rimless glasses, he looked scholarly but carried an air of clinical precision.
"Show me the footage," he said.
He studied the surveillance clips, especially the man with Emily.
"This wasn't a crime of impulse," Michael observed. "He scouted the area in advance. He knew where every camera was. Choosing Emily wasn't random either."
"You think he'd been watching her?"
"For some time. This was a premeditated abduction."
A chill ran down John's spine. If Michael was right, Emily was in grave danger.
At 7:00 p.m., Richard Thompson's flight landed in Portland. In his forties, dressed in a tailored suit, he looked every bit the Wall Street executive—except for the fear and fatigue on his face.
He drove straight to the house. Seeing the swarm of reporters and police vehicles, reality hit him hard.
"Helen?" he called out, rushing inside and embracing his estranged wife.
Their personal conflicts faded in the face of their daughter's disappearance.
"We'll find her," Richard whispered, though his voice trembled.
At 8:00 p.m., the Portland Police held their first press conference. Police Chief James Brown stood beside Detective Victor.
"We are doing everything possible to locate Emily Thompson," Chief Brown announced. "We urge anyone with information to contact us. Please allow our investigation the space it needs to succeed."
But John knew the clock was ticking. Statistically, the first 24 hours are critical in missing child cases. Half that time had already passed.
At 9:00 p.m., John's phone buzzed with a text—from an unknown number:
"If you want to find the girl, seek in the shadows of the Southeast. But beware—some shadows are darker than night."
A wave of dread washed over him. Portland's Southeast District was one of the city's poorest and most dangerous areas—plagued by drugs, illegal immigrants, and crime.
If Emily was there, she was in even greater danger.
Night fell over Portland, blanketing the city in unease. Social media was ablaze with the #FindEmily campaign, now a national trending topic.
But amid the search, no one knew the real danger was just beginning.
In a decrepit apartment in Southeast Portland, a man stood behind a curtain, peering out at the street. On his phone, news about #FindEmily flashed across the screen.
A twisted smile curled at the corners of his lips.
The game had just begun.