Twenty years ago, as the days passed with no sign of my sister Cindy James’s whereabouts after she disappeared, I realized the passage of time meant her chances of being alive were diminishing. I kept hoping she was alive but I also thought if somebody had her, she was probably being tortured somehow. As much as I hoped and prayed Cindy was alive, I had a gnawing, gut feeling that this time she was dead. Thinking of her experiencing physical or mental pain or lying dead somewhere produced in me an inability to eat without feeling sick or repulsed by food. For two weeks I hardly ate because of those worries, forgetting to eat supper several times when I was alone.

During the first week, I told a co-worker that Cindy was missing and we sat on a bench and stared out at the Yukon River while I talked. I kept shivering constantly and my teeth chattered but it was not from being cold. I could not seem to stop shaking. An icy death grip would not let go of my heart. My coworker said something meant to be comforting, but I soon forgot it. It did not make me feel any better because the feeling of dread just would not go away. I was totally at the mercy of forces outside myself. My soul was drowning in the swift Yukon River current and I was powerless to help myself.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James