"Before fear entered my life, before sleepless nights and unanswered questions became my reality, there was my daughter." December 4, 2001, began like any other day. There was no warning. Nothing told me to hold my daughter a little tighter before she walked out the door. My Dee Dee was gentle and trusting, the kind of young woman who believed the best in everyone. That was her gift. It may also have been what placed her in harm's way. A stranger at a gas station. A friendly invitation to lunch. A black Camaro with a North Carolina plate. From these small, ordinary pieces, I began to retrace the last hours of my child's life. This is the story of my search, the desperate drives down empty roads, the riverbanks walked in dread, the hope that rose and broke again and again. It is the story of a name, Joseph Brown, and the darkness behind a friendly smile. But above all, it is my refusal to let my daughter become a headline. Dee Dee was not a case. She was my child. And I made a promise to never stop speaking her name.
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