The Vanishing

Chapter 1: Prologue

Nyota Uhura comes back from her grueling retail job, only to see a familiar face on the news.

Nyota Uhura scooped the screaming kettle off the stove and poured the boiling water over the tea bag that sat at the bottom of her mug. She let out a sigh befitting a long day done, flipped her shower-damp hair over her shoulder and stepped into her modest living room. Sitting down on the edge of her worn couch, she plucked the TV remote from the coffee table and switched on the ancient TV set, turning the volume down low and flipping through the channels idly in search of something to watch.

Her tired face looked gaunt in the light of the TV. Different colours washed over her as she flipped through the channels halfheartedly, not really paying any attention to what was appearing on the screen. She was thinking about how much her feet and back ached from her long shift. Twelve hours, with no overtime, and no sitting down on the clock. She hated retail. For the thousandth time since she got the job, she considered quitting. But there was rent to pay, so for the thousandth time, she resigned herself to her fate.

She was suddenly pulled from her thoughts, her thumb pausing over the channel button on the remote. Something had caught her attention on the small TV screen. Currently, a cheesy commercial for a supposedly revolutionary floor mop was playing, a telephone number displayed in a large font across the bottom of the screen. She flipped back a channel, then another, then another, until she came across the NBC Bay Area's eleven o'clock news. She clicked the volume up a few notches, leaning forward in her seat, listening to the clear, feminine voice of the newscaster.

"- last seen on Monday morning at the Ostrander Lake Trailhead in Yosemite National Park, marking the third disappearance in the park this year. If anyone has any information about his whereabouts..."

Nyota stopped listening. She stared at the picture occupying the screen, the face of the latest victim to the mysterious Yosemite disappearances. A white male with a cheesy but genuine smile, slightly unkempt blonde hair, eyes a radioactive shade of blue. She didn't have to look at the name displayed on the screen to know who it was. James T. Kirk, her old college dorm-mate. Her friend.

She got up from the couch, baggy flannel pants swishing around her legs as she ran to her bedroom. Snatching her laptop off her bed, she flipped it open, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She purchased a bus ticket to Yosemite National Park that would depart tomorrow at 11 AM. Then, she arranged for a taxi, specifically a van, to pick her up at 9 AM and take her to her storage unit on the other side of the river. There were some things she needed to pick up.

Her tea was forgotten, over steeped and growing cold as she rushed around, making last minute preparations. She texted her neighbour, telling her she would be away for an indefinite amount of time and asking if she wouldn't mind stopping by once a week to water the plants and make sure the pipes weren't leaking. Next, she sent a message to a coworker begging them to cover her shift at the store tomorrow afternoon. She threw together some essentials and tossed them haphazardly into a well-used duffel bag.

When all was finished, she took a deep breath. This was the time for her to change her mind, to tell herself that she wasn't doing this anymore. But she had to go. This wasn't some stranger. It was Jim. No, she had decided the moment she saw his face on the TV under a 'missing persons' banner.

She was going back.

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