It was surreal, like something out of a movie: the gray sky, the light drizzle, the dead grass and the cemetery that was empty save for herself and a groundskeeper. This is where her search ended.

She looked at the piece of paper with the plot location and grave number written on it then looked around the graveyard once more.

She started down the path the groundskeeper had pointed her on, her nerves still a little shaken. It was silly to be embarrassed but she still worried that he would recognize the grave, know who it belonged to. She would see that look in his eyes, something that started off as surprise then dissolved into disdain. But working in a place like this, she knew whatever surprise she saw in the groundskeeper's eyes was the fact that anyone would visit at all. This was a cemetery for the unwanted -- homeless and criminals mostly.

Strange, that this was the end. When the two FBI agents came to her door several weeks ago to ask about her daughter she'd been hopeful. Twenty-five years of wondering and waiting could be put to rest. It turned out they were looking to her to get information not to give. What they could tell her, though, was that her daughter had been dead for nearly five years.

She wrapped her tweed coat around her as the wind grew stronger. She had never been to California before, she didn't expect it to be this cold even in late November.

She last saw Natalie before she had left for Harvard. That she could get into a school like that had their small Missouri suburb buzzing for month. She knew that Natalie was thrilled to be going or at least thrilled to leave Maplewood. Not that Natalie talked much about it to her. They had never had a close relationship -- then she had wanted to believe it was the typical strife that mothers and daughters experienced even though she feared otherwise. Unlike other girls, Natalie was never emotional or clingy. She had a composure about her that made her seem much older than her years. Even as a child there was a distance in those green eyes that she couldn't reach.

The only person Natalie ever did seem close to was her sister Jackie. It wasn't a typical relationship between sisters. They were less like the sometimes friends-sometimes rivals you would expect in two girls their age. There weren't any fights over clothes or late night chats just a strange quiet bond that reminded her more of two battle-weary soldiers than young girls. The two had formed their own barrier that left her on the outside. She should have asked herself then what, or who, they were protecting themselves from.

She wished again that she had worn gloves as she shifted the small bouquet into her right hand and slipped the left into her pocket.

It was hopeless wishing for a different outcome, now that her family was gone. Shortly after Natalie left for school Jackie seemed to fall apart. Her youngest was never home always spending the night at whatever friend's house she could find. Anything to be out of the house and away from her father especially.

Fred, their father, had tried to chalk it up to teenage rebellion but that didn't explain the mixture of fear and revulsion the girls had for him.

Natalie disappeared soon after leaving for college. When she was told by the people at Harvard that her daughter had dropped out she was stunned. She tried asking Jackie for details but by then her daughter was barely speaking to her. It wasn't until a few months later, after Jackie's suicide, that she even got a clue about what happened to her other daughter. Natalie had sent her sister a postcard several months prior, it had a picture of sidewalk cafe in Heidelberg on it and the message was a short one.

And that was it.

She had stayed in the same town, in the same house even after divorcing her husband, hoping that Natalie would write or visit. It was hard, not knowing what had become of her. Did she know about Jackie? Did Natalie know that she had divorced her father? Would she forgive her for being so blind all those years? Did she have a family of her own? Was she in trouble -- or hurt?

Often times she would try picturing her -- what she would look like, what her voice sounded like. She had been so desperate for some answers she even contacted a few psychics and once a private investigator but he couldn't find anything. He said it was like Natalie "vanished into thin air." If what the agents had told several weeks ago was true, then the private investigator's explanation now made sense.

The agents had asked her about her Natalie and then told her about a "Nina Myers" who was connected to these terrorists. They tried to tell her that her Natalie was Nina Myers, that her Natalie was a terrorist. Obviously, she didn't believe them. Not until they showed her the pictures and she saw those familiar green eyes made more unapproachable with time.

She stopped to take the small piece of paper out of her pocket -- she had found the grave. It had a plain wooden marker -- no name just a serial number. Laying the bouquet down she let out a small sigh. It had been twenty-five years and though left with more questions than answers -- she had found her daughter.

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