The Savage Murder of Skylar Neese: The Truth Behind the Headlines by Daleen Berry, Geoffrey C. Fuller Page B
Authors: Daleen Berry, Geoffrey C. Fuller
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ready to drive to North Carolina, someone who called herself “Pisces_Sun” posted on Websleuths, saying she had barely seen or read anything about the story. Websleuths is one of the largest online crime discussion sites, and Pisces_Sun’s post highlighted a disturbing reality:
Me and my husband drove through Star City on our way to the store just now… I’m shocked that there aren’t missing posters for this girl up anywhere on the main drag! … Haven’t heard anyone mention it around town, either.
Even though Skylar had been missing for one week, few people outside of Mary and Dave’s immediate circles seemed to know about it. Skylar’s story illustrated a sad truth: traditional media can’t raise awareness as quickly as necessary in the case of a missing juvenile. That’s why the AMBER Alert was created—but the AMBER system didn’t consider Skylar to be in danger. As far as Mary and Dave were concerned, the AMBER Alert system was broken and needed to be fixed.
Once national news programs did pick up the story, the networks requested sound bites from the parents. Ultimately, all of them came from Dave because Mary couldn’t look into a camera without crying uncontrollably. With his close-cropped, gray-flecked hair, knitted eyebrows, and tight skepticism pulling at the left corner of his mouth, Dave reminded people of the actor John Goodman. In spite of his obvious concern and frustration, every news clip portrayed a man who was bearing all the disappointments with an admirable, soft-spoken dignity.
As the online momentum intensified, more people learned about Skylar’s disappearance. The mainstream media struggled to catch up to all the social media sites that had been covering the story since it began. By the time the Neeses were ready to leave for what they hoped would be a joyful reunion with Skylar, Colebank heard back from the Carolina Beach police. The girl who had been seen was, in fact, a runaway. She was not Skylar.
Mary and Dave could barely find the energy to unpack Carol’s car.
***
On Sunday, a week and a half after Skylar came up missing, Mary Neese awoke to the certainty she’d never see Skylar again. Her maternal instincts told her as much. Across town, her sister Carol had the same feeling. Carol dressed quickly and drove to Mary’s.
On the way, Skylar memories kept playing as if on a loop inside her mind. Carol had been there the day Skylar was born. She had driven Mary and Skylar home when Mary called her, insistent she leave the hospital a day early. Carol never forgot that day, or the black ice that the car containing her, Mary, and their two only children spun around on in the middle of a busy road. Carol had held it together long enough for her husband, Steve, to come and rescue them. The minute she got home, though, she burst into tears.
Like Mary, Carol cries easily. She does so even as she relates stories about Skylar: the time Skylar borrowed her earrings to wear to a middle-school dance, the times Skylar insisted she had to come clean Carol’s house when Carol was sick, and every time her favorite niece gave her another teapot.
Carol entered the Neeses’ apartment without bothering to knock. In north-central West Virginia, people leave their doors unlocked when they are home—and often when they’re not. It’s common for relatives and close friends to simply enter, especially if they are expected. Mary was on the couch, her eyes rimmed with red.
“Carol, she’s not coming back,” Mary said. “If she was coming back, she’d be back. I’m telling you now.”
“I know. I can feel it, too. Skylar wouldn’t do this.” Carol sank onto the couch beside her sister.
“You know what else?” Mary said. “Her period was going to start, and you know how she gets.”
Carol nodded. “Cramps so bad she has to go to bed for the entire first day. And she always has to have Goody with her.” Carol suddenly realized something. “Mary! Where’s Goody?”
Mary
Me and my husband drove through Star City on our way to the store just now… I’m shocked that there aren’t missing posters for this girl up anywhere on the main drag! … Haven’t heard anyone mention it around town, either.
Even though Skylar had been missing for one week, few people outside of Mary and Dave’s immediate circles seemed to know about it. Skylar’s story illustrated a sad truth: traditional media can’t raise awareness as quickly as necessary in the case of a missing juvenile. That’s why the AMBER Alert was created—but the AMBER system didn’t consider Skylar to be in danger. As far as Mary and Dave were concerned, the AMBER Alert system was broken and needed to be fixed.
Once national news programs did pick up the story, the networks requested sound bites from the parents. Ultimately, all of them came from Dave because Mary couldn’t look into a camera without crying uncontrollably. With his close-cropped, gray-flecked hair, knitted eyebrows, and tight skepticism pulling at the left corner of his mouth, Dave reminded people of the actor John Goodman. In spite of his obvious concern and frustration, every news clip portrayed a man who was bearing all the disappointments with an admirable, soft-spoken dignity.
As the online momentum intensified, more people learned about Skylar’s disappearance. The mainstream media struggled to catch up to all the social media sites that had been covering the story since it began. By the time the Neeses were ready to leave for what they hoped would be a joyful reunion with Skylar, Colebank heard back from the Carolina Beach police. The girl who had been seen was, in fact, a runaway. She was not Skylar.
Mary and Dave could barely find the energy to unpack Carol’s car.
***
On Sunday, a week and a half after Skylar came up missing, Mary Neese awoke to the certainty she’d never see Skylar again. Her maternal instincts told her as much. Across town, her sister Carol had the same feeling. Carol dressed quickly and drove to Mary’s.
On the way, Skylar memories kept playing as if on a loop inside her mind. Carol had been there the day Skylar was born. She had driven Mary and Skylar home when Mary called her, insistent she leave the hospital a day early. Carol never forgot that day, or the black ice that the car containing her, Mary, and their two only children spun around on in the middle of a busy road. Carol had held it together long enough for her husband, Steve, to come and rescue them. The minute she got home, though, she burst into tears.
Like Mary, Carol cries easily. She does so even as she relates stories about Skylar: the time Skylar borrowed her earrings to wear to a middle-school dance, the times Skylar insisted she had to come clean Carol’s house when Carol was sick, and every time her favorite niece gave her another teapot.
Carol entered the Neeses’ apartment without bothering to knock. In north-central West Virginia, people leave their doors unlocked when they are home—and often when they’re not. It’s common for relatives and close friends to simply enter, especially if they are expected. Mary was on the couch, her eyes rimmed with red.
“Carol, she’s not coming back,” Mary said. “If she was coming back, she’d be back. I’m telling you now.”
“I know. I can feel it, too. Skylar wouldn’t do this.” Carol sank onto the couch beside her sister.
“You know what else?” Mary said. “Her period was going to start, and you know how she gets.”
Carol nodded. “Cramps so bad she has to go to bed for the entire first day. And she always has to have Goody with her.” Carol suddenly realized something. “Mary! Where’s Goody?”
Mary
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