During study hall, 779 sterling starts screaming at me so incessantly that I can't ignore it any more.

I use a library computer to Google it.

The first results I get are a bunch of silverware and jewelry sites, along with the address for a real estate listing in Nevada. This combination of numbers with a word does feel like an address, so I add New York to the search.

This time, the first thing that comes up is an address in Brooklyn: 779 Sterling Place. It's even close to my neighborhood.

I open Google Maps and point the street view to the side of the road where the address is. I zoom in.

But there's nothing there.

779 Sterling Place is just an empty lot. No house. No Apartment. It's just a small paved lot surrounded by brick walls and blocked off by an iron fence. A big tree stands at the back of the lot and shades the space with drooping branches. The 2014 version of the image is the clearest because someone must have pruned the tree that year. Still, there's nothing in the lot but piles of debris and trash. You can see what looks like a discarded basketball hoop leaning against the wall. But beside some random graffiti, there's nothing else there. Seriously. It's an address without a building. Google it for yourself if you don't believe me.

My heart sinks.

For a moment I'd let myself hope that I'd somehow supernaturally channeled the address where I'd find my sister. I'd hoped that after Googling it I might have recognized a stoop or a front door that might have sparked some lost memory of our disappearance. I'd even let myself hope that my sister might still be alive, and that I would just have to walk into a building and find her locked in some basement room. The Google street view image from 2014 shows a girl who I actually know from school walking on the sidewalk with her mom, their faces blurred, but nothing about the address itself looks familiar. And there's nothing there anyway. If Shanna is somehow still alive, this can't be where she is.

I really miss her right now.

I feel like if only my sister were here, she'd help me make sense of everything. Maybe she'd even tell me I'm not crazy to wonder if my fixation on the sink, and the finger in the wall behind it, and now this empty address are all somehow connected.

But she's not here. She's gone.

So I'm left to figure all of this out on my own.