Dave Krupa

Christmas had once been a magical time of year for Max here in Macedonia.

A celebration of his amazing bond with his mother.

Of little things like their family's gift-opening traditions.

Well, it was wrong.

And you kind of had to bottle it up, didn't you?

It was heartbreaking, too, for Carrie's mom, Max's grandma, Nancy.

And of course, she was worried, very worried, about Max.

Also bothered and kicking himself daily for ever hearing the name Carrie Farver.

Dave Krupa.

He, the last person she saw before all the madness.

He was still getting text messages from her.

Texts that were driving Dave crazy.

The blizzards hitting Omaha as fall slid into winter were nothing in comparison.

And worse, said Dave, the skin-crawling feeling that Carrie was stalking him, spying on him.

It was always like a ghost when he looked she was gone.

And then one day, January 2013, about two months after Carrie was last seen, Dave was making the short drive from work to home in West Omaha.

I'm coming through the parking lot, and I noticed the truck there because it still had all the snow on it.

And when I got up close, I'm like, oh, it's an Explorer.

Oh, it's the right color.

Hmm.