I'm Going to Disappear

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Long John Silver's fish and participation may vary. You knew the day would come.
And here it is. Your young daughter is finally tall enough to reach the elevator button in your high-rise condo building.
You made a deal with her. When she was big enough to press the button herself, she could have a bit more independence.
It terrifies you that she now has the ability to disappear into the world so easily. But you try to see it as a good thing.
It's a chance for her to experience a little bit of freedom. So when she asks if she can go down to your building's pool with her friends, you tell her to run along.
You watch from the doorway of your apartment as she skips down the hallway carrying her towel and gets on her tiptoes to press the button. You consider calling out to her one last time to tell her to be careful.

But instead, you hold your tongue,

reminding yourself that she's not even leaving the property.

It's only an elevator ride.

What could possibly go wrong? July 30th, 1985.

The heat clings to everything.

It presses into the corners of Jeanette Moran's top floor apartment like an unwanted guest.

Her in-home daycare is busy today.

Busier than she's been in weeks.

School's out and parents are working.

That means on top of watching her own daughter, Jeanette is watching half a dozen other kids and infants. Jeanette tries to keep a tidy home, but during daycare hours, it transforms into a loud, sticky, chaotic place.
Toddlers in the kitchen, babies on the floor. Someone is always crying, shrieking, or laughing.
Jeanette can't help but shoot a glance at the clock on the wall, just to see how much time is left until lunchtime. Her heart sinks when she realizes that it's not even 11am yet.
Needless to say, this is going to be a brutal day. As the baby she's holding takes its bottle, Jeanette pauses near a window.
From here on the 20th floor of her building, she has an incredible view of the Toronto skyline. Then a tiny tug comes at her pant leg.
It's time to get back to work. Jeanette turns, expecting to find one of the daycare kids waiting there.
But it's actually her kid, 8-year-old Nicole Moran. She's dressed for the pool in her bathing suit and wants to know where the sunscreen is.
Jeanette tells her and Nicole bounds off to fetch it. Jeanette's glad that her daughter has her own plans today.
They'll be out of each other's hair. She's going swimming with a friend

at their apartment building's outdoor pool, just a few floors down and across the courtyard. No need for a chaperone.
The building might be enormous, but it's still a community. Neighbors know each other.
They nod in the halls. They gossip.
They walk each other's dogs. And Jeanette takes comfort in all of that.
And Nicole, she's sweet but wary, appropriately cautious. Jeanette takes comfort in this too.
Her daughter knows not to talk to strangers, not to get in any cars with anyone for any reason. A buzz rattles the intercom and interrupts her thoughts.
Jeanette wipes her hands, hoists another child onto her hip, and presses the button. It's 11 o'clock on the dot now.
Nicole's friend is right on time. Jeanette calls out and Nicole bounds out of her room, her bag packed and slung over her shoulder.
Her eyes are lit up. She's excited.
Jeanette leans in and tucks a piece of her brown hair behind her daughter's ear. A grin.
And just like that, Nicole's out the apartment door and running off down the hallway towards the bank of elevators. Jeanette stops the apartment door with her foot before it shuts all the way.
There from the doorway, she watches as Nicole presses the button, then turns back to give her mom that smile she always gives. Although, Jeanette wonders if there might be a twinge of sadness in her daughter's smile this time.
She knows her daughter's life has been a rollercoaster these past few years. Since separating from her husband, Art, she's been doing her best to hold things together.
They really did try to make a good go of it. Art still lives nearby.
He pays support, $50 a week like clockwork. He shows up for the big and small things, birthdays, dentist appointments, ice cream cones.
But he and Jeanette still argue. Mostly about money.
Sometimes about Nicole. Other times, it's just for no reason at all.
This weekend, the plan is to go to a nearby amusement park. An attempted normalcy of acting like a family.
That divorce thing isn't Nicole's fault, but sometimes they worry that she thinks it is. Jeanette can see Nicole's elevator is about to arrive, and so she removes her foot and lets the apartment door swing shut.
She returns to the daycare chaos that awaits her, but something gnaws at the edge of her thoughts.

She reminds herself, the building is safe, the neighbors are watching, Nicole knows better.

And yet, somewhere deep in her chest, there's a flicker of unease.

Then, just as quickly as it came, it's gone.

Jeanette gets back to work. These worries will have to wait.

She has a job to do, after all. But right now, somewhere in the building, something is happening.
And by the time Jeanette realizes it, it'll be far, far too late. 11.15

Nicole's friend Jenny waits in the lobby, arms folded, eyes fixed on the elevator doors as they slide open, then closed again.

Open. Closed.
Still no Nicole.

She's been looking forward to their plan all week.

Summer days are long. Too long sometimes.

There's only so much sidewalk chalk, and only so many cartoons a kid can take. Thank goodness for Nicole, not everyone gets a best friend like her.
Someone who just gets it. The way adults never quite listen.
How parents can argue. Jenny waits.
The elevator keeps going up and down. She tries to be patient.
Nicole's probably fixing her hair or deciding which town to bring. Maybe she's trying to find her goggles.
Who knows? Jenny buzzes Nicole's apartment again. Her mom, Jeanette, answers and states that Nicole isn't there, that she left for the lobby on an elevator about 15 minutes prior.
She tells Jenny to go look for her outside. The call drops.
Jenny stands there for a while longer, just in case. The elevator arrives and dinks again, opens, closes, still nothing.
She grabs her towel and heads outside, wondering if Nicole has somehow already

left, and perhaps she just missed her. Just before 3pm.
The daycare portion of Jeanette's day

is almost over, and she's grateful for that. The parents will begin trickling in to pick their kids

up anytime now. The sun is slipping lower, casting shadows that stretch across the concrete outside.
She is cleaning up the living room, scooping up blocks, wiping spills, tossing crumbs into the trash. She glances at the clock with a flood of relief.
It's time for pickup. Nicole's been out of the pool for a long time now.

She must be having a great time with Jenny. As the kids begin to leave with their parents,

the apartment grows quieter. Still no sign of Nicole.
As the last few come and go,

Jeanette asks the same thing. Could they keep an eye out for Nicole on their way out

and tell her to head home? They all agree, but they turn up empty-handed. Nicole should have been back by now.
Wouldn't she be hungry? It's way past lunchtime. Jeanette makes a phone call to Jenny's parents, and her mom answers.
She tells Jeanette that Nicole never came down, that her daughter has hurt feelings. Jenny's mother wonders out loud if something is wrong.
Jeanette can barely bring herself to answer, and before long, it finally dawns on her. Something indeed seems very, very wrong.
Jeanette opens Nicole's bedroom door, and it's exactly the same as it was that morning. Her toys are a mess.
Bed made. Her dresser, just slightly ajar.
Her beloved rat bluebell is asleep in the wood shavings. Jeanette scans the room.
Nicole's towel is still gone. Her bag, too.
She's not in the apartment. She's not at the pool.
She's not with her friend. And just like that, the questions begin to form.
By 6 p.m., the white hot sun outside has mellowed into gold. Jeanette knows that she should be cooking dinner and winding down with her daughter, but instead, she's at a loss of what else to do except to alert the police.
Once that's taken care of, there's one last call to make. Her ex, Art.
She tries not to talk to Art unless she has to. There's just too much fighting.
It's amazing that they stayed married for as long as they did. She bites her limp.
Despite it all, she knows that they need to be a team right now. She needs him.
She dials, and he picks up. She asks him flat out if he has Nicole.
There's a pause. Her hand tightens around the receiver.
She wants to scream, wants to accuse him of something, of taking her, of making a point, of being selfish and manipulative amidst the court battle. But his voice is steady, quiet even.
No, he hasn't seen her. And just like that, something cracks open inside of Jeanette.
But the panic doesn't come as a rush. It comes on like a hum, a low vibration in her chest.
Her heartbeat seems to slow.

The heat. of Jeanette.
But the panic doesn't come as a rush. It comes on like a hum, a low vibration in her

chest. Her heartbeat seems to slow.
The heat, the edges of the room, blur. She realizes how long it's been, how many hours Nicole's been gone.
And right now, the police and Art are all on their way. After 25 years on the force, Staff Sergeant John Luby has seen it all, and that includes missing kid cases.
Most of the time, they turn up, out too late, lost track of time, maybe hiding to avoid a lecture, but they come home, usually. The call from the superintendent's wife

comes in just after 6pm. It's about a girl, 8 years old.
She lives with her mother on the top

floor of a sprawling high-rise. She's been gone since late morning.
She headed off to the elevator,

and that was that. Sergeant Luby arrives at Jeanette's building to scope out the scene.

Maybe this girl's just playing a game, he figures. Maybe she got in a fight with her mom.
Any way you shake it, this place has far too many places to hide. Basements and back hallways, elevator shafts and drains, garbage chutes and trash compactors.
But Luby catches his mind wandering too far down that road and shudders. The missing girl's mother, Jeanette, meets him at the door.
She's trying to stay calm, doing that thing parents do, even though they're already halfway underwater. He studies her quickly.
She's wringing her hands. Art, the girl's father, is there too.
Luby scans his face, looks at his arms for scratch marks. He clocks their body language.
They don't quite look like a couple, but they stand close. Jeanette and Art take him into Nichols' bedroom, and there's nothing out of place.
A white canopy bed, a porky pig lamp. Her favorite stuffed teddy bear on her pillow.

Normal kid stuff.

Above the headboard, a small embroidered square hangs.

Four angels around my bed.

Two at the foot, two at the head.

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

Bless this bed that I lie on.

He gives her parents the promise that he always does.

That he'll start from square one.

He'll search the apartment, the building, every inch.

To prove it, he gets down on his knees and looks under the bed.

Nothing.

More officers arrive, and John splits the team up.

Some will stay here with Jeanette and try to get a better sense of Nichols's morning. The others will canvas the building, every floor, every stairwell.
Inside, there are 429 units, and they'll knock on every last door. On the seventh floor, the police meet a neighbor who tells them that she rode the elevator with Nicole that day.
She's sure of it. She says that she saw Nicole get off in the lobby while she herself continued down to the basement.
The Mounties are called in for perimeter coverage. A two-mile radius around the apartment building is sectioned off and searched with dogs and everything.
John stays behind in the apartment to think. Nicole's been gone for over seven hours now.
That's far too long. John doesn't say it out loud, but something in his gut twists.
He hates these situations. He overhears the officers questioning Jeanette and Art now.
Art is fumbling his words, explaining how hard it's been, how they've been trying to stitch things back together with his family. He and Jeanette aren't living together, but they've been trying to make things work.
He answers questions the best he can. He remembers that Nicole had a dentist appointment coming up, but she certainly wouldn't have run away over that.
He tells them how they had just gone to a local waterfront park the weekend before

and that he thought that maybe she went there.

When Jeanette first called him up to tell him that she was missing, that was his first stop.

Then, Art takes a breath.

John and the officers sense him making a calculation, a hesitation, and then he comes out with it.

A cryptic message in her school notebook, he tells them.

They probably shouldn't have snooped,

but they were worried about their daughter in the wake of the divorce.

So one day they looked, and that is where they saw it.

In her handwriting, Nicole had written four agonizing words.

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The search for Nicole Moran has begun, and it's expanding rapidly. Based on boat market share data John for more details.
Anything. He didn't know his heart could beat so fast for so long.
The police and community leave no stone unturned, and yet they find no trace of Nicole. Her parents decide to take a new tact.
When Nicole is three days gone, they hold a press conference outside the police station. Jeanette stands at the podium, reading a prepared statement for the assembled press.
Art stands off to the side, watching her closely as she leans into the microphone, her voice low and trembling. She asks Nicole to be returned, to come home.
There's a quiver in her voice. Pens scribble.
Cameras click. Art watches the way she looks out over the crowd.
not at it, but over it, like she's speaking into a fog. Slight tightness around her eyes, just enough to read as sorrow,

as fatigue, as maternal grief. But curiously, Art sees something else, a performance.

The way her shoulders lift on cue with a breath,

the way she pauses perfectly between sentences.

He wants to believe it's real,

wants to believe that she's doing this because she's desperate.

But that nagging feeling that something is off,

it hasn't left him.

In fact, it's only gotten louder.

Art thinks about the polygraph tests, the ones that they had to take earlier. Of course, he complied happily, if that's the right word.
He passed, but so did Jeanette. He never knew her to be an actor, but he's beginning to see her differently now.
Jeanette's statement is short. The officers thank the press.
Jeanette steps away from the mic, and Art knows what he needs to do next.

He needs to take matters into his own hands.

The police aren't moving quick enough.

They aren't turning up, and he leans.

He's frustrated, and he needs to try something different.

He's been spending more and more time in the apartment, and suddenly, it just makes sense. He'll move back in.
But he's not falling in love again. No, he's motivated by a need to be close.
Not just in case Nicole comes back, but to keep an eye on Jeanette. Her behavior.
Her movements. He needs to know if she knows more than she's saying.
And so, he asks. Jeanette consents.
And soon, Art is moving his belongings into the high-rise, 20 floors up the very elevator where his daughter was last seen. The apartment still smells like Nicole.
Sunscreen, bubblegum, the sweet scent of her shampoo. It lingers like a ghost.
From the outside, maybe this looks like reconciliation to some. A divorced couple, reunited, a united front.
Especially for the reporters who keep coming and going. There are so many articles, and somehow still never enough.
Art and Jeanette play the part, a fractured family trying to hold together. But behind the door of their apartment, it's something else entirely.
Quiet, frozen, tense. Every word carries weight.
Every silence, a test. The distance between them has grown into something fast,

and even this, even Nicole can't bridge it.

They make coffee without speaking,

eat in silence,

take turns sleeping on the couch.

At night, Art stares up at the ceiling

and tries not to relive every moment of that morning.

They aren't a couple anymore. They're two people bound by something unspeakable.
One afternoon, the police call him down to the station to chat. They want to ask Art about his church.
His relationship with the congregation has been rocky since the divorce. Is it possible that someone from the church has taken Nicole to rescue her from what they thought was a broken home? He doesn't think so, but then again, who could rule it out? Everyone feels like a suspect.
Time marches on, but the tips keep coming. Someone reports that they had seen a strange woman in the hallway the day Nicole disappeared.

The 20th floor, thin, white, early 30s, holding a notepad like it meant something.

No one knew who she was.

No one had seen her before. No one has ever seen her again.

But in a building so big, she could have been anyone.

Someone visiting.

Someone passing through.

How suspicious is she, really? It's hard not to point fingers. Hard not to see shadows everywhere.
November 2nd. Near Etobicoke Creek, close to the airport.
A plastic bag. Inside, a newspaper with Nicole's face, a black jacket, and a pair of pants.
The police call Jeanette and Art down to the station. They stand side by side, filled with that unbearable mix, dread and anticipation, hope and grief.
But they recognize none of it. Nothing on the table belongs to Nicole.
Again, each time, the same cycle, a flicker of hope and a quiet collapse. Inside the apartment, the rift between Jeanette and Art continues to widen.
Something stark, something beyond repair. They watch each other with tired eyes, with suspicion, with grief, with the heavy weight of everything unsaid.
And all the while, that note lingers in the air like static. Art wants to believe, in some twisted way, that Nicole disappeared herself.
That Nicole vanished on her own volition. That she's really alive, after all.
He thinks about Jeanette's appeal in front of the cameras back in August. He thinks about her at home, wounded, helpless, primal.
He thinks of her at that podium. He plays it over and over in his mind, the memory warped by grief.
What really does she know? In that moment, Art has no way of knowing that as suspicious as he is of Jeanette, she's equally suspicious of him. Since the moment Nicole disappeared, Jeanette's wondered

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The years start to stack up like unopened letters. Jeanette marks them quietly on anniversaries, on the birthdays Nicole never had.
Other names start to surface. Girls from nearby towns, from across the country, all about the same age.
And Jeanette reads about all of them. She clips their photos from the paper.
They all ended the same way. Found, but never alive.
And so Jeanette thinks, maybe it's a mercy that Nicole hasn't been found. Maybe in a way, this could be a positive thing.
She keeps Nicole's bedroom exactly the same. Every morning, she dusts the dresser, tidies the sheets, places Bluebell's old cage on the windowsill where the sun hits it just right.
In March of 1986, the police disband the task force. The trail is cold, and they can't keep allocating so many resources.
They had spent almost $2 million that first year, but for what? Not even peace of mind. Jeanette and Art are still living together in the apartment.
She's not sure if it was the right decision after all. Nicole's disappearance has changed Art.
When Jeanette looks at him now, She sees a man possessed by the specter of loss driven mad.

When she closes her eyes, she can remember him as he was all those years ago. A quiet, steady, hardworking man.
The man she once fell in love with. But that man has vanished too.
She looks at herself in the mirror and clocks the toll that this has all taken on her. She sees a woman looking back at her with dark, hollowed eyes, and creases unrecognizable.
A flicker of recognition, perhaps, but she feels like grief has taken hold of and made a shapeshifter out of her. She dreams of Nicole more often now, Not always as a child.
Sometimes she's older, a teenager, grown up, changed by time. Jeanette begins to wonder, what if Nicole really did run away? That handwritten message in her notebook, it still haunts her.
I'm going to disappear. She wanted to think that it was nothing, but maybe it was something all alone.
It's the summer of 1987 now, and Jeanette is alone in Art's office, thumbing through paperwork, searching for something trivial, a phone number, a memo, newspaper clippings, and that's when a familiar word catches her eye, Her own name. Curious, she lifts the folder, heart tightening.
And then she sees it all. Surveillance details, personal histories, private notes about places she's been, conversations she's had, her entire life, dissected.
Aren't hired a private investigator and he's been spying on her this entire time. Her ears ring in the silence.
She was never supposed to find this out. Jeanette crumbles.
She confronts him. How in the world could he do this to her? She calls him paranoid, a man consumed.
He defends himself. He's resentful.
Who wouldn't be? He'll never understand how Jeanette could have given Nicole free reign to use the elevator at such a young age. Why did she just let their daughter walk out the door? Of course, he was going to find his answers in the absence of Jeanette's.
Jeanette can't live like this. She's suddenly aware of his watchful, almost hateful eyes.
What had struck her as paranoia now has an entirely different quality to it. This man is suspicious of her.
He always has been, and she's only just now realized it. No longer can she take it.
What was once their home suddenly feels like a prison, and so she does something that would have been unthinkable for so many years. She moves out of the apartment and leaves the last trace of Nicole behind her.
The year after Jeanette moves out, an American drifter claims that he kidnapped Nicole. This, however, appears to be a false confession.
Police chase down other leads, other known child predators, but nothing turns up. Around this time, Jeanette quietly visits a psychic.
The woman is warm, strange. She says Nicole's alive, on a farm in Calgary with a new name, a new life.
Jeanette cries, heaving sobs. It's a release.
She looks at the map the woman has drawn for her, eight towns where Nicole could be alive. Jeanette feels something reignite inside her.
She needs to go find her daughter. But when Jeanette tells Art about her plan, he laughs it all off bitterly.
Of course, she's crushed by this response. She knows that they both have their own ways of finding answers.
This was hers, a desperate attempt at a non-conventional route. It's unclear whether Jeanette ever visited the eight towns or not, but the case to this day stays open.
It lingers throughout the decades, collecting dust and dead ends. Then, in 2004, a child advocacy group gets its hands on some new technology, facial recognition.
They run it against images taken from a notorious pedophile ring, and one result comes back. It's a girl who looks like Nicole.
But even still, it's unclear how seriously this tip was taken or looked into. The Canadian police, to this day, haven't commented.
In 2014, a woman calls in a tip. She had just seen a reenactment video on TV, and it triggered something.
A memory, a scream in the woods all those years ago. A girl's voice pleading on the day Nicole went missing, begging not to be hurt.
The woman claims that her mother had heard it too. They had called the police, of course, yet it's unclear if the area was searched.
Always in the background, the question hangs over Jeanette. What if Nicole left on purpose? What if someone helped her? What if she's still out there, living a different life, a different person? Could this be the reason that not a single shred of evidence was ever found? In the case of Nicole Moran, there's no body, no belongings, no witnesses, no struggle, no goodbye.
And that's what haunts people the most about it to this day. The complete unknown of all of it.
She told her friend that she was on her way, zipped up her swim bag and walked out of the door.

And then, nothing. Not a sound, not a trace.
Just the hush of an elevator ride that no one ever saw end. Nicole Moran's case ended up being one of the most extensive investigations in Toronto's history.
25,000 hours chasing leads, 5,000 people questioned. Jeanette and Art never found their way back to each other, and they never found Nicole.
Jeanette spent her final days in a quiet resolve, exhausted from years of searching, before passing away in 2007. Since then, Art has kept the investigation alive and remains determined to find his daughter.
Nicole Moran was just eight years old when she vanished. If she's still alive, she'd be in her forties now, and maybe, just maybe, she's still out there.
Depending on who you ask, Nicole's story is a tragedy, a mystery,

or perhaps even a miracle still waiting to happen. Late Nights with Nexpo is created and hosted by me, Nexpo.
Executive produced by me, Mr. Ballin, Nick Witters, and Zach Levitt.
Our head of writing is Evan Allen. This episode was written by Robin Miniter.
Copy editing by Luke Baratz. Audio editing and sound design by Alistair Sherman.
Mixed and mastered by Schultz Media. Research by Abigail Shumway,

Camille Callahan, Evan Beamer, and Stacey Wood. Fact-checking by Abigail Shumway.

Production supervision by Jeremy Bone and Colt Ocasio. Production coordination by Samantha

Collins and Avery Siegel. Artwork by Jessica Cloxton-Kiner and Robin Vane.
Theme song by

Ross Bugden. Thank you all so much for listening to Late Nights with Nexpo.
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