On March 2, 2003 at 4:12 pm, I disappeared.
My name is isabella v.
I’m twentysomething and I am an international fugitive.
My name is isabella v. But it isn’t.
There’s a sleepy island jurisdiction that I have occasion to know quite well. It is close enough to (and far enough from) the mainland to have some kind of access to civilisation (there are a surprising number of airstrips in the general vicinity, actually) but still make for an ideal place to get lost. If your small aircraft is on the fritz, you can sail up from leeward side and then duck west to protected waters and vanish into one of a hundred little hidden coves and bays where a careful individual might go unnoticed for some time indeed.