Taylor Barksdale's life was stolen in Madison County.

Her murder was brutal. Her case is unsolved. And her killer is still out there.

In this episode, we take a deeper look—into the timeline, the silence, the unanswered questions, and the systemic gaps that have left Taylor’s family without justice for far too long.

This isn’t just a story of loss.
It’s a story of neglect.
Of who gets justice—and who gets forgotten.

This is The Lost Girls.
And this is Taylor Barksdale’s story.

It was a warm September afternoon in 1985 when 16-year-old Kimberly “Kim” Simon left her home in Marcy, New York. She was headed out for a walk—planning to meet a friend at Whitesboro Junior High School. It was supposed to be a simple, familiar route along Mohawk Street.

But Kim never made it.

The next day, her body was discovered in a wooded area less than a mile from her home. She had been murdered. And in an instant, a quiet community was forever changed.

In the decades since, Kim’s case has been marked by confusion, controversy, and painful missteps. Investigators chased countless tips, wild theories—even rumors of cult activity. A man was ultimately arrested, convicted, and sentenced to 25 years to life for her murder. But nearly two decades later, that conviction was overturned—thanks to DNA evidence and the work of the Innocence Project.

For 20 years, Kim’s family believed justice had been served. Then, it was ripped away.

Now, as the 30-year anniversary of Kim’s death approaches, her loved ones are still searching for answers. And they’re not alone.

Investigators are once again asking the public for help. Maybe you heard something. Maybe you know something. Maybe, after all this time, you’re finally ready to speak.

Kim Simon deserves the truth. And her family deserves peace.

If you have any information about Kim’s murder—even something that seems small—please contact the Oneida County District Attorney’s Office at (315) 798-5575 or Crime Stoppers at (866) 313-8477.

This is The Lost Girls—and this is the story of Kimberly Simon.

On June 6, 2024, a woman named Tori Ellen Milsak vanished from Edgewood Street in Hot Springs, Arkansas. She was just 34 years old.

Tori is described as 5’6”, 125 pounds, with blonde hair and blue eyes—a familiar face in a tight-knit community. But after that early June day, she was simply… gone.

What followed was an all-too-common silence. A brief alert. A few scattered headlines. And then, like so many women before her—Tori slipped through the cracks. Her case got buried beneath bigger news, louder stories, and the casual cruelty of indifference.

Authorities noted that Tori may have been experiencing mental health challenges, a detail that should have prompted urgency—but instead, may have contributed to her case being quietly dismissed in the court of public opinion.

Tori Ellen Milsak mattered.

If you know anything about her disappearance, please contact the Hot Springs Police Department at (501) 321-6789.

She was just fifteen years old when she vanished.

On the afternoon of November 18, 2006, April Andrews walked out the door of her apartment in Pea Ridge, Arkansas with a simple plan. She told her mom she was headed to the Pea Ridge Church of the Nazarene, just down the street, to look through some clothes the church was giving away.

It was a short walk. A familiar street. A place where she should have been safe. But April never made it home. She was never seen again.

The last known sighting came from a child who said they saw April talking to someone in an older model brown pickup truck. But contrary to some reports, no one knows for certain if she ever got into the vehicle. What is certain is this: by that evening, April’s mother knew something was wrong — and reported her missing.

In the early days, her case was labeled as a runaway. That label stuck for far too long. But the more investigators looked, the more concerned they became. April hadn’t taken anything with her. She hadn’t made plans. And despite scattered, unconfirmed sightings in northwest Arkansas, there has never been any verified trace of her.

At the time of her disappearance, April was navigating more than most fifteen-year-olds should have to. She had few close friends. She was being bullied at school. And she was grieving the loss of her father — all while quietly worrying that she was a burden to the family that loved her.

Nearly two decades have passed, and April Andrews’ case remains unsolved. Her mother is still waiting for answers. Her name rarely makes headlines. But she was a daughter, a student, a young girl with dreams that should have stretched far beyond that church parking lot.

This is her story.
Because April still matters.
Because silence should never have the final word.
Because every girl deserves justice.

In this episode of Lost Girls, Amy and LaDonna share the heartbreaking story of Jamie Denise Brown, a 30-year-old mother of seven who vanished on March 16, 2016, after being seen at the Dallas County Court in Fordyce, Arkansas. Jamie, known for her vibrant red hair and distinctive tattoos, disappeared without a trace — and has never been seen or heard from again.

Jamie struggled with addiction, a fact that sadly led to her case being overlooked and underreported. But behind the headlines was a woman: a mother, a daughter, a human being who mattered. Her story deserves more than silence.

In this episode, we confront the harsh realities of stigma, addiction, and how the justice system often fails women like Jamie. LaDonna, a sober living director and advocate for women in recovery, speaks directly to the urgent need to protect, honor, and search for those who are so easily dismissed by society.

Jamie Brown is still missing. Her children are still waiting. And we are still fighting.

If you know anything about her disappearance, now is the time to speak.

Because addiction does not erase worth.
Because Jamie deserves justice.
Because every girl deserves justice.

It was April 29th, 1989—a spring day in Arkansas, quiet and unassuming. Susan Lynn Burns, a 32-year-old mother, daughter, and wife, was dropped off at the Little Rock airport by her husband. According to him, she was heading somewhere. But no one knows where. And no one ever saw her again.

Susan was born on June 23rd, 1956, and lived in Mena, a small town tucked in Polk County, Arkansas. She stood 5 foot 6, with brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a few aliases—Susan Darst and Susan Brown—names that now echo like unanswered questions. At the time of her disappearance, she weighed about 135 pounds. But beyond those basic details, little else is known—not what she wore that day, not if she ever boarded a plane, and not what she may have taken with her.

What we do know is chilling: There’s no record of her ever arriving at her destination. No boarding pass. No confirmed flight. No phone calls. No activity. Nothing.

Her husband claimed he left her at the terminal. That was the last time anyone admits to seeing her. Since that moment, Susan Lynn Burns has vanished without a trace.

There are no dental records, no fingerprints on file, and to this day, no DNA has ever been submitted to any database. That alone makes her one of the most invisible missing persons in the system. And yet—someone, somewhere, knows something.

Did Susan ever plan to get on that flight? Or was she already in danger before she ever reached the airport?

Over three decades have passed. No answers. No justice. No peace.

If you're listening and you know anything—if you remember something, overheard something, or you’ve carried a secret for years—it’s not too late to speak up. You can remain anonymous. You can make the difference.

Susan Lynn Burns didn’t just disappear. People don’t just vanish. Someone out there holds the key to what really happened that day in 1989.

On the night of December 17, 2016, 18-year-old Mercedes Toliver—affectionately known as “Cede”—walked away from her home in Prescott, Arkansas after a disagreement with her mother. She was expected to head to her aunt’s house just down the road. She never made it. And she’s never been seen or heard from again.

Cede wasn’t the type to run away. She was quiet, bookish, and deeply driven. Fresh out of Prescott High School, she had just returned from Kansas, where she’d been studying for the ASVAB in hopes of joining the U.S. Air Force. She had plans. She had discipline. She had everything to live for.

She left that night with only her phone and $20. Her phone went dead shortly after. Her social media—once active—has been silent ever since.

She was last seen wearing a red hoodie over a yellow shirt, gray sweatpants, and a future full of possibility. She is described as a Black female, between 5'0" and 5'4", weighing 115 to 125 pounds, with black hair and brown eyes.

Years have passed, and the silence surrounding her case has only deepened. No updates. No clues. No justice.

Someone knows what happened to Mercedes Toliver. It’s time to speak up.

Because lost girls don’t just vanish.

Fifteen years old.
That’s how young Cassie Compton was when she vanished.

It was a quiet Sunday — September 14, 2014 — the day after Sydney attended the Arkansas County Demolition Derby with a friend in DeWitt, Arkansas. It should have been an ordinary weekend for a teenager — full of laughs, late-night snacks, and small-town memories. Instead, it became the last day anyone ever heard from her.

No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just silence.