BREAKING: 7 Min Ago! Step-Grandmother Recalls Hearing Lilly & Jack’s Voices… Then Nothing
She was sleeping in her trailer when her dog’s urgent barking roused her. To Janie, that bark meant only one thing—her two young step-grandchildren were outside. The hospital quiet, the kind that falls just after dawn, gave way to the unmistakable sound of children playing on the backyard swing set she built herself.

She says she heard Lily’s giggle. Jack’s delighted squeal. One after the other. Back and forth, she recalls.

Her bedroom is a mere few steps from that swing set, yet the sounds felt distant. Surreal.

Then—nothing. Silence suffocated the morning air. She lay still, straining for any hint of movement or noise, but heard only her heartbeat and the gentle rustle of spring leaves.

Moments later, Janie heard her son, Daniel Martell, calling their names with panic in his voice. He burst from the trailer yelling, “Lily! Jack!” at the top of his lungs. By the time Janie threw on her boots and raced outside, the children were gone—vanished without a trace.

That 20-minute window between the laughter and the alarm is a focal point of her story—and it’s one the RCMP can’t ignore.

They’ve scoured every inch of those woods. Yet no new breakthroughs have emerged. Now, Janie’s testimony offers a fresh lead—and hope that the silence can still be broken.

Janie’s recollection begins precisely at 8:48 a.m., when she was on the phone with her brother.
“I was talking to him and then I must have nodded off,” she explains.
“Next thing I know, the dog is barking like mad.”

In rural Landsdown Station, that bark is code for children. The only ones who coax that beagle out of slumber were Lily and Jack. Those voices—so vivid and joyful—confirm the siblings were outside at that exact moment.

Yet within minutes, Janie stepped out and heard nothing but the wind through the pines.

This sequence contradicts the RCMP’s initial timeline. Officially, their parents reported them missing around 10:00 a.m., believing the kids had slipped quietly into the woods. Yet Janie’s precise timestamp suggests they disappeared closer to 8:50 a.m.

That hour-and-a-half gap raises urgent questions:
Why did it take so long to raise the alarm?
What happened during those crucial minutes?

Since then, days of exhaustive searches—including drones, underwater teams, and over a dozen RCMP units—have yielded only two bootprints and a fragment of Lily’s pink blanket.

But bootprints don’t bark. And blankets don’t laugh.

Jan’s account pierces through the physical void with human testimony. It transforms two anonymous youths wandering off into two specific children, last heard playing on their grandmother’s swing set.

Janie’s grief is palpable as she recounts rushing into those woods.
“I closed the door, got my boots on, and ran,” she says, voice wavering.
“I ran up the path they always used. But all I found was emptiness.”

With 26 years of life lived on that property, Janie knows every hidden hollow and crisscrossed log from post-Fiona storms. She’s walked those trails with Jack on her hip. She’s carried him when the fallen trees blocked his way. She knows he never could have navigated those thickets alone.

Yet that’s precisely what the official theory demands.

Her regret cuts deep.
“I blame myself for not getting up right away,” she whispers, eyes welling.
“If I’d seen them, this would have never happened.”

It’s a raw confession—one that any grandmother can understand.

She feels the weight of those moments. Laughter and an absence pressing down on her daily.

Beyond the pain, Janie’s decision to go public is a courageous act.

She’s endured allegations online that cast suspicion on her son and daughter-in-law, Malia Brooks-Murray. She’s seen drones buzzing overhead and reporters knocking at her door.

“I’m not hiding,” she stresses, tears brimming.
“I just want the rumors to stop.”

Her willingness to speak up offers investigators an invaluable perspective—one grounded in intimate knowledge of the property and the family dynamic.

Among her revelations: she heard no crash or struggle. Only the soft thud of bare feet on grass and the easy creak of that swing set.

No dispatch records note any calls before 10:00 a.m. Yet Janie’s clock—and her dog—tell a different story.

She confirms the children were fine when last heard, alive and joyful, and that nothing followed. That abrupt end suggests an outside interruption—not a wandering accident.

Critically, her memory aligns with the only tangible clues recovered: Lily’s pink blanket fragment and two juvenile bootprints near the trailer. Those items were found where the children were last heard—on Janie’s swing set path.

They contradict searches deeper in the woods that turned up nothing.

Investigators must now refocus on that immediate perimeter—the space between Janie’s trailer and the swing set—where the voices ceased and the evidence emerged.

Janie’s account also undercuts the standard “wandered off” narrative in two key ways:

The children were playing within feet of adult-occupied trailers—not straying into dense forest unknowingly.

They vanished mid-activity, mid-moment, mid-joy—making an accidental journey into the wilderness virtually impossible without an external force.

Someone or something intervened between laughter and silence.

The RCMP has worked over 800 investigative tasks, reviewed 5,000 video files, interviewed over 60 people, and followed more than 600 tips. They’ve seized devices, conducted polygraphs, and engaged multiple jurisdictions from New Brunswick to Ontario.

Yet the case’s core mystery remains.

The children never made it into the woods.
Where are they?

Janie’s testimony reframes that question to:
Who moved them?
—not “Where did they go?”

In the days following her public statements, some online skeptics accused her of confusion or embellishment. But her chronology is unshakable:
Phone call at 8:48.
Dog barking moments later.
Voices on swings.
Then silence.

That sequence is supported by police logs showing no other hits, no unidentified vehicles, no civilian sightings between those times.

The lack of external witnesses only magnifies the importance of Janie’s proximity. She is the sole adult to hear the children alive that morning.

Beyond the timeline, Janie also reveals the family’s deep trauma since the disappearance. She has not seen her two other grandchildren—Martell’s older children. An entire branch of family is now fractured.

And Janie yearns to be Granny again.

She’s watched her quiet life erupt into a media spectacle. Her property trampled by search teams, journalists, and armchair detectives. Each intrusion reopens her grief.

Yet she remains cooperative.

When an officer first tried entering her trailer unannounced, she only stopped him to secure her dog. She insists every search of her mobile home, well, septic tank, and RV was welcomed. Each time, she hoped it might bring the children home.

When investigators flew a drone under the trailer, she stood by—determined to help.

She wants transparency, not secrecy—and demands that rumors implicating her or her son cease.

Her criticism of the RCMP’s early approach is pointed:
“How could two young children navigate miles of fallen trees in 20 minutes?” she asks.
She’s carried a one-year-old through that underbrush. She knows the answer.

And yet searchers combed those woods relentlessly—with no sign of the children.

That mismatch between effort and outcome convinces her that the true story unfolded close to home, within sight and earshot of the trailer.

Her perspective dovetails with Darren Gettys, a cousin of Brooks-Murray’s grandmother, who also felt brushed off by Mounties when he tried sharing family insights.

Gettys describes his rage at being sidelined, lamenting that critical information may have been lost in police vetting.

That sense of institutional distance underscores why Janie’s direct account is so vital. It demands investigators revisit assumptions and explore the immediate property—rather than remote trails.

Meanwhile, Corporal Carly McCann confirms that the pink blanket seized on Landsdown Road has entered forensic examination. The family verified it belonged to Lily.

That single item—recovered near the swing set—now carries more weight when paired with Janie’s recollection of hearing both children just steps away.

Its position suggests the children were playing—and then taken—possibly by someone who knew the routine and who could move swiftly before any alarm.

McCann also emphasizes that no doors are closed. Investigators remain open to all possibilities—including that Lily and Jack are still alive.

The RCMP family liaison continues regular contact with a designated relative, though they won’t name who—ensuring the family receives updates even as public communication has slowed.

Janie laments that early briefings gave way to silence, leaving her and Martell with unanswered questions and the belief that urgency has waned.

She insists their disappearance still demands the highest priority.

The human stakes here could not be higher. Two innocent children—last heard playing with exuberance—abruptly vanished into the unknown.

Janie’s courageous willingness to share her timeline forces us to confront a darker scenario:
That an insider, someone within earshot, removed them.

If so, this may not be a simple missing persons case—but a carefully concealed disappearance orchestrated under cover of dawn’s first light.

In the coming days, investigators must reconcile Janie’s precise timeline with the physical evidence and digital records—phone logs, drone footage, search team GPS tracks, and video review of every vehicle on Landsdown Road between 8:45 and 9:15 a.m.

If any surveillance camera recorded an SUV idling near the swing set—or if a cellphone ping places someone in that radius—it could crack the case open.

Janie’s account narrows the window of interest to a tight period and confined area: the immediate yard, where whoever intervened struck swiftly.

For those of us watching, here’s what we must do:

Amplify Janie’s voice. Share this video. Tag local news outlets. Help spread the word that her testimony demands action.

Check your footage. If you live nearby or travel through Landsdown Station, review doorbell or trail cameras from that morning. Post tips. Speak up.

Send support. Keep Janie and her family in your prayers. Remind her that the fault lies not with the witnessing—but with the disappearance itself.

Hold on to hope. Two bootprints and a torn blanket fragment remain clues in a puzzle that Janie’s voice helps complete.

Let us honor that voice by pushing for answers. Refuse to settle for “no new leads.” Keep Lily and Jack’s names in the headlines—until they come home.

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Drop your prayers and messages of support in the comments below.
Share this video with everyone you know.

Let’s turn Janie’s solitary testimony into a groundswell that forces the truth into daylight.

The lives of two precious children depend on it.

Thank you for watching. Stay tuned for every development in this critical story.
Together, we can help break the silence—and bring Lily and Jack home.