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... ught suddenly strikes me—it could be my son, Michael, who vanished without a trace two years ago.
Yet, the figure before me doesn’t quite match; although his face is obscured, his build is much more robust than Michael’s ever was.
Who could it be? Right now, he’s sitting at the stairwell, blocking the path, leaving Betty and me with nowhere to go.
"Hey buddy, wake up..."
I felt compelled to approach and give him a gentle shove, but he didn’t stir, not showing any ...
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