“I don’t know what he is going to do to you, but I can’t say you don’t deserve and I don’t think anyone is going to judge either of us when they find out what you did to him and why you made him run away.”

The voicemail ended or the phone ran out of battery, I wasn’t really sure. Either way I put the phone down and noticed something step into my field of vision out of the corner of my eye.

I turned my head to the door to my room and started to cry. Standing right there in the doorway was the adult version of my Josh. Clad in dirty jeans, a faded-blue sweatshirt and a sloppy blonde beard with a head of long shaggy hair, he looked at me across the room with dark eyes.

“I’m sorry Josh,” the words barely dribbled out of my quivering lips. “Please, please, understand that I have been sick. Been sick for a really long time.”

“I know,” Josh said so softly I could barely hear.

Josh’s voice was so much deeper, scratchier, but I could still remember it. I could still picture that innocent little nine-year-old with the slight hint of a lisp.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” I started to please. “I’m already hurt too much. You got me back for whatever they convinced you I did to you. Please.”

Josh shook his head.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”