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“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.”
“I know that’s why you’ve come here. At least, part of the reason. But I find myself compelled to inform you that this place isn’t safe…” She paused then, her eyes giving me a sharp once-over, before saying, “especially for you.”
Plastered on the milk carton was a picture of what I recognized as me at an age so young my internal memory never ventured back there, probably about two years old, maybe three. The picture was tucked beneath the word MISSING and surrounded by information that was utterly foreign to me, including the name of the missing boy who looked exactly like me.