““Listen to me. Stop whimpering and listen!” Christopher shuddered. “Yes. Sorry, Barton. This whole thing has” Barton grabbed him by the arm. “Then it really was the way I remember. Pine Street. Central. The old park. My memories aren't false!” Christopher mopped his eyes with a filthy handkerchief. “Yes, the old park. You remember that? Good God, what's happened around here?” All the color had drained from his face, leaving it a sickly yellow. “What's wrong with them? Why don't the...y remember?” Terror shuddered through him. “And they're not the same people. The old ones are gone. Like the places. All but you and me.” “I left,” Barton said. “When I was nine.” Abruptly he got to his feet. “Let's get out of here. Where can we talk?” Christopher assembled himself. “My place. We can talk there.” He jumped off the stool and moved quickly toward the door.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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