I know the woman who went missing, and it was my fault.
Her name is Beth Miller. Last night as I was leaving work I saw her near her car, talking to a young man dressed in black. He had facial piercings and appeared goth. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but I slowed down a bit when I noticed Beth glanced around. She caught my eye, her expression a little alarmed.
I watched them for a moment, absent-mindedly scratching a sudden itch on the inner part of my forearm. The young man took a step closer and said something else to her. Then she turned away from me and got into the driver’s side of her vehicle and the young goth walked around and got into the passenger side. They drove off. I shrugged and got in my Camry. He may have been her son. I thought no more about it. Until the detective showed up at our workplace asking questions. Beth’s car had been found abandoned.
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