CHAPTER 37 WRONG TURN

As the car rolled to a stop outside a sleek, neon-lit bar in the heart of the city, Michael climbed out, his feet heavy with exhaustion as he stepped onto the sidewalk. The bar was buzzing with energy, the sound of laughter and conversation mixing with the thumping bass of the music. Michael pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes scanning the room for an empty seat at the bar. Finally, he found an empty stool and slid onto it, gesturing to the bartender for a drink. "Whiskey," he said, his voice rough with exhaustion. As the hours passed, the world around Michael began to fade, the sounds and sights of the bar melting into a blurry haze as he lost himself in the bottom of his glass. Drink after drink, the whiskey flowed like a river, numbing his mind and his heart as he sank deeper into his own grief. The bar around him became a blur of faces and voices, all merging together in a haze of music and laughter. But for Michael, the world had become a dark and silent place, a vo