With a mighty heave, the rip vomits up a person-sized pile of rags and hair, then tightens and vanishes.
Wait, that pile is a person.
You cautiously approach them. Their robe is torn in places and in others patched with shiny fabric that resembles aluminum foil. They look up at you, gray-white hair haloing their head, beard matted. "Where's Chloe?"
Even with his hair now more white than gray and his mountain man beard, you recognize him. You should, since you took classes from him during your undergraduate years, and pictures of him adorned your office when you first arrived.
It's Dr. Blankenship.
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