Did he kill himself? Was he murdered? Did he run off to meet a friend about whom his family knew nothing? Did he join some cult and if so, is he still a part of it? Did he die while a member of this unnamed, unknown group? Did he leave it, and has for decades been too ashamed to admit his error? Is he indeed dead, but his demise has nothing to do with his departure from an apparently loving, caring and tight knit home? His parents have no idea. Since his disappearance, they have not moved home, not even changed their telephone number or altered the locks on their doors. Because they are convinced that one day the possibility exists that there will a hesitant knock on the door and there will stand Christopher, older but still their son. Or a phone call will be received, again, that says 'Mom, I'm ready to come home,' Each time they go shopping, or visit a friend they hold the faintest glimmer of a hope that they will return to find a strange car in the drive, and a man they hardly know but know so well sitting on the sofa, awaiting their return. Imagine thirty years of that hope, something to be dashed every day. Imagine the pain that causes, the hardship they endure. Because, nobody knows - has the faintest clue - what happened to Christopher Kerze.