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The last time John Nebinger spoke to his son Bradley was about thirty minutes after midnight on March 15, 2010.

Twenty-four-year-old Bradley said he couldn’t sleep—a frequent complaint. His father went to bed.

“I found him dead the next day,” Nebinger, who lives near Seattle, said in an interview. His son was in his underwear in an untidy room littered with prescription bottles. “He didn’t overdose. It was just those two drugs that mixed together and led him to die.”

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