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Female
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16/10/1976
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Stray-SignalStray Signal Act I The dog was waiting for me outside the warehouse on Alameda Street, and he wasn't supposed to be there. I knew this the way I knew things I was never supposed to know—the way you know a woman's husband is lying when you can see his watch on the other guy's wrist, or the way you know it's going to rain when the city takes on that particular shade of grey that means somebody's...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 ReviewsPlease log in to like, share and comment!
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The Telegram from BloomsburyThe telegram arrived at three minutes past seven on a Tuesday morning in March, delivered to the porter's lodge at King's College by a boy who had run all the way from the Post Office on High Holborn. The porter, a man named Grimes who had been opening doors and sorting post for thirty-two years, read the addressee's name twice before carrying it across the quadrangle to the Senior Common Room,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Mirror at the End of the StreetThe Mirror at the End of the Street Samuel Park was found dead in his office on the forty-third floor of the Registry building, and the cause of death was a synthetic fiber wound around his neck in a pattern so precise that the forensic technician called it a signature. Detective Marcus Cole stood over the body and tried not to think about how much the knot reminded him of things he had spent...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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THE REFLECTION DIRECTIVETHE REFLECTION DIRECTIVE Officer 847 of the Consensus Review Bureau received an assignment on a Tuesday. The assignment had no title, only a classification code: R-77389. It concerned a material discovered in a decommissioned Helios Dynamics warehouse and subsequently acquired by the Bureau's acquisition division. The assignment required Officer 847 to evaluate the economic and social impact of...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Republic of ReasonThe jazz of 1924 New York was a frantic attempt to drown out the screams of the Great War. For Elias Thorne, the music was a mask. He had once been a man of standing, a promising architect of the city's skyline, until a series of betrayals by his partners left him bankrupt and branded a fraud. He had spent three years in the gutters of the Lower East Side, watching the city grow taller while he...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Canvas of the UnseenThe tenements of the Lower East Side in 1932 were a grey labyrinth of desperation. The air was a thick soup of coal smoke and boiled cabbage, and the only thing cheaper than the rent was human life. Leo lived in a basement room that was more a hole than a home. He slept on a mattress of old newspapers and ate a diet of watered-down soup and hope. He was a boy of fourteen with eyes that seemed...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Gilded Decay of MayfairMarch arrived in Paris like a thief, slipping through the cobblestone alleys of Montmartre with a cold hand and a whisper. In the cellar of a disused eighteenth-century Benedictine convent, Henri de Mayfair knelt among crates of dust and forgotten things, his candle throwing long, trembling shadows against the vaulted stone walls. At thirty-one, Henri was a man composed of contradictions: the...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The man in the gray suitThe rain was falling on Los Angeles the way it always fell—hard, indifferent, with the kind of persistence that suggested the city was being punished for something it couldn't remember doing. Thomas Gray watched it from the window of his office on Sunset Boulevard, drinking coffee from a paper cup that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. His office was exactly what you would expect from a private...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The last ProphecyI The rain had not ceased for eleven days when I found the diary in my sister's study. Catherine had been dead for five years, yet Ashworth House seemed reluctant to release her. Her rooms remained as she left them: the lavender water still on the dressing table, the half-finished embroidery on the chaise, the small brass key locked in the bottom drawer of her escritoire. I had avoided this...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
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The Patient from BelowACT I Dr. Henry Blackwood's clinic was on Harley Street, in a building that had been a townhouse before someone with money and no taste turned it into a medical practice. The waiting room smelled of carbolic acid and lavender—two smells that had been mixed together by someone who thought they complemented each other but in fact created an odor that was worse than either alone. Blackwood sat in...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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The Shadow on the IsleI. The envelope was on my desk when I got back from the bar. No stamp, no address, just my name typed in a font I didn't recognize and a photograph taped to the front. The photograph showed a window. The window was on an island. The island was in the Pacific, three miles from the California coast, and it was where they put the people the government wanted forgotten. Beneath the photograph, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The PhotoThe Photo Sean Miller sat in his apartment and stared at the wall. There was a piece of paper on the wall. It was not a photograph. It was a printed image—downloaded from the internet, or maybe cut out of a magazine. Sean could not remember which. It did not matter. The image showed a woman standing in front of a window. Sunlight was coming from behind her, so her face was in shadow. She looked...0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews
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