The River's Dark Frequency
I. Blackwater Hall leaned against the riverbank like an old drunk against a support column that had given up on holding him up. Elias Thorne stood on the veranda and watched the Ocmulgee swell with rainwater, brown and wide and hungry, eating at the bank where his great-grandfather had built a dock one hundred and twenty years ago. The dock was gone. The river had taken it, slowly, the way the...
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