The Night That Never Stopped Happening
There were three versions of the night his mother died, and Edmund Faulkner had lived through all of them, and he had never been able to choose which one was true. The first version was the simplest. In the first version, his mother had been driving home from a friend's house in Charleston. It had been raining. The road was slick. She had taken the curve too fast, or the curve had been too...
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