The Faded Alibi
The bell rang. Not once. Twice. The sound was a physical thing, a hammer blow against the temple. We were in the cellar. The air tasted of damp stone and stale beer. I looked at Elias. He did not look back. He was polishing a silver cup. The cloth moved in circles. Round and round. A hypnotic ritual. "Did you hear that?" I asked. My voice was thin. A wire. Elias stopped. The cup gleamed. It...
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