The Faded Alibi
The train did not run on rails. It ran on silence. Elias stood in the vestibule. The glass was fogged. His breath hung there, a ghost of his own. He was a man of letters. Of footnotes. Of careful, dry distinctions. Now he was a man of flesh. And the flesh was failing. His left hand trembled. It was a small thing. A tick. A twitch. Like a fly trapped in amber. He looked at it. He stared until...
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