The Golden Song
"You are holding the line, Detective," the voice on the other end of the receiver was not my captain’s, but a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the plastic handset and into the bone of my skull, a sound like the deep thrum of a cello string plucked in an empty cathedral, and I wanted to scream at the static, to tear the wire from its socket, to throw the receiver against the wet,...
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