The Faded Alibi
"You held it too tight. That’s the problem. You always hold it too tight." The voice came from the left. Dry. Cracked. Like old leather folding. I did not look up. I was counting the bolts on the rail. Fourteen. I counted them again. Fourteen. The metal was cold. It bit into my palm. I kept my hand flat. I kept my breath short. "Let go of the bird, Arthur. Just let it go." I tightened my grip....
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