The Pale Bridge
The mortar cracked under the weight of the mortar, a sound like a knuckle popping in a silent room, and the gray sludge oozed out across the stainless steel bench in the basement of the Whitmore Municipal Health Clinic, where the air tasted of chlorine, stale coffee, and the metallic tang of fear that permeated the industrial complex. Margaret Holloway stood with her hands trembling, not from...
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