The Distant Ghost
The road to the sanatorium was a gray ribbon of gravel, frayed and loose under the tires of the black sedan. Captain Elias Thorne sat in the back, his hands resting on his knees, palms open. They were steady. They were always steady. He watched the trees blur past, their leaves stripped and brittle, scratching against the glass like fingernails. The car smelled of stale tobacco and rain. In the...
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