The Faded Alibi
The dream was always the same: the black, oily surface of the Millhaven pond, the weight of the silt pulling at his boots, the cold seeping into his lungs until he could no longer tell if he was breathing or dying. Elias Thorne woke with a gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs like a fist against a locked door. He was forty-two years old, and his knees ached with a dull, persistent throb...
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