The Distant Nightmare
The pen in Elias Thorne’s hand was a cheap ballpoint, the kind the Bureau issued by the box, and it was clicking against the laminate desk as he slid the file folder across the surface. He did not look up. He was looking at the photograph tucked inside the folder, a black-and-white image of an oak tree so gnarled and pale it looked less like wood and more like a skeleton stripped of its meat....
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