The Distant Joke
The watch in Elias Thorne’s left pocket ticked backward, a sound like a slow, wet heartbeat. He counted the seconds in his head, one for each drop of rain that struck the tin roof of the porch, two for each creak of the floorboards under his weight. He was forty-five, and the clock said otherwise, or perhaps it simply refused to acknowledge the time he had already spent. The house was drafty, a...
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