The Faded Alibi
The rain tapped a erratic code against the windowpane, a cold, metallic sound that seeped through the glass and into the marrow of my bones. I woke not to an alarm, but to the weight of the file on my desk, its cover stamped with a date that had not yet occurred. My name, Arthur Hale, was printed in bold red ink on the spine, a scarlet vein pulsing against the grey cardstock. I am forty-two, a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews