The Golden Suspect
The locket was warm. Elias Thorne held the small gold disc in his left hand, the metal radiating a heat that had no source in the cold November air of the shop. He did not look at it. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. He had been shaking since four o’clock, when the dream had found him in the back room, pressing its face against the window glass. In the dream, his mother’s locket had...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews