The Wistful Witness
The count was four hundred and twelve. That was the number on the intake form for the new prisoner, Silas Vane, and it was the number of hours I had spent in this block since my last leave. I knew the smell of the corridor before I saw the man; it was the metallic tang of old blood mixed with the damp, rotting scent of the ivy that had started to creep through the cracks in the floor. I was a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews