Those red lights are only making the pain worse. God does it hurt. I try to move, but I can’t. I try to speak. Can’t . . .
Throughout the last few weeks of training, I’d memorized nearly every facet of the Tuscany – every dial and every readout, every knob and screen . . .
It’s the brown one with the smiling cartoon dog on the front, sticking his nose and tongue out at you, begging for a pet. His . . .
The subsequent pages are partial excerpts from the journal of H. J. Thomas, dated back to the mid-1860s. Mr. Thomas’ bones were stumbled upon by . . .
My house – a small, two-story place a half hour’s drive south of York – came with a painting. I didn’t ask for it, and . . .
My phone buzzed. A text from Eric flashed on the screen, come on, please? my treat. Royal House is the best restaurant in the city. Four . . .