Now she’d never get to finish her book, Elsie thought.
Ilyas Bardakci was dead, but he hadn’t stopped breathing, hadn’t stopped moving, hadn’t stopped thinking.
The Ozarks haven’t seen rain in nearly five years.
She raised her head to listen for the rustle of his whispers.
Truths can be hard to accept.
“Hi, my name’s Dennis, and I’m magic—”